Prisoners swap cells for battlefield to bolster Ukraine’s army

The uniforms make everyone equal. Officers like Valentyn and Arey, who command hundreds of men and boast exemplary military careers, and Mikhail, Garik, and Makhsud, who have all served time in prison for various crimes and are now members of Alcatraz, a very unusual battalion. It’s one of the regiments of the 93rd Kholodny Yar Mechanized Brigade and is made up exclusively of ex-convicts who have voluntarily traded prison for war to defend Ukraine, but also because they hope to clear their image.

The Alcatraz Battalion was created after a law was passed on June 7, 2024, allowing common criminals to avoid prison time if they joined the army. The measure was designed to try to alleviate the shortage of personnel in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and in the first month after its entry into force, 6,100 of the 44,000 inmates in Ukraine’s prison population applied for admission. More than 3,800 were accepted, according to the Ministry of Justice. Valentyn, the battalion commander, recounts how, after a month of training, the recruits were already participating in missions on the Donetsk front last August, the eastern province partially occupied by Russia since 2014. “They are fighting in the most dangerous areas: Pokrovsk, Kurakhove, Chasiv Yar... Especially in assault missions.”

“They come highly motivated, much more so than the average recruit today,” says Valentyn about the former prisoners. There are hundreds of them, although he doesn’t reveal the exact number. In routine training, at least 50 huddle among the trees of a dense forest of bare branches on the outskirts of Kramatorsk. Some receive instructions to simulate an assault, others practice with their rifles, and others learn how to provide first aid to a wounded person.

Not every prisoner benefits from the new law. Those convicted of treason are excluded, as are drug traffickers, rapists, pedophiles, or those convicted of murder. The final say on release always rests with a judge. “There are mainly thieves and those convicted of assault,” Arey believes. Garik, a 28-year-old professional middleweight boxer, ended up in prison over a fight. He broke several bones in a man’s face, and because he was a federated athlete, the judge gave him a sentence equivalent to if he had committed assault with a knife, an aggravating circumstance that also exists in Spain. He received 13 years, but his lawyer managed to get his sentence reduced to eight. “I had been in my cell for two years, with nothing to do, when they asked me if I wanted to come. I didn’t think twice,” he says.

In the group training in emergency medical care is Makhsud, 27, born in Ukraine to Uzbek parents. He had previously served in the army — he joined in 2022, at the start of the Russian invasion — but was seriously wounded in the leg during a bombing raid and took a long time to recover. When he was ready to return, he had a run-in with the law: “I only gave a ride to a friend who had committed a crime. The police stopped us, detained us, and considered me an accomplice,” he says, not quite understanding why he ended up behind bars. He was also sentenced to eight years in prison, having already served one when he joined the Alcatraz Battalion. “When I finish this year of service, my record will be clean, and I won’t have to serve the other seven [years],” he says.

Makhsud’s family wasn’t too happy about him returning to the front because they had already suffered so much when he was wounded, and they almost preferred him behind bars, safe from the bombs. He doesn’t see it that way. “This country has given me so much, and it’s my duty to give something back; I must defend it now.”

The boxer also explains his decision: “I want to prove I’m not a bad person, I’m not a bastard,” he argues. But his primary reason, which is also that of most other people, is to help Ukraine. “I came here to kill Russians,” he says. “And I don’t need this [pointing to his rifle], I can do it with my own hands,” he boasts.

Reputation matters less to Mykhailo, 42, who isn’t as talkative as his colleagues. This construction worker had never been in the army, never held a weapon before. “I came to serve my country,” he says laconically. “I already have the respect of my family; that’s all that matters to me.”

Soldiers who join the Alcatraz Battalion sign a one-year contract with the army, and only two circumstances differentiate them from other troops: “They don’t get a vacation for a year, and if they get sick, they don’t go home to recover, but rather to the barracks where they reside,” says Commander Arey. After that period of service, their criminal record is clean, although they cannot leave the Armed Forces of Ukraine unless one of the few circumstances that currently exempt them from service applies: caring for a dependent family member, health reasons, or having at least three minor children. What they can do is change battalions or brigades and pursue the career they want in the army. The idea sounds very appealing to anyone who has a stint behind bars ahead of them. “You can live even better in prison; it’s very comfortable, but this is much more,” says Mykhailo. By “this,” the recruit refers to breathing the air outside the prison walls and having regained freedom, even if it is limited to the conditions of fighting in an armed conflict.

A new life of extreme risk

No matter how many advantages the former prisoners find in their new occupation, it’s by no means easy. Mykhailo, who has only been here for a week, admits he’s already improving, but that it was difficult at first. Sergei, from the group learning to handle a rifle, arrived just a day ago, and the training is proving difficult. Oleksander, the instructor, has explained to them how to unload the rifle, reload it, and aim it in record time and without error. It’s more complicated than it seems: when they don’t position their legs correctly, it’s the arm position, or the cartridge jams. The instructor patiently corrects Sergei once, twice, and three times: he is always the last in the group to shout “empty!” when they’ve unloaded the weapon, and “I’ll cover you!” when it’s ready again.

In the plains and forests of the eastern Donbas region, these ex-convicts train six days a week for about 10 hours, for at least a month before leaving to experience the real front lines. “We get up at six in the morning, get ready, have breakfast, and then go to the barracks and other locations like these to train,” Makhsud explains, pointing to the forest. During breaks, they take advantage of the time to eat, smoke, and use their cell phones; there aren’t many other pastimes, either. At 10 p.m., the lights in the barracks are turned off.

Day after day, the Alcatraz recruits train in assault and defending positions, camouflage, drone handling, trench construction, first aid in combat zones... the basics for an infantry recruit about to defend some of Ukraine’s most battered fronts. When they complete a mission, they return to training and formation. Until the next one.

Their commander, Valentyn, insists on how proud he is of them. “I don’t care what they’ve done in the past; I care what they’re going to do from now on,” he says. If they aren’t killed in the war, the soldiers of the Alcatraz Battalion will soon see their debt to justice paid and their freedom restored. Just like their battalion’s emblem: a chained eagle that breaks its shackles and takes flight.

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