Vladyslav Pinchuk: Russians believe that square kilometer of land is worth any losses in manpower or equipment, as long as it remains theirs
Vladyslav Pinchuk has been at war since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. But he is already thinking about returning to civilian life — to his loved ones and the work he loves.
Here, he was a photographer and the founder of a production company. For many years, he worked in photography and videography. Now, he commands a mortar battery of the 130th Battalion of the Territorial Defense Forces (TDF), part of the 241st Brigade of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. His social media is now filled with military rather than civilian content.
- You have a very interesting Instagram page. Do you ever look at photos taken before 24 February 2022?
- I often look through my photos, but not on Instagram — in the gallery on my phone, which goes back many years. I get a nostalgic vibe. That’s when I look at pre-war photos. I miss those events, the shoots I loved so much. Sometimes I think: "Mmm, that was really something." But what I miss the most are the people I used to be in touch with back then. I've lost contact with them, especially with those who left. When you’ve been at war for over three years, your social circle naturally shrinks.
- Do you feel like you’ve changed?
- One hundred percent! Both unfortunately and fortunately. But I think all of us in Ukraine have changed. Some more, some less. Still, going back to 2019 or 2020 is impossible. The experience I’ve gained over these three years of war has definitely changed me.
- You mentioned that some people from your former social circle went abroad. Were some of them men?
- Yes.
- How do you feel about them?
- It’s a betrayal of everything — the country, principles, values. I used to discuss politics with one guy, talk about how we were Ukrainians, real Banderites (smiles – O.M.). And when the full-scale war began, the person who should’ve joined the fight went abroad illegally. I just cut all ties and said: our worldviews are worlds apart. For me, men of conscription age who left the country with a bribe simply don’t exist. I have no interest in them. They’ve vanished from my "radars".
- I noticed that in 2022, there was almost a month-long gap between your photos: on 16 February, you're in the mountains with a snowboard, and by 20 March, you're in uniform holding a rifle. Quite the contrast. Am I right in thinking the second photo was taken in Irpin?
- That was during our first combat missions — Irpin and Bucha.
- In one of your interviews, you said about that period: "I’ve never been so scared." Why?
- It's because of these contrasts: just yesterday, you were a civilian — going to the mountains, filming content — and the next day, you’re in the military. And then comes complete uncertainty! Everything around you is an informational storm: nonstop news, events, updates — but no one’s telling you what to actually do. We, as volunteer fighters, didn’t understand how we were supposed to act. I stayed in Kyiv for a while. Then someone offered: "How about going to Irpin?" I agreed. I had my own drone, so I joined as an aerial scout. You’re moving around, sleeping at these improvised checkpoints. You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. You can’t even grasp the full scale of what’s happening. But you do understand this: someone wants to kill you. You just don’t know how. Yeah, you’ve seen war films. And you’re surrounded by people who seem to know what they’re doing. But it was in Irpin that I realised something: in civilian life, everything around you is designed to stop you from dying. Like — you see a warning on an electrical panel: "220V. Don’t touch! It’ll kill you." Or in the subway: "Do not lean against the door." Everything dangerous is marked with metaphorical yellow tape (smiles – O.M.). And then here, for the first time, you cross to the next street and you might get killed there. Because mortars are flying, a sniper is working, artillery is pounding. And there’s no sign telling you how to stay alive – You just have to figure it out. Intuitively. (smiles – O.M.) It’s terrifying! But you’ve already said yes to all of this. So you have to learn, step by step, how to be useful. How to operate. Okay — these are our guys, those are the enemy. So maybe I’ll try to scout them out. At that time, everything was really chaotic. The atmosphere felt so improvised, so disorganised, that for a while it seemed like we were just a gang. That changed later, of course.
- Did you come into contact with the enemy at that time?
- I saw them while flying — I was spotting their positions. They even tried to shoot down my drone. But I didn’t have any direct firefights back then.
- What did you think of them?
- I saw them as invaders, thugs who came to take your land, your property, your health. It’s like walking with your girlfriend in the park in the evening, and some gang tries to attack you, steal your phone, humiliate you and you try to fight back.
