Spanish Volunteer in Ukraine Says He Cannot Leave

Spanish Volunteer in Ukraine Says He Cannot Leave

One phrase sums up the situation better than any report: "I came to fight, not to commit suicide." This is what Nacho, a Spaniard from Alicante enlisted in Ukraine’s Territorial Defense forces, says. According to his testimony, he has not been paid for three months, lives in a camp without drinking water, eats expired food, and his unit refuses to let him break his contract to return to Spain. He is not missing; he is located, living in conditions he describes as destitute, after being moved there by the 241st Brigade.

This story is not an isolated case, which is why it matters. The narrative that drove many foreigners to enlist—the romanticized war, the noble cause, the promised salary—collides with trench reality: a lack of drone jammers, no shotguns to neutralize them, poorly prepared positions, and artillery punishing every movement. The contract specified 120,000 hryvnias per month, roughly €3,000, for frontline combat. In Kurakhove, they were told it would be 70,000.

What the Contract Says vs. What Is Actually Paid

Paperwork and practice do not match. According to his own account, the initial agreement set this monthly pay of 120,000 hryvnias for those fighting on the front line, a figure designed to attract foreign recruits with an incentive hard to match in Spain. On the ground, the reality is 70,000 hryvnias, and even that does not arrive regularly. Three months without a paycheck is the fact he highlights.

Some argue the problem is not just non-payment, but design: recruitment happens through economic promises, while retention relies on administrative impossibility of termination. According to his version, Ukraine’s Territorial Defense forces will not allow him to break the contract, despite his belief that he has the right to resign. The dispute, therefore, is not just about money. It is about exit.

Insufficient Equipment and Russian Drones: Frontline Account

His description of his unit is that of an army improvising. There was no rescue equipment for the wounded. There were no anti-drone measures: neither jammers nor shotguns to neutralize the devices. Trench positions were scarce and poorly prepared, mere holes exposed to surveillance and attacks by Russian drones. "It was going straight to die," he summarizes.

This is the core of his regret. It is not that he discovered war kills; it is that he discovered war, in his sector, is fought without the minimum means to survive. The constant threat of drone warfare and glide bombs falling daily paints a scenario where survival depends less on training than on position.

Regret and the Impossibility of Returning

Nacho’s case has been read as evidence of the deception faced by those who arrive with misguided expectations. The image he conveys—a conditioned camp, no drinking water, expired food—is that of someone held back more by bureaucracy than by combat. He wants to return. His unit does not authorize it.

In the analysis circulating, there is an uncomfortable consensus: many of these foreign volunteers end up used as cannon fodder, poorly equipped and with insufficient ammunition, in maneuvers described as absurd and suicidal. This is not a comfortable thesis for the official narrative, but it aligns with the grievance of the person involved.

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With these elements, it is predictable that the trickle of similar cases will continue as long as the conflict remains open and recruitment conditions do not change. What is not written down is how many of those contracts will be resolved administratively and how many through the path no one signs.