On June 23, 2023, one of the most extraordinary episodes in wartime Russia began — the mutiny of Yevgeny Prigozhin and his Wagner private military company. It grew out of a protracted feud between Prigozhin and Sergei Shoigu, then the defense minister. The Wagner leader accused Shoigu of inadequately supplying the front, where Wagner’s fighters were bearing the brunt of the combat.

Prigozhin’s “March of Justice” — his term for the revolt against a military leadership he said was “running wild” — lasted a single day. His force of 25,000 stopped 300 kilometers (about 185 miles) from Moscow and turned back. Wagner soon ceased to function as an independent organization. On August 23, 2023 — two months to the day after the march — Prigozhin was killed when his plane crashed in Russia’s Tver region.

To mark the third anniversary of the revolt, Meduza spoke with former Wagner mercenaries — both those who took part in the mutiny and those who watched from the sidelines — about what they lived through during the “March of Justice” and what has become of them since.

Caution: This story contains profanity and graphic descriptions of violence.

“We knew Uncle Zhenya would pull something big. Who wouldn’t go nuts out there?”

Alexander, 30

I served in special forces. In 2017, I shipped out to Syria on contract. Even back then, I was thinking about going to Ukraine. I considered this war fratricidal — until it crossed a line. And for me, that line was the killing of civilians in the Donbas, children among them; the shelling of residential neighborhoods; and the pleas of people on Ukrainian territory asking to be protected.

When the special military operation began, I decided: “Who, if not guys like me?” I volunteered for Wagner, because my special forces unit wasn’t taking part in the operation at the time. I served in Wagner from May 2022 to July 2023. I knew the outfit was serious. Back then they only took people with real training. I understood I’d be fighting alongside a group that could bring order to Ukraine.

I got the chance to shake the hand of Yevgeny Viktorovich [Prigozhin]. It was at the Molkino training center in the Krasnodar region. We were standing in the smoking area. He came out of nowhere: “Hey, fellas.” We were a little taken aback. It was really something. He asked whether we had any complaints about the training course. He also told the new guys: “Our mission will be accomplished no matter what, and it’d be good to have your help.” He wished us the best of luck. I’m proud I at least got to see the man.

I took part in the operation they called the ”Bakhmut meat grinder.” It was no picnic, that’s for sure. At first I was an assault trooper, and once the urban fighting started in Bakhmut, I became the point man for a tactical group. I went through eight assaults. We took the House of Culture, the railway station. I saw my fair share of action.

There were plenty of situations where it was either him [the enemy] or me. We tried to take them prisoner, of course. We’d shout to a lot of them: “Guys, surrender and you’ll live.” We always gave them a chance. But if they refused, we had to shoot. What can you do? We have orders, and we carry them out no matter what.

At the end of May 2023, during an assault on a five-story building, I got a bad concussion. A grenade landed at my feet and I kicked it. It flew about a meter and a half [almost five feet] away and exploded. I went blind and deaf on one side. But thank God, at least I kept the eye.

I spent two weeks in the hospital. And when I got back, they told us: “Boys, things are about to kick off, be ready.” Two weeks later, we marched on Moscow.

It had all been in the works for a while. Word was that Alexander Grigoryevich [Lukashenko] had long been asking Wagner for help. He’d hinted he needed people to train his special forces. And we were told that instructors would soon be needed in Belarus and that a camp would have to be built. So Belarus had been taking shape long before the march — a month out, for sure.

And we understood that after those messages to the head of the armed forces, “Uncle Zhenya” — you know, Prigozhin — would pull something big. He’d been promised shells for Bakhmut, but far fewer arrived. Prigozhin saw he was being deceived. His men were dying for nothing, with no support at all. Who wouldn’t go nuts out there? It was in his power to change the course of the war. He didn’t get scared — he went for it.

