“The prison warden said: Forget all agreements regarding an exit from ‘Azovstal.’ How Volodymyr Nesmachnyi, a resident of Kyiv, flew to besieged Mariupol and spent 400 days in captivity”
Source: Novynarnia
Author: Maria Golub
Until February 24, 2022, Volodymyr Mazorchuk, a Kyiv resident and veteran of the “OUN” battalion, known by the nickname “Nesmachnyi” (under this alias, he—an ultras fan of the capital’s “Dynamo” team—has long been known among soccer fans) was engaged in national-patriotic education of young people.
With the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, as a platoon commander in the “Azov Kyiv” Territorial Defense Battalion, he took part in the liberation of the Kyiv region. He then volunteered to fly to the aid of the besieged defenders of Mariupol at “Azovstal.” He then spent over 400 days in Russian captivity, from which he was released on June 11, 2023.
The “Great” War motivated him to switch entirely to the Ukrainian language and redefine his priorities in life. In an interview with “Novynarnia,” in an interview with “Novynarnia.”
“Since 2021, we’ve been conducting training and preparing people for a major war”
– I’ve known for a long time that there would be a full-scale war. When the Russians were massing their troops near our borders and claiming that these were ‘exercises’—even then, we were prepared for something to happen. Calls had already begun to organize civil defense drills so that people could prepare. We’ve been conducting training since 2020–21. As the full-scale war drew nearer, there was a project called “Don’t Panic—Get Ready!”
I was one of the instructors; we were preparing the civilian population for war. And people asked back then, “What, is there really going to be a war?” They didn’t believe it was actually possible…
– Many people simply didn’t want to believe that such a war was possible in the 21st century. They thought they’d “work it out” and everything would somehow be resolved. But it turns out you, on the contrary, had been preparing for a major war for a long time. But not just as an instructor, but also as a combatant?
– Well, basically, my military career began back in 2014. When the Russians seized Crimea after the Maidan, it was stressful. Then the first volunteers began to gather —the “Dnipro,” “Donbas,” and “Aidar” battalions, along with many other volunteer units, were formed. Among them were the “little black men,” who became the “Azov” regiment.
I also went to war. I took part in the defense of the village of “Pisky” as part of the “OUN” battalion. And even then, I realized that this wasn’t just a local war—it was very serious.
Thanks to the bravery of our troops, including the volunteers, the front line held until 2016. Then things started to quiet down, more or less, and the front line didn’t change.
But then these calls to “stop shooting” began, along with the withdrawal of our troops.
– How did you feel at that moment?
– I felt a sense of betrayal. Since 2014, I’ve lost so many comrades—brothers in arms and just good friends—who died in the war. It felt as if even the Russians, who were throwing us “cannon fodder,” were saving their best units…
– Tell us about the first days of the full-scale invasion. Where were you, and what were you doing?
– Our first battalion, the “Azov Kyiv” Special Operations Battalion (which later served as the basis for the 3rd Separate Assault Brigade—“N”) was formed mainly from former “Azov” members, but also from members of the “Centuria” civic organization, to which I belong. Not just from Kyiv, but from all over Ukraine. Some people made their way to Kyiv, while those from Kharkiv, Pavlohrad, Dnipro, and Kryvyi Rih initially formed local defense units in their own areas.
– How did you end up in besieged Mariupol?
– Our friend Cherkas (Ihor Mykhailenko, second-in-command of the “Azov” regiment—Ed.) gathered us and announced that there was an opportunity to break the siege of Mariupol. Everyone said, “Okay, what are the options?”
At the time, I was a platoon commander and realized that we’d need a lot of people, as well as air support, equipment, and armored vehicles. And breaking through a 100-kilometer-long defensive line would be extremely difficult. So the idea was shelved for a while.
Then, during the battle for Moshchun, I ran into my friend Kirt. A couple of weeks later, I found out that he had been killed in action—in Mariupol. And I was like, “What?”
The next day, we were told to compile lists of volunteers to deploy to Mariupol—very quickly. I realized something was brewing again. They gathered us together, and nine men from my platoon flew to Mariupol. I consider that a success. Three of them, by the way, are members of “Centuria.”
– Did you realize that this could have been a one-way ticket?
– Well, as it turned out, not a one-way trip (laughs).
Yes, I was aware of all the risks. I actually thought I wouldn’t make it back. And while I was at “Azovstal,” I fully understood that this could be “the end.” The sea was behind us, the enemy was ahead—there was nowhere to retreat; we had to hold our ground to the very end.
The Russians said they’d fight until the last Ukrainian was gone—and that’s exactly how we would have stood our ground.
Commander Redis really motivated us. That’s why I saw no point in surrendering, even though I’d been wounded in Mariupol and then again right there at Azovstal. That didn’t stop me.
– Can you tell us about your injuries?
– In Mariupol, it was a shrapnel wound. A mortar round “landed.” Two pieces of shrapnel hit my chest, and one hit my neck.
And at Azovstal, a sniper hit me in the leg. It was a ridiculous situation there. He was shooting at my comrade first, hitting him in the buttock; the bullet went through his thigh. By the way, this comrade had also flown there with me. He was later evacuated as one of the first “300” cases—a critically wounded soldier.
