The Odyssey of the "Brabus" Volunteer

Volodymyr Tatarenko, known by his sobriquet "Brabus" (a nickname earned for driving a Mercedes GLC), is a lean man in his fifties with bright blue eyes. As the Mariupol native, he has been volunteering since the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2014. He has experienced the horrors of Russian aggression firsthand, from the bombings of the port city to detention in a high-security colony in the Russian hinterland. Yet, he remained unbroken, survived, and made it back home. Six months after his return to Ukraine, he calmly recounts his "adventures," albeit with frequent smoking breaks. His narrative is divided into parts, which he calls "circles of hell." But first, there was war.

Tatarenko's family had lived in Kyiv since 2018, but in February 2022, just four days before Russia’s full-scale invasion, they returned to Mariupol. "The pandemic was coming to an end, and the kids needed to get back to school," Volodymyr explains. However, on the night of February 24, active warfare began. The family chose not to evacuate. Mariupol had already faced the "Russian world" intrusion in 2014, but the Ukrainian army successfully defended the city back then. In 2015-16, Russian attacks were dangerously close to Mariupol. "My family and I have grown accustomed to this," Tatarenko explains his decision. He took his relatives to the house of his parents-in-law, with a bomb shelter nearby. Meanwhile, he went to help the paramedics from "Tyra's Angels," a team assembled by Yulia Paevska, which was evacuating the severely wounded.

Purgatory

"Chaos broke out in Marik (Mariupol), with practically no authority in the city. Most people tried to leave or had already left. The city needed to be defended," "Brabus" recalls the early days of the war. Tatarenko was tasked with managing the city's emergency hospital. For the first two weeks, he handled everything from the security system provided by the local CDF to providing food for the injured. "They brought our fighters there, and a lot of locals came too—both children and whole families," Volodymyr says, dragging on his cigarette. He recounts horrifying things, like the story of a mother of a nine-year-old girl who took a piece of shrapnel falling out of her daughter’s body for a vital organ and rushed to the doctors, begging them to put it back in. He also witnessed children becoming orphans just in front of him because their wounded parents died in the hospital bed. "We crowded the civilian bomb shelter as much as we could. We provided water, food, light, and security," Tatarenko remembers.

Photo:  Beneath these ruins stood the main hospital of Azovstal, called "Zhelez'yaka. Source: The archive of Volodymyr Tatarenko  

Every day turned into a harsh routine: waking up at 5 a.m., getting behind the wheel, picking up the wounded, bringing them to the hospital, going for supplies and medications, returning, taking the injured soldiers to the evacuation helicopter, picking up medications, supplies, and ammunition, and returning to the base. And so it went every day. "The townspeople deserve credit," Volodymyr says. "The stores provided us with essentials free of charge, and practically in any quantity." To stay sane, "Brabus" started a diary.

Diary, March 3, 2022: "Orbita under shelling, four wounded and a girl with a shrapnel falling out while loaded on the stretcher."

Back then, he only saw his family twice. On March 8, he brought them a barrel of water and candy for his daughter. His daughter kept the candy as a memento of her father. "They were hungry, with no water or food, but she kept that candy anyway," Tatarenko proudly shares. There was also the third time when he and his companion infiltrated the already occupied territory to reach the house where his family was hiding, he discovered that his relatives had left, keeping him in the dark about their fate for two weeks. Volodymyr learned that they had safely made it to Ukrainian territory when he was evacuated to the Azovstal Metallurgical Combine with the hospital staff, where Starlink was the only connection to the outside world.

The First Circle: Azovstal

The enemy was tightening the noose around Mariupol. We learned about the frontlines getting closer to us from the wounded, who were systemically asked where they were taken from. "There were cases when new guys arrived, and we asked them about a neighboring street that had already been captured the day before," Tatarenko recalls. The Russians shelled the city with missiles, mines, and aerial bombs. Even before the evacuation to the Metallurgical Combine, Volodymyr remembers observing the territory, set ablaze. “There was such a heavy barrage of fire on Azovstal it was terrifying to watch even from aside," he recounts. He calls his life on the metallurgical plant the "first circle of hell."

Diary, April 3, 2022: "The 19 relocated were Cargo 200 (killed), the rain started five minutes later as if the sky was crying. Some body bags were torn by shrapnel – they died twice."

There were a lot of wounded, with the majority arriving in critical condition. According to Tatarenko, the most dreadful thing was the "bunker" sickness. It occurs when a person, having experienced incessant bombings, hides in a bunker, and it becomes their only "safe place" on the planet. They can no longer venture out on their own. "I had comrades whom I would bring out, calm down, we would drive around the metallurgical plant, and they would somewhat recover," Tatarenko recalls.

