Latest news with #prisonerOfWar
The Guardian
20-06-2025
- General
- The Guardian
The first rule is to forget your past life: Ukrainian marine tells of his three years of torment in Russian captivity
Despite all they have endured, it doesn't take much to draw shy smiles from Diana Shikot, 24, and Dmytro Chorny, 23. You could ask them about Chorny's sweetly bungled marriage proposal the day after his release from Russia's notorious penitentiary system, in which he languished as a prisoner of war for three years. The proposal was made in their home town, Kropyvnytskyi, in central Ukraine, eight weeks ago. It was here where they first started to date when the then 16-year-old Shikot asked Chorny, 15, to walk her home. Chorny had a whole speech prepared but in the moment – with his friends and prospective mother-in-law looking on – he was overcome, barely managing to get out 'Will you marry me?' as he got down on one knee. Or you might ask about the love letters – there were hundreds of them – that Shikot sent week in week out, stubbornly ignoring the lack of replies. None got through to Chorny in the first two years but when a prison guard handed him a folded piece of paper a few months ago he could make out the outline of a heart even before he opened it. His face ran with tears as he stood silently among the others in the cell, all in their blue boiler-suit prison uniforms. Shikot and Chorny, who married last Saturday, are all smiles today. Shikot says that Chorny is the same man who left her as a 19-year-old on 1 January 2022 to continue his military training as a driver in the marines. 'He's not changed to me,' she said. That is difficult to believe. Three psychologists have worked with Chorny since his return. With limited success so far, he admitted. More than 5,000 Ukrainians have been released from Russian captivity under swap agreements since February 2022 and for all the joy and relief that this has brought, the impact of captivity on the mental health of these often young men and women can be profound. Chorny feels anger bubbling up inside him sometimes. A trigger came when a shop assistant refused to respond to him when he spoke Russian, the language in which he feels most comfortable. 'I held it in but I get angry because I was there, and you are sitting here,' he said. 'And why the hell are you going to tell me what language to speak?' Then there is the anxiety triggered by any sound that resembles that of an aeroplane. And he is, at times, still irrationally jealous of Shikot's time with others. That jealousy began between the beatings in the Russian cell when he considered what he had lost and obsessively thought about how Shikot must surely have moved on. She had instead been campaigning hard for his release, joining public demonstrations every week, writing to anyone who would listen and lobbying the Russian authorities for word of his health. Chorny joined the marines in late 2021 after deciding that his initial idea of a law career was not for him. He was brought up by his grandparents after his father walked out when he was two, followed by his mother five years later. Something about the discipline and comradeship drew him to the army. His basic training was in Kherson in the south but next was a nine-month tour on the outskirts of the Black Sea port of Mariupol. The war came hard and fast at Mariupol, now occupied and a byword for Russian terror. At 4am on 24 February 2022 he heard the Russian Grad rocket launchers fire and Chorny's 501 brigade was one of the first to engage in direct battle. He was ordered to gather shells in a truck and drive them to a former prison that was being used as a military base. As he arrived, he heard the sound of a fighter jet swooping low. 'I thought it was our fighter,' he said. 'I heard him coming back. And I saw rockets. Everything was in slow motion. I was just standing there and watching. The missiles begin to fall everywhere.' He threw himself to the ground: 'There were screams, everything is black. I can't breathe, everything is in smoke. I run and see torn bodies, legs. One man had been in the toilet, he had been thrown from it and was just twitching on the ground.' Survivors made their way to a bunker from where they were told to gather at the Azovstal metallurgical plant. By now the Ukrainian artillery was all but destroyed and Chorny was ordered to join the infantry as they established a doomed perimeter around Mariupol's city centre. Russian fighter jets, bombers and artillery destroyed every building, Chorny recalled. There was no hiding place. He resigned himself to death. A Starlink terminal providing internet access offered a chance to send what he believed would be a final message on the Telegram social media site to Shikot on 12 March. 