The journey of thousands of young Ukrainian deserters: Tight border controls and perilous mountains

No regrets, no sorrow. A group of young Ukrainian men are feeling euphoric after risking their lives to flee the war ravaging their country, now beyond the reach of the Ukrainian authorities on Romanian soil. Their faces exude relief. Firstly, because they have managed to escape possible enlistment; the minimum age for conscription was lowered from 27 to 25 this spring. Secondly, because they have dodged Ukrainian border police controls, which have been tightened. And finally, they have passed the severe physical tests involved in crossing the mountainous region of Maramureș and the Tisza River bordering Romania.

“We consciously accept the risk of death that comes with fleeing, as the authorities warn us, but it is not as big as they make it out to be, they only do it to intimidate,” says Evgeni, a 20-year-old who prefers not to give his last name. Throughout, he is elated after achieving his goal of crossing the border near the Sighetu Marmației pass in northern Romania, on his second attempt. A month earlier, he had ventured into the mountains, but a stomach ailment prevented him from continuing. “Without food, I couldn’t bear the load I was carrying and I gave myself up to the Ukrainian guards, who were glad they didn’t have to catch anyone.” They let him go with just a fine. If he had been five years older, they would have sent him to war.

It took Evgeni nine days on foot from Oleksandriya, a town in central Ukraine, to reach the Romanian border crossing. He knows that Sighetu Marmației is one of the preferred entry points because it has an emigration office that quickly issues subsidiary protection status which, as is the case with other Ukrainian refugees welcomed in the European Union, includes a residence and work permit. He made the journey with his childhood friends, Daniel and Danilo. Both openly express their enthusiasm for leaving their country, while constantly talking to their parents on the phone. “They understand that it was worth risking our lives, even though we kept them in suspense for days, not knowing if we would be safe,” Daniel says. In the coming days, they plan to leave Romania. Egveni, who left his parents behind in Ukraine, will join his brother and uncles in Poland, while Daniel and Danilo will travel to Estonia and Belgium, where they also have relatives.

Faced with a shortage of weapons and men, and at a time when Russia is taking the initiative and increasing the number of attacks on the front lines, despite the Ukrainian incursion into the Kursk region of Russia, Kyiv adopted measures this year to boost recruitment and punish those who attempt to dodge the draft. Recruitment squads sometimes roam the streets hunting those who do not want to register electronically, which has encouraged thousands of Ukrainians to leave for neighboring countries. According to data compiled by The Wall Street Journal, over 44,000 men have fled since the beginning of the war to Romania, Moldova, and Slovakia. This figure does not include Poland or Hungary, or those who left the country with papers obtained through bribery. While bids to reach Romania and Moldova are made through the mountains, attempts using false documents predominate on the borders with the other nations.

The number of irregular arrivals in Romania has doubled since January 2024 compared to previous years, according to the Romanian border police. Since January, more than 7,000 Ukrainians have entered illegally, compared to 3,800 in 2023 and 4,500 in 2022. The number of those caught by the Ukrainian police is unknown, although it is estimated to be at least 100. In total, more than 15,000 Ukrainians have fled to Romania alone. Among them, 25 deaths from hypothermia have been recorded; 15 in the Tisza River and a further 10 in the rocky mountain passes. In addition to risking their lives, the defectors face prison sentences if Ukrainian guards catch them. Illegal departure from the country by men aged 18 to 60 carries a sentence of up to 12 years in prison under martial law.

Crossing the river in flip-flops

The three friends walked through the thick forests at night with their mobile phones switched off, so that the border patrols would not detect any signals. “We hid from the guards, crossed steep ridges and rivers and slept in sleeping bags in rocky areas. We threw away most of the equipment we were carrying because we didn’t use it, or it was too heavy,” says Evgeni, while showing a filter that is used to purify the water they took from the streams, a 30-gram towel, and some packets of cream of mushroom paste and lamb soup. They crossed the river in half an hour in flip-flops, with water up to their waists. “We went straight to the border police and told them how we had arrived,” he says. The next day, the General Immigration Inspectorate, which has opened an office at the same border point, granted them temporary protection status. Evgeni justifies his escape by saying that living conditions in Ukraine have deteriorated significantly and he believes that the situation will only get worse in the next two years. The young man, who had to chase away lynxes and deer during the journey, stresses that “the authorities themselves are preparing the population for the worst.”

