‘What Beats the Sh*t Out of Me the Most? When You Can’t Do Anything. Just Nothing’ – Ukrainian Frontline Soldier
Since the beginning of the war, hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians have joined the defense of their country, and among them are people from myriad backgrounds, united by one misfortune and necessity.
Maksym Nesmiianov, a fighter of the State Border Guard Service, is a soldier who, before the war, was an expert on consumer protection and headed the Consumer Rights Union of Ukraine.
Expressive, jolly, and inspired during reports and shows, a well-known media personality, he joined the defense forces at the beginning of the full-scale invasion and has fought in the infantry for three years in the hottest spots of the war.
Now, he has joined the service in Kyiv, and in the rear, he is struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) while speaking about his experiences in the military and the psychological challenges faced by soldiers. The challenges are enormous, he said.
Good day, everyone! This is Sergii Kostezh, and you are with the Kyiv Post. It is now March 25, and the war continues despite all the peace talks among Russian, Ukrainian, and American delegations in Saudi Arabia or Moscow. So far, there is no end in sight.
Today, we are speaking with someone who has been in this war for more than three years. He is Maksym Nesmiianov, a fighter of the State Border Guard Service of Ukraine.
Before the war, Maksym was a media personality, an expert, and the Director of the Consumer Rights Union of Ukraine. He participated in various events aimed at protecting consumer rights and monitoring the market for goods and services, including food safety and quality control.
And he left all this in one day as the big war had broken out.
Maksym Nesmiianov: I joined the army because I had previously served my military duty in the Border Guard Service back in 2005-2006 before I entered university. I thought, “Why not join again?” I’m enlisted, and I already have experience.
When the full-scale war began, I felt sorry for the 18-year-old guys who would now be sent to fight and die. I understand how different the world looks at 18 and 35. You make different decisions than when you’re older.
Now I see things in a completely different way – more consciously, more cautiously, perhaps even more protectively.
Sergii Kostezh: Back in the spring of 2022, there were long lines at the military enlistment offices.
MN: At that time, I was leaving Irpin, and artillery strikes hit me hard. When I got out, I was hallucinating, delirious. I didn’t even want to go to the railway station – I was taken there.
Meanwhile, the enlistment offices were packed with people, but I didn’t want to stand in line. A friend of mine told me, Come join the National Guard! But I said, I was a border guard when I was 18, so I want to continue serving with the Green Berets.
So, I made some calls to find out if I could go directly to a unit, and that’s exactly what I did.
I had already sent my family away on Feb. 24, right when it all started in the morning. A friend of mine took them to the border.
I’m the kind of person who just knows he won’t die. I don’t know why I think this way, but my intuition tells me so. And you know what? That intuition has saved me. Experience has proven it – there’s something powerful, something beyond rationality, in war. As someone with two higher education degrees, I can tell you: miracles do exist. There is something strong in this world.
SK: So, you just walked straight into the military unit, past the lines?
MN: Yes. We started training in April, and after that, we were sent to different locations – Belarus, the east, then Belarus again, then back to the east. After two weeks, our group had grown to 130 people, and that’s when the ground reconnaissance team started forming.
A close friend of mine, whom I can’t name because he’s involved in very classified work, said, come join our unit. So, I joined as an assistant machine gunner because I trusted him completely.
SK: What did you do in ground reconnaissance?
MN: In Belarus, for example, in 2022, we were engaged in mine-laying operations. We would go to the trails and place anti-tank mines. Over time, mines shift underground, almost like mushrooms – they resurface. So, we would inspect the minefields, ensuring they were intact. If we found gaps, we reported them to our superiors. Our Border Guard unit would then reinforce the minefields so that the enemy couldn’t sneak up on us.
SK: Then, in 2022, I remember the Belarusian sector was a major concern because everyone feared that a second front might open and the Belarusian army could attack.
MN: Yes. Every month, there was a specific date when they might launch an offensive. So, we deployed firing positions there.
We’ve also hunted for Shaheds, and it’s such a cool experience. In the Zhytomyr region, there are large embankments, similar to the ones in Donbas, called waste heaps. We positioned ourselves well there, and our unit managed to shoot down two Shaheds – we were just lucky.
Later, we moved to the east – to the Serebryansky Forest, Bilohorivka, Serebryanka, and across to the swamps.
