In a measured