“We needed a lot of coffins. They were all being sent to Rostov”: A border guard from “Azovstal” on his two years in Russian captivity
Source: Slidstvo Info
Author: Karina Bugaychenko
Anatoliy Tkachenko, 44, is a first-class inspector with the “Sartana” Border Guard Unit of the First Border Guard Detachment and a master sergeant with 25 years of service in the border guard service. He has served in various areas: in Izmail, in the Zakarpattia region, and in the Lviv, Sumy, Kharkiv, and Luhansk detachments. From 2019 until the start of the full-scale invasion, he served in the Donetsk detachment.
Anatoliy then joined the defense of Mariupol; during the fighting, he was wounded in the arm, and his limb was amputated in a bunker at the Azovstal plant. Along with other fighters, he was taken prisoner on May 18 and spent 20 months in captivity. On January 3, 2024, Anatoliy was among 230 soldiers and civilians who were exchanged.
Journalists from “Slidstvo.Info” spoke with Anatoliy Tkachenko at the hospital where he is currently undergoing rehabilitation. The border guard spoke about the battles for Mariupol, the abuse he suffered in captivity, and his journey home.
THE START OF A FULL-SCALE INVASION. “I WON’T LEAVE MARIUPOL BECAUSE DESERTING IS A DISGRACE”
My wife Irina and I served in the “Sartana” Border Guard Unit. We were stationed both at the “Hnutove” exit-exit checkpoint and providing fire support for that sector.
On February 20, 2022, when Russian troops entered Luhansk (they deployed the regular army—ed.), we had already been put on alert. Everyone was in full combat gear and waiting to see how the situation would unfold. I took over the fire support shift on February 23. At half past two in the morning—February 24—our checkpoint and the surrounding area came under Grad rocket fire. Then came the shelling of Pavlopil, Talakivka, and Hnutove—targeting buildings and potential deployment sites of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. By 1:00 p.m., a tank offensive (by Russian forces—ed.) had already crossed the line of demarcation. Since we had no heavy weapons, the unit commander decided that we had to retreat to Mariupol to redeploy and carry out further missions.
As my late father used to say, “You can’t escape fate.” We ended up in Mariupol. What happened was bound to happen. My mother-in-law wrote to me, telling me to take the car and get my family out (my wife and three school-age children—Ed.). I wrote back to her: “I won’t leave Mariupol, because deserting is shameful.” I simply couldn’t do that.
We’d been in Mariupol since February 28, when they began organizing us into combined units. Part of the unit was stationed at the Illich Plant, and our supply base was set up at Azovstal, since there were good bunkers there.
At first, I was in an anti-tank unit. Then the situation changed, and on March 23, I was assigned to a combined unit on Hretska Street to provide cover against the enemy’s advance. First, there was heavy Grad rocket fire from a ship at sea, followed by mortar fire, and then the infantry advanced. We were repelling the infantry when an explosion occurred, as a result of which I was wounded in the arm, and a piece of shrapnel struck my body armor. I received medical attention, but evacuation was impossible due to the fire. For a while, the ammunition was scattered in bundles. So I held the magazines between my legs and loaded them with one finger for the guys to use in repelling the attack. And at night, a reconnaissance team cleared a route that an evacuation vehicle could use to transport the 300th and 200th units, so on March 24, I—wounded—and several other soldiers were taken to “Azovstal.”
The horror lay in the fact that the airstrikes were leveling buildings—that’s where the horror was. There was a supermarket on Metalurhiv and Shevchenko Streets—it took a direct hit from two aerial bombs, killing about a hundred civilians who had come for humanitarian aid. And the same thing happened at the drama theater: we watched as the Russians dropped two bombs there. And then they say on TV that “supposedly the Ukrainians planted explosives and destroyed it.” In other words, what you see with your own eyes and what they say are two completely different things.
At Azovstal, the doctor decided to amputate my arm because there was no way to save it. There wasn’t enough medicine; there were so many wounded.
IN CAPTIVITY. “THEY WERE TAKING APART CRATES FROM UNDER THE GRAD ROCKETS. THEY USED THEM TO NAIL TOGETHER COFFINS IN ROSTOV”
According to the lists, I left Azovstal on the evening of May 18. My personal belongings were checked and placed in a bag. They put us on buses and took us to Olenivka (to Colony No. 120, where Russia held Ukrainian prisoners of war—Ed.). There, it was a system of barracks—there were no cells. A long room. Concrete floor. For three days we sat on our bags because you can’t sleep on concrete, and then they brought us mattresses.
