OLEKSII TIUNIN is from the Kharkiv region. When the full-scale war began, he fought to defend his homeland. Later, he joined the 3rd Assault Brigade. After the war, Oleksii transitioned to a career as a TV host and is eager to develop his skills in streaming. Through his participation in the Invictus Games, he wants to prove that losing a limb doesn’t mean losing your identity, and that it’s still possible to achieve new goals and reach new heights.
About myself and my beliefs. Sometimes I can make impulsive decisions. For example, I might wake up and decide that I need to go somewhere, just because I haven’t been there yet.
Before the full-scale war, I worked in retail for a long time. I started with the “Mobilochka” network, then moved into wholesale trade.
One of my hobbies is computer games. I enjoy playing GTA and DotA.
I firmly believe that life unfolds naturally, without the need to force things. There’s no point in stressing over things that are meant to happen. I also think there’s no absolute “good” or “bad.” Everyone can do whatever they want, but one should never forget that everything comes with consequences. Everything has its price. For example, I wanted a tough fight, and I paid for it. I think it was at a discount. But in the end, I got everything I wanted.
I’m very composed when it comes to aggression. I used to work as a bouncer at a nightclub, where I learned to stay calm, even when provoked. I would always respond to any provocations with a calm expression. No one knows what I was thinking in those moments.
That job helped me become more composed. Now, I try not to escalate conflicts. If a conflict arises, I try to distance myself because I understand the potential consequences. But what’s the point? The logical resolution to a conflict is to defeat the opponent, taking the most precious thing from them—life. Otherwise, what’s the point of arguing?
About the eve of the great war. On February 23, 2022, I picked up my foreign passport, planning to go to Poland to work as a truck driver. I thought it would be an easy job with good pay, and I’d also get to see Europe. I received a notification about the documents and was going to pick them up the next day, but something made me go on the 23rd, as if I sensed it.
The next day, I felt as if some jerk had come into my home, insulted me, insulted my family— and I wasn’t going to stay silent about it. I wanted to make sure that every Russian understood there would be consequences for their actions. That was my primary motivation.
Another reason I joined was because, despite the fear, I found it incredibly empowering. Yes, it’s terrifying. But also amazing. Of course, I don’t like seeing people, my comrades, die. This rave is something real. There are no masks here, you can truly see who people are. Some guys you meet are so frightening that you wouldn’t dare approach them, yet when things get tough, they panic and get scared. Then, there are others, seemingly ordinary in civilian life, who become warriors. And these are the majority. War is the ultimate feeling of freedom.
About the beginning of the war. When everything started, my wife gave me an ultimatum not to go to war. But deep down, I knew I’d eventually be drawn into it. First, I made sure she was safe, and then I stayed behind to help the people of Saltivka with my friends. It’s my home area, and my house was hit a few times. We helped people retrieve their belongings or move cars because they were too scared to even approach that neighborhood. I even found it interesting to go to the outskirts of the city and see what was happening I’ve always had an interest in pyrotechnics, so the explosions didn’t intimidate me.
By the end of April, I was waiting to join my friend’s unit, but their roster was full. I feared I wouldn’t make it, so I decided to go to training with the DUK “Right Sector.”
Initially, I was in a combined unit, and we fought in the Kharkiv region. Although it’s my home area, the war made me learn about many villages and towns I had never heard of. After that, we were in Donetsk. Once we reclaimed Kharkiv, I transferred to the 3rd Assault Brigade—I wanted the most intense action.
Of course, there were moments when I thought about death. Everyone understands the risks. But I didn’t dwell on it because of what might happen to me. Instead, I was more concerned about how my loved ones would cope, imagining them crying over me. Those were terrible thoughts, so I tried to push them away. In reality, it’s like a line from a movie: “It’s great here, no one messes with you, and you can do whatever you want. The only downside is you might get killed. But you won’t know it, so what’s the difference?”
About the injury. It happened near Andriyivka. Our squad needed three people for the mission. I was feeling confident, but my comrade Andriy had a feeling it would be tough fighting.
I had my backpack, an RPG, and seven “pencils” (grenades)—all heavy equipment. They dropped us off too far. We cursed everything on the way to the position, and the rest of the trip was “accompanied” by artillery fire and snipers. We were a perfect target—six of us walking across open ground. It was a tough journey—three kilometers from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m.
We spent the night, and the next morning, I searched for a better spot to use the RPG. As I moved to a destroyed bunker, I was hit in the leg. I lost my balance and fell. There was machine gun fire coming at us from a Russian position. A machine gun opened fire on us with 7.62 caliber. On the side where there was a mound, we found out the Russians had a hole there, and they were shooting from it.
My knee was shattered, and I had a severe fracture to my femur. I quickly jumped into a trench, and my leg started throbbing, It looked like mush.
I asked our machine gunners to tighten the tourniquet, and I radioed that I was 300 (wounded). A medic arrived, and she told to Andriy, “He’s black,” meaning I was as good as gone.