'Everything is fine with me,' he lied. 'I love you so much and miss you. I hope everything is OK with you. I hope you will send me a message x.' Shikot said she had no idea what was happening. 'All good, Dmytro? Call me as soon as possible. I also love you very much. I'm looking forward, waiting for you.' But the Azovstal plant was surrounded and attempts to break out ended in disaster. Its defenders were forced to retreat underground. Food was so scarce that dogs were killed for their meat. Chorny's phone was smashed when he dived for cover during a helicopter attack. He asked to use a comrade's mobile to send a message to Shikot: a plus sign, a military way to confirm that he was alive. At this point his commanders concluded that they would have to surrender. On 12 April, the Ukrainian troops were ordered to lay down their weapons, remove their protective vests and walk out with their hands in the air under the gaze of Russian snipers and machine gun operators. School buses took them to an old farm where they were herded into large chicken sheds. The soldiers' documents were taken and they were given food and tea. It was to be almost Chorny's last humane experience for three years. The following day they were transported on trucks to Olenivka, a notorious prison in occupied Donetsk. 'Our truck arrives, the door opens, you say your name, rank, date of birth,' Chorny recalled of his arrival. 'You jump, and the first baton hits you in the back of the head. They stand on the sides, and while you are running, they beat you.' The soldiers were ordered to sit in lines in a yard where prison guards screamed in their faces. 'If you move, you're screwed,' Chorny said. They were hurried to a barracks and beaten again with batons as they ran. There they were kept for three days before buses arrived to take them to a prison in Kamyshin, southern Russia. 'Someone came on the bus and said, 'Guys, I advise you not to fall. It will not help you. If you fall, you will harm yourself,'' Chorny said. It was a prelude to another barbarous reception party. 'We were beaten again as we ran, with rubber batons with spikes and electric shockers,' he said. Chorny was put in the star position and interrogated. They wanted him to admit to firing on civilians or stealing from them. 'And if they didn't get the right answer, there were more beatings,' he said. He was housed in a barracks with 70 other men. They had to stand all day and were given pieces of paper on which were printed the Russian national anthem and the Soviet-era song Katyusha, to learn by heart. Those who failed were hit at the knees. Others were bitten by guard dogs let off the leash. They were filmed singing the Russian songs but banned from talking. The only distraction was schoolbooks on Russian literature on which they were randomly tested at mealtimes. After a few weeks Chorny was moved to a punishment cell. And in a cell he stayed – for three years. Then there were the interrogations. 'It was not a questioning process, it was torture,' Chorny said. His head was covered with a bag, still soiled by the snot, saliva and blood of the last victim. Wires were attached to his fingers that led to a military phone that the guards called Igor. When it was wound up, it created an electric charge. Chorny said: 'They said, 'This is Igor, let's get to know each other. He loves the truth. When you tell him the truth, he recognises it.'' He was interrogated on one occasion for three hours. 'They shoved a stun gun between my legs, you know, a stun gun that kills cows,' he said. 'They said, if it drops from your legs, we will use it on you. 'I came back in the evening, I was just thrown into the cell. My whole body was atrophied. My mouth didn't work. The guys who were with me, they took a spoon and fed me.' In the end, he told the Russians what they wanted to hear. 'I can't talk about it,' he said of his filmed 'confession'. Then it was to a prison in the Volgograd region from 27 May to 1 October 2022. He was put in a cell for four and thankfully the prisoners were allowed to sit during the day – but not to talk. 'A camera was right next to your face,' he said. 'The slightest movement of the mouth, immediately a call on the speaker and they start to pump you [beat you up].' After that it was Ryazhsk, 300 miles south of Moscow, where he stayed until February 2023 and then on to the Russian republic of Mordovia, 400 miles east of the capital. Until his release he was put with 10 men in a cell made for four. 