The food in Olenivka was bad. Breakfast might be at 8 a.m., lunch at 5 or 6 p.m., and dinner at 2 a.m. The camp was designed to hold 800 people, but there were about three thousand of us there. The portions were tiny; people were fainting from malnutrition and losing a lot of weight.
The cafeteria simply couldn’t handle such a large number of people. The camp commander announced that, because of this, people would be transferred to improve their conditions.
On June 15, I was sent to the Luhansk region, to Penal Colony No. 38. There was no physical abuse there. We were fed properly. We were allowed to shower once a week. They dressed us in black prison uniforms. I remained there until my release—on January 2, 2024.
There, we were, so to speak, voluntarily enlisted to work. Those who were heavy smokers could get a few more cigarettes. The guys went to make coffins. That’s because each work zone had a quota—the zone had to produce 100 coffins per week. The occupiers brought in boxes that had held hailstones, and we took them apart. And we riveted the coffins together from that material. “Ural” trucks would arrive, pick them up for their 200-series vehicles, and haul them to Rostov. And we needed a lot of coffins. A lot.
During roll call, when we had just arrived, they played the “LNR” anthem sung by Kobzon every single time. And then, once the local penal colony switched to the Russian Federation standard and became the Federal Penitentiary Service, the Russian anthem would play
There were people in the colony who were paralyzed and others with high blood pressure. They were taken to Luhansk for medical examinations and then brought back. Right now, there are 2–3 paralyzed inmates in Colony No. 38 who were not exchanged. Two people died: one had a stroke, and the other had pneumonia.
One time, they brought us prisoners who had been captured in the Bakhmut and Luhansk areas. And one of them said, “They gave us a Storm Shadow missile.” Two days go by; I’m standing there smoking when I hear a whistling sound, like an airplane. And the guard is standing on the watchtower. I look up and see it veer off course and plummet sharply. About 20 meters above me—a missile with wings just went “whoosh” and flew by. That evening, the guards said, “A military unit in Luhansk was struck.” And that’s how, sporadically, we received whatever information we could.
THE ROAD HOME. “YOU’RE RUNNING, AND EVERYONE IS BEATING YOU ON THE BACK WITH A STICK”
I thought I’d spend the rest of 2024 in captivity. I didn’t really hold out much hope that I’d be exchanged. Neither did the rest of the guys. Everyone is waiting. From the Donetsk Border Guard Detachment, there are still about 25–30 border guards held at the Luhansk penal colony where I was. About 30–40 National Guard members are also being held there. No one even mentions the Mariupol Territorial Defense Force at all. Yesterday, the mother of one of the guys I was held captive with told me, “No matter where they turn, they get no response.” Even though the people of Mariupol took up arms and defended their city. I wish our leadership would take note that 300 is a lot. We need to get them and the people over 50 out in the exchange.
During this latest exchange, I was the only one from the zone. The rest were brought in from Mordovia—from various detention centers and penal colonies located on the territory of the Russian Federation. For those who came from Mordovia (a federal subject of the Russian Federation—ed.), it’s a quiet nightmare there. I have a friend who used to weigh 100 kilograms; now he weighs 48. And the abuse is just horrific.
On the way home, there were several transfers, and our eyes were constantly blindfolded. There were two or three stops along the way—they were probably picking up people from other zones as well. We only found out later that we were in Taganrog. We pulled in; from the sound of it, the car seemed to be pulling into a concrete garage. They threw all of us onto the floor like dogs. They made us lie face-down on the ground. And then for about two hours, they physically abused us relentlessly—what they called “the welcome.” Whether you were number 300 or not. My arms and legs were beaten. Then in the morning, we were woken up and the cells were opened: “One at a time, run to the exit.” You run, and everyone hits you on the back with a stick.
They put us on a plane. We flew for two or three hours. You get off the plane in such a position that you can’t see a thing, with your eyes taped shut. They put us on a bus. Everyone was forced to bend over so that no one could look out the window at all. When we arrived, the command rang out: “Out!” A Russian ran by with a knife and cut the ties on our hands. We were ordered to take off our hats. When we were already on Ukrainian territory during the exchange, tears filled our eyes. Everyone was crying.