Photo: The daily ration norm for Azovstal defenders. Source: The archive of Volodymyr Tatarenko  

Everyone on the plant's territory had a resolute determination to stand until the end. They had paid too high a price, with too many comrades falling to Russian bullets. But the situation deteriorated. The "Zhelezyaka" Hospital in the basement was crammed. The Russians continuously bombed Azovstal. Water, food, and medication were running out. Ligation had to be made with hand-made bandages from bedsheets. The Russians bombed the water reservoir and the kitchen area with stoves and generators. The situation became critical—people drank technical water high in sodium, which caused limb swelling and diarrhea. The ration for the defenders of Azovstal had to be severely reduced. "It was about 150 grams of food in a cup. Some kind of porridge and a piece of lard. That was the daily portion," Tatarenko explains.

Photo: Medical evacuation vehicle after being hit twice by Russian "Grad" rockets. Source: The archive of Volodymyr Tatarenko  

Rumors of surrender began circulating in early May 2022, and by mid-month, they became a reality. First, the civilians were released, then the wounded. After that, they took away the dead. The Ukrainian military wrapped it all up. Volodymyr shares he was one of the last people to leave the plant, "I looked back, and no one was following me anymore. But I had extended my freedom for three more days."

The Second Circle: Olenivka

According to Tatarenko, there was no fear of Russian captivity: "Fear disappeared back in Azovstal within a week of being there in general." At the prisoner reception center, they began confiscating personal belongings. Tatarenko's house keys were thrown over the fence by the guards, but several hundred dollars he managed to take from his savings suddenly caught the occupiers' interest. "When they saw dollar bills, they thought I was an American spy. A bunch of FSB agents immediately rushed over to investigate," he recalls.

The prisoner registration was conducted under the observation of Red Cross representatives. Therefore, according to "Brabus," the Russians, at this stage, tried to maintain some boundaries: prisoners were not beaten. However, the torture began upon arrival at the colony in Olenivka. First, the buses carrying the Ukrainian prisoners stood all night outside the prison fence. Then, they were brought out onto the street with threats of imminent execution. After the beating, they were all herded back into the buses and held there until midday.

The torture and beatings continued incessantly. The prisoners were fed with a horrific prison gruel. And then the guards came up with a twisted form of entertainment: they brought in extremely hot food and set a time limit within which it had to be consumed. People burned their mouths, throats, and stomachs but remained hungry nonetheless. Tatarenko compares Olenivka to Mordor from J.R.R. Tolkien's novel: "It's like something out of 'The Lord of the Rings,' where evil is ugly and primitive in appearance."

Photo: Blazing Azovstal. Source: The archive of Volodymyr Tatarenko  

According to Volodymyr, the Russians began preparing for the attack that killed Ukrainian soldiers in advance. They started by refurbishing a barrack, which was later blown up. They removed the trash and brought in beds with sheets. Tatarenko says that it was precisely the bedsheets and pillowcases that aroused suspicion among the colony's inhabitants, suggesting that a staged scene was being prepared for some kind of provocation: "We didn't have any of that; we slept on pallets or makeshift beds." At night, Russian Grad rockets were brought near the barrack, and after several salvos were fired toward Ukrainian territory, an explosion rocked the area. "At night, we heard horrifying screams; people were burning alive. It was terrifying to listen to," he recalls.

But there were also positive moments. "Brabus" shares that the mutual support among the prisoners was tremendous: "We Ukrainians are a strong nation." They managed to smuggle a couple of mobile phones and even a radio into the barracks. During the day, the designated person on the airwaves would jot down news from Ukrainian media on a plastic plaque, and in the evening, they would read it aloud in the barrack and pass it on to others. Hence, the Russian propaganda did not work on the prisoners. "They tried to tell us that Ukraine had already surrendered, that Zelensky was in Poland. It was constant psychological pressure," Volodymyr remembers. Thanks to the phones, they were able to maintain contact with their loved ones. "There were birthdays of wives and sons, and I tried to pass on notes to congratulate them. So they would know that I was alive."

They also saved books they managed to find. They read and passed them from hand to hand, even a school algebra textbook. Volodymyr smuggled a Bible throughout his time in Olenivka, which he got from a CDF member nicknamed "Yevrey" (Jewish). However, during the transfer to Russia, the guards confiscated it and threw it into a ditch.

The Third Circle: Kamishin

The Ukrainian prisoners from Olenivka were eventually transferred to Russian prisons on October 3, 2022. Tatarenko recalls that it was a grueling ordeal: "They taped our eyes closed and tied our hands. They beat us constantly and everywhere: with batons, electric shocks, on airplanes, in cars, and during rare stops." Volodymyr remembers that the colony in Kamishin, located in the Volgograd region of Russia, where he was transferred, was much worse than Elenovka: "It was a strict regime, it was a terrible hatred, it was sheer sadism. I can't explain their actions in any other way."

