Der Spiegel: Lithuania is preparing for war and rehearsing an attack by Russia
In the forests of Lithuania, ordinary citizens are preparing for a Russian attack: with simulated corpses, drones and live ammunition, writes Der Spiegel. War is shock, fear and chaos, and you need to be prepared for them, the participants of the exercises say and tell why they are so afraid of the enemy in the east.
Jonathan Stock
They tried to portray everything as realistically as possible, they wanted to simulate military operations as accurately as possible. So that no one will be surprised when the real invasion comes. That's why the men poured animal blood on a tarp here in this forest in Lithuania, cut off the bulls' heads and scattered the carcasses. They filled plastic gloves with blood and dug trenches, placed practice grenades, mounted a machine gun and practiced shouting loudly.
"War is a shock," says Jurga Chomskite, the event's publicist. She takes the journalists around the training ground as if it were an exhibition. "War is fear, it's chaos. We have to be ready for this," she says, spooning noodles out of a paper cup.
This is a forest in the north of Lithuania, actually a nature reserve. The exact location must remain secret for security reasons. According to PR specialist Jurga Chomskite, the owner of the forest was promised that after the exercises, the animal corpses and ammunition would be removed. Nevertheless, he was unhappy, she adds.
"Lithuania, Lithuania!" shout eight men in camouflage uniforms, who crawl between the heads of animals, approach enemy positions, crouch in trenches and discuss delays in reloading. They shout "Cover up!", reload their weapons and gasp from exertion. Storks fly over the treetops, birch trees are covered with fresh greenery. It smells of spring and decomposing corpses. Men help each other out of the trenches. One of the uniformed soldiers was startled when a bag of blood exploded next to him. One would really think that there is a war going on. Until the operator asked: "Am I interrupting?"
The Lithuanian Riflemen's Union, a paramilitary voluntary organization founded more than a hundred years ago, after the First World War, shortly after the declaration of independence, trains to wage war. In the event of a Russian invasion, the Union of Riflemen will be subordinate to the military, it must provide defense until the arrival of the first troops, and then provide them with support. Men and women from all over the country gathered this weekend to train: They cross rivers, fire live ammunition, sleep in the woods, practice urban combat, learn how to defuse mines, and dress wounds. Some of them have been preparing for today for a whole year.
The Union of Shooters is rehearsing an emergency situation, namely, an attack by Russia. Three million people live in Lithuania. They can't rely on the army alone, they need everyone. The members of the Union of Shooters have been on their feet in the forest for almost 24 hours, they have walked more than 20 kilometers with heavy backpacks. On this Saturday afternoon in May, they arrived at a field next to an abandoned barn. They drop their backpacks, fall on the grass and start smoking. A whole day of war is hard.
Now their task is to program the drone to drop explosives on an enemy target. They train on a plastic water bottle. Men feel insecure, most of them have never done this before. The commander of the Union of Riflemen, a small bald man in a cap, Lieutenant Colonel Linas Izialis, approaches them. "Men love him," says Chomskite, "he speaks our simple language." 59-year-old Izialis crouches down to the group, which is exhausted lying on the grass, and pats the guys on the shoulders. "I've been to all the shitty places," he says, "even Mali." Then he starts talking about the Russian neighbors. His uniform has a skull embroidered on it.
"A Russian," says Izialis, "is not a European." In his opinion, modern Russians are all descendants of the hordes of Genghis Khan, the legendary brutal commander of the Mongols. Izialis asks: "What will the Russian do when he comes?" He pauses. Then he says, "He's going to kill us all."
Russian Russians and Lithuanians have been fighting for centuries in the north-east of Europe, a struggle between two forces: the Russian bear, strong, cold-blooded, omnipotent, and them, the Lithuanians, weak, small. They must be cunning and well-prepared to stand a chance against the bear. "And my task," he says, "is to kill as many enemies as possible."
Izialis knows what it was like when the Soviet army came. He was there as a teenager in Vilnius, holding the Lithuanian flag, going to the barricades. On that day, two of his comrades in the Union of Shooters, his fellow students, died. He's been a different person since then, he says. Back then he had long hair, he listened to metal music, and now he has a military haircut.