'You just had to stand in the cell, you couldn't turn your head, you couldn't even look someone in the eyes, just head down to the floor,' Chorny said. There were no seasons in jail. The prison guards said nothing of the world outside, he added. A Russian radio station blasted out from 6am to 10pm, playing history lectures and patriotic songs. Those who spoke, or faltered as they stood, would provoke a collective beating. Some felt so guilty at this that they smashed glass in the windows to cut their wrists, Chorny said. Their colleagues rushed to their aid. Each man had his own way of dealing with the pressure. Chorny dried out a few chicken bones from his lunchtime soup and whittled them down to become sewing needles. These he used to tighten his prison trousers around his withering frame. He also tried hard to avoid thinking of home, to dispense with any hope of release. On two occasions, when Russia's human rights ombudsman was visiting, he was allowed to write letters to his grandparents. But the words were scripted: 'I'm good, they are feeding me well, I have good treatment.' He was able to add that he wished to 'say hello to my beloved princess Diana, I love her very much. Let her remember me and know about me.' Shortly before his release, Chorny was also allowed to take part in a six-minute video call with Shikot. But it was not until 19 April that a bag was put over his head for the final time and he was put on a plane to Belarus for a prisoner swap of 246 soldiers on each side. Chorny spent a month in a rehabilitation centre and said he now felt well physically and hoped the psychological scars would heal with time. But it may prove difficult to accept the world at it is instead of the idealised version he held in his head for three years. 'The very first rule is to forget that you were once a citizen,' Chorny said of dealing with captivity. 'Forget about your girlfriend, forget about your grandparents, completely separate yourself from your past. That is, you have never been there, you were born in captivity, you live in captivity. 'I completely forgot for a month. I forgot her face, I forgot her voice, I forgot the faces of my grandparents, I forgot the voices, I forgot everyone. But, of course, you dream.'
BBC News
16-06-2025
- General
- BBC News
Ceredigion veteran honoured with RAF flypast for 103rd birthday
A World War Two veteran has been honoured with a special RAF flypast to celebrate his 103rd Martin, from Tanygroes, Ceredigion, escaped from a burning aircraft over the skies of Berlin on 30 January 1944 while working as a wireless radio operator during an attack on the German members of the crew were killed while Mr Martin, then 21, was captured and made a prisoner of war until his liberation by allied forces in 1945. Speaking at the celebration, Mr Martin recalled his survival as being a "bit of a miracle" while two hawk jet RAF aircraft from RAF Valley on Anglesey flew over his home. Friends and family gathered outside in support, including his neighbour, Steve Evans, who contacted the RAF to ask how if they could help honour him. "It's quite an achievement to reach that age," Mr Evans said. "It was blink-and-you'll-miss-it really, but it was quite something to see. I think John's enjoyed it."Mr Martin, originally from London, retired to Ceredigion with his late wife Adelaide. Recalling his miraculous escape from the Lancaster bomber in 1944, Mr Martin said the aircraft was sent into a nosedive at 20,000 feet after being hit by enemy fire."I was literally blown out of the Lancaster and the first thing I knew when I regained consciousness was seeing a huge piece of aircraft coming by," he said. "I was very lucky that didn't hit me."Mr Martin had to parachute into a field where he was captured and made a prisoner of war until his admitted the jets used in the flypast were "faster" than the Lancaster bombers he flew in."I almost didn't see them," he added. Mr Martin's eldest son Nick Martin, 75, said: "It happened very quickly, but it was very exciting."I think it showed my father how much the RAF had changed really in the time from when a Lancaster came lumbering over and you'd have a good 10 minutes watching it."The RAF were wonderful to come and fly their planes, and come and say happy birthday to dad. "A life is a combination of luck, what you make of it and your genes, and I think he's had all three." Mr Martin's daughter-in-law, Anne Martin, said he was a remarkable character."He wrote his first book when he was 95 about his experiences," she said, referring to Mr Martin's war time memoir A Raid Over Berlin, which has been on the Sunday Times Best Sellers list."Even at 103, he's still doing the gardening, all his own house work," she added. " Everybody loves John."