So, this happened indoors. I started giving him first aid, and at that moment the sniper fired again. The bullet pierced my comrade’s kneecap and then entered my leg.
But it happened the way it happened. Everyone’s alive; everything’s fine.
“After Ilovaisk, it was obvious that Russia couldn’t be trusted. But an order is an order.”
– How did you react when you were given the order to surrender from “Azovstal”? Didn’t you feel any urge to “escape” quietly, blend in with the local population, swim across the sea, or something like that?
– Well, I did have those thoughts. But an order is an order. And it must be obeyed.
Of course, I thought about staying. After events like Ilovaisk, I realized that you simply can’t negotiate with Russia. I had friends who made it out of Ilovaisk… this is a country with which we must sever all diplomatic ties as much as possible. And we shouldn’t trade any resources with them.
Although I was “lucky” in captivity, and my situation was relatively mild. Not like that of most of the guys. I had food, and a place to sleep. I was held in Dovzhansk (formerly Sverdlovsk, Luhansk Oblast, occupied since 2014 – “N”) on the border with Russia. Even if you compare the 38th colony, where I was, and the 36th one next to it. The guys there were tormented; they were forced to sing Russian songs—their conditions were much harsher in every way.
– Is that the human factor?
– I think so. When they transferred us from Olenivka to Dovzhansk… By the way, when we were still in Olenivka, we saw Russian “Grad” rocket launchers pull up, fire “cassette” rounds, turn around, and drive off. They were clearly expecting a response. But no one responded… Later, at the penal colony in Dovzhansk, they told us that, supposedly, the Ukrainian army had shelled a hangar in Olenivka and our guys had been killed there. But I knew that was a lie.
So, when they transferred us to Dovzhansk, the warden of the correctional colony came in and said: “We’re forgetting all the agreements [regarding the evacuation from “Azovstal”] that you had there with your leadership—whatever they promised you there, whatever was stipulated by the Geneva Conventions—we’re forgetting all of it. If you behave calmly and don’t provoke us, we won’t touch you. If you act defiantly—there will be harsh sanctions.”
We decided that our health was more important. After “Azovstal,” our health wasn’t great anyway. Especially considering that we didn’t surrender of our own accord, but were following orders.
– Which was scarier and more mentally difficult: at Azovstal or in captivity?
– Probably in captivity. They psychologically pressured us by saying that “nobody needs us” and that “everyone has forgotten about us.” They might have used a little physical force here and there.
To be honest, though, I was beaten about four times during my entire captivity (over 400 days). Two of those times involved electric shocks.
– That’s still a lot. And it’s completely unacceptable. Not only under the Geneva Conventions, but also simply by the laws of humanity. Prisoners of war are defenseless and unarmed. You’re supposed to fight opponents who are your equals under equal conditions. Not by taking it out on those who are in a weaker position.
– Well, actually, a normal, self-respecting fighter would never behave like a beast toward a person he’s taken prisoner.
– Was physical force used against you specifically during interrogations?
– Twice during interrogations and a couple of times for no reason at all. “As a preventive measure.”
– What did they want to find out during the interrogations?
– It was all kinds of nonsense. About Nazism, for example. I’d say, “What Nazism? Where have you seen any Nazis here?” In the end, they were very surprised to realize they really hadn’t seen any Nazism, contrary to what they’d been told. They still had their own propaganda in their heads, but even under those conditions, they could still see the difference between what the propaganda said and reality.
I was held captive alongside National Guard soldiers from the Zaporizhzhia and Kryvyi Rih units. There were a few people from the 36th Marine Brigade. Those few who joined us at Azovstal had swum across the river.
I was questioned most frequently about whether the “Azov fighters” had committed any “criminal acts.” They wanted me to confirm information that went something like this: “So, look, the ‘Azov’ fighters ordered you to take gold, jewelry, currency—everything of value—out of houses and apartments. You take it all out, and they write down on a piece of paper where and from whom you took it. And after the war, they’ll supposedly give it back.” And then I was supposed to say that, in reality, they kept those things for themselves.
I said, “Wait, that didn’t happen.” And he said, “You misunderstood. You didn’t commit any violations yourself; you were following orders. You won’t face any consequences for this”…
– So they forced you to testify against your military leadership, against your commanders.
– They wanted me to “confirm” something that never happened. I replied that I didn’t even have an “Azov” commander. To which he said, “Wait, you’ll remember now.”
He took out a “tapik” (a field telephone that the Russians use to torture prisoners with electric shocks—Ed.), which was sitting by the entrance—a little box with wires. The first time, I held out for about 5 seconds. Then he asked, “Well, did you remember?” And I said, “No, I didn’t.”
I spoke to them in Ukrainian the whole time. It wasn’t because I didn’t know Russian—I speak Russian very well. But for me, speaking Ukrainian is a matter of principle. They say that we “oppress” them because of their language. Why, then, should they “oppress” me?
– Didn’t they try to recruit you?
– They did try. There was one interrogation where I could communicate “on equal terms” and ask my own questions—it was conducted by FSB agents. That was the last interrogation during which they tried to recruit me. It began with them asking me if I’d been in touch with my family and how long it had been. I replied that I’d been in touch while I was still in Kyiv, since I’d flown to Mariupol on March 29. They offered to let me contact my family and asked for my phone number.