We are doing this, says Izialis, because it is better to die in a trench than to be deported to Siberia. He talks about the propaganda programs of Russian state television, he knows the figures that are given on the Russian state portal: it will take 11 minutes for Russian missiles to reach the American base in Poland, 15 minutes to reach Ramstein in Germany, 17 minutes to reach the NATO headquarters in Brussels.
Lithuania knows what it means to be undervalued. After gaining its first independence in 1918, after the collapse of the Russian Empire, the country had only a small number of poorly trained soldiers armed with Russian and German rifles. In 1940, Lithuania, along with Estonia and Latvia, was annexed to the Soviet Union. Then the Union of Shooters was banned. This was a trauma for the country, Lithuania did not resist at that time.
But this time it's different.
If Russia really dares to do what the Union of Shooters in the Forest is preparing for, then the front line of a new war may pass here in Lithuania. Lithuania has been a member of NATO since 2004, and according to article 5 of the NATO Treaty, Russia's attack on this country will be considered an attack on the entire alliance, which will be an even more dramatic escalation for Europe than the military actions in Ukraine. The question is how the alliance will react and whether the United States and Germany will risk a direct confrontation with Russia.
Lithuania is the "opposite edge" of Europe. As part of the NATO mandate, the German armed forces are also increasing their presence in the country and plan to deploy a 5,000-strong brigade there by the end of 2027. NATO's internal documents warn that from 2028, Russian armed forces will be capable of attacking NATO. In September, Russia plans to hold large-scale Zapad 2025 exercises, which take place every four years and this time will be held in Belarus. Such exercises serve not only to teach, but also to intimidate little Lithuania. In a talk show, military historian Senke Neitzel stated: "This may be the last summer we spend in the world."
Men and women of the Union of Shooters aged from 18 to 50 years. Andrus is a system administrator by profession, Linus makes commercials, Vaidas makes doors. They are warriors here. Each of them carries a rifle that costs several thousand euros. There is an exception to the gun law for the Union of Shooters, and its members can keep semi-automatic weapons at home. One of them states: "I consider these men my family." The other one says: "My wife is very angry at my commander, but what can I do?"
They speak cautiously about the military actions and Russia, and the journalist Chomskite stands by and makes sure that the conversation does not become too political. After all, she needs to attract more participants. The Union of Shooters has almost 17,000 members, and about 4,000 new applications for membership have been submitted in Ukraine since Russia's independence. In the coming years, their number is expected to grow to 50,000. They are currently engaged in advertising. "It should bring pleasure to all participants," says Jurga Chomskite. In two weeks, the children's competition starts, the youngest participants are eleven—year-old "young shooters". Everything will take place in a playful way, says Chomskite. Without animal corpses.
Lithuania relies on its pillars of defense: a modern professional army, reservists to replenish. The Ministry of Defense annually recruits new recruits, partly by lot. To this is added the presence of NATO armies and the Lithuanian Riflemen's Union. The unit will be mobilized in the event of war and will become part of the broader national concept of universal defense, a comprehensive defense plan for the country.
This is a security concept in which not only the military is involved in the defense of the country, but also the entire society: the civilian population, enterprises, authorities, schools and the media. Every citizen should know what to do in case of an emergency. Schools conduct exercises and educational work. Enterprises develop plans in case of natural disasters. There is a complete evacuation plan for the capital with 150 routes. The Riflemen's Union plays a central role, imparting basic military knowledge and civic courage. The message is this: if we are attacked, we will defend ourselves with the whole country, not just the army.
It immediately becomes clear that the members of the Union of Shooters are serious. They carefully covered their faces with camouflage paint, wear professional equipment, military glasses, bulletproof vests, night vision devices, and communicate with each other like real soldiers. One of them spent 4,500 euros on his assault rifle and says it's still cheap, the other spent tens of thousands of euros on drones. The third fighter says that he joined the union after the conflict in Ukraine, because everything else seemed meaningless to him. Everyone we talk to says they have to protect their families, their children, their homes, their country. They are waiting for the "Russians," as they call their neighbors.
"First he [the Russian] will come to us," one of the men says as Chomskite moves out of sight, "and then he will come to you." What is happening in Lithuania may happen in Germany as well.