We learned about the march only a few hours before we set out. At the time we were near Popasna [in the Luhansk region]. We accepted the order without much hesitation. Some guys, naturally, started stirring up paranoia: “Boys, this is going to end badly.” I heard there were some who refused. They were left behind to hold the positions.

We still didn’t fully understand where we were going or why. Only on the road did it become clear that we weren’t heading for the Kremlin, that this couldn’t be called a revolt. A revolt is an uprising against the government. Prigozhin staged an uprising against the armed forces. They told us to grab Shoigu out of the Defense Ministry and take him somewhere safe. Where, exactly, I still don’t know. Yevgeny Viktorovich just wanted to ask him a few questions, nothing more. We weren’t planning to capture anyone, execute anyone, or anything like that. And we had orders — no civilian casualties.

Counting the time to pack up, the trip [from Popasna] to Rostov took about six or seven hours. I covered most of the way on foot or riding on top of an armored vehicle. I’ll never forget how warmly they welcomed us. Only a few people yelled, “Disperse! Putin told you to!” Even the locals looked at them like they were crazy. For the most part, we were greeted like victors. People weren’t afraid — they were glad we’d come. They took photos with us and our equipment, they smiled — and we smiled back.

The police, the National Guard, the FSB special forces — they all let us through, nobody fired on us. Plenty of them shook our hands.

We’d almost made it [to the Moscow region], but somewhere between Voronezh and Lipetsk we were told to return to our positions. Prigozhin didn’t come to us himself, didn’t explain anything. The commanders just got an order to turn around. The next day was my birthday. I’d said it would be my best birthday ever, but it didn’t pan out. It’s a shame we didn’t make it.

We set out for Belarus two days after returning to our positions in the Luhansk region. When we got to the town of Asipovichy near the Belarusian-Polish border [Asipovichy is in central Belarus, not near Poland], it was clear they’d been expecting us. And not in the last three days, either: by the time we arrived, they’d built a new barracks from scratch.

I helped set up the camp. We were building it out, digging fortifications. Honestly, it was basically a vacation. Spent three weeks there. Then they gave me a choice: keep serving in Mali or walk away from the contract. I went home. After getting wounded, I’m not really good for much anymore. Blind and deaf on one side — what are my chances out there [in Africa]?

If I’d been healthy, I’d have signed a contract with the Defense Ministry — a bad idea, but I’d have done it. I’m a patriot of my country, and once I’m in, I go all the way. But I know the situation with the supplies, the stupid orders, the suicidal missions from the Defense Ministry. Now, if the Wagner company had stayed [the way it was], I’d have kept serving without a doubt.

I opened my own security agency. I provide armed security for public and cultural events. Especially after what happened at Crocus [City Hall], the service is in high demand. [Former] Wagner guys work for me, too.

I have no regrets about the march. A few lives to show the state that it isn’t being fair — that’s not so high a price, if you ask me.

“The people supported us, they were ready to follow us”

Nikolai, 45

I joined Wagner from a prison colony. My charges were exactly what Yevgeny Viktorovich [Prigozhin] wanted to see: Article 105, murder; and Article 162, armed robbery. I killed two cops. Why and how are beside the point. My sentence was 24 years. I left a month before it was up, in June 2023. Fighting is just the only thing I know how to do. I fought in Chechnya, in the second campaign.

And I’d also hoped that the Kremlin bullshitter spouting off on TV was telling the truth. Back then I really thought we were fighting some fucking Nazis. But it’s nothing like they tell you. I saw them [the Ukrainians] — they’re just like us. Sure, every family has its black sheep, but most of them are just like us.

When the march [of the Wagner company on Moscow] happened, we were at a training range in the Luhansk region. We didn’t make it onto the march, because we’d only just arrived for training. At first, those who weren’t taken were a little upset. Everyone wanted to take part, because they believed we’d see it through.