I refused to provide that information. I realized that if I gave them the number now, my family could later be blackmailed or something like that. I said I didn’t remember the numbers.
Then they offered me a chance to cooperate with them. I replied that I was on a contract, and if I signed any “cooperation” agreement, I would end up in prison in Ukraine after the exchange. I told them that I had sworn an oath to the people of Ukraine and did not want to be a traitor.
In response, they told me that if I didn’t sign this “paper,” they wouldn’t exchange me—or they’d exchange me very late. I said I would sit and wait for my turn, and sooner or later it would come. Well, if not—then that’s just my fate.
Then their commander walked in, and we started talking about my worldview, about the war, how I see possible ways for it to end, and what I think about their “special military operation.” I said frankly that I was opposed to it and that Ukraine would win. And I see two paths to that victory: the first is that Russia withdraws all its troops from our territories, and the second is by force—we won’t just sit back and take it.
They tested me to see if my views were radical, telling me stories about “evil America” and “NATO biolabs.” “Come on,” I said, “what biological labs? Do you actually believe that yourselves?”
– Do they believe it?
– Unfortunately, they do. During that conversation, their commander showed that he had a “gun” hanging under his jacket and asked, “I have a gun, but my friend doesn’t—who are you going to attack?”
I said, “Why would I attack anyone? Under Ukrainian law, it’s illegal to attack anyone. If I attack, I’ll face criminal charges.” And he says, “Well, okay, here’s another scenario—you have your own territory, and you’re living there peacefully. But you see that your neighbor is starting to sharpen a knife…
“Fine,” I said, “let him sharpen it.” And then he starts insisting again that “the neighbor wants to attack me.” I replied that if he attacks, I’ll defend myself.
– So, was he trying to allegorically justify an attack on us that way?
– Exactly, as if we were the ones who wanted to attack them.
I asked why they don’t go and reclaim their so-called “own lands” in the U.S., for example? They replied: “Because the U.S. has nuclear weapons, and it would lead to a nuclear catastrophe.”
And we, it turns out, have been “putting up with it” because we don’t have nuclear weapons. And so, according to their logic, it’s “okay” to attack us. Because they don’t dare go where there are nuclear weapons and where they might get their asses kicked.
– So you even tried to convince those who were interrogating you—and who could beat or maim you. Didn’t your instinct for self-preservation kick in?
– They simply let me behave that way. It was a frank conversation; they let me “speak my mind.” And I listened to everything they had to say about this war. They wanted to get a sense of me, my worldview, and convince me to sign a cooperation agreement.
But still, there were things they didn’t like. They told me that “everything is bad” here. I replied that I had been working full-time, earning a decent living, and didn’t need their “help.” “Who,” I asked, “sent you to ‘liberate’ me?” Then they claimed that “I was the one who came to them.”
What do you mean?! I was defending Mariupol; I was at home, not on Russian territory. But still, they told me that I had “fallen for U.S. propaganda,” “European liberalism,” and so on. I explained that, for me, Ukraine must be an independent, united country that will eventually become a world leader.
But after returning and talking with my comrades from Mariupol and “Azovstal,” I realize how lucky I was. We even had a TV for the 70 of us in the barracks, and a radio. In September, when Redis was being exchanged, we picked up a Ukrainian radio station and heard about the exchange. I got goosebumps all over my body then. For a few days, we were able to listen to our radio and our news. Otherwise, we mostly got our information about the front lines from Russian news sources.
– So, is it possible to pick up Ukrainian radio stations in the occupied part of Luhansk Oblast?
– Well, we were able to, yes. And I’m sure that most likely some of the Ukrainians living in the occupied territories are listening to our “Suspilne” or some other radio stations.
“If I’d known back then what lay ahead for me—I still would have flown to Mariupol again without hesitation.”
Volodymyr Nesmachnyi with Maksym Levchenko, “Roger.” Both are members of the “Centuria” NGO; they defended the Kyiv region together, flew to Mariupol together, and returned from captivity
together
– How did you feel when you realized you were returning home?
– At first, I didn’t believe it. Because there were times when a person was supposedly being taken for an exchange, only to have them sent back to us. So I made it a rule not to get my hopes up. To believe, but not to hope. I was preparing myself for the fact that I’d be in captivity not for a year, or even two, but maybe much longer. When they picked me up from the prison camp, they said, “Don’t pack your things—you’re going home.”
Yeah, right, I thought. I know all about your “home”—some guys have already “been there.” We had a case where three people were taken from the penal colony supposedly for an exchange, and then they came back. We thought at the time that they had managed to return to the front after the exchange and were captured again. But it turned out they’d been taken to Mariupol for “investigative procedures.”
That’s why, at first, I didn’t believe I was going for an exchange.
– How did it all happen?
– First, they picked us up from Colony No. 38, then we drove to Colony No. 36—where they picked up some guys who were leaving the “Ilyich” factory, and one “Azov” fighter.
Then they took us to the Luhansk pretrial detention center; we were there from around 3 p.m. until 1 a.m. That night, they took us away and started driving us around Russia, picking up more guys. Then they put us all on a plane, and we took off.
Our eyes and hands were bound. The guys who managed to peek out thought we were flying somewhere east, toward the Caucasus or something like that. Then we landed somewhere; they removed our blindfolds, and I got off the plane and walked down the ramp. We were told to keep our heads down, but I couldn’t help myself—I looked up and saw a sign that read “Belgorod.”
