OLEKSANDR ANDROSHCHUK is part of the football fan community and never saw himself as a soldier. However, he joined the military during the early years of the war and once again during the full-scale Russian invasion. Before the war, he traveled extensively, lived in exotic countries, and worked in the IT sector. For him, sports competitions provide additional motivation.
About himself. I’ve been a football fan since I was about 14 or 15. I used to play with the guys. My older brother, who is a year and a half older than me, has always been my role model, and I’ve followed his lead throughout my life. When the war started in 2014, we were deciding which military unit to join. But my brother ended up going without me. He served in Azov starting in 2014, then left and returned in 2019. He went through the Azovstal siege in 2022 and was captured, spending a year in captivity before being freed. I initially didn’t join because I thought the war would end quickly, and when I didn’t go right away, I thought it might be too late to enlist. But as the conflict dragged on, my brother tried to convince me not to join. Finally, in 2015, when it became clear that the war was long-term, I decided to serve.
The defining moments of my life, the choices I made, were influenced by the fan movement and my brother’s involvement in Azov. On one hand, it was easier because of his example, but on the other hand, I often wondered whether I had achieved anything on my own, or if it was simply assigned to me because I’m his brother.
About the choice to fight. In 2014, Azov, like all the volunteer battalions, was made up of guys in sneakers. Yes, they liberated Mariupol, but they were like Cossack rebels. By 2015-2016, it became clear that enthusiasm alone wasn’t enough to keep going, and there was a need for training and professional development. Those were the years when nationalist movements started transitioning to a professional army, and instead of looking to the Soviet army, they took inspiration from the successful experiences of NATO armies. It’s easier to learn something properly from scratch than to try to unlearn old ways.
My outlook led me to Azov, so there was no real paradigm shift. My views were only strengthened. I never saw myself as a soldier, nor did I want a military career. But when it started to seem like the war might drag on without a clear end, I left the military and turned to community work. At the time, transitioning back to civilian life wasn’t difficult, perhaps due to my youth, but the events back then were nothing compared to the full-scale war.
I was part of the National Corps before traveling and eventually becoming an IT professional. I’ve been working in the IT sector for about five years now.
Before I had kids (I have a five-year-old daughter and a two-and-a-half-year-old son), I had been a bit impulsive in decision-making. A friend once said he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday, so we bought tickets to Kamianets-Podilskyi and spent the next week traveling around—Chernivtsi, Kolomyia, Ivano-Frankivsk, Morshyn, Lviv. We didn’t pay for accommodation, just searched for opportunities. Back then, it felt impulsive, but after spending time in Asia, it doesn’t seem that way anymore.
About traveling. My friends went on a round-the-world trip, reached South Korea, and decided to stay there and work. At the time, you could earn good money in Korea. They invited us, and my friend and I applied for visas. Four days later, we were on a plane to Korea.
We spent six months in Asia. Three months in South Korea, and then we went on to spend our earnings in places like Macau, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Thailand, and Bali. We were planning to return to Korea, but they didn’t grant us a second visa, so we came back to Ukraine.
Asia is a completely different world. If you compare the countries we visited, the standard of living is vastly different. South Korea, Macau, and Hong Kong are highly developed countries where you can really feel the culture. South Korea, in particular, is a highly civilized nation. The young people speak excellent English, and you can do pretty much everything with your phone or the internet. It’s all very convenient.
Vietnam, on the other hand, is a different experience altogether. In Hanoi, we bought motorcycles, and then rode them all the way to Saigon, where we sold them. So, we traveled across the whole country and saw much more than just the tourist spots. Vietnam reminded me a bit of Ukraine—it’s a simpler life there. However, there are a few cities to avoid because there are a lot of Russian tourists, and it almost feels like you’re in Crimea, 2013. Half the signs are in Russian—like “Massage by Andrei” or “Cafe by Svetlana,” and the menus in restaurants are in both Vietnamese and Russian.
We celebrated the New Year in a campsite surrounded by Canadians and Americans. They have a completely different way of spending their leisure time—playing games, having fun, just like in American movies. It’s very different from how Russians spend their time, which usually involves drinking and lying on the beach.
In Vietnam, you can get by with English. People will say something, and you make a guess about what they mean, ask again if you’re unsure. If they say “Yes,” you know you got it right, if they say “No,” you keep guessing.
