Igor Kolesov served in Afghanistan from 1986 to 1987.
He describes his time as a sniper with the rank of junior sergeant. He was discharged due to injuries, including abdominal damage, shrapnel, and eye impairment. Today, he runs a modest private security company.
After leaving the service because of injuries, he returned to the USSR six months ahead of schedule. He rode a plane to Tashkent, then took a train to Moscow. Like many discharged soldiers, there was no official send-off or welcome. He was twenty years old at the time.
On his return, he faced practical challenges. He was summoned to the prosecutor’s office, initially fearing trouble. He spoke plainly about his desires, explaining that he wanted to continue studying and work at the same time. He enrolled in pedagogy school as a full-time student while taking a job in cash collection on the side, still under the Soviet system.
The state offered some support, but it felt inadequate. He received a modest stipend, and a finance chief in Kabul promised assistance that never arrived.
He recalls a climate of indifference, recalling signs in the traffic police that suggested veterans were not prioritized. At a local office, a clerk asked him what kind of veteran he was and where he was headed, underscoring the difficulty many veterans faced reintegrating into civilian life.
By 1992, a currency collapse drove prices up and life became precarious. He navigated the city alongside other collectors and crossed paths with various men from Solntsevo. He briefly drifted toward crime before choosing to leave it behind. He started a family again and focused on rebuilding his life.
Many Afghan veterans found themselves drawn into crime, a reflection of the upheaval of the era, when resources and loyalties shifted rapidly. The period demanded tough choices and resilience.
Under Yeltsin, several Afghan veterans received residences in Moscow through housing coupons. He secured a free apartment and was assigned to a private clinic as a combat participant.
Over time, Afghanistan faded from memory, though memories resurfaced through conversations over tea with fellow veterans who reconnected from time to time.
War left enduring marks, and the question of what comes next remained a constant concern. Observing today’s realities, many wonder what the future holds for the next five to ten years.
Alexander Prostakov served in Afghanistan in 1981-1982.
Drafted in spring 1980 at eighteen, he served in the Air Force as a gunner in the artillery division of the famed 345th Guards Parachute Regiment.
His service began in Fergana in the Uzbek SSR and concluded in 1982, with retirement as a reserve in the spring. He is grateful that he was not injured.
He describes returning home with his unit by helicopter to Kabul, then by civilian plane to Tashkent. At home, border guards and customs officers checked for contraband, but there were no parades or plaudits to welcome them back.
He headed toward his hometown, the village of Klyukva in the Kursk region, noting that he returned tanned and that neighbors wondered if he had gone to a resort. He fondly recalls telling them he served in the resort era.
The discharge came at twenty-one, and for a couple of years the transition to civilian life was rough. He experienced lingering tremors and night terrors, yet gradually adapted to peacetime routines.
In 1983 the state began extending benefits to veterans of the Great Patriotic War, issuing veterans certificates, housing assistance, medications, and utility discounts. In the 1990s, he converted this aid into monetary support, noting the limited access to privileged drugs.
He and fellow veterans would gather at the Afghan monument, opened in 1991, to honor their service and memories.
Years later, he encountered a comrade named Gena near the monument, and they would meet annually on Air Force Day and February 15th, though Gena later died of pneumonia. The memory of comrades endures in quiet, yearly reunions.
Afghanistan remains a dual memory for him: one side of life continues in civilian work, while another side lingers in the war’s experiences. He recalls sitting beside a gun, waiting for orders as the infantry moved to clear villages, and the sense of freedom that came with shared purpose in the field.
Each year, on the anniversary of troop withdrawal, letters or cards arrived, but such official commemorations have diminished. The veteran community fears being forgotten as times change.
Nikolai Ageev served in Afghanistan in 1981-1982.
Born in the Moscow region, he served in the 357th regiment, 4th company, 2nd battalion of the Vitebsk 103rd Airborne Division. He remembers Kabul first, then Bamiyan, returning home in November 1982.
He held roles as a machine gunner, senior marksman, and sapper — three trades in one. The guard corporal was discharged after service, and the unit earned respect as a standout in the division, known as the reserve of the army commander. Their operations kept them mobile, sometimes far from Kabul, navigating challenging terrain and fear that was constant yet manageable with discipline.
There were difficult moments, especially when a firefight erupted without warning. Yet the fear of the unknown was often the greatest challenge. Bullets whistled overhead, and the memories linger, though the boots and tools of the trade, including Tarpaulin boots, proved reliable enough to endure the harsh conditions.
They returned by Il-62, via Ashgabat and Vitebsk, where the division was stationed. The welcome home, like many, was not festive; few understood that a real war was ongoing in Afghanistan at the time.
Afterward, life shifted toward rebuilding. He found work in construction, a field he would stay connected to throughout his career. The Afghan brotherhood took shape in those years, binding veterans across regions through shared experiences and mutual support. This solidarity contrasted with later tensions in other conflicts, underscoring how veterans from different campaigns could still find common ground.
Life after the USSR’s collapse led him into business, with ventures in construction and trade. He operated a shop in Mosrentgen near the 27th brigade and recalled how friendships among Afghan veterans helped steer opportunities and keep trouble away. Some veterans faced friction with debt, but the community could mobilize to recover funds and keep trust alive.
Today, he serves as the president of a public organization for veterans of intertwined warfare. The group organizes car rallies, promotes medals, and transports humanitarian aid to Donbass, aiding fighters and civilians alike. They strive to preserve Afghanistan’s memory and their own, even as others press toward forgetting.
Valery Beluga served in Afghanistan in 1985-1986.
He describes his role as a reconnaissance radio operator with the 334th Independent Special Forces Detachment near Asadabad on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. The border was a tenuous, almost symbolic line, surrounded by rugged mountains and a sense of isolation. Losses ran high in his unit, with more than a hundred soldiers lost over three years.
Operations involved frequent night missions at Mujahideen bases, often in darkness where visibility was limited. The work demanded relentless vigilance because the enemy was elusive and capable. They hunted the fighters as the fighters hunted them, and trust in comrades and instinct was essential when equipment and artillery support could not be relied upon.
There were rare breaks during exits. At one moment, he recalls taking a short pause, taking vitamins and water, when the bombardment began. A senior comrade named Sergey Novitsky moved ahead, and a life-saving decision followed. Archival records show he completed 42 combat exits, an indicator of the endurance required in those years.
On returning home, Afghanistan occasionally resurfaced in his thoughts, though the intensity softened with time. Walking through the city, he could sense places that might still be dangerous. The remembrance remained personal and persistent, shaping his sense of caution, even decades later.
Today, some ask why they were there. The answer remains contested, but the memory endures as a reminder of those years and the broader history that followed. The veterans’ experiences reflect a complex chapter that continues to prompt reflection about the long-term consequences of conflict.