Photo: A Ukrainian soldier is setting up Starlink to provide internet connectivity. Source: The archive of Volodymyr Tatarenko  

The beatings of the prisoners started immediately upon arrival. They were dropped off the trucks, and forced to squat with their eyes and hands still tied up. The beating lasted a while, and the Russians enjoyed themselves for almost half a day. They used everything: from fists to sticks. People with tattoos were beaten immediately. After interrogations, the prisoners were unable to walk or stand. Some even disappeared without a trace. In one of the cells, the guards forced the prisoners to stand for 16 hours straight, from dusk till dawn. "Two of my ribs were broken during one of the beatings. And the guard kept hitting those two ribs all the time, to make sure the pain would last," Tatarenko recounts.

"You can immediately tell by a person whether they are worthy or worthless. Those guards in Kamishin were worse than worthless."

A torture chamber was right next to the guard’s cell. "Brabus" recalls he had never heard grown men scream like that in his life. Tatarenko says he never thought such things were possible until he ended up there, tortured with electricity. At the same time, he notes that the torturers didn't really need any information from the prisoners. They simply enjoyed inflicting pain on people. From their cell, they took a 21-year-old conscript for interrogation, who was simply serving in Mariupol at the time when the city was under Russian attack. "They tortured him for an hour and a half, attaching an electrical cable to his genitals. He couldn't possibly know anything. He was young, inexperienced, and still with a baby face. My daughter is just a little younger than him," Volodymyr laments.

According to him, the only thing that saved him from breaking down was his inner strength. Tatarenko says he went to sleep with one thought in mind: what didn't kill me made me stronger. On October 26, 2022, after another interrogation, he was told that he was a "Navy SEAL" because he didn't "break" under torture and was informed to prepare for execution. He turned 47 the following day.

The Road Home

On the morning of his birthday, at 6:00 a.m., the prison guards entered Tatarneko's cell and told him and his young cellmate to prepare for execution. "They laughed and said that everything would be written neatly on the plaque," he recalls. First, the prisoners were taken to the bathhouse and told to change from their prison robes into their own clothes. Then they were locked back in their cells. "We thought it was the end. Turn in the robe, the robe will still be useful, you will be perished in your own clothes," Volodymyr recounts the guard’s words. Other prisoners were still herded into their cell. Then, unexpectedly, dry rations were distributed to everyone. "When they gave us the dry rations, I started reassuring the boys that they wouldn't execute us while we had food," "Brabus" recalls with a smile.

After that, there were night flights, overnight stays in some remand centers, and bus transfers. The Ukrainian prisoners speculated whether it was a transfer to another colony in some Russian backwater or if it was finally the path to freedom. The final destination was Vasilyevka in the Zaporizhzhia region, where the exchange took place. "It was like something out of a spy movie – a destroyed bridge looming ahead. Under that bridge, the Russians were walking toward us well-fed and content, with beastly expressions on their faces. And we were walking, blown by the wind. I lost 20 kilograms, and some people lost 40 kilograms," Tatarneko describes the exchange.

Photo: Volodymyr Tatarenko with his family. Source: The archive of Volodymyr Tatarenko  

Volodymyr recalls that in Vasilyevka, he had a feeling of floating above the ground. The thought that he was free and walking on his native land made his head spin. He was speechless. After the Kamishin colony, where they weren't even allowed to go for walks, there was a desire to savor every little detail of the surroundings: the sky, the sun, the earth, the grass, the trees. Tatarneko says that in Kamishin, they could only see a small piece of the sky through a spit-covered window. "And we would just stand there, looking through the bars at that small piece of sky. And that was enough for happiness," he says. "But everything was different with freedom. Every brick, every corner of a building, every twig of a tree was a celebration for me."

As soon as he reached a phone, Volodymyr immediately called his wife. She wanted to come from Italy right away, but he needed to go through the rehabilitation process. They finally met on December 15, 2022, in Lviv. "I spent a wonderful month there with my children and wife," Tatarneko shares. "Now I hardly remember what happened. There was a sense of happiness. I don't even remember where we walked, I just enjoyed every breath, every moment. It was like a meditation."

During his ordeal, "Brabus" reconsidered his values and priorities. In moments of crisis, material things are of no importance. "At Azovstal, we used hundred-dollar bills to light up cigarettes so that the money wouldn't fall into Russian hands," he explains. Tatarenko says he realized death is not scary. And fear itself is merely a boundary a person sets for themselves unwilling to cross it. Freedom is the highest value. "We are currently fighting for freedom. For the freedom of Ukraine and humanity," he concludes.

The "Brabus" Odyssey is not over yet. Volodymyr is confident he will return to Mariupol, liberated from Russian occupiers: "That's my city, and they have no place there."