They put us on a bus and told us to sit quietly, saying, “You’ll be home soon.” When we finally arrived [on Ukrainian territory], we realized that this was actually an exchange—and not some kind of transit stop or anything like that.
– How did you feel at that moment?
– My emotions, of course, were running high, but I tried to keep myself under control. Then they exchanged two more guys who had been with me, and a young man who had flown in by helicopter on March 31. There were a few other “Azov” fighters as well. And while we were in captivity, they told us that “all the ‘Azov’ fighters had been exchanged; they’re all home”…
– How did your family welcome you home from captivity?
– My mom was crying. Everyone had been waiting for me so eagerly.
– Looking back now, knowing what lay ahead for you, would you have volunteered to fly to Mariupol again?
– I don’t regret a single thing, and I wouldn’t change a thing. What’s more, if something like that were to happen again right now, I’d go back. Because back then, the first question I asked myself was: If I were in those guys’ shoes, would I want someone to come to my rescue? Of course I would. So it’s all pretty obvious.
“We’ll only win when the entire nation unites. And that’s not the case yet.”
– You’re currently undergoing rehabilitation in a city where life goes on: restaurants and entertainment venues are open, people go to concerts, and they believe we’ve almost won. That we’re about to reach Moscow. Doesn’t this dual reality make you angry?
– Tolerant people will probably tear me apart for this, but I actually have a pretty cynical attitude toward all of this. Let me break it down. Of course, we’re fighting to reclaim our territories, for our country, and for it to be free—so that we can feel free ourselves. What does that mean? It’s not just about driving Russia out of Ukraine—and then, “that’s it, we’re free.” It means that every Ukrainian understands their identity, that people learn history.
A truly new history is being written today. The guys on the Bakhmut front are writing their own history; we in Mariupol have already written ours. Every unit on the front lines is writing its own story. And in civilian life, too, certain people are writing their own stories. These are the people who volunteer. Thanks to these people, the soldiers are really holding on.
But when it comes to civilian cities—I’m surprised. No, I don’t want people in cities behind the front lines to walk around with their heads down, crying all the time about how bad things are. I want people to be a little happy that they live in such a beautiful country as Ukraine. But let them not forget that there’s a war going on here. A full-scale one.
If before February 24, 2022, they could say that the war was somewhere out there in Donbas, now it’s raging all over Ukraine—it’s hitting everywhere. And I walk past “Drunken Cherry” on Maidan, look at all this, and it makes me want to throw up—people are fixated on celebrating.
– And they’ll tell you about the “economic front,” because “someone has to boost the economy.” And they’ll “explain” that military salaries come from Ukraine’s budget, which is funded by businesspeople and those very same people from “Drunken Cherry”…
– Taxes are deducted from my salary, too. So does that mean I’m paying myself or something?
I was released from captivity and talk to a lot of guys who are fighting right now. They spend their “incentive” 100,000 on cars, vehicle repairs, drones, and other equipment. People think that since they’ve deducted 20 hryvnias from their paychecks for the Armed Forces of Ukraine, that’s enough. But do they ever stop to think that when the guys go on an assault, they regularly lose equipment, ammunition, and other supplies?
Or take this “I’m tired of the war” thing… Here’s my advice:
if anyone in Kyiv is “tired”—come to Donbas to replace those who aren’t “tired.” Let them get tired in Kyiv, and you won’t get tired over there.
– There’s a saying that “war isn’t for everyone.”
– So what, is it for me? Or just for those on the front lines? How does that even work? I just can’t understand it. People who can’t fight have to work their asses off here so the guys over there don’t get tired.
– How should that look in practice?
– Those who work in offices—they need to work twice as hard, constantly donate, and help out. Weave nets. The guys really need them. Or “decoys”—they need those to hide their cars and positions. Work during the day—and after work, you can come and weave nets.
Some Dynamo fans I know have started an organization, and they’re weaving a lot. In Poznyaki, Obolon. You’d think they’d get tired, too. But they find time to both work and weave. Others, though, get tired. Even though, aside from going to work and occasionally watching the news, they don’t do anything else.
– How do you see our victory? When will we be able to say, “We’ve won”?
– When the entire nation unites. Until that happens, we won’t win.
The guys are fighting the external enemy on the front lines. But within the country, people are tearing each other apart without even realizing it. Take the language issue, for example. Honestly? I’d like all Ukrainians to speak Ukrainian. Language is incredibly important to a nation. But if, for example, a fellow soldier who has spoken Russian his whole life is now trying to switch to Ukrainian little by little but isn’t quite there yet—and so still speaks Russian—we shouldn’t criticize him for it. Half of the “Azovstal” fighters were Russian-speaking.
– What should civilians do to bring victory closer?
– Someone who has never held a weapon, who is afraid to go to the front, can open Google and find organizations that offer training in first aid, FPV drones, and tactics. If you’re young—you’re welcome at “Centuria.” There are chapters in several cities: Lviv, Kyiv, Dnipro, and Kryvyi Rih. Reach out, find them on social media, find out when training sessions are scheduled, and attend the training. They’re held regularly. Keep developing yourself, and you won’t be so afraid of war anymore.