If you’re going to start the march, you shouldn’t cut deals with anyone. We’d have gotten what we wanted. People had our backs — they were ready to follow us, they were waiting for it. Now all the [former Wagner guys] are still pissed and miserable. And here we are, stuck living with the fallout from that dirty backroom deal [between Wagner’s leadership and the government]. No hard feelings, but I’d kill every last one of them.

After the march, they called me in and said the contract had to be rewritten. What I had with the company wasn’t a contract, it was God knows what. I recently went to the Defense Ministry, trying to get my combat pay and compensation for my injuries. They checked my dog-tag number and said, “You’re not in our system.” Wonderful. So where were we, then? Whose orders were we carrying out? Who were we fighting for?

I was in Wagner for only a month and a half, but it all went sideways. My criminal record wasn’t cleared. I can’t get a job, because Wagner guys get turned down on the spot. I recently met with a lawmaker, and he confirmed it: all Wagner guys are persona non grata. I say: “What, you want me to grab a gun and start killing people right here? How the hell am I supposed to live?” There’s no way for me to adapt here.

I don’t regret not serving out my full sentence. I just got one more confirmation of what this fucking state power really is. I will absolutely not sign a contract with the ministry.

“We’re not mutineers, we didn’t betray anyone, and we weren’t out to overthrow the president”

Alexei, 51

I worked as a driver. My only army experience was my conscript service; I knew how to shoot and handle a weapon. I have plenty of friends who are contract soldiers. In 2022, I went to the enlistment office, wanting to sign up too. They told me: “Not needed for now. You’re too old.” I was 47 at the time.

I’d looked into Wagner a bit, and I decided to test what else I was capable of. My wife was against it, but I insisted and signed a six-month contract. The company bought me a ticket, and I arrived at the training center in Molkino.

Prigozhin used to come there. He personally oversaw everything, made sure the soldiers had everything they needed. He’d think nothing of walking into the mess hall, grabbing a plate of porridge with canned stew, and sitting down next to any fighter. On that visit, a couple of guys told him they’d run out of garlic and onions. Two hours later, half a KamAZ truckload of onions and garlic showed up at the mess hall. He tried to grant every request right away, or as fast as he could, so his fighters wouldn’t go without, even in something so small.

From the training ground, they sent me across the line [to the front], to Bakhmut. I served as a KamAZ driver, but everyone went on the assaults, and so did I. I carried personnel, brought up ammunition and food, and hauled the “200s” [the dead] and “300s” [the wounded] off the battlefield. Everyone’s scared, but everyone came to do the job.

Yevgeny Viktorovich came out to the positions, too. I saw him there four times, but never spoke with him personally. He never hid. He’d come, size up the situation. He’d walk up to a group, shake everyone’s hand, ask how things were going, how morale was, how their health was. He took an interest in every man’s fate, you might say.

The guys treated him like their old man. They still call him “Pops” even now. It didn’t matter who you were, he was always easy to talk to. Just a regular guy — a real father to everyone.

We heard about the “march of justice” three or four days out, maybe a week. Rumors started going around the units. But nobody said anything about us marching on Moscow with our demands. Just: there’ll be a march, get the vehicles ready. We followed orders. Orders aren’t up for debate.

Everyone felt good about the march; we wanted to get through to the top brass, to find out why our boys were being killed while the Defense Ministry held back ammunition. How does that work? The second-best army in the world, and we don’t have ammunition.

The morning of June 23 — reveille, breakfast. We loaded ammunition and spent half the day forming up the columns. This was outside Luhansk. I didn’t see Prigozhin there, because there were so many people. They told us we were heading to Rostov, and from there on to Moscow, to meet up with the commander-in-chief and talk about the ammo shortage and guys getting killed for nothing.

We set out. I was in the column behind the wheel of a KamAZ. We rolled into Rostov. People were bewildered to see troops. Then everyone figured it out and started supporting us, bringing food and water, even though we had plenty of everything.

Later, back in civilian life, we saw someone on TV claiming that we’d disarmed 180 conscripts and contract soldiers at the border. None of that is true. We told them we had no intention of fighting our own people. And they told us the same — and let us through. It would be absurd to fight your own people in the middle of Russia.