Thailand is more developed than Vietnam, but it still has this exotic, almost wild feel to it. We were walking through a park in Bangkok when we came across a huge monitor lizard, about 1.5 meters long, casually walking down the path. We almost stepped on it, but it didn’t seem to mind at all. And the locals just carried on, not bothered by it at all.
About the full-scale war. I tried to calm myself, but I knew this wouldn’t end without consequences. In 2021, I reassured myself with the thought that the Russians weren’t idiots—they wouldn’t attack a country with a million people experienced in combat. I believe now more than ever that as many people as possible need to go through the experience of war, so that they’re not outnumbered later by an indifferent majority whose way of life would be influenced by a detached minority. If the majority goes through combat, the indifferent minority will not affect their lives.
On the first day of the full-scale war, I helped my wife pack and sent her to Cherkasy, then went straight to the military recruitment office. Maybe that was a mistake, as I ended up in the unit the office assigned me to. I could have joined my own people, those from the SSO Azov, who had already evolved into the 3rd Assault Brigade. On the other hand, maybe I wouldn’t be here now if I had made a different choice.
After Kyiv, we went to the UK for training, and then we were sent to Donetsk, near Maiorsk.
About the injury. During the battles and defense of Ozeryanivka, we were supposed to cross a dam. We were already planning to retreat when the shelling began. When it seemed like everything had calmed down, I rushed out, and a mine fell right in front of me. I remember being thrown back, and I saw a white screen before my eyes. I even thought, “Well, I guess this is what death looks like.”
My leg was turned to the side, and fragments hit my neck and head. I saw my guys, those from my unit and the attached one, retreating to the embankment. I waved at them, and they waved back.
Two men from the attached unit rushed to me. They realized they couldn’t carry me between them, so one of them ran off to get help. The other also ran away later. I realized I had to get out by myself. I started to suffocate. I crawled through the tracks and thought about my options: crawling 800 meters to the evacuation point was unlikely. But then I heard voices of the commander and another soldier. I croaked out that I was alive, because the guys who had retreated had reported me as “200” over the radio.
They dragged me by the arms, because due to the artillery shelling, they wouldn’t have been able to carry me on a stretcher. I was extremely thirsty and tried to drink, but the water just leaked out of my throat. I was coughing heavily.
I was conscious the entire way to evacuation. I couldn’t speak, so I squeezed their hands to let them know I was alive. But once I was transferred to the ambulance, I lost consciousness.
Even in the ambulance, I thought I was seeing my leg for the last time—it was positioned unnaturally. But they managed to save it.
About accepting the injury. A fragment from the mine hit my phone, so I couldn’t make calls or send messages. I’m sure thoughts about my family crossed my mind, but I focused on staying conscious and not giving in.
The commander called my father and told him I was injured, and my father passed the news on to my wife. The next day, she came to see me. My eyes were swollen, and my face looked like I had eaten too much jam, so I couldn’t see her reaction. She later admitted that she had to step out of the room a few times because she couldn’t hold back her emotions.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I endured it all. For the first few days, I didn’t open my eyes, just lay there in the dark. Everything hurt.
Before the full-scale war, I played football every week, but now that’s no longer possible. Football can’t be replaced. Other team sports are interesting, but it’s not the same.
The first physical challenge after my injury was during the medical examination, when they had me walk around the massive clinic on crutches. As they say, “A samurai has no goal, only the path.” I don’t need special motivation to recover. I walked not three kilometers, but four—I pushed myself further.
I wouldn’t say I had moments of despair. It was tough, and there were times when I thought, “What do you want from me? I’d rather lie down.” I remember the first time I stood with crutches. After lying down for a month and a half, I couldn’t even stand straight on my leg. On New Year’s Eve, they let me go home. Even though I live on the ground floor, I still had to climb 10 steps from the basement. My wife carried a chair for me, and I had to stop a few times to rest before reaching the apartment.
I still have several surgeries ahead, but I’m already participating in various competitions. For example, I’m taking part in a marathon, even though I haven’t run since the injury. The Invictus Games are important to me—to experience Canada and prove something to myself. There’s no one who steps into a ping-pong game in the yard without wanting to win. It’s the same here—I wanted to qualify for the team. That’s an achievement.