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 a smile on it. Instead, his mouth is soured with an ugly pout.
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Pro-Russian separatist fighters stand guard at a checkpoint near the airport of Donetsk on Oct. 20, 2014.
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."