- Tell us the story of how you were tested with the code word "Palianytsia". (Palianytsia is a type of Ukrainian bread that is easy for Ukrainians to pronounce, but notoriously difficult for Russians — ed.)
- That did happen (smiles – O.M.). In the first days of the full-scale invasion, I didn’t know how to join the fight — where to go, what to do. Since I had a drone, I started looking in this direction. I found an organisation called Aerial Reconnaissance. We talked over video, and I joined them. They gave me tasks — for example, to fly the drone and check the approaches to the city for enemy vehicles. Now I realise it probably wasn’t very effective — but at the time, that’s what I was doing. They sent me to Sviatoshyn. I went there and launched the drone. Suddenly, a police car pulled up — they took me in and brought me to the station. There, they started asking: Who are you? Are you a spy? No! Who are you flying for? And then I paused and thought: Wait… who am I flying for? What if they’re scammers? Damn, I’m in trouble (laughs – O.M.). Back then, everyone — including the police — was tense, scared, and let’s say, not very polite. They brought me to the station chief. He looked at me and said: "Say Palianytsia!" I said it. He goes: "Alright, doesn’t sound like a Moskal! Call the people you’re flying for." So I called them. It turned out they were affiliated with the Ministry of Defence. They confirmed I was flying for them. The police let me go, gave me back my drone, and apologised — as best they could (smiles – O.M.). As I was leaving, I thought: I need to join a proper army. The last thing I need is to be killed by my own. Screw that (laughs – O.M.). The next day, I joined Kyiv’s TDF.
- You already knew how to fly. Why did you become a mortar operator?
- I had graduated from a military department back in the day. When the full-scale invasion began, I simply joined as a volunteer fighter and started flying. Then I remembered I needed to update my paperwork. I got a temporary officer's ID stating that I was a junior lieutenant. When I was transferring to the battalion where I now serve, I told them I had combat experience as a drone pilot — and that I had my own drone. But the unit commander said: "You're an officer. So we’ll assign you accordingly. You'll be a commander." I said: "But I don’t have that kind of experience. I don’t know how to do it!" At that moment, the idea of taking responsibility for people and leading them into combat was terrifying. Then the commander said: "Join the mortar battery. Learn the job. We’ll see how it goes." So I started studying mortars, going out on missions with the mortar crew. After that, I was made a platoon commander — and later, a battery commander. That’s how it happened: I ended up going down the artillery path instead of sticking with aerial reconnaissance.
- Where did you fight back then?
- Our battalion took part in the Kharkiv counteroffensive in September 2022. That’s when we had our first combat missions with mortars.
I didn’t have a fixed position — I just did whatever I could: Starlink, mortars, logistics. I rode with the guys, went out to positions, fired, pulled shifts. Back then, we had major problems with comms and the chain of command. Now we’ve got Delta, everyone uses Kropyva, drones fly around the clock. But back then, the system was only just starting to form, so everything felt a bit chaotic. We were constantly on the move — one moment they’d say, "You’re heading there." Then immediately: "Pack up, you’re moving again." You felt like a grain of sand in this massive operation. You just followed orders — wherever they told you to go, you went and did the job. Getting there wasn’t easy either — the Russians mined everything as they retreated. That’s why we had so many wounded and killed in our battalion...
- You also fought in Bakhmut. What was that period like for you?
- It was a difficult, exhausting and risky. There was always something to do, barely any sleep. But there weren’t as many drones back then — I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like if they’d flown like they do now. What really hit us were enemy ATGMs. Reaching our positions was tough — they kept hitting us on the way in. We had a lot of losses in our battalion and in the neighboring brigades.
Inside Bakhmut, there were a bunch of different units operating, and that made command and control feel messy at times. You didn’t always know if the guys to your right were still holding the line or had already pulled back. But that’s just how it was then.
- You’re currently in the Zaporizhzhia direction (we’re recording this interview on March 19 — O.M.). What’s the situation like here these days? Has it been changing?
- Right now, this area is fairly stable. Compared to what we experienced in Donetsk, I’d say it’s relatively quiet here. The situation more or less matches what you see on DeepStateMap.
- Is the enemy changing tactics on your section of the front?