The Sun
10-06-2025
- The Sun
Ukrainian soldier released in prisoner swap left with ‘Glory to Russia' burned on his body by Putin's sick torturers
A UKRAINIAN prisoner of war had the words "Glory to Russia" burned onto his skin while held captive in Russia. A disturbing photo emerged showing the mutilated soldier after he was released in a prisoner exchange, and Ukraine 's intelligence service has confirmed it is genuine. 5 5 5 The phrase has been branded sideways onto his right flank in large, uneven letters. Up the middle of the tortured soldier's torso is another thick, livid scar ragged by rough stick marks. He also has a tube fitted into his stomach, and another area of major scarring on his left flank. Andrii Yusov, spokesperson for Defence Intelligence of Ukraine [DIU], said: "Unfortunately, the photo is real. He wasn't in this exchange, but one of the earlier ones. "While examining him at a rehabilitation centre for soldiers, a doctor, overwhelmed by what he saw, took the photo and posted it online. "This is evidence of what our defenders go through in captivity. The photo speaks for itself. "And it is imperative that not only Ukrainians see it – they know very well what the Russians are – but the whole world." He also revealed that 90 percent of prisoners released from captivity in Russia reported violations of the required conditions. This ranges from a lack of medical care to outright torture, as appears to be the case with this soldier. Yusov said that Ukraine is documenting each case and attempting to identify those involved. Night of hell for Ukraine as Putin launches 315 drones in one of biggest strikes of war sparking huge inferno in Kyiv He said: "This is visually very clear – there is a stark difference in the condition in which Russian POWs return to Russia and the condition in which Ukrainian defenders come back. "Violations of detention conditions, and breaches of the required standards for food and medical support, are widespread in Russian captivity. "This is something that the International Committee of the Red Cross must address and the entire international community must act upon." Russia and Ukraine exchanged at least 1,200 each on Monday after the second round of direct talks in Istanbul last week. 5 5 From Yusov's statement, it seems the branded prisoner was released during an exchange earlier in the war. He could have been one of 1,000 prisoners exchanged by each side in May after the first face-to-face talks in three years. It had been hoped those talks would advance the peace process, but they broke up after Russia demanded Ukraine withdraw troops from its own territory — which Moscow has been unable to conquer — as a precondition of any ceasefire. Meanwhile, the chief of Germany's MI6 warned that Putin has his evil eyes set on invading Nato. Bruno Kahl, head of Berlin's Federal Intelligence Service, said the war in Ukraine is just the beginning for the Russian despot. It's after his team obtained intel suggesting Russia is plotting to test the resolve of the alliance in the coming years, Kahl claims. A similar warning was issued by Nato Secretary General Mark Rutte on Monday.
ABC News
10-06-2025
- Politics
- ABC News
'Beaten' and 'humiliated': Two Ukrainian soldiers on what it's like to be held captive by Russia
Ukrainian soldier Roman has endured physical and emotional trauma most people could never comprehend. Captured by Kremlin forces in May 2022, the 56-year-old was held in Russian captivity as a prisoner of war for close to three years. Warning: This story contains details some readers could find distressing, including descriptions of torture. "They beat me, they humiliated me and finally, they hung me," he told the ABC. "I thought, 'That's it, I would not wake up again.' "But God's merciful — I woke up." He surrendered to enemy forces after the infamous Azovstal steel siege, which gripped the frontline in Mariupol for 80 days during the start of the war. The fierce three-month battle came to define the brutality of Russia's war in Ukraine, and underlined the resilience of hundreds of outnumbered and outgunned soldiers left defending the steelworks and more than 1,000 stranded civilians. On the first night Roman was