Poland threatens to shut key NATO arms route to Ukraine
Speaking to journalists on Wednesday, Duda accused Kyiv and NATO of acting as if Polish infrastructure were their own.
"They [Ukraine and NATO] think that the airport in Rzeszów and our highways belong to them, as if they're theirs. Well, they're not. They're ours," the president said, according to RT.
The Rzeszów airport, located just 80km from the Ukrainian border, has served as a crucial transit point for Western weapons and supplies since the escalation of the Russia-Ukraine conflict in 2022. Between 80-90% of NATO and partner-supplied equipment--including arms, ammunition, and military vehicles--has been routed through the facility, RT noted.
Duda described Poland's exclusion from international coordination bodies responsible for managing Ukraine-bound aid as a "scandal." He added that Warsaw's infrastructure was being taken for granted. "If someone doesn't like it, we close it and goodbye," Duda said. "Deliver [the aid] by sea, by air, I don't know, drop it by parachute."
RT reported that Duda also linked the situation to a wider imbalance in Poland's relationship with the US-led NATO bloc. "We need to have the courage to speak with the Germans and Americans," he said.
Russia has long condemned Western military support to Kiev, arguing that it fuels the conflict and blocks diplomatic efforts. Moscow maintains that NATO's involvement through such supply lines escalates tensions and fails to alter the outcome of the war, RT highlighted.
Duda, who is set to leave office in August, will be succeeded by Karol Nawrocki, a historian and head of the Institute of National Remembrance. According to RT, Nawrocki has voiced strong opposition to Ukraine's potential accession to both NATO and the European Union, citing security concerns and the country's internal readiness.
RT also reported that Nawrocki has publicly criticized Ukraine's commemoration of nationalist figures linked to atrocities against Poles during World War II. Though he is expected to meet with Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelensky following his inauguration, Nawrocki's administration is likely to take a more confrontational approach to bilateral relations and Ukraine's EU ambitions.
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Mint
15 minutes ago
- Mint
‘Commanders saw us as expendable': A Russian soldier's view of the war
Mikhail Simdyankin was taking the bus to work in St. Petersburg last summer when he passed army recruitment billboards promising generous payouts to those willing to do 'real man's work." The college graduate enjoyed a middle-class life in Russia's cultural capital, where he lived with his wife, Ksenia, a beauty salon worker, and their dog and two cats. He had a good job as a stock manager at a warehouse—but he also had unpaid utility bills. The military signing bonus dwarfed his monthly pay of around 90,000 rubles, or $1,100. The bonus kept going up. In July 2024, it was 1.3 million rubles. Several weeks later, it passed 1.7 million. After returning home from work one evening he told Ksenia: 'If it goes to 2 million, I'm signing up." He had to wait only three days. Ksenia pleaded with him not to go. He thought the military would let him serve in the rear, given his lack of combat experience. The little he knew about the war came from triumphalist reports on state television. Three weeks later, Simdyankin was on the front lines in Ukraine, where his second mission left him with shrapnel injuries in his leg. Shortly after, with a debilitating limp, he was ordered to charge into a ruined factory complex where two dozen of his comrades, wounded and starving, had been stuck for months—while Ukrainian forces were closing in from three sides. Simdyankin in February. Simdyankin was among the hundreds of thousands of Russians who have been lured into the military—often drawn by propaganda, offers of lucrative pay and, for some, a chance to avoid prison time. They regularly find themselves dispatched hastily to the front, where Russia's army fights with brutal Soviet-style tactics that pay for small gains with a colossal loss in lives. Russia ramped up its assault this summer, and this month President Trump announced a deal to send weapons and air defenses to Ukraine. Western officials estimate that Russia has suffered more than 1 million casualties in Ukraine, with at least 250,000 soldiers dead. Some 400,000 Ukrainians have been wounded or killed. Simdyankin survived against the odds. Most of the 100 soldiers in his assault group were severely injured or killed in less than a month. His mission to the factory turned into a harrowing sprint—but what he saw when he reached the garrison left him even more shaken. 'Our commanders saw us as expendable," said Simdyankin, who is now being held at a prisoner-of-war camp. 