Sent to Die by Their Own Command: Inside Ukraine’s Largest Camp for Russian Prisoners of War
In western Ukraine, behind high walls topped with barbed wire, an old Soviet-era prison now holds hundreds of Russian soldiers. This facility is Ukraine’s largest camp for prisoners of war captured while fighting for Russia. Once a month, Ukrainian authorities grant limited access to journalists. In late July 2026, ABC News correspondent Patrick Reevell visited the site and spoke with several of the men held there. Their accounts offer a rare, unfiltered glimpse into the ranks of Russia’s army more than four years into the full-scale invasion.
The camp sits far from the front lines, a deliberate choice that complies with international humanitarian law and reduces the risk of attacks or provocations. Exact numbers of prisoners and the precise location remain secret for security reasons. What is clear is the scale: dozens of men can be seen in the exercise yard at any given time, and the total population runs into the hundreds. Many wear identical uniforms. Under the Third Geneva Convention, prisoners of war must not be paraded or publicly exposed in ways that degrade them. Journalists are therefore careful not to show faces.
The soldiers who agreed to speak described short periods of training and a battlefield dominated by drones. One man said he was captured just three days after reaching the front. “It was as if my own command was sending me to die,” he told Reevell. He never saw Ukrainian infantry during his brief time in combat. Another prisoner recounted that in the first month of fighting he was the only survivor from a group of twenty comrades. Many of the men had received only a couple of weeks of basic training before being sent forward. Several were still recovering from wounds sustained in an environment where FPV drones and artillery leave little room for survival once contact begins.
These accounts align with wider reporting on Russia’s recruitment and deployment practices. Facing high casualties, Moscow has relied on rapid mobilization, short training cycles, and the enlistment of foreign fighters from Central Asia, Africa, and beyond. Some of those foreigners are also held in the same Ukrainian camps. For them, the path home is often longer because their governments have limited leverage or interest in prisoner exchanges.
Daily life inside the facility follows a structured routine. Newly arrived prisoners hand over personal belongings, receive a medical check, a haircut, and a standard issue of clothing and hygiene items. They then enter a period of quarantine. After that, the day typically begins with morning hygiene and bed-making, followed by breakfast. Work occupies much of the remaining time. Prisoners can volunteer for tasks in workshops, where they assemble plastic Christmas trees, build simple garden furniture, or perform other light labor. The work earns a modest wage consistent with Geneva Convention standards—roughly the equivalent of a few dollars a day—which can be spent on small items from a camp store. Meals are regular. Hot water is available. Exercise time is provided in the yard or, in some reports, a basic gym. The International Committee of the Red Cross visits periodically to monitor conditions.
Ukrainian officials stress that treatment of enemy prisoners follows international law. The Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War, established early in the full-scale war, oversees both the return of Ukrainian citizens held by Russia and the proper handling of Russian and foreign captives. Five dedicated facilities have been identified in official statements, all located deep inside the country and labeled West-1, West-2, and similar designations. The goal, officials say, is to keep the prisoners safe while preserving them as potential subjects for future exchanges.
Prisoner swaps remain one of the few functioning channels between Kyiv and Moscow. In late June 2026, the two sides exchanged 160 prisoners of war each in a deal mediated by the United Arab Emirates. All the Ukrainians returned in that swap had been held since 2022. Earlier in the year, larger packages had been discussed, including a proposed 1,000-for-1,000 exchange floated after high-level talks. Since the invasion began, dozens of such exchanges have brought thousands of people home on both sides. Yet many more remain in captivity. Ukrainian estimates put the number of their own service members still held by Russia in the several thousands. The corresponding figure for Russian prisoners in Ukrainian custody is not publicly detailed but is substantial enough to sustain regular swaps.
The contrast in conditions is frequently noted by human rights monitors and returning Ukrainian prisoners. UN reports and investigations by Ukrainian prosecutors and international journalists have documented widespread allegations of torture, denial of medical care, sexual violence, and executions of Ukrainian POWs in Russian facilities and occupied territories. More than 90 percent of released Ukrainian prisoners interviewed by UN monitors reported some form of ill-treatment. Ukraine, by contrast, presents its camps as compliant with the Geneva Conventions and opens them periodically to media and the Red Cross. Critics on the Russian side occasionally claim the opposite, but independent access on the Russian side has been far more restricted.
For the men in the western Ukrainian camp, the immediate reality is simpler and more personal. They work, recover from injuries, and wait. Some express relief at having survived the front. Others speak of family left behind and the hope of inclusion in the next exchange. A few admit they never expected to see combat at all, having signed contracts under pressure or with incomplete information about what awaited them. The plastic Christmas trees they assemble become an unexpected symbol of the long, grinding nature of the war: ordinary labor performed by men who were sent into extraordinary violence with little preparation.
The camp is both a holding facility and a mirror. It reflects the human cost of a conflict that has already lasted longer than many expected and continues to consume undertrained recruits on one side while placing enormous strain on the defending forces on the other. As long as the fighting continues, the population of such camps will fluctuate with every successful Ukrainian counter-attack and every new Russian assault wave. For the prisoners themselves, the walls of the old Soviet prison mark a pause—neither freedom nor the front, but a period of waiting measured in weeks or months until the next negotiated exchange opens the gates again.
The stories told to visiting journalists are filtered by the presence of guards and the knowledge that words may travel. Still, the consistent themes of inadequate training, overwhelming drone threats, and a sense of expendability from their own command paint a picture that is difficult to dismiss. In the fifth year of full-scale war, these are the men Russia continues to send forward, and these are the conditions under which Ukraine holds those it captures. The Christmas trees keep being made. The exchanges continue. And the waiting goes on.
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