detained, he lost consciousness four times. "They hung me by the neck on a tree. Only when I lost consciousness did they let me go … they connected wires to me, they put my feet in a basin with water," he said. "Everything was blurry, the only thing I remember was wires and the basin. "They beat us, humiliated us, and tortured us. It all depended on how lucky you were." He spent a month inside a Russian prison in the Ukraine's eastern Donetsk region. Housed within a cell stretching just six metres squared, more than 60 prisoners were crammed inside and sleeping on top of each other, he recalls. Food was rationed and each prisoner was fed half a ladle of rice and a piece of bread a day. He was then transferred to the notorious Olenivka prison and was still there when it was hit by a massive explosion in July, killing 54 Ukrainian prisoners of war. "We could hear an explosion after 11pm. At first, we thought that it was our Ukrainian military firing," Roman recalled. "We were happy, cheerful. We thought that finally, our guys are here, close to us and they have attacked. "But the next morning we found out that the Azov soldiers had been blown up." After the explosion, Roman said soldiers from his unit were forced to clean up the human remains. "The human flesh was left for our guys," he said. "The cleaners told us how they had to wash the blood from the asphalt [and] the human flesh that they saw on the metal bars." Kyiv accused Russia of orchestrating the attack, labelling it a deliberate war crime. Moscow pointed the finger at Ukraine, suggesting Kyiv attacked its own people with a US-made HIMARS rocket. It is estimated that 8,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been captured by Russian forces since Moscow's full-scale invasion in February 2022. According to Ukraine's human rights ombudsman, more than 16,000 civilians are also in Russian captivity. Under the Geneva Convention, it is illegal to torture prisoners of war for information or use any form of coercion. There have been more than 60 prisoner swaps since the conflict began, but little has been reported about the lifelong trauma and physical injury the returned soldiers live with. Roman is still living with back pain, a sore knee and a "damaged" neck from his time as a prisoner. "There are constant reminders of that time and once I remember, I immediately have huge psychological issues," he said. Vadim, another soldier who was captured outside the Mariupol steelworks in 2022, is still undergoing rehabilitation for his injuries. "I was a healthy man before the war and now I feel I am really poorly," he said. "They beat me, hit me with a taser; they hung me up by my genitals to torture me and get information." During his two years and eight months in captivity, he lost 40 kilograms — almost half of his body weight — and was transferred to several Russian prisons. "Every morning, we were taken out of our cells for the morning check-up," he said. "They blinded us, put us to the wall and began to beat for whatever reason: you are not standing properly, or you are not bending properly." Vadim and Roman formed a close bond during their time inside Olenivka prison. The two men couldn't believe their luck when they were released in a prisoner exchange in December. "It was my belief that helped me during that entire time. My belief in my family, my belief in Ukraine, and my belief in God," Vadim said. In what is shaping up to be the largest since the war broke out, the latest prisoner swap began on Monday and included the exchange of prisoners under 25 and those severely injured. It was the only deal Kyiv and Moscow agreed to during the second round of direct peace talks in Istanbul, which have made little progress towards bringing an end to the war. Over the next few days, both sides will return 1,200 prisoners each and repatriate the bodies of 12,000 fallen soldiers. Vadim is hoping there is peace in sight, and the pain and suffering soldiers and civilians have endured has not all been in vain. "There are no words to describe it," he said. "The brightest memory was after we crossed the border, as if we had seen two worlds. "There were kind, happy faces waiting for us. All of us had tears."