Our tasks there involved advancing to enemy positions to see if they were trying to regain lost ground. Bilohorivka was directly in front of me, near Vodokanal, and we were positioned on the enemy’s side. The Russians pushed us to the river’s edge, and we took up a circular defense under the riverbank near the shore. That’s when the losses started again. There, I first encountered and learned what a KAB (glide bomb) is. We had Azov fighters and the 3rd Separate Assault Brigade with us, and the enemy was trying to destroy them.
That’s also where I first came under heavy shelling on a river, just like something out of World War II.
Seventeen of us were at the ferry when the mortar attack began. We were on the second boat. The officer disembarked, saw that the mortar attack had started, and instead of stopping the landing, he continued to send troops ashore. Our recon team made it out, we scattered, laid down – mortars were firing, but there were holes and hills where the mines landed, so the shrapnel flew, but we remained intact.
Then we realized they were still targeting us. We had been told the sky was clear, but it wasn’t. The enemy kept firing. So we ran, quickly changing positions to avoid getting hit. But we knew they could see us and were tracking our movements.
We dropped down again. I was here, my brothers-in-arms Misha was there, Lesyk was over there, and Andrew was nearby.
A mortar landed just three meters from Misha. I saw his eyes bulge from the pressure wave, and I swear, it was like a movie. I didn’t even flinch – I just stared at him. And then I yelled, “Lesyk, death has never been this close!”
We kept running. Two more infantrymen followed us. We had a fallback position. Some APCs had burned out, but we knew the mortars couldn’t reach us there anymore.
So we ran towards the cemetery to take cover – haha, running to a cemetery to survive!
Then we spotted old hatches, probably sewer tunnels from a burned-down village.
Misha, who had suffered a concussion from the blast, started burrowing into one. I could see he was no longer in control – he was just in pure survival mode.
SK: The last time we spoke, you were in the war zone in the Kharkiv region in the spring of 2024, during the evacuation amid Russian offensive operations…
MN: In 2024, I joined the Donetsk Border Guard Detachment, also known as the Gart Brigade. Our assigned sector stretched from Vovchansk to somewhere near Kupyansk.
I was stationed near Vovchansk but as part of electronic intelligence. We set up our equipment in a basement in Vovchansk and had a clear view of the sky. We monitored radio transmissions and realized that the enemy had completely taken over the airspace. We knew something was being prepared.
And then, on May 10, I experienced the full chaos of it. By that point, Vovchansk was already burning at night, and within a week, the entire city was in flames.
At one stage, I didn’t see sunlight for what felt like an eternity. We were underground for a very long time – living in trench underground systems with fire points, just like in other areas of the Kharkiv region.
And that’s when I started looking for injuries. When I saw enemy reconnaissance groups (DRGs) moving, I would ask my guys to go fight with them. I thought, Maybe I’ll just get lightly wounded, go home, and finally see the sun. That’s how bad it got.
And that’s why soldiers burn out. They need rotation. They need rehabilitation. I could feel it weighing on me. You start believing in fate, in destiny, in anything. Death didn’t take me yesterday. It didn’t take me today… That kind of thinking.
I saw it in the Serebryansky Forest. We don’t typically have rotations that last 40 days, but the Serebryansky Forest is a different story. [First-person view] FPV drones have completely changed the battlefield, making everything much harder.
SK: This psychological state – you said you’ve felt it yourself. How does it happen? Does it affect you now that you’re in service in Kyiv? Does it still impact you?
MN: It does. I don’t even know where I am. I’m telling you right now, I see you, but I feel like I’m asleep. Like I’m dreaming.
SK: How does the war affect you?
MN: When you’re holding an SPshka (observation post), the enemy mortars more or less figure out where you are. Reconnaissance works, and then they start firing. We had times when we got up to 40 hits from 120mm mortars in an hour and a half. One day, two, three – and you’re already overheated. You don’t sleep during the day, you don’t sleep at night.
Even when we advanced to the enemy positions, I remember sitting with my brother-in-arms Lesyk. I just needed to wipe my face, to wash my body. I don’t know why – some kind of psychological bug. I started taking off all my clothes at some moment. Two guys were sleeping, two guys awake.
The enemy had built an SPshka for four people, but they had positioned it facing the other way – toward us. So, we took it over, but we couldn’t dig anything, or else the enemy would realize we had occupied their post.