AT HOME. “I WAITED 20 MONTHS FOR CHOCOLATE ZEPHYR”
We were still sitting on the bus when a representative from the Ukrainian side came in and said, “Guys, good evening, how are you doing?” Everyone was immediately overcome with emotion when they saw a person with a blue-and-yellow flag on his shoulder. In captivity, you’re forced to speak only Russian. If you speak Ukrainian, you’ll immediately get hit on the spine with a stick: “Speak only Russian, speak only Russian.” That’s why it was so nice to hear Ukrainian. First and foremost, it’s the kind attention from people and society’s concern for the servicemen who found themselves in a difficult situation.
I finally reunited with my wife—it was just pure emotion. I couldn’t say a single word.
The first thing I wanted to taste was chocolate-covered marshmallows. I really love marshmallows covered in chocolate. And when I got my hands on some, I ate a little bit. I’d been waiting 20 months for marshmallows covered in chocolate.
I have three children: two girls and a boy; they’re schoolchildren. We haven’t seen each other yet, but we talk every day via video call. It was my son’s birthday. And when they asked him at school what his best gift was, he said, “Dad coming home.”
Now, first of all, I want to get a prosthetic leg and get used to it. And second, a bomb destroyed my car in Mariupol. So I definitely want to buy a new car. I also dream of going on vacation to Spain with my family. I just got my passport. I’ll apply for a disability pension, and then I’ll go back to active duty if that’s possible under the disability provisions. If not, then I’ll look for a place for myself in the public sector.
The Russians believe they are a master race, and that we must simply be subordinate to them. In their view, Ukraine cannot exist on its own at all. I found it repulsive to talk to such people. What’s the point of such a conversation—about what, and why? That’s why I had absolutely no contact with Russians or collaborators while in captivity.
This material was prepared with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation as part of the joint initiative “European Renaissance of Ukraine.” This material reflects the authors’ views and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union or the International Renaissance Foundation.
If you’d prefer to watch the video with subtitles in another language, go to YouTube Settings → Subtitles → Automatic Translation and select the language of your choice.
Author: Karina Bugaychenko
Anatoliy Tkachenko, 44, is a first-class inspector with the “Sartana” Border Guard Unit of the First Border Guard Detachment and a master sergeant with 25 years of service in the border guard service. He has served in various areas: in Izmail, in the Zakarpattia region, and in the Lviv, Sumy, Kharkiv, and Luhansk detachments. From 2019 until the start of the full-scale invasion, he served in the Donetsk detachment.
Anatoliy then joined the defense of Mariupol; during the fighting, he was wounded in the arm, and his limb was amputated in a bunker at the Azovstal plant. Along with other fighters, he was taken prisoner on May 18 and spent 20 months in captivity. On January 3, 2024, Anatoliy was among 230 soldiers and civilians who were exchanged.
Journalists from “Slidstvo.Info” spoke with Anatoliy Tkachenko at the hospital where he is currently undergoing rehabilitation. The border guard spoke about the battles for Mariupol, the abuse he suffered in captivity, and his journey home.
THE START OF A FULL-SCALE INVASION. “I WON’T LEAVE MARIUPOL BECAUSE DESERTING IS A DISGRACE”
My wife Irina and I served in the “Sartana” Border Guard Unit. We were stationed both at the “Hnutove” exit-exit checkpoint and providing fire support for that sector.
On February 20, 2022, when Russian troops entered Luhansk (they deployed the regular army—ed.), we had already been put on alert. Everyone was in full combat gear and waiting to see how the situation would unfold. I took over the fire support shift on February 23. At half past two in the morning—February 24—our checkpoint and the surrounding area came under Grad rocket fire. Then came the shelling of Pavlopil, Talakivka, and Hnutove—targeting buildings and potential deployment sites of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. By 1:00 p.m., a tank offensive (by Russian forces—ed.) had already crossed the line of demarcation. Since we had no heavy weapons, the unit commander decided that we had to retreat to Mariupol to redeploy and carry out further missions.
