The kid with the Kalashnikov isn’t happy.
He scowls at us from under his rain cape, water dripping off the peak of his army cap.
He flourishes my passport. “Britain,” he says. “You are from Britain.”
We are stopped at a Donetsk highway rebel roadblock that does not appear to be under any kind of adult supervision. The skinny soldier with my documents stands alone under a lashing September rainstorm. His even-younger comrades huddle nearby under a tarpaulin draped over a pile of sandbags. He is a scrawny farm boy, no more than 20, with the kind of open face that should have …read more
Source: Newsweek