When someone tells me, “I wasn’t born for war”—well, my mom didn’t give birth to me for war either. But I went anyway, because I have to protect my family and our territory.
Author: Maria Golub
Until February 24, 2022, Volodymyr Mazorchuk, a Kyiv resident and veteran of the “OUN” battalion, known by the nickname “Nesmachnyi” (under this alias, he—an ultras fan of the capital’s “Dynamo” team—has long been known among soccer fans) was engaged in national-patriotic education of young people.
With the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, as a platoon commander in the “Azov Kyiv” Territorial Defense Battalion, he took part in the liberation of the Kyiv region. He then volunteered to fly to the aid of the besieged defenders of Mariupol at “Azovstal.” He then spent over 400 days in Russian captivity, from which he was released on June 11, 2023.
The “Great” War motivated him to switch entirely to the Ukrainian language and redefine his priorities in life. In an interview with “Novynarnia,” in an interview with “Novynarnia.”
“Since 2021, we’ve been conducting training and preparing people for a major war”
– I’ve known for a long time that there would be a full-scale war. When the Russians were massing their troops near our borders and claiming that these were ‘exercises’—even then, we were prepared for something to happen. Calls had already begun to organize civil defense drills so that people could prepare. We’ve been conducting training since 2020–21. As the full-scale war drew nearer, there was a project called “Don’t Panic—Get Ready!”
I was one of the instructors; we were preparing the civilian population for war. And people asked back then, “What, is there really going to be a war?” They didn’t believe it was actually possible…
– Many people simply didn’t want to believe that such a war was possible in the 21st century. They thought they’d “work it out” and everything would somehow be resolved. But it turns out you, on the contrary, had been preparing for a major war for a long time. But not just as an instructor, but also as a combatant?
– Well, basically, my military career began back in 2014. When the Russians seized Crimea after the Maidan, it was stressful. Then the first volunteers began to gather —the “Dnipro,” “Donbas,” and “Aidar” battalions, along with many other volunteer units, were formed. Among them were the “little black men,” who became the “Azov” regiment.
I also went to war. I took part in the defense of the village of “Pisky” as part of the “OUN” battalion. And even then, I realized that this wasn’t just a local war—it was very serious.
Thanks to the bravery of our troops, including the volunteers, the front line held until 2016. Then things started to quiet down, more or less, and the front line didn’t change.
But then these calls to “stop shooting” began, along with the withdrawal of our troops.
– How did you feel at that moment?
– I felt a sense of betrayal. Since 2014, I’ve lost so many comrades—brothers in arms and just good friends—who died in the war. It felt as if even the Russians, who were throwing us “cannon fodder,” were saving their best units…
– Tell us about the first days of the full-scale invasion. Where were you, and what were you doing?
– Our first battalion, the “Azov Kyiv” Special Operations Battalion (which later served as the basis for the 3rd Separate Assault Brigade—“N”) was formed mainly from former “Azov” members, but also from members of the “Centuria” civic organization, to which I belong. Not just from Kyiv, but from all over Ukraine. Some people made their way to Kyiv, while those from Kharkiv, Pavlohrad, Dnipro, and Kryvyi Rih initially formed local defense units in their own areas.
– How did you end up in besieged Mariupol?
– Our friend Cherkas (Ihor Mykhailenko, second-in-command of the “Azov” regiment—Ed.) gathered us and announced that there was an opportunity to break the siege of Mariupol. Everyone said, “Okay, what are the options?”
At the time, I was a platoon commander and realized that we’d need a lot of people, as well as air support, equipment, and armored vehicles. And breaking through a 100-kilometer-long defensive line would be extremely difficult. So the idea was shelved for a while.
Then, during the battle for Moshchun, I ran into my friend Kirt. A couple of weeks later, I found out that he had been killed in action—in Mariupol. And I was like, “What?”
The next day, we were told to compile lists of volunteers to deploy to Mariupol—very quickly. I realized something was brewing again. They gathered us together, and nine men from my platoon flew to Mariupol. I consider that a success. Three of them, by the way, are members of “Centuria.”
– Did you realize that this could have been a one-way ticket?
– Well, as it turned out, not a one-way trip (laughs).
Yes, I was aware of all the risks. I actually thought I wouldn’t make it back. And while I was at “Azovstal,” I fully understood that this could be “the end.” The sea was behind us, the enemy was ahead—there was nowhere to retreat; we had to hold our ground to the very end.
The Russians said they’d fight until the last Ukrainian was gone—and that’s exactly how we would have stood our ground.
Commander Redis really motivated us. That’s why I saw no point in surrendering, even though I’d been wounded in Mariupol and then again right there at Azovstal. That didn’t stop me.
– Can you tell us about your injuries?
– In Mariupol, it was a shrapnel wound. A mortar round “landed.” Two pieces of shrapnel hit my chest, and one hit my neck.
And at Azovstal, a sniper hit me in the leg. It was a ridiculous situation there. He was shooting at my comrade first, hitting him in the buttock; the bullet went through his thigh. By the way, this comrade had also flown there with me. He was later evacuated as one of the first “300” cases—a critically wounded soldier.
So, this happened indoors. I started giving him first aid, and at that moment the sniper fired again. The bullet pierced my comrade’s kneecap and then entered my leg.
But it happened the way it happened. Everyone’s alive; everything’s fine.
