The Fatal Flaw of the Wagner Group
June 23, 2023, marked a pivotal moment in the annals of modern geopolitics. It was the day Yevgeny Prigozhin, the linchpin of the Wagner Group, made a move that would set in motion the group’s eventual downfall. But the seeds of this downfall were sown much earlier, embedded in the very structure and operations of the organization.
The Wagner Group’s audacious “Thunder Run” was a clear sign that Prigozhin had overstepped his bounds. Yet, even as events unfolded, few could have predicted the dramatic end that awaited him. The Wagner Group, for all its might and influence, had a chink in its armor, a fatal flaw that someone in Russia was poised to exploit. This flaw wasn’t just about a single event or decision; it was about how the organization was structured from its inception.
To understand the Wagner Group’s relationship with the Kremlin, one must first recognize the unique position private military companies (PMCs) occupy in Russia. Despite their technical illegality, PMCs like Wagner have thrived, with the Kremlin turning a blind eye, or even offering tacit support. The reasons are manifold: plausible deniability, unique military capabilities, and a reluctance to provoke these powerful entities.
The Kremlin’s relationship with Wagner was particularly intricate. While PMCs offered the Russian government a way to achieve its objectives without direct involvement, Wagner’s high-profile successes eroded the veil of plausible deniability. The group’s operations in places like Ukraine, Syria, and Africa were too conspicuous to ignore. By the time of the Thunder Run, any pretense of Wagner operating independently of the Kremlin had vanished.
Yet, even as the world watched Wagner’s moves, internal tensions were brewing. The Russian Ministry of Defense, wary of Prigozhin’s growing ambitions, initiated efforts to bring PMCs under its direct control. Prigozhin, sensing the changing winds, embarked on a series of moves to reassure his allies and assert Wagner’s independence. But these efforts, while impressive, couldn’t mask the group’s inherent vulnerabilities.
At the heart of Wagner’s problems was its organizational structure. While Prigozhin was the face of the group, amassing wealth and influence, he was not a military strategist. His role was more akin to a CFO or CMO, managing finances and securing contracts. The actual military operations were overseen by Dimitri Utkin, the group’s COO and presumed co-founder. Valeri Chekalov, responsible for procuring materials, was another key figure. Beyond these three, the group’s hierarchy was murky.
This lack of a clear chain of command was Wagner’s Achilles’ heel. In traditional organizations, whether business or military, there’s a well-defined succession plan. If a key leader is incapacitated or killed, there’s someone ready to step in. Wagner lacked this clarity. If Prigozhin, Utkin, and Chekalov were eliminated, who would take the reins? Such a leadership vacuum could lead to infighting, factionalism, and eventual disintegration.
The Kremlin, recognizing this flaw, saw an opportunity. Instead of targeting Prigozhin alone, which could have galvanized Wagner’s forces, they needed a coordinated strike to decimate the group’s leadership. And Wagner, in a move that defies logic, provided the perfect opportunity: all three leaders traveling on the same plane. This was a catastrophic error, akin to a major corporation’s top executives flying together, a practice generally avoided due to the risks involved.
The downing of the plane carrying Wagner’s top brass wasn’t just an act of retribution; it was a calculated move to dismantle the group. Without its leaders, Wagner was like a ship without a captain, adrift and directionless.