- There are no active offensive operations at the moment. It’s a positional war — we’re trading fire with the enemy. Both sides are using artillery and drones.
- You mentioned that the Russians are exchanging their people on our territory. What does that mean to you?
- To me, it shows they’re confident they won’t give up any piece of land they manage to seize. If they’re thinking: "There’s a tiny village with ten houses — we’ll lose a thousand soldiers for it, but the land will remain ours" — then in their logic, that makes sense. Because if you assume you’ll just keep advancing, only to be pushed out or end up giving up that territory later, then it doesn’t make sense. I believe they see every square kilometre of land as worth any losses in manpower or equipment, as long as it remains theirs, they’ll recover those losses over the next hundred years in the long run. Their leadership doesn’t value individual soldiers — they’re just a resource to be allocated efficiently. On top of that, it seems to me they’ve placed a bet on a shift in the political landscape in the West. They’re counting on that — and for now, they’re keeping the dialogue going.
- Have you ever talked to Russian POWs?
- Yes. Yes, I have. When we were in the Chasiv Yar area, our mortar crew got almost completely surrounded. Enemy infantry had already moved into a neighboring dugout. We had to get our guys out. It was decided that we'd roll in on armor, lay down suppressive fire, hit the enemy positions with drones, and while that was happening, load up our people and get out. And that’s exactly what we did. We're driving back — I’m sitting in the front, next to the driver. I turned my head and saw someone in the back with a sack over his head. An unplanned passenger (smiles – O.M.). I ask the guys: "Who’s that?" They replied: "A prisoner. Turns out the neighboring unit had captured him and just tossed him into our dugout — so he ended up spending two days with our guys. They gave him food, even let him smoke. We brought him back to our base. Just a modest guy, around 40, from the Altai region. We talked a bit. He was clearly terrified. Said that Putin started the war and that everyone hated him. Of course, he couldn’t really say anything else. It is captivity. So he told us what we wanted to hear. I asked him: "I saw you through the drone — you were just walking to your death. What was your motivation?" He said they were brought in and told: "There’s a forest ahead, allies to your right and left, just follow the drone, it’ll guide you to your own guys. You’ll gain a foothold and wait for further orders." So I asked him — when did he realize he’d been lied to? He said: "When there were no allies there." (laughs – O.M.). It was interesting to me because I saw them walking in twos or threes. Doesn’t it bother them that no one ever comes back? Where do all those people go? Turns out, they’re told they’re gaining a foothold. Like: "The whole forest is full of our troops, we just need you to join them." (smiles – O.M.) And you know what? I believe him. It actually makes sense. It wouldn’t make any sense to tell them: "There’s just two of you and a bunch of enemies ahead." Who would go? I also asked if he had a family. He said yes. Do they know that he was taken prisoner? He said no. I offered: "Do you want me to write to your wife that you are alive? Let her know". Of course. I took her phone number from him, and the next morning I wrote to her on WhatsApp. By the way, her avatar shows him with her and the child. I told her that he was in captivity, alive and well. No one mocked him. We passed him on through the line of prisoners. She asked how to take him back. I told her to apply for an exchange. At the time, it seemed to me that it was the right thing to do. I don't know how that story ended, and whether she got a "hit" from the FSB for talking to me. She never got in touch again. I told her right away that I had no contact with him and that I didn't need anything from them.
- I’d like to ask you about the home front. Two years ago, when you spent a few days in Kyiv, you wrote that people there still remembered the war. What would you say today? Do you still feel that way?
- Let me share my personal experience. These days, I think our society has become very polarized. Those who are involved in the war — and their families — remember it. But those who aren’t directly connected are exhausted. They’ve switched into "power-saving mode," like on a phone. Just trying to get by. It’s like staying afloat — just not to drown. Of course, there are also people who simply don’t care about the war. Usually, it’s the younger generation — they haven’t developed that sense of responsibility yet. I spent three weeks in Lviv, studying at the academy. You spend most of the day in classes, and then you have some free time. So I had a chance to talk to people. And yes, a lot of younger people don’t really feel the war. They’re just living, studying, falling in love, going out. Living a regular young life.