Out of Rostov, they sent my group to hold the highway toward Voronezh. A chopper went down right in front of me. As far as I know, the pilot of one of the helicopters was convinced we were a large Ukrainian force. The crews got fed a lie, so they came down on us. [I was told] that pilot figured out the order was criminal and that he had the right to refuse it.

On the way to Voronezh, out of nowhere they ordered us to turn around and pull back to a temporary base in the Luhansk region. That’s where we turned on the TV and found out the Belarusian president had stepped in and convinced Yevgeny Viktorovich [Prigozhin] to stop. They forced him to submit to the “Min” [the Defense Ministry].

The names they called us in the news (we still get called this stuff even today): traitors to the country, mutineers. We’re not mutineers, and we didn’t betray anybody; we weren’t trying to overthrow the president. We support the president — we just wanted to figure out why the ammo deliveries were being held up.

Then the president offered Wagner’s fighters a choice: sign a contract with the Defense Ministry, go to Belarus, or scatter to their homes. For about two weeks, we handed over our temporary bases, vehicles, and other equipment to the Defense Ministry, and then we crossed into Belarus. The instructors stayed behind there, sharing their combat experience with the Belarusian army special units, training them.

In early August, most of the guys went home. So did I. I didn’t get mixed up with the ministry, because the contract you sign is for a year, it renews automatically, and you go home either disabled or in a box. Either that, or you serve until the end of the special military operation — and when that’ll be, I can’t even guess.

I never bought this whole show [Prigozhin’s death] from the start. Honestly, everyone I was out there with — nobody believes it. The commanders never rode in the same car or flew on the same plane. But our media said they’d been playing with a grenade on the plane and doing drugs. I don’t believe it, and I never will. And Yevgeny Viktorovich [Prigozhin] used to say: “Don’t ever believe it until you see my head.” Guys come back from Africa saying they saw him over there. But that’s just rumors.

People get used to war. When I came home, I couldn’t sit still. I was drawn back there like crazy. I can’t explain the feeling. You just get up in the night and shout: “I’m going back!” I’d tell my wife: “Tomorrow I’m packing up and leaving.” But I got over it. I got busy with my grandson, odds and ends, summertime, the dacha; I’m back to working as a driver. Little by little, the feeling started to fade. Especially since the buddies who got involved with the Defense Ministry were brought back in coffins a month later. After that, I didn’t want any part of it.

But if Yevgeny Viktorovich turned up and built an army like Wagner again, I’d join up under his command without hesitation.

”We all knew this was a betrayal of the homeland. We weren’t headed toward the enemy, right?”

Oleg, 49

I have Ukrainian roots: my mother and grandmother are from Zhytomyr. I myself was in Ukraine in the 1980s, and I saw neo-fascists. Even back then they were walking around with swastikas on their armbands. That’s probably what pushed me [to go to war].

You name it, I’ve done it. My life’s been quite something, really. I did martial arts, boxing. In the 1990s, I was in a crew [an organized crime group]. There were all kinds of scrapes. I got wounded in civilian life, too. From the last time I got shot, there’s still buckshot in my skull. From 2017, I worked as a sales rep, then as head of sales.

In March 2023, I joined the private military company. My family didn’t want to let me go, but it’s pretty much impossible to talk me out of anything. Once I set my mind on something, I go for it.

Training in Molkino lasted 21 days. They taught us to lay mines and handle various weapons: a grenade launcher, a Kalashnikov, a DShK. I’m an assault trooper — I went straight in as “meat.”

On one of the assaults we made it to a basement, sat there for two days and couldn’t get out, because a tank was shelling us. We scrounged our own food and water: whoever we “200‘d” [killed], we’d take his rations. Nobody counts the dead. You just shoot at the enemy; I always had an RPG. How many are there, five or one — why bother checking?