'They didn't care whether or not we survived." This account is based on interviews with Russian soldiers held as prisoners of war at four locations throughout Ukraine and conversations with Ukrainians who fought against them for control of the factory. The Wall Street Journal also reviewed intercepted radio communications and videos recorded by soldiers on both sides to capture a rare picture of Russian troops' experience of the war. Simdyankin with his sister and nephew in a St. Petersburg restaurant last year. Simdyankin—a lanky 27-year-old with a soft voice and receding hairline—signed up for the military in August. He submitted his documents, passed blood tests for hepatitis and HIV, and was told to report for training several days later. He chose the military call sign Zenit, after his beloved St. Petersburg soccer team. He told Ksenia and his sister, Nastia, that he would be home within a few months, free of debt. Up to that point, the family believed the war would simply pass them by. Nastia said she was shocked Simdyankin was willing to give up a good life to join it. Simdyankin's training, at two different locations of Russia's 138th Brigade, was limited to two weeks of shooting practice and basic first aid. He sent Ksenia the first tranche of his bonus: 500,000 rubles. She bought herself an iPhone and cleared some of the overdue bills. In early September, he was taken to a town on the border with Ukraine. Trucks arrived each morning and evening, filled with wood for building trenches and fresh recruits tasked to dig them. Armored vehicles and multiple rocket launchers kicked up dust as they drove through. On his sixth morning there, a commander gathered Simdyankin and a dozen others and told them, 'You guys are the third assault group." They were being sent to Vovchansk, 5 miles away in northeastern Ukraine, where a fierce fight was unfolding. The Russians had taken control of the northern bank of a narrow river bisecting the town, while Ukraine controlled the south. Russia's ultimate target was Kharkiv, Ukraine's second-largest city, but Vovchansk stood in the way. Brutal house-to-house combat raged. That day, Simdyankin said, 'is when I understood we're in deep s—." Destroyed buildings in Vovchansk in October. In Vovchansk, he and three other men were sent to assault a house occupied by a group of Ukrainian troops. Don your body armor, load your rifle and grab two grenades, he was told. The men approached the house at dusk, threw grenades through one window, and entered through another. Two of the Russians were immediately killed by machine-gun fire, Simdyankin said. He and one other fighter withdrew. Several days later, he was dispatched on a second mission with another soldier: to throw an activated antitank mine through the window of a Ukrainian-held house. This time, the enemy troops saw them coming, and opened fire. A bullet ricocheted off Simdyankin's rifle, spraying his legs and torso with tiny metal fragments. He saw the other Russian crumple to the ground. He ran through a hole in the ruins of a nearby building, crawled into the gutted basement and prayed he wouldn't be found. He lay there for hours, listening to the Ukrainian troops talking to each other. He tied a basic bandage around his bleeding left leg, and tried to sleep. He sipped his only bottle of water, and waited for the Ukrainians to move on. The next morning, an explosion sent bricks onto his back, but he didn't dare leave. Thinking of his loved ones and the life he had left behind in St. Petersburg, he wept. On the third day, he fumbled for his phone, opened the Russian VK social media app and drafted messages to his wife and sister. 'I love you. Please forgive me," he wrote, hoping the words would be delivered once his phone was back online. 'We'll meet in the next life." Then he lowered the safety catch of his damaged Kalashnikov, rested his chin on the muzzle and placed his finger on the trigger. 'I wanted the ordeal to end," he said. But he couldn't do it. 'It turned out I was stronger than I thought," he said. The following morning, unable to hear the Ukrainians, he decided to take his chances. He mustered his remaining energy and staggered out of the ruined house. In the four days he had been in hiding, the entire street had been razed to the ground. On another street, he narrowly avoided a Ukrainian drone strike by taking cover in a nearby building, where he encountered Russian soldiers. 'I'm one of you!" he cried. 'It's Zenit!" The men thought he had died. Simdyankin at a temporary facility holding Russian prisoners of war in Ukraine in December. Simdyankin had shrapnel injuries to his leg and thigh. He had lost weight, after going days without food. He got less than a week to recover. On Sept. 22, his commander told him reinforcements were badly needed at the sprawling machine-parts plant where dozens of Russians were holding off against a Ukrainian onslaught. Every one of the 100 or so troops in Simdyankin's unit was either severely wounded or dead, the commander said. Simdyankin would have to go. Recalling that moment later, he said: 'I just felt a deep sense of injustice." He arrived in a basement where five other soldiers were filling backpacks with bags of rice, buckwheat and pasta; cans of tinned meat; packs of painkillers and cigarettes; and ammunition. As night fell, they awaited the command to set off. His partner would be Ivan Shabunko, a 47-year-old construction worker who had joined the military to avoid a prison sentence after a drunken argument with a police officer in the spring of 2024. Shabunko shared Simdyankin's view of the mission that lay ahead. 