I'd forgotten that she existed. I was 11 years old. I could neither read nor write. War for children is like war for lunatics and simpletons. They don't understand a single thing.
Blood flows, they grin.
Wartime life was, in fact, unusually colourful, interesting, many-sided. Tanks, lorries and troops were constantly on the move in one direction and then back again. All around there was bustle, hooting, and the throb of engines. I still did not understand about death, although I had seen dozens, hundreds of dead bodies. In effect, I lived for three years in a morgue.