He begged her to do something. Despite her own trauma, having lost a friend the day before, the medic worked under fire to save me.
At that moment, I felt bitter—like I had just begun, and I was already out. I had walked all that way, and now it seemed like I wouldn’t make it.
Two hours later, evacuation was supposed to happen. The guys tried to carry me, but the Russians were targeting us heavily. They tried to hit the trench directly to finish me off.
I just lay there, staring at the sky, smoking an e-cigarette. At one point, my arm dropped, and I couldn’t lift it or bend my fingers. I told my comrade, and he called the medic again. She ran to me under fire, found another open wound where blood was leaking, cut the tourniquet, sealed it, and spent a long time searching for a vein to administer saline. The IV helped, and I started feeling a little better.
At that point, I didn’t think about anything too serious. I knew I was going to lose my leg. But I was more curious about what would happen next. . I couldn’t even imagine how they would get me out. Politics and the war didn’t matter to me at that point. I thought about my behavior at school, video game characters, and maybe even getting a dog.
I even spoke to God, saying that I didn’t believe in Him, but if He helped me through this, I’d stop calling it nonsense. I didn’t keep my word, though—I lied to God.
When they hit us with a tank, I was thrown up in the trench, and for a few seconds, all the pain stopped. My vision blacked out. I thought, ” Is this the end? It’s not even that dramatic.” In that instant, the faces of my loved ones flashed before me. I thought, “It’s going to hurt them, but I hope they don’t suffer too much.”
The pain returned, and I realized it wasn’t over. Around 5 p.m., Andriy decided to pull me out of the trench, as everything around us was on fire, and he didn’t want me to suffocate. The guys got me to the edge of the planting, where a new assault group was supposed to push the Russians back. A heavy shell hit near us. Andriy stayed with me while drones flew overhead, and artillery was hitting us. Our evacuation vehicle arrived, and they started firing back at the Russians. But instead of attacking the vehicle, the Russians shot at us—the guys carrying the wounded. Eventually, we made it to the vehicle, packed with people, and it drove off under fire. I thought, “This is going to be a disaster—survive all day only to burn in the evacuation.”
I woke up two days later at the stabilization point.
About rehabilitation. In the beginning, I felt a lot of shame in front of my comrades. I was even ashamed to admit it to my wife, because she was worried. I thought it was my fault that I got injured—it meant I hadn’t trained enough, hadn’t worked hard enough. There’s a saying: “If you screw up, you’re done.” But the only thing that keeps me from those thoughts is the understanding that the guys who died didn’t screw up.
Back in 2022, I watched videos of guys on prosthetics and told my comrade, “If I lose my leg, my left one, it doesn’t matter.” Because you can still operate an automatic gear with your right.
I didn’t need any special acceptance of the injury, but I do realize now that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just get up and walk. With a prosthetic, you can’t just walk automatically; you have to be mindful to avoid falling. Or when I want to rest my elbow on my leg, it just sinks in. When I play games or watch movies, I look at the characters’ legs, how they walk so easily. Even at night, when I wake up, I have to find my crutches. These details don’t affect the quality of life, but they’re still part of the experience.
The hardest part was dealing with phantom pain. I didn’t know what it was at first. It’s an unbearable pain that no medicine seems to help. When you can’t sleep for weeks and can’t relieve it, it makes you frustrated. I used to think, “Fine, hurt me even more, let’s see who’s tougher!” But eventually, I started accepting it as part of my journey, a test of my resilience. You stop focusing on when it will end. But eventually, everything does come to an end.
About self-perception and people’s reactions. I sometimes don’t even recognize myself. But this summer, for the first time, I saw myself without a leg—though it was my left one.
I understand that no one owes me anything. I believe any need for special treatment is a form of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I notice people staring at my prosthetic, but it doesn’t bother me. I honestly don’t care. It doesn’t look strange—on the contrary, it looks badass. So let them stare. I always meet cool people who ask interesting questions. Once, at the train station in Kyiv, a guy hesitated for a while before coming over and finally asked, “Can I ask you something? Does it hurt?” He was really embarrassed but still asked.
I don’t need thanks from people, but it’s nice when they do. I always respond with, “Thank you, it’s nice to hear.”
About changes after the war. I wouldn’t say I’ve changed much or developed new needs. I feel as happy as ever. I actually felt this way back in Saltivka when only three apartments were left in my building, where I lived with my grandparents. I looked out the window as our district was being shelled by Grad rockets and realized that, despite everything, I was still happy. I was in the moment.
I don’t have big dreams, just desires—some big, some small. But nothing extraordinary. I believe that you should buy what you want or do what you want without postponing it. People often miss out on things, waiting for something that may never come, thinking they have all the time in the world.
From time to time, I think back to the hole where I lay for a whole day and remember that, back then, I didn’t care about my social status or finances—nothing mattered. You just have to accept life.
Translated by Green Forest English School