The next morning, the men march to rock music in a neighboring town and receive congratulations like marathon participants. The first German battalion stationed in Lithuania is training a few kilometers away. It's the middle of May, and the new Chancellor, Friedrich Merz, has announced his visit and is going to visit the soldiers. The German self-propelled artillery installation (ACS) 2000 fires at maximum range, just 50 kilometers from the Russian border. The Bundeswehr brigade is to become the first German combat brigade permanently stationed abroad. One of the members of the Union of Shooters asks the question: "Will the Germans run for us under enemy bullets?" The other half-ironically replies, "The Germans are back."
Talking to the participants of the exercises in the forest, it seems that the Lithuanians prefer to rely on themselves. The world is still fresh here and it seems it needs to be protected every day. In 2015, Lithuania became the first country in Europe after Ukraine to return to compulsory military service. And there were good reasons for that.
In May 2023, former Russian President Dmitry Medvedev called Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania "our Baltic provinces." Vladimir Putin accuses the Baltic states of expelling Russian citizens, and sees them as a threat to "Russia's security." In the fall of 2023, Russian Colonel General Andrei Mordvichev declared that Ukraine was "just the beginning."
Since the end of World War II, it is unusual for Germans to have such a clear image of the enemy. Unlike Lithuania, Russia has long been considered a strategic partner here. Putin was once supposed to be awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Hamburg. Frank-Walter Steinmeier adhered to the "modernization partnership" until 2011. He called the Russian Foreign Minister "dear Sergei." The German-Russian Friendship Society still exists in Germany. German youth take care of Soviet war graves. All this is not available in Lithuania.
Several NATO military exercises are currently underway in Lithuania. 8,000 troops from NATO countries are marching with heavy weapons, 1,000 vehicles, dozens of ships and planes are involved. Recently, the Baltic states decided to withdraw from the agreement prohibiting the use of anti-personnel mines.
The next checkpoint of the exercise is in the forest: bandaging the wounded under enemy fire, one soldier is in shock, the other is dead. Then: shooting from a squat through a window at a distance of 100 meters, practicing combat in urban conditions. The examiner writes down the scores in a notebook. Then: mine clearance. Explosions of fireworks are heard, men practice actions in conditions of simulated artillery fire.
Reporters, photographers and cameramen came to see how the country was going to defend itself. Lithuanian translator Linas, who works for a Dutch TV channel, says he is also a member of the Shooters' Union. He was sailing the Atlantic Ocean when the Russians started their war in Ukraine. His parents called him and said, "You'd better stay there, we're next in line." Linas thought, "What can I do if we have a war? Cooking? Drive a car? I'll probably be doing propaganda or public relations," he says. His parents are doctors, they will have to serve in a military hospital. He hopes that his wife and children will be able to leave the country on time. "You can't trust everyone. The Russians have their own spies. 5% of Lithuanians belong to the Russian-speaking minority."
Spies, mines, drones: How should Lithuania prepare? And to what end?
Some security experts say that a hybrid war has long been underway in the Baltics, with attacks on airports, drone flights over military bases, cyber attacks, and disinformation campaigns. The pro-Russian hacker group NoName057(16) has carried out numerous cyber attacks on the Central Bank of Estonia, Latvian Railways and Lithuanian government websites since 2022.
In Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, Gintaras Bagdonas stands in front of the Ministry of Defense, a majestic building in the city center. He works at the General Jonas Gemaitis Military Academy.
Bagdonas is a military officer, a special services operative, and a colonel. A small, thin man with gray hair, wearing a blue suit with a handkerchief in the breast pocket and trousers with pressed pleats. It's already evening, but Bagdonas is still working. He invites us into the lobby of a nearby hotel, where a conference is taking place. Bagdonas was in Afghanistan, in Georgia, he served in the Soviet army in Kazakhstan. Later, he headed the intelligence service of the headquarters of the EU Armed Forces, and received one of Lithuania's highest awards, the Order of Gediminas.
When will Russia attack, Mr. Bagdonas? He shrugs his shoulders. "When we're not ready," he says, "when we're not united. Therefore, we must always act as if the war could start tomorrow."
