He scowls at us from under a rain cape, water dripping off the peak of his army cap. He flourishes my passport. “Britain,” he says. “You are from Britain.”
We are standing at a rebel roadblock on the main Zaporozhiye to Donetsk highway which 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 under a nearby 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