And Lesyk saw me and cried, “Maksym, don’t do this, control yourself.” But I just wiped myself down with wet wipes. I needed to feel moisture on my body. And then, when we were under the riverbank on the Siversky Donets, they shelled us hard.
When there was finally a break, I just stripped everything off and ran naked into the river. It was like a jungle – trees had fallen into the water. I climbed onto one, waded in knee-deep, dunked myself, then quickly ran back. And instantly, I felt 100% recovery. My battery inside was fully recharged, and I could hold my position again.
SK: Seems risky…
MN: It was. Then, one day, during this “bath,” a 120mm mortar landed. I was standing in knee-deep water, not in a trench.
The end – I thought that was it over for me. The guys had already buried me in their minds, I’m sure of it. It hit, and shrapnel flew everywhere. That’s it, I thought. I’m about to be torn apart.
Then my subconscious took over. Fragments were flying, trees were being cut down all around me. And I was standing there – naked – I hadn’t even reached the water. It landed over there, then over here. I realized more was coming, a rain of shrapnel, but I didn’t move. Everything was falling around me, and yet I was still standing. I ran back naked, and Lesyk just looked at me and said, stamping out every word, “Don’t! Ever! Do that! Again!”
So, yeah, there were psychological breakdowns. I kept telling myself – I’m alive. I can see that fate is protecting me like crazy. One day, I was going through a village at the front. And for the first time, I saw this thing – Surprise! – an 82mm mortar shell, rigged up with sticks and wings, with a Mavic drone motor strapped to it.
At first, I thought it was just a reconnaissance drone. But then the battle started, and these things kept coming in circles. They ended up killing a medic, wounded one of our border guards, and another guy got hit. The rest of the guys hid as best they could. I was just walking down the road, heading back to my trenches, carrying some kvas.
I was filming a video because I thought it was just a reconnaissance drone. Then I turned my head – and I saw it flying right at me. It wasn’t an FPV drone – less maneuverable, but it was locked onto its target, coming in for a strike. The guys shot its wing off, and it crashed and exploded.
That’s why rotations are necessary in war. This kind of thing messes with people’s minds. Some guys lose control. Others, like me, develop extreme self-confidence – like: “Everything will be fine.” I know it’s bad, but I’m just telling you how it is.
SK: Is it difficult to control?
MN: I’ve seen guys digging at the ground with their bare hands during shelling because they can’t take it. Some people can’t handle the stress – they just start clawing at the earth.
Me? I just need water. A sip to drink, or just a little on my head. When the shelling lasts an hour or two, some guys’ blood pressure spikes. Some start digging in terror. Anything can happen in a trench.
The dead come to my brothers in their dreams. I remember when they carried the bodies – when you see them, it’s terrifying. I feel sorry for them, but I don’t dream about them. But Andrew – he saw something else.
Paratroopers were dragging their lethally wounded. It was hard for them, so he ran over to help. He grabbed him by the head, and the guy was already dead. Dark-haired. His eyes were still open, staring straight into Andrew’s face. And at that moment, something hit him. He came back to me, told me what happened, and just started crying.
You don’t even know the person, but it still crushes you. And he just broke down crying.
Then later, his friends called me, saying: “Why is he acting like that? He’s a man – he needs to pull himself together. Yeah, someone died, but we’ve seen plenty of dead here.” But it’s different.
When they bring a body back to Kyiv, it’s the one thing. But when you see them there, just after the death – sometimes, it feels like they’re still alive.
Even though I’m an atheist, I swear, something is there. When you see the face of your brother-in-arms dead, it looks like he is still alive, like his soul is still here somewhere nearby. It’s impossible to forget.
I remember one guy… he thought that he was responsible for his friend’s death. They took his friend to the hospital, but he died. There was a shrapnel wound on his side, but no one saw the blood in the dark. It had already dried up. But that fragment had shredded his internal organs on the way to the hospital.
But the first one – he blamed himself. He convinced himself that if he had just noticed the wound, he could have saved the guy. He is not a coward. And a lot of these guys will come back from the war. They aren’t cowards. They kept their oaths. They never retreated.
But psychologically, coming back from war is harder than anything. And the nightmares don’t stop.
SK: Was it harder for you there or harder here?
MN: It’s harder for me here.