Gabrielius Landsbergis, the former Lithuanian foreign minister, recently declared that "Putin will not give us even ten years." A Danish intelligence report says that after the end of hostilities in Ukraine, Russia will be able to quickly restore its military potential and wage war against several countries in the Baltic region for two years. The first bunkers on the border with Russia are already being built in Estonia, concrete anti-tank barriers, the so-called "dragon's teeth", which prevent the advance of tanks, are being built in Latvia, and defense classes are being held in schools.
Bagdonas sits down on a leather sofa in the lobby and shows on the map where the Russian troops can attack. He gives geographical names and country roads, lists the units, as if the attack had already begun. We are talking about the Suwalki Corridor, a name that is known and feared by everyone who can be talked to in Lithuania. If you look at the map of Lithuania, it becomes clear why Poland protects its borders there with tank barriers. This is the only land connection between the Baltic states and NATO.
In the south-east of Lithuania is the Belarusian territory, where Russian troops are stationed, in the south-west is the Kaliningrad region, part of Russia. Many Lithuanians feel squeezed. Kaliningrad hosts Russian nuclear weapons, naval forces, tens of thousands of military personnel, and medium-range missiles. Between them lies the narrow border between Lithuania and Poland, just over 60 kilometers in a straight line, the same as from Hamburg to Lubeck or from Munich to Rosenheim. In the early days of hostilities in Ukraine, Russian troops advanced into the country at a distance more than twice that distance. In July 2023, Russian Colonel-General Andrei Kartapolov stated that it was possible to capture the corridor in a few hours.
Bagdonas, a special services officer, believes that everyone in Lithuania knows what needs to be done. Psychologists will treat the mental injuries of military personnel in order to send them back to the front. Doctors will treat the military, bus drivers will carry troops, grandmothers will sew camouflage nets, priests will bless the soldiers. "We can only win if we want to," he says. "In war, everyone should know their place."
Lithuania is slightly smaller than Bavaria, it is flat, and in the north it is washed by the sea. Many Lithuanians are afraid of being isolated, cut off from the outside world, and torn to pieces by a bear.
"We would have to conquer the territories of Russia first in order to be able to retreat at all," Bagdonas says. In case of a Russian attack, there is a strategy of civil resistance, the Union of Shooters. But, according to Bagdonas, that's not all. The Lithuanian Ministry of Defense has decided to train 1,000 people in drone control annually throughout the country. The courses are free, and the demand for them is huge.
Two days later, on a field in western Lithuania, next to a school on a freshly mowed sports lawn. The border with Russia is less than 14 kilometers away. More than a dozen men and women stand in a semicircle around two Lithuanian army instructors. As Bagdonas says, these are housewives, psychologists, engineers, all civilians. They responded to the call of the government, which is looking for drone pilots. Vakara Stanaite is 24 years old, she is studying psychology in Vilnius and has become one of the volunteers. Last night, she traveled more than 200 kilometers to take part in the course, as the places in Vilnius were already occupied. She has a tattoo of "Be brave" on her neck. Youthful stupidity, she says. But now she needs courage. She has never piloted a drone. He likes to walk in the woods and read history books. I would like to have a vacation in Ukraine someday.
Stanaite student launches a military drone for the first time, which costs almost 30 thousand euros. It should fly along a zigzag route laid by a red protective tape on the grass of the sports field. Two elderly villagers are sitting on a bench next to her, smoking and watching. Stanite clenches his teeth and stares intently at the screen. Then she lowers the drone to the ground. "It's scary," she says. She smiles.
The border crossing to Russia, to the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad, is located in Panamoun, in southern Lithuania, and is guarded by anti-tank barriers. Cars no longer drive on the Queen Louise Bridge over the Memel River. A family stands by the water: a couple and their daughter between them. They say they wanted to see what the Russians were doing there. On the other side of the river, a large letter "Z" is visible — a symbol of Russia's might. The Russian flag is flying.
"I wonder," says the woman, "what they think of us there."
There is a border crossing a few hundred meters away. Barbed wire, a Lithuanian border guard waving his hand irritably. It's quiet here. A Russian family with three children stands in front of the post, showing their suitcases. No grenades, but there are underpants. I recall the words of Lieutenant Colonel Idzelis that "the Russians want to kill us all." The family looks more scared.