“After Ilovaisk, it was obvious that Russia couldn’t be trusted. But an order is an order.”
– How did you react when you were given the order to surrender from “Azovstal”? Didn’t you feel any urge to “escape” quietly, blend in with the local population, swim across the sea, or something like that?
– Well, I did have those thoughts. But an order is an order. And it must be obeyed.
Of course, I thought about staying. After events like Ilovaisk, I realized that you simply can’t negotiate with Russia. I had friends who made it out of Ilovaisk… this is a country with which we must sever all diplomatic ties as much as possible. And we shouldn’t trade any resources with them.
Although I was “lucky” in captivity, and my situation was relatively mild. Not like that of most of the guys. I had food, and a place to sleep. I was held in Dovzhansk (formerly Sverdlovsk, Luhansk Oblast, occupied since 2014 – “N”) on the border with Russia. Even if you compare the 38th colony, where I was, and the 36th one next to it. The guys there were tormented; they were forced to sing Russian songs—their conditions were much harsher in every way.
– Is that the human factor?
– I think so. When they transferred us from Olenivka to Dovzhansk… By the way, when we were still in Olenivka, we saw Russian “Grad” rocket launchers pull up, fire “cassette” rounds, turn around, and drive off. They were clearly expecting a response. But no one responded… Later, at the penal colony in Dovzhansk, they told us that, supposedly, the Ukrainian army had shelled a hangar in Olenivka and our guys had been killed there. But I knew that was a lie.
So, when they transferred us to Dovzhansk, the warden of the correctional colony came in and said: “We’re forgetting all the agreements [regarding the evacuation from “Azovstal”] that you had there with your leadership—whatever they promised you there, whatever was stipulated by the Geneva Conventions—we’re forgetting all of it. If you behave calmly and don’t provoke us, we won’t touch you. If you act defiantly—there will be harsh sanctions.”
We decided that our health was more important. After “Azovstal,” our health wasn’t great anyway. Especially considering that we didn’t surrender of our own accord, but were following orders.
– Which was scarier and more mentally difficult: at Azovstal or in captivity?
– Probably in captivity. They psychologically pressured us by saying that “nobody needs us” and that “everyone has forgotten about us.” They might have used a little physical force here and there.
To be honest, though, I was beaten about four times during my entire captivity (over 400 days). Two of those times involved electric shocks.
– That’s still a lot. And it’s completely unacceptable. Not only under the Geneva Conventions, but also simply by the laws of humanity. Prisoners of war are defenseless and unarmed. You’re supposed to fight opponents who are your equals under equal conditions. Not by taking it out on those who are in a weaker position.
– Well, actually, a normal, self-respecting fighter would never behave like a beast toward a person he’s taken prisoner.
– Was physical force used against you specifically during interrogations?
– Twice during interrogations and a couple of times for no reason at all. “As a preventive measure.”
– What did they want to find out during the interrogations?
– It was all kinds of nonsense. About Nazism, for example. I’d say, “What Nazism? Where have you seen any Nazis here?” In the end, they were very surprised to realize they really hadn’t seen any Nazism, contrary to what they’d been told. They still had their own propaganda in their heads, but even under those conditions, they could still see the difference between what the propaganda said and reality.
I was held captive alongside National Guard soldiers from the Zaporizhzhia and Kryvyi Rih units. There were a few people from the 36th Marine Brigade. Those few who joined us at Azovstal had swum across the river.
I was questioned most frequently about whether the “Azov fighters” had committed any “criminal acts.” They wanted me to confirm information that went something like this: “So, look, the ‘Azov’ fighters ordered you to take gold, jewelry, currency—everything of value—out of houses and apartments. You take it all out, and they write down on a piece of paper where and from whom you took it. And after the war, they’ll supposedly give it back.” And then I was supposed to say that, in reality, they kept those things for themselves.
I said, “Wait, that didn’t happen.” And he said, “You misunderstood. You didn’t commit any violations yourself; you were following orders. You won’t face any consequences for this”…
– So they forced you to testify against your military leadership, against your commanders.
– They wanted me to “confirm” something that never happened. I replied that I didn’t even have an “Azov” commander. To which he said, “Wait, you’ll remember now.”
He took out a “tapik” (a field telephone that the Russians use to torture prisoners with electric shocks—Ed.), which was sitting by the entrance—a little box with wires. The first time, I held out for about 5 seconds. Then he asked, “Well, did you remember?” And I said, “No, I didn’t.”
I spoke to them in Ukrainian the whole time. It wasn’t because I didn’t know Russian—I speak Russian very well. But for me, speaking Ukrainian is a matter of principle. They say that we “oppress” them because of their language. Why, then, should they “oppress” me?
– Didn’t they try to recruit you?
– They did try. There was one interrogation where I could communicate “on equal terms” and ask my own questions—it was conducted by FSB agents. That was the last interrogation during which they tried to recruit me. It began with them asking me if I’d been in touch with my family and how long it had been. I replied that I’d been in touch while I was still in Kyiv, since I’d flown to Mariupol on March 29. They offered to let me contact my family and asked for my phone number.
I refused to provide that information. I realized that if I gave them the number now, my family could later be blackmailed or something like that. I said I didn’t remember the numbers.