As my late father used to say, “You can’t escape fate.” We ended up in Mariupol. What happened was bound to happen. My mother-in-law wrote to me, telling me to take the car and get my family out (my wife and three school-age children—Ed.). I wrote back to her: “I won’t leave Mariupol, because deserting is shameful.” I simply couldn’t do that.
We’d been in Mariupol since February 28, when they began organizing us into combined units. Part of the unit was stationed at the Illich Plant, and our supply base was set up at Azovstal, since there were good bunkers there.
At first, I was in an anti-tank unit. Then the situation changed, and on March 23, I was assigned to a combined unit on Hretska Street to provide cover against the enemy’s advance. First, there was heavy Grad rocket fire from a ship at sea, followed by mortar fire, and then the infantry advanced. We were repelling the infantry when an explosion occurred, as a result of which I was wounded in the arm, and a piece of shrapnel struck my body armor. I received medical attention, but evacuation was impossible due to the fire. For a while, the ammunition was scattered in bundles. So I held the magazines between my legs and loaded them with one finger for the guys to use in repelling the attack. And at night, a reconnaissance team cleared a route that an evacuation vehicle could use to transport the 300th and 200th units, so on March 24, I—wounded—and several other soldiers were taken to “Azovstal.”
The horror lay in the fact that the airstrikes were leveling buildings—that’s where the horror was. There was a supermarket on Metalurhiv and Shevchenko Streets—it took a direct hit from two aerial bombs, killing about a hundred civilians who had come for humanitarian aid. And the same thing happened at the drama theater: we watched as the Russians dropped two bombs there. And then they say on TV that “supposedly the Ukrainians planted explosives and destroyed it.” In other words, what you see with your own eyes and what they say are two completely different things.
At Azovstal, the doctor decided to amputate my arm because there was no way to save it. There wasn’t enough medicine; there were so many wounded.
IN CAPTIVITY. “THEY WERE TAKING APART CRATES FROM UNDER THE GRAD ROCKETS. THEY USED THEM TO NAIL TOGETHER COFFINS IN ROSTOV”
According to the lists, I left Azovstal on the evening of May 18. My personal belongings were checked and placed in a bag. They put us on buses and took us to Olenivka (to Colony No. 120, where Russia held Ukrainian prisoners of war—Ed.). There, it was a system of barracks—there were no cells. A long room. Concrete floor. For three days we sat on our bags because you can’t sleep on concrete, and then they brought us mattresses.
The food in Olenivka was bad. Breakfast might be at 8 a.m., lunch at 5 or 6 p.m., and dinner at 2 a.m. The camp was designed to hold 800 people, but there were about three thousand of us there. The portions were tiny; people were fainting from malnutrition and losing a lot of weight.
The cafeteria simply couldn’t handle such a large number of people. The camp commander announced that, because of this, people would be transferred to improve their conditions.
On June 15, I was sent to the Luhansk region, to Penal Colony No. 38. There was no physical abuse there. We were fed properly. We were allowed to shower once a week. They dressed us in black prison uniforms. I remained there until my release—on January 2, 2024.
There, we were, so to speak, voluntarily enlisted to work. Those who were heavy smokers could get a few more cigarettes. The guys went to make coffins. That’s because each work zone had a quota—the zone had to produce 100 coffins per week. The occupiers brought in boxes that had held hailstones, and we took them apart. And we riveted the coffins together from that material. “Ural” trucks would arrive, pick them up for their 200-series vehicles, and haul them to Rostov. And we needed a lot of coffins. A lot.
During roll call, when we had just arrived, they played the “LNR” anthem sung by Kobzon every single time. And then, once the local penal colony switched to the Russian Federation standard and became the Federal Penitentiary Service, the Russian anthem would play
There were people in the colony who were paralyzed and others with high blood pressure. They were taken to Luhansk for medical examinations and then brought back. Right now, there are 2–3 paralyzed inmates in Colony No. 38 who were not exchanged. Two people died: one had a stroke, and the other had pneumonia.
One time, they brought us prisoners who had been captured in the Bakhmut and Luhansk areas. And one of them said, “They gave us a Storm Shadow missile.” Two days go by; I’m standing there smoking when I hear a whistling sound, like an airplane. And the guard is standing on the watchtower. I look up and see it veer off course and plummet sharply. About 20 meters above me—a missile with wings just went “whoosh” and flew by. That evening, the guards said, “A military unit in Luhansk was struck.” And that’s how, sporadically, we received whatever information we could.