Discipline in Wagner was top-notch. They’d beat you half to death and throw you in a pit for two or three days. I saw it myself. One guy had his little finger chopped off for falling asleep on watch. I wasn’t punished much. Just once, the commander gave me a whack on the legs with a stick because we’d been ordered to take a five-story building by midday and didn’t until evening. I think the punishment was fair.

Nobody clued us in that any of this [the march on Moscow] was in the works. The evening before, with a day’s notice, they gathered us and said everyone was to be in full combat readiness the next day. The commander said the job was to get to Moscow, and that it had to happen. Why? Mainly to keep order, he said. Basically just vague talk, nothing concrete.

They didn’t take everyone on the march, because the holding force had to stay put — somebody had to keep an eye on them; they had their own job to do.

There was an unpleasant moment as we were setting out from camp. Everyone understood we’d be declared enemies of the people and that going back to a normal civilian life would be impossible. But there was no turning back by then. We all shared those feelings, but we only talked about them once we were back at camp. If anyone had refused before the march, they’d have been “zeroed out” [killed] without a word. There were guys who deserted on the way to Moscow. I know for a fact they weren’t caught.

The column stretched about 50 kilometers [30 miles]: PAZ buses, jeeps, ordinary minivans and sedans, Ural trucks, and KamAZes. As we traveled, they brought us up to speed in broad strokes. Each group got only the information it needed to carry out the task assigned to it. My group provided security for five armored vehicles. We were told not to touch civilians under any circumstances, but not to stand on ceremony with the military if they turned aggressive.

We had about 200 to 300 kilometers [roughly 125 to 185 miles] left to Moscow. We had Igla missiles and anti-aircraft missile systems for taking down helicopters and planes. As we were moving in the column [in the Voronezh region], a Defense Ministry helicopter started firing on us. A civilian car got caught in the crossfire — there were people inside — but they didn’t show that on TV. In a split second, our unit decided to shoot the helicopter down. It crashed about 200 meters [roughly 655 feet] from us, and we moved on. We shot down a second helicopter three or four hours later.

When the order came to turn around, I felt relieved. So did the guys marching with me in the column — about 80 of us. We all knew this was a betrayal of the homeland. I mean, we weren’t headed toward the enemy, right? But if you’re going against Shoigu, you’re a traitor anyway.

[After the mutiny] we were told at first that we were all going to Belarus and would continue training there. A week later everything changed: they said only the instructors would go there, and anyone who wanted to keep [serving in Wagner] would go back to civilian life, rest up, get a passport, and fly off to the African republics. I didn’t want to. The [Africans] never did me any harm.

I went home, but in March 2024 I left [for the war] again — I decided to see for myself what kind of mess was going on in the Defense Ministry. I already knew about it, and I knew the contract was open-ended, too. I just wanted to find out firsthand. And besides, I’m not afraid anymore.

I served on the Zaporizhzhia front. Same as before, I went on the assaults. To get out of the assaults, you have to pay the commanders. And why would I hand over my own money? Better to just go on the assault.

I was in the thick of it for all of two months. At the end of May, I got hit by an RPG — wounds to my leg, arm, neck, and head. To avoid paying me for the injury, they discharged me for “general illness.”

When I got home, I showed my wife a couple of videos of what’s really happening out there: the “meat assaults,” the idiotic orders from the Defense Ministry. Taking the town of Staromaiorske cost about 1,500 men over three weeks. My wife says: “Don’t show this to anyone else. Nobody’s going to go easy on you.” And the people [who’ve been to the front] have thousands of clips like that.

After my injury, I tried several times to sign a contract, but nobody would take me. I’m drawn back there. That’s where I belong, and the people are real. Even a “kashnik” [a recruited convict] will never leave you behind — he’ll drag you out. Where are you going to meet people like that here?

I love my homeland very much. The state? No. But the pot’s already boiling. We went at them [Ukraine] first, yes. But hardly any of those guys are left, and if our reinforcements don’t show up, they’ll come for us next. So we have to grind it out to the end to keep them off our land.

