I checked on my cash reserves and the ID in my pocket and climbed into the truck. The bearded man grabbed me by the hands and lifted me in without even the slightest exertion. He slammed the back of the truck shut. His two minions were seated up in front.

“Where are we headed?” I shouted at him over the noise of the engine.

“Rybkhoz cemetery!” he shouted back. “Hold on!”

I grabbed the sides of the truck.

“But that’s by the front line!”

He laughed.

“All the cemeteries are on the front line. But they don’t normally aim at us!”

The truck clanked its way out of the courtyard. As we rolled off the pavement, Dad bounced and slid from side to side. I had to grab onto him to stop his body moving.

The bearded man scrutinised me gravely. No idea what was in his head. He’s probably seen every person who’s died in this city over the past six months.

The truck gathered speed as the wind blew at us from all directions. I kept my head averted to keep myself from taking in the stench in the vehicle. A smoky metallic sky of blue reflected the asphalt like a mirror. It didn’t care what it reflected.

The bearded man lay down with his hands under his head.

“Lie down now, don’t stand up,” he shouted at me.

“What?”

“Don’t get up, I said. They shoot cars passing through here.”

“You don’t need to tell me, I’ve been walking along here for six months.”

He grinned and said nothing. The truck rumbled onward and bounced around the potholes.

The cemetery was in a dismal state. The steel gates were dotted with rusted holes left by shrapnel. Gravestones and crosses were cracked, tarmacked paths and graves had been torn up.

A battle was raging on the northern outskirts.

Dad was dragged down an aisle alongside a small white chapel devastated by shrapnel. A mosaic of the Virgin Mary and Jesus above the entrance was disfigured, although you could still guess at the outlines of the faces. Eyes followed our progress with sidelong glances. A smoking soldier on a bench near the chapel was propping up a light machine gun on the ground, holding the muzzle in his hand.

“Call the Father, will you?” the bearded man said to him. The soldier nodded, threw down his cigarette, hoisted the machine gun over his shoulder and went to the chapel.