As for the people who stayed in my "bubble" — those I still keep in touch with — they absolutely care. They worry, they support, they help out, they volunteer. But there aren’t many of them.
- Can this state of affairs hurt us?
- Yes. Someone once said: "People were eager to donate for victory — but they’re less willing to donate for war." Back when the narrative was "We’ll push them back, we’ll show those ‘Vankas’" — people were more united and active. ("Vanka" is a derogatory slang term used by Ukrainians to refer to Russian soldiers - ed. note) But as time went on and the war kept going, aid became less. On the other hand, during the early days of the full-scale invasion, we had almost nothing, no gear, no vehicles, no weapons, not even proper uniforms. And today, those problems are gone. Soldiers are properly clothed and equipped — they have weapons and gear. The basic needs were covered a long time ago. So when I hear these stories from newly drafted civilians — "Oh, I’ve been mobilized. Starting a fundraiser for clothes and boots" — it’s pure fraud. Who are they even trying to fool?
- Probably people who still believe no one would try to cash in on something like this. But over the course of the war, we’ve seen plenty of fraud — and that’s not even mentioning corruption. How do you feel about people trying to profit from supplying the military?
- No one has been held accountable for the faulty 120mm mortar rounds produced in Ukraine. Everyone just stopped talking about it — as if that’s somehow normal. It’s a terrible crime. It feels like they’re trying to cover up corruption and incompetence. Someone manufactured those munitions. Someone else signed them off as normal and sent them to the army. As a mortar gunner, I know just how dangerous that is. The infantry relies on you to back them up. You’ve got 20 or 30 rounds — you’re about to repel an assault. You open fire, exposing your position, putting your people at risk — and nothing happens. Because it’s all defective, some rounds are inaccurate because the powder’s bad, or don’t even explode — the detonator fails. I’d like to see the people responsible for rounds sit where the infantry sits, in сonditions where the only thing that can save them from being killed is that one mortar. How else are they going to understand? But so far, no reaction, as I said, no one has been held accountable. And for me and my comrades-in-arms, that’s outrageous. We can’t understand how something like this is even possible!
- Do you remember the talk in the community that the guys would return from the front and restore order here?
- I haven’t heard that in a long time. To me, it seems that the part of society that’s still in the rear, not taking part in the fight, but still complaining, especially about corruption, is now more worried about the military than about the enemy. There’s rhetoric that veterans will come back and ask: "Why were you hiding while we were at war?" I think that their attitude toward the military will be biased. They will behave in such a way as to avoid any encounter, because there will be no dialogue. There is nothing to talk about.
As for the military, when we come back, we’ll be trying to make up for lost time with our families and with ourselves. The level of exhaustion is massive. It’s been three years of war. We’ll need to recover — physically and mentally, to spend time in our own "bubble." To reconnect with loved ones and friends. Those who still have the strength, the will, maybe political ambition — they’ll get involved in restoring justice. But the majority will need serious time to heal. We’ll have to switch back to civilian life. I feel it myself. Last summer, I realized I was slowly losing my mind. So I started therapy. I now have a therapist I talk to online. I need it, to keep myself from falling apart. We’ll see how it goes on a national level. But honestly, I doubt this will be properly addressed.
- I read that after the war, you plan to return to production. How do you imagine it?
- Yes, I plan to go back to business and start creating content again. I want to do what I love. Maybe in a slightly different format — less direct involvement, and more focused on managing a team. I’m really interested in.
- Do you think about when that might happen? Or are you just living here and now?
- I do think about it. Honestly, those thoughts keep me going. When this is all over, I’ll have something to come back to — and something to do.
It’s about the fact that the war hasn’t completely consumed me. It’s not the only thing in my head, and not the only space where I can feel fulfilled. You know, it’s a scary thing to lose your sense of identity. To be asked "Who are you?" and to answer, "I’m a battery commander."
No. I have a lot of skills, hobbies, and interests beyond this war we’re now forced to fight. As for when it will end, I try to think about it in abstract terms. Because if you start hoping it’ll be over in a month, and it isn’t, it will hit really hard.
Olha Moskaliuk, Censor.NET
Photos are provided by the hero