In Sighetu Marmației, the three friends met Nazer, a 24-year-old Ukrainian who had also entered Romania illegally, having planned to do so since the beginning of the summer. He is smiling widely, showing his joy at having escaped. “When I started working, several soldiers who were recruiting came up to me and asked me questions. I had a feeling that they were waiting to take me to war,” says the young man from Lviv, who opted to go to Romania instead of Poland because the Polish government, along with Lithuania, has expressed its willingness to help Kyiv bring men of fighting age back to their country.

“I ran with a friend through the bushes, which were difficult to avoid because they were so thick. Then I crossed the river, the water was up to my chest, and after a journey that seemed to never end, I reached the other side of the border,” Nazer says. Pessimism dominates his thoughts at the moment: “Many Ukrainians will die unless the United States gives us permission to use their weapons in Russia, on targets such as airports or weapons depots. Soldiers are not eternal,” the fugitive says. Like Evgeni, Nazer will soon board a train full of fellow citizens who are skeptical of telling their stories to the West, in the hope of being able to build a “happy life,” which his country cannot offer at the moment, he emphasizes.

Romanian border police, supported by dozens of guards from the European border agency Frontex, are keeping a close watch on some 430 kilometers (267 miles) of border with Ukraine. Fire and rescue services are also involved, as is the General Aviation Inspectorate, which provides a helicopter. So far, they have intervened 150 times and saved the lives of 100 Ukrainians.

“We have cameras hidden among trees and vehicles equipped with thermovision technologies that detect human heat, as well as drones,” explains Iulia Stan, territorial head of the Sighetu Marmației border police, which controls 360 kilometers of border with Ukraine. She admits that they carry out medical checks because Ukrainians refuse to be treated in a hospital: “They arrive with high levels of adrenaline that make them claim that they do not need assistance to avoid being recognized, but they often have deep cuts and even fractures, as well as fatigue and hypothermia, so we call an ambulance.”

“Many say they would rather die in the mountains than in combat,” says Dan Benga, head of the Maramureș Regional Rescue Service, adding that “these are men who do not understand the problems they will face in their escape.” Along the 120 kilometers of mountainous area shared by the two countries, the deserters encounter peaks of up to 2,000 meters in altitude, waterfalls, cascades, and ravines up to 200 meters deep. “On average, it takes us 14 to 16 hours to save a person,” adds Benga, who recalls a rescue of six people on Christmas Eve two years ago that lasted 132 hours. “We have put up signs to avoid dangerous areas, but still some ignore the warnings; they think they might not be caught if they follow other routes,” he says. “Almost everyone is exhausted, dehydrated, hungry, and cold,” adds the rescuer, who predicts an increase in calls for help with the arrival of rain and fog.

“Ukraine has stepped up its controls, while we have strengthened our posts,” says Adi Opa, head of the border police in Sighetu Marmației, as he surveys the area from a wooden bridge linking the two countries. “Sometimes we get a warning that a person is crossing the river, and we immediately rush to help them,” he says. Every day, a Ukrainian citizen comes to the information booths located five meters from passport control to find out how to get through. “Mostly people from war zones like Kharkiv come to us to ask for information, but we tell them that it is difficult to provide them with accommodation,” says Stefana Dunca, a representative of the National Council for Refugees, from the office that the organization maintains at the border point.

At the border crossing, meanwhile, some Ukrainians of conscription age pass through legally. This is the case of Roman, who has travelled with his family to Slatina from Ternopil for a few days, and who is also taking the opportunity to visit the Romanian side. When asked why they let him cross, the 38-year-old holds up his left hand, missing four fingers, a birth defect, he says, that prevents him from being enlisted. He admits that he lives in fear in his city, where drones destroyed an oil depot a few days ago. “I am not leaving because all my family are there, but about 20 friends have already left.”

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