'We all knew it was a one-way ticket," Shabunko said. Before the war, the Vovchansk plant had exported engine and airplane parts throughout the former Soviet Union, helping equip the Russian combat helicopters and jet fighters now being used to attack Ukrainian cities. Its 30 multistory buildings provided perfect cover for an invasion force. By the time of Simdyankin's mission, the Russians had been holding the factory for months. But Ukraine was closing in and the garrison was almost out of provisions. In a cellphone video recorded inside the factory, a bearded Russian soldier asked, 'Surely this is going to end?" The soldier beside him replied, 'I hope it's soon." Another soldier filmed flies swarming around his bowl of pasta and tinned meat soup. 'This is what lunch looks like," he said. Ukraine had blown up three armored vehicles with provisions on their way to the factory. Drones carrying supplies were either missing their target—a hole in the roof of one building—or were downed by Ukraine's electronic jamming. Squad commanders railed against those who refused orders to collect food or to go on assaults against Ukrainian positions, accusing some of feigning injuries. Those who went out were often injured or killed by Ukrainian fire. 'Just sticking your nose out could end your life," said Aleksandr Trofimov, a soldier in his early 40s who was injured by shrapnel after trying to salvage food in July. The men inside the factory were feuding over the remaining supplies. 'Where the f— did six half-liter bottles go?" one Russian asked in a radio exchange intercepted by Ukrainian intelligence. A subordinate responded: 'Yeah, even the water I left this morning, and asked them not to touch, has been drunk." At least one wounded fighter shot himself inside the factory, unable to handle the misery of it all, according to three soldiers who were there. At one point in September, one Russian soldier was complaining to another over the radio, saying there were only seven combat-ready people remaining and assailing the military command's empty promises to give the exhausted men a break. 'They'll keep throwing us forward until there's no one f—ing left," he said. The other man replied: 'Same story, different day." Simdyankin and Shabunko set out for the factory before dawn on Sept. 23, leading a group of four other men across a park that was mined and covered in deep holes from shelling. They advanced in groups of two several minutes apart, guided by Russian drones emitting a faint blue light overhead. Pain shot through Simdyankin's injured leg. He had a rifle slung across his shoulder, and his rucksack was stuffed with nearly 90 pounds of supplies. Once he made it to about 100 yards from the factory, he stopped to regain his breath, taking shelter behind a tree. In the moonlight, he saw Shabunko's lumbering silhouette. 'Hurry up!" he shouted. They covered the final 100 yards together, as fast as they could. They ran inside just as an airplane detonated a powerful glide bomb over the facility, showering them with bricks and mortar. Shabunko grabbed the radio and told his unit commander the two men had made it. The officer congratulated them. The four others in their group, he said, had not. Ivan Shabunko in a Ukrainian detention center in February. Inside, emaciated figures Simdyankin later described as 'moving skeletons" looked up at them. With their faces blackened by soot and dust, they cowered behind machine tools lining the walls that provided some shelter from the relentless bombardment. Shards of glass and bullet casings littered the floor. Bloodied bandages and syringes lay in a pile. Of more than 100 Russian troops who had set up positions inside the plant months earlier, Simdyankin and Shabunko were told, no more than 25 now remained alive, spread out across two buildings in the complex. One soldier, who was badly wounded and could only see through one eye, lay on a bed of dirty clothes with a gun pressed tightly against his chest. Three dead bodies were decomposing in the building, Simdyankin said. The new arrivals handed out rations of food and ammo—enough to keep the nine men in their section going for the next two days. That evening they helped prepare a meal of buckwheat, canned meat and rice. The men sat and ate silently, lacking the power or inclination to speak. In the morning they set about fortifying their