Then they offered me a chance to cooperate with them. I replied that I was on a contract, and if I signed any “cooperation” agreement, I would end up in prison in Ukraine after the exchange. I told them that I had sworn an oath to the people of Ukraine and did not want to be a traitor.
In response, they told me that if I didn’t sign this “paper,” they wouldn’t exchange me—or they’d exchange me very late. I said I would sit and wait for my turn, and sooner or later it would come. Well, if not—then that’s just my fate.
Then their commander walked in, and we started talking about my worldview, about the war, how I see possible ways for it to end, and what I think about their “special military operation.” I said frankly that I was opposed to it and that Ukraine would win. And I see two paths to that victory: the first is that Russia withdraws all its troops from our territories, and the second is by force—we won’t just sit back and take it.
They tested me to see if my views were radical, telling me stories about “evil America” and “NATO biolabs.” “Come on,” I said, “what biological labs? Do you actually believe that yourselves?”
– Do they believe it?
– Unfortunately, they do. During that conversation, their commander showed that he had a “gun” hanging under his jacket and asked, “I have a gun, but my friend doesn’t—who are you going to attack?”
I said, “Why would I attack anyone? Under Ukrainian law, it’s illegal to attack anyone. If I attack, I’ll face criminal charges.” And he says, “Well, okay, here’s another scenario—you have your own territory, and you’re living there peacefully. But you see that your neighbor is starting to sharpen a knife…
“Fine,” I said, “let him sharpen it.” And then he starts insisting again that “the neighbor wants to attack me.” I replied that if he attacks, I’ll defend myself.
– So, was he trying to allegorically justify an attack on us that way?
– Exactly, as if we were the ones who wanted to attack them.
I asked why they don’t go and reclaim their so-called “own lands” in the U.S., for example? They replied: “Because the U.S. has nuclear weapons, and it would lead to a nuclear catastrophe.”
And we, it turns out, have been “putting up with it” because we don’t have nuclear weapons. And so, according to their logic, it’s “okay” to attack us. Because they don’t dare go where there are nuclear weapons and where they might get their asses kicked.
– So you even tried to convince those who were interrogating you—and who could beat or maim you. Didn’t your instinct for self-preservation kick in?
– They simply let me behave that way. It was a frank conversation; they let me “speak my mind.” And I listened to everything they had to say about this war. They wanted to get a sense of me, my worldview, and convince me to sign a cooperation agreement.
But still, there were things they didn’t like. They told me that “everything is bad” here. I replied that I had been working full-time, earning a decent living, and didn’t need their “help.” “Who,” I asked, “sent you to ‘liberate’ me?” Then they claimed that “I was the one who came to them.”
What do you mean?! I was defending Mariupol; I was at home, not on Russian territory. But still, they told me that I had “fallen for U.S. propaganda,” “European liberalism,” and so on. I explained that, for me, Ukraine must be an independent, united country that will eventually become a world leader.
But after returning and talking with my comrades from Mariupol and “Azovstal,” I realize how lucky I was. We even had a TV for the 70 of us in the barracks, and a radio. In September, when Redis was being exchanged, we picked up a Ukrainian radio station and heard about the exchange. I got goosebumps all over my body then. For a few days, we were able to listen to our radio and our news. Otherwise, we mostly got our information about the front lines from Russian news sources.
– So, is it possible to pick up Ukrainian radio stations in the occupied part of Luhansk Oblast?
– Well, we were able to, yes. And I’m sure that most likely some of the Ukrainians living in the occupied territories are listening to our “Suspilne” or some other radio stations.
“If I’d known back then what lay ahead for me—I still would have flown to Mariupol again without hesitation.”
Volodymyr Nesmachnyi with Maksym Levchenko, “Roger.” Both are members of the “Centuria” NGO; they defended the Kyiv region together, flew to Mariupol together, and returned from captivity
together
– How did you feel when you realized you were returning home?
– At first, I didn’t believe it. Because there were times when a person was supposedly being taken for an exchange, only to have them sent back to us. So I made it a rule not to get my hopes up. To believe, but not to hope. I was preparing myself for the fact that I’d be in captivity not for a year, or even two, but maybe much longer. When they picked me up from the prison camp, they said, “Don’t pack your things—you’re going home.”
Yeah, right, I thought. I know all about your “home”—some guys have already “been there.” We had a case where three people were taken from the penal colony supposedly for an exchange, and then they came back. We thought at the time that they had managed to return to the front after the exchange and were captured again. But it turned out they’d been taken to Mariupol for “investigative procedures.”
That’s why, at first, I didn’t believe I was going for an exchange.
– How did it all happen?
– First, they picked us up from Colony No. 38, then we drove to Colony No. 36—where they picked up some guys who were leaving the “Ilyich” factory, and one “Azov” fighter.
Then they took us to the Luhansk pretrial detention center; we were there from around 3 p.m. until 1 a.m. That night, they took us away and started driving us around Russia, picking up more guys. Then they put us all on a plane, and we took off.
Our eyes and hands were bound. The guys who managed to peek out thought we were flying somewhere east, toward the Caucasus or something like that. Then we landed somewhere; they removed our blindfolds, and I got off the plane and walked down the ramp. We were told to keep our heads down, but I couldn’t help myself—I looked up and saw a sign that read “Belgorod.”