SK: Because there are no brothers-in-arms here who are with you here?
MN: That’s the first reason. The second one, my adrenaline dropped.
When the adrenaline is dropping, I feel pain, I feel something is wrong. When adrenaline is there, you have survivability, no fatigue – I can walk 8 kilometers [5 miles]. But when it falls, my reaction slows down… and I feel the brotherhood.
You go there, and you see – this one is upset about something, that one is tired, this one is dealing with something, that one has his struggles. Well, how to say it… they are all already not quite fit for ordinary society, for example.
But for me, these are my guys. These are my guys! You sit and think – what a jerk he can be, but he’s my jerk! I come here, and there are educated, proper people I work with now, but I miss them, my freaks, my awesome guys!
SK: Do you feel that you will need some kind of rehabilitation after the fighting?
MN: I already need rehabilitation.
SK: What types of rehabilitation will frontline soldiers need afterward? Well, we know that one day the war will end – whether temporarily or in peace.
What should be done, and how do you think society, the one you now see in the rear in Kyiv, should treat veterans? How should they communicate with them? If you were a civilian, how would you communicate with yourself?
MN: Here I am now in Kyiv, I am a frontline soldier, and I don’t yet have a solution to this question.
How do I save myself now? I have a son, I have a wife, and when he hugs me, you know, I feel such a wave of energy leave me! My heart resets, and I feel at home.
But the problem is that a lot of my guys don’t have families. And when they came home on leave a few times, some of them returned earlier. They came home – everyone they knew had joined the army.
If it’s a small village, there are no girls left, some have gone abroad, families have left, and he’s just sitting and drinking alcohol there.
Well, he’ll sit there for a while, and then what? What next? So he returns to the only “family” he knows well.
What I’m telling you is that I’m with you now, but in a regular team, it’s difficult for me. I don’t quite perceive everything as I used to. You know, I look for frontline soldiers to talk to, to remember something, and immediately – there’s that family feeling!
And the guy who comes home – he goes back because it’s morally easier for him there. Yes, it’s physically harder, yes, the food isn’t the same, a lot is wrong, but it’s easier there.
And how to work with them – I don’t know! Because I can see it in their eyes.
The moment they return, something is off. I immediately try some contests, some projects, let’s find you a girl, shoot a video. But even if I find him a girl at a distance, he still has to have somewhere to go, he has to understand what to do next.
To do this, you need scholarships for those who protect society, just at the first stage, so they don’t fall into financial ruin.
Otherwise, it can go sideways – some start drinking, some get lost. They don’t understand the new rules of life. For example, I haven’t worked for three years. I was fighting. I was surviving.
You go to work all these years, but I don’t. I’m not interested in stories about daily life or nutrition – I care about how to survive. I could be killed by a drone or a shell at any moment. We climbed somewhere underground. Crawled through a madhouse.
And then suddenly – adrenaline drops. The speed of life slows down. And there’s no war around. And no adrenaline. And no money. And you need to live somehow.
Even now, many guys are being discharged from the army due to illness, family circumstances.
Right now, the entire rehabilitation mechanism should be getting tested on these small waves of returning soldiers, because later, a mass of guys will come back who have no idea what’s happening.
If the government doesn’t start dealing with veterans now, it will lose an entire layer of combat soldiers – men who need to be saved at any cost.
You need to work with them. I don’t know how – I’m not a psychologist. I see you now, I told you, but it’s like a dream. The guys call every day, tell me who died, and that world feels closer to me.
But it will end – because the war will end someday. And then that world will become a dream, and this world will need to become reality. And how that happens – I have no idea.
SK: If you could go back three years – exactly three years ago, by the way – would you repeat your path?
MN: Yes. Unfortunately, yes.
Why do I say “unfortunately”? Because sometimes you look back, you think – what if I had done something better? Saved someone’s life? Done something differently? There are the guys who died somewhere. And you know what beats the sh*t out of me the most? When you can’t do anything. Just nothing. You can’t help it. That’s it.
And the fact that I made this choice three years ago – it was the right choice. I am not ashamed. I walk down the street, and I am not afraid of anyone. I’m not afraid.
Yes, I have PTSD. I know I have it. But I speak out – I am a free person. And when the war is over, I will know that I did everything I could.
Watch the video interview with Nesmiianov here.
Source: Sergii Kostezh