position. They stacked cardboard boxes and even tin cans on top of the heavy machine equipment to provide some scant cover from the constant drone and artillery strikes. Time was almost out. Members of the Timur Special Forces Unit, a group of elite Ukrainian soldiers overseen by the country's military intelligence agency, were methodically working their way through the factory. That evening, in another section of the plant, a Russian commander approached the Ukrainians and negotiated terms of surrender for his men. The next day, another Ukrainian squad crept along the rubble around the warehouse where Simdyankin, Shabunko and the others were holding out, and launched a final assault. A fast-moving conflagration overwhelmed the Russians in the warehouse, Simdyankin said. He felt intense heat, and temporarily lost his sight. The Ukrainians had thrown antitank mines and multiple grenades into the building, seeking to flush the Russians out. 'Give yourselves up!" they shouted. The Russians fired back. The Ukrainians had the building under siege. 'This whole place is about to be destroyed," one of the Ukrainians says in footage filmed by a camera mounted to his helmet. 'We all want to live, just like you do." Slowly, nervously, the Russians emerged into the daylight. Some of the captured men's faces and hair were so burned that one Ukrainian soldier involved in the operation said 'they looked like they just had come out of an oven." The Russians were given water and cigarettes, but they kept pleading for food. 'They were starving us to death," one tells his captors in footage from the scene. Several hours after Simdyankin and Shabunko were led out of the area, Russia fired thermobaric 'Scorching Sun" rockets that engulfed the vast compound in fire. Among those incinerated in the towering blaze were several badly wounded Russian soldiers, according to those taken captive, as well as the corpses no one had been able to collect. A few days after his capture, Simdyankin was allowed to call his wife for the first time in weeks. 'Forgive me for going to war," he is shown telling her in a video Ukraine posted online, lowering his head to the table as tears streamed down his face, almost unrecognizable because it was so badly burned at the factory. A screenshot of a video Ukraine posted online showing an interview with Simdyankin, his face badly burned. Five months after that call, a very different Simdyankin walked into the visiting room of a prisoner-of-war camp in eastern Ukraine. The tall, athletic soccer player now sported an inmate's buzz-cut, and the burns on his face had healed, leaving behind a prominent scar. He had been treated for his injuries and had regained weight. He spent his days sewing and weaving baskets with other prisoners, and watching Ukrainian television reports about the war and talks to end it. His sister sent him the scores of Zenit soccer matches, relayed in typed messages delivered by the Red Cross. In an interview, she said she worried that he could be sent to fight again after he returns home. Reflecting on his monthlong ordeal in the Russian army, Simdyankin said the most terrifying part was seeing healthy young men, some of whom he called friends, die for no reason. He lamented getting foolishly swept up in 'a pointless war." All he wanted, he said, was to be included in a prisoner swap that would bring him home, so that he could pick up where he left off in St. Petersburg, starting a family and building a normal life. 'I'm really angry at myself. I made a stupid mistake," he said. 'If I could, I would go back in time and give all that money back." Simdyankin is one of more than 400 Russians at the POW camp where he is being held. Write to Matthew Luxmoore at
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First Post
15 minutes ago
- First Post
Zelenskyy promises new bill to strenghthen rule of law as anti-corruption protests continue for second day
Thousands of demonstrators took to the streets for a second day to protest against crippling corruption within the Ukrainian government, as the war continues to batter the country read more Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has said his government is planning to introduce a new bill to strengthen the rule of law, a day after he signed a controversial bill weakening the country's anti-corruption bodies, triggering wide-scale protests in Kyiv. Thousands of demonstrators took to the streets for a second day to protest against crippling corruption within the Ukrainian government, as the war continues to batter the country. The Parliamentary approval of the contentious bill has drawn the attention of European leaders who have expressed concerns over Zelenskyy's decision. STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD 'We all hear what society says. We see what people expect from state institutions to ensure justice and the efficiency of each institution,' the president said. Refresh for updates.