Daily Mail
03-06-2025
- Politics
- Daily Mail
Hitler's last soldier... in the US: How German tank commander evaded FBI for 40 years by building new life as all-American ski instructor after escaping PoW camp at end of WWII
To his friends, his wife and even local newspapers, Dennis Whiles was everything he claimed to be. He was a dashing ski instructor and tennis pro, living it up in California and Hawaii and even mixing with Hollywood film stars. But anyone who had reason to compare an FBI Most Wanted poster issued in 1945 for an escaped German prisoner of war with Whiles's face might have stopped in their tracks. For as Whiles would tearfully admit to his wife in 1984 - nearly 40 years after he had fled an internment camp in New Mexico - he was really Georg Gaertner, a former tank commander in Adolf Hitler's Wehrmacht. As a new Sky History documentary details tonight, Gaertner had built a new life from nothing, even as the federal authorities searched for him and his real family back in what had become Poland felt his absence keenly. The German spent years perfecting an American accent and a back story that his parents' death in a car crash had left him an orphan. But in September 1985, having told his distraught wife, he opted to 'surrender' on prime time NBC TV programme The Today Show. Rather than deport him, US officials decided he had no case to answer and eventually let him become an American citizen. Anyone who had reason to compare an FBI Most Wanted poster issued in 1945 for an escaped German prisoner of war with Whiles's face might have stopped in their tracks Tonight's programme, Greatest Escapes of WWII: Hitler's last soldier in America who defied the FBI for 40 years, recounts his wife Jean's memory of her husband's admission. She said: 'I remember him being in tears, I remember him sitting up on the kitchen counter, and he was sitting there crying and pouring out this story, just like an avalanche, a waterfall coming out, about what had happened. 'He told me the whole story'. Born in Schweidnitz, Lower Silesia (now Świdnica, Poland) in 1920, Gaertner enlisted in the German army in 1940, aged 19. Having been sent to fight with Erwin Rommel's Afrika Korps in North Africa, he was captured by British troops in Tunis in 1943. He was then sent to America to be held prisoner at Camp Deming in the town of the same name. By September 1945, weeks after the Second World War had come to an end, Gaertner had decided that he did not want to grapple with the possible fate that awaited him back home. Świdnica was now controlled by the Soviet regime and would remain under the rule of Poland's puppet Communist government for decades to come. It meant that, as a former soldier, he faced arrest, persecution and even death. So on September 22, Gaertner slipped under the fence of Camp Deming and boarded a freight train to California. He had nothing but the clothes he was wearing. Historian Matt Maclachan says in tonight's programme:'The story of Georg Gartner is almost the antithesis of the escape story. 'A man who was doing everything he could to stay in the country.' The expert adds: 'He had seen the opportunities that America presented for a better life, and he simply didn't want to go home'. Gaertner's first year on the run was perhaps his worst. He needed to make a living without revealing his real identity. And his spoken English was by no means perfect. The FBI's Wanted poster included front-facing and side-on shots of Gaertner, plus a full physical description and scans of his finger prints. So the former soldier kept his head down, finding work as a dishwasher and gardener. Then, after getting a job as an architectural consultant in the construction industry, he assumed the identity of Dennis F. Whiles and perfected his English. In the winter, he worked as a ski instructor in the Sierra Nevada mountains. The fact that the authorities were still looking for Gaertner and dozens of other escaped German prisoners did not deter him doing things that would get him noticed. In 1952, a huge blizzard left a train stranded. Gaertner was among those who took food, medicine and hot drinks to its stranded passengers. He became a local hero, with his photo featuring in the newspapers. But, remarkably, he was not recognised. Then, the following year, Gaertner was flicking through Colliers, a popular national magazine, when he saw a feature about German soldiers who had managed to hide themselves in America. He was stunned to see that his mugshot was among the photos. But again, he remained undetected. Worse was to come when he bumped into a fellow former German soldier who recognised him from North Africa. Remarkably, Gaertner managed to bluff his way out by insisting that he was not who the man thought he was. In 1964, the German met his future wife. Once married, he and Jean set up a tennis centre in Santa Cruz, California, and then moved to Hawaii. Gaertner even played doubles with film stars including Lloyd Bridges. But his wife began to have suspicions about his past, which were fuelled by Gaertner's refusal to expand on his backstory. Historian Kate Vigurs says in tonight's show: 'She knew nothing at all about her husband's past. 'He had no childhood, no youth, he didn't tell her anything about his life, basically before he met her. 'This drove her to distraction. She got to the point where she was ready to leave him.' Jean had even tried to find the orphanage where Gaertner claimed he was raised. But she found it did not exist. Knowing that his wife was on the verge of quitting their marriage, Gaertner finally owned up to both his wife and the authorities. Dr Vigurs adds: : 'He was essentially, four decades later, the last German soldier to surrender from the Second World War. And the story went wild. 'A biography was written, Hitler's Last Soldier in America, and finally, he was able to tell the truth.' By then, the US authorities had no interest in Gaertner. He was never charged with an offence because he had been brought to the US against his will. And all German prisoners of war had long since been repatriated. He finally became a US citizen in 2009 and died aged 92 in 2013.