THE ROAD HOME. “YOU’RE RUNNING, AND EVERYONE IS BEATING YOU ON THE BACK WITH A STICK”
I thought I’d spend the rest of 2024 in captivity. I didn’t really hold out much hope that I’d be exchanged. Neither did the rest of the guys. Everyone is waiting. From the Donetsk Border Guard Detachment, there are still about 25–30 border guards held at the Luhansk penal colony where I was. About 30–40 National Guard members are also being held there. No one even mentions the Mariupol Territorial Defense Force at all. Yesterday, the mother of one of the guys I was held captive with told me, “No matter where they turn, they get no response.” Even though the people of Mariupol took up arms and defended their city. I wish our leadership would take note that 300 is a lot. We need to get them and the people over 50 out in the exchange.
During this latest exchange, I was the only one from the zone. The rest were brought in from Mordovia—from various detention centers and penal colonies located on the territory of the Russian Federation. For those who came from Mordovia (a federal subject of the Russian Federation—ed.), it’s a quiet nightmare there. I have a friend who used to weigh 100 kilograms; now he weighs 48. And the abuse is just horrific.
On the way home, there were several transfers, and our eyes were constantly blindfolded. There were two or three stops along the way—they were probably picking up people from other zones as well. We only found out later that we were in Taganrog. We pulled in; from the sound of it, the car seemed to be pulling into a concrete garage. They threw all of us onto the floor like dogs. They made us lie face-down on the ground. And then for about two hours, they physically abused us relentlessly—what they called “the welcome.” Whether you were number 300 or not. My arms and legs were beaten. Then in the morning, we were woken up and the cells were opened: “One at a time, run to the exit.” You run, and everyone hits you on the back with a stick.
They put us on a plane. We flew for two or three hours. You get off the plane in such a position that you can’t see a thing, with your eyes taped shut. They put us on a bus. Everyone was forced to bend over so that no one could look out the window at all. When we arrived, the command rang out: “Out!” A Russian ran by with a knife and cut the ties on our hands. We were ordered to take off our hats. When we were already on Ukrainian territory during the exchange, tears filled our eyes. Everyone was crying.
AT HOME. “I WAITED 20 MONTHS FOR CHOCOLATE ZEPHYR”
We were still sitting on the bus when a representative from the Ukrainian side came in and said, “Guys, good evening, how are you doing?” Everyone was immediately overcome with emotion when they saw a person with a blue-and-yellow flag on his shoulder. In captivity, you’re forced to speak only Russian. If you speak Ukrainian, you’ll immediately get hit on the spine with a stick: “Speak only Russian, speak only Russian.” That’s why it was so nice to hear Ukrainian. First and foremost, it’s the kind attention from people and society’s concern for the servicemen who found themselves in a difficult situation.
I finally reunited with my wife—it was just pure emotion. I couldn’t say a single word.
The first thing I wanted to taste was chocolate-covered marshmallows. I really love marshmallows covered in chocolate. And when I got my hands on some, I ate a little bit. I’d been waiting 20 months for marshmallows covered in chocolate.
I have three children: two girls and a boy; they’re schoolchildren. We haven’t seen each other yet, but we talk every day via video call. It was my son’s birthday. And when they asked him at school what his best gift was, he said, “Dad coming home.”
Now, first of all, I want to get a prosthetic leg and get used to it. And second, a bomb destroyed my car in Mariupol. So I definitely want to buy a new car. I also dream of going on vacation to Spain with my family. I just got my passport. I’ll apply for a disability pension, and then I’ll go back to active duty if that’s possible under the disability provisions. If not, then I’ll look for a place for myself in the public sector.
The Russians believe they are a master race, and that we must simply be subordinate to them. In their view, Ukraine cannot exist on its own at all. I found it repulsive to talk to such people. What’s the point of such a conversation—about what, and why? That’s why I had absolutely no contact with Russians or collaborators while in captivity.
This material was prepared with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation as part of the joint initiative “European Renaissance of Ukraine.” This material reflects the authors’ views and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union or the International Renaissance Foundation.
If you’d prefer to watch the video with subtitles in another language, go to YouTube Settings → Subtitles → Automatic Translation and select the language of your choice.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.