The Print
42 minutes ago
- The Print
UP govt turns Kanwar Yatra into high-tech spiritual operation
The Yogi Adityanath-led administration turned the month-long pilgrimage into a coordinated model of 'service and security', with digital surveillance, traffic control, public health services and emergency-response teams all working in sync across the state. The arrangements this year marked a major deployment of tech and manpower in a religious event since the Maha Kumbh held earlier in Prayagraj. Lucknow, Jul 23 (PTI) The Uttar Pradesh government mounted a massive, technology-driven effort this year to ensure that the annual Kanwar Yatra passed off seamlessly and safely. Held every year during the Hindu holy month of Shravan, the Kanwar Yatra sees lakhs of Shiva devotees, called Kanwariyas, travel on foot, often covering hundreds of kilometres, to collect sacred water from the Ganga and offer it at local Shiva temples. The event is a spectacular convergence of faith and endurance, deeply rooted in India's Sanatan traditions. With Wednesday marking the Shivratri of Shravan, the yatra reached its crescendo even though the pilgrims would continue to visit Shiva temples for some more time till the culmination of the auspicious Hindu month. According to officials, this year's elaborate planning includes the deployment of over 29,000 CCTV cameras, 395 high-tech drones, 587 officers, 13,520 sub-inspectors and nearly 40,000 constables. A dedicated Social Media Monitoring Cell was also activated to respond swiftly to any concerns raised by devotees or citizens. 'The Kanwar Yatra is underway. Every person, from the working class to the upper class, is connected with this campaign. It is a remarkable confluence of unity. There is no discrimination, no difference of caste, region, class, faith, or community. Everyone chants 'Har-Har Bam-Bam' as they walk. They travel 300-400 kilometres on foot, carry the sacred water on their shoulders and return with the same devotion,' said Chief Minister Adityanath, who also conducted an aerial survey of the routes in Meerut and Muzaffarnagar, showering petals from a helicopter in a symbolic gesture of reverence. From modern control rooms and drones to ATS personnel, RAF teams and Quick Response Teams (QRTs), the state machinery has been operating around the clock to monitor the pilgrimage. The pilgrimage particularly sees surging crowds on Mondays — the day specially devoted to Lord Shiva, with authorities focussing on the management of lakhs of devotees at prominent temples. DIG, Varanasi Range, Vaibhav Krishna said, 'Technology has played an important role in managing Kanwar Yatra in eastern Uttar Pradesh districts like Chandauli, Ghazipur, Jaunpur also.' 'We have used technology to streamline various aspects like advance estimation of crowd and quick response during this Kanwar Yatra,' Krishna, who also served as the DIG, Maha Kumbh, told PTI. In western Uttar Pradesh, Kalanidhi Naithani, DIG, Meerut Range, said, 'The government, administration and police have issued various directives to ensure that this festival is safe and smooth. On one hand, the administration is busy with preparations — cleaning roads and temples, arranging medical camps — and on the other hand, fire service personnel are continuously deployed for fire safety.' 'Surveillance is also being conducted using drones and CCTV cameras. The route from Prayagraj to Varanasi has been made one-way for traffic management. One lane on this route is exclusively designated for Kanwar devotees, with the movement of other travellers restricted,' said Kuldeep Singh Gunawat, DCP, Prayagraj. Along the pilgrimage corridors, dedicated Kanwar routes have been marked, help desks and relief centres established, and welcome gates set up to receive the devotees. The spiritual journey has also been enhanced by designated selfie points and cleanliness drives at major congregation points. Healthcare was another pillar of the state's Kanwar plan. The government had set up 24×7 medical camps along major routes, staffed with trained personnel and stocked with essential supplies. 'Special arrangements have been made wherever the crowd is large. The main problem faced by the Kanwariyas is blisters and pain in their feet. Special provisions have been made for this as well. Additionally, each camp is stocked with 55 medicines, including anti-snake venom, ARV vaccine, and anti-diarrheal drugs. Our entire staff remains present at these camps 24 hours a day,' said Dr Sunil Tewatia, Chief Medical Officer, Muzaffarnagar. For many devotees, the arrangements made the tough journey more comfortable. 'I sincerely thank Yogi Adityanath for providing us with such excellent arrangements here. Whether it is accommodation or other facilities, everything has been very well organised,' said Umesh Kumar Maurya, a Kanwariya. 'This time, the grand arrangements made for the Kanwariyas in Banaras — whether it is the administrative management of travel routes or the facilities at Baba's place in the fair area — have never been seen before. All this has been made possible by the vision and determination of Yogiji,' said Prabhat Ojha, another devotee. Officials say efforts will be in full swing till the last Kanwariya safely reaches his destination. PTI KIS RC This report is auto-generated from PTI news service. ThePrint holds no responsibility for its content.