They put us on a bus and told us to sit quietly, saying, “You’ll be home soon.” When we finally arrived [on Ukrainian territory], we realized that this was actually an exchange—and not some kind of transit stop or anything like that.
– How did you feel at that moment?
– My emotions, of course, were running high, but I tried to keep myself under control. Then they exchanged two more guys who had been with me, and a young man who had flown in by helicopter on March 31. There were a few other “Azov” fighters as well. And while we were in captivity, they told us that “all the ‘Azov’ fighters had been exchanged; they’re all home”…
– How did your family welcome you home from captivity?
– My mom was crying. Everyone had been waiting for me so eagerly.
– Looking back now, knowing what lay ahead for you, would you have volunteered to fly to Mariupol again?
– I don’t regret a single thing, and I wouldn’t change a thing. What’s more, if something like that were to happen again right now, I’d go back. Because back then, the first question I asked myself was: If I were in those guys’ shoes, would I want someone to come to my rescue? Of course I would. So it’s all pretty obvious.
“We’ll only win when the entire nation unites. And that’s not the case yet.”
– You’re currently undergoing rehabilitation in a city where life goes on: restaurants and entertainment venues are open, people go to concerts, and they believe we’ve almost won. That we’re about to reach Moscow. Doesn’t this dual reality make you angry?
– Tolerant people will probably tear me apart for this, but I actually have a pretty cynical attitude toward all of this. Let me break it down. Of course, we’re fighting to reclaim our territories, for our country, and for it to be free—so that we can feel free ourselves. What does that mean? It’s not just about driving Russia out of Ukraine—and then, “that’s it, we’re free.” It means that every Ukrainian understands their identity, that people learn history.
A truly new history is being written today. The guys on the Bakhmut front are writing their own history; we in Mariupol have already written ours. Every unit on the front lines is writing its own story. And in civilian life, too, certain people are writing their own stories. These are the people who volunteer. Thanks to these people, the soldiers are really holding on.
But when it comes to civilian cities—I’m surprised. No, I don’t want people in cities behind the front lines to walk around with their heads down, crying all the time about how bad things are. I want people to be a little happy that they live in such a beautiful country as Ukraine. But let them not forget that there’s a war going on here. A full-scale one.
If before February 24, 2022, they could say that the war was somewhere out there in Donbas, now it’s raging all over Ukraine—it’s hitting everywhere. And I walk past “Drunken Cherry” on Maidan, look at all this, and it makes me want to throw up—people are fixated on celebrating.
– And they’ll tell you about the “economic front,” because “someone has to boost the economy.” And they’ll “explain” that military salaries come from Ukraine’s budget, which is funded by businesspeople and those very same people from “Drunken Cherry”…
– Taxes are deducted from my salary, too. So does that mean I’m paying myself or something?
I was released from captivity and talk to a lot of guys who are fighting right now. They spend their “incentive” 100,000 on cars, vehicle repairs, drones, and other equipment. People think that since they’ve deducted 20 hryvnias from their paychecks for the Armed Forces of Ukraine, that’s enough. But do they ever stop to think that when the guys go on an assault, they regularly lose equipment, ammunition, and other supplies?
Or take this “I’m tired of the war” thing… Here’s my advice:
if anyone in Kyiv is “tired”—come to Donbas to replace those who aren’t “tired.” Let them get tired in Kyiv, and you won’t get tired over there.
– There’s a saying that “war isn’t for everyone.”
– So what, is it for me? Or just for those on the front lines? How does that even work? I just can’t understand it. People who can’t fight have to work their asses off here so the guys over there don’t get tired.
– How should that look in practice?
– Those who work in offices—they need to work twice as hard, constantly donate, and help out. Weave nets. The guys really need them. Or “decoys”—they need those to hide their cars and positions. Work during the day—and after work, you can come and weave nets.
Some Dynamo fans I know have started an organization, and they’re weaving a lot. In Poznyaki, Obolon. You’d think they’d get tired, too. But they find time to both work and weave. Others, though, get tired. Even though, aside from going to work and occasionally watching the news, they don’t do anything else.
– How do you see our victory? When will we be able to say, “We’ve won”?
– When the entire nation unites. Until that happens, we won’t win.
The guys are fighting the external enemy on the front lines. But within the country, people are tearing each other apart without even realizing it. Take the language issue, for example. Honestly? I’d like all Ukrainians to speak Ukrainian. Language is incredibly important to a nation. But if, for example, a fellow soldier who has spoken Russian his whole life is now trying to switch to Ukrainian little by little but isn’t quite there yet—and so still speaks Russian—we shouldn’t criticize him for it. Half of the “Azovstal” fighters were Russian-speaking.
– What should civilians do to bring victory closer?
– Someone who has never held a weapon, who is afraid to go to the front, can open Google and find organizations that offer training in first aid, FPV drones, and tactics. If you’re young—you’re welcome at “Centuria.” There are chapters in several cities: Lviv, Kyiv, Dnipro, and Kryvyi Rih. Reach out, find them on social media, find out when training sessions are scheduled, and attend the training. They’re held regularly. Keep developing yourself, and you won’t be so afraid of war anymore.
When someone tells me, “I wasn’t born for war”—well, my mom didn’t give birth to me for war either. But I went anyway, because I have to protect my family and our territory.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.