For some people, Elvis Presley is still alive. I don’t think Prigozhin is alive. You have to be a realist. If it weren’t for the march, Prigozhin probably wouldn’t be alive anyway. He’d done what he set out to do — he built Wagner. The authorities had no further use for him, the way I see it. Because you can’t have two tsars. In the eyes of someone like [Valery] Gerasimov [the chief of the Russian General Staff], men like that discredit the authorities, because they expose their helplessness.

“It was a stupid thing to do. What were we marching for? So Prigozhin could carry out his plans using the boys?”

Yevgeny, 29

I watched videos of the Ukrainian side wiping out the Russian-speaking people of the “DNR” and “LNR” [the self-proclaimed Donetsk and Luhansk “people’s republics”] and destroying churches. I felt for them, and I wanted to go and punish those scumbags.

I joined Wagner in June 2022. I’d known about it since 2015; an acquaintance of mine worked there. He told me the discipline was iron-clad. That’s what motivated me most. If someone went on a combat mission drunk, they’d beat the shit out of him, end of story. There were pits, too; they’d throw in the guys responsible for getting others killed. Another punishment: they’d strip off your shirt, tie you by the legs to an ATV with a cable, and drag you over the gravel. I didn’t see it myself, but it doesn’t come from nowhere; people saw it.

I signed my first contract for four months. I came home, rested three weeks. I wanted to go back. Once a man’s been out there for the first time, he can’t picture himself in civilian life anymore. Not because he wants to make a lot of money, but because something pulls him back. I signed my second contract for six months.

My feelings about them [the Ukrainians] are mixed. Here’s how it was: there were two five-story buildings about 25 meters [roughly 80 feet] apart. We’re holed up in one, the Ukrainian guys in the other. And the people were so decent. We talked with them just fine and agreed that nobody would touch anybody.

And then there were the pigs who’d pound us relentlessly and wait for us to come out on our own. Or they’d shout at us: “You need to be slaughtered!” And we’d have to level them — because if I didn’t, they’d kill me anyway.

The mission was to take a five-story building on the outskirts of Soledar. We reached the building; there were eight Ukrainian soldiers inside. We talked to them through a megaphone. They shouted: “Russkies, fascists, string up the Muscovite!” Then they started bailing out, jumping from the building. And for two days we picked them off, until they were gone under the dirt. We took one wounded man, and the rest went on to the next world.

I remember that day [of the march on Moscow] like it was yesterday. In April 2023, I ended up in the hospital. I took a bullet to the leg — a few days before my contract ended. I wake up on the morning of June 23, and the guys go right away: “Look at the news.” Word had spread on YouTube and Telegram that the Wagner fighters had marched on Moscow. At first I didn’t believe it, because there’s so much fake stuff out there.

There were four of us in the ward, and we were all horrified, because Prigozhin’s march was against the law. And at the time we were still part of the company. We were afraid someone might come and charge us. But nobody did.

A lot of guys supported the march, but not me. I think it was a stupid thing to do. What were we even marching for? So Prigozhin or [Wagner military commander] Utkin could carry out their own plans using the boys? That’s not a combat mission. Combat missions were carried out at the front. But marching into your own country and against your own government — that’s an act of terrorism.

The Wagner guys were either marching for a cause or following a stupid order. In the end, both they and the [troops] on the Defense Ministry’s side suffered. I feel for all of them.

The whole country was hoping Wagner would make it. But say they had made it — then what? Started a war in Moscow? There are civilians there. It’s a good thing they didn’t make it.

I grew up in an orphanage. Two of my friends, who’d been with me there since we were little, both died in Bakhmut. We took it, only for some reason nobody [official] will say out loud how many boys died there. And I learned what it means to take something at the price of “meat.”

I’m done signing anything with anybody. Enough’s enough.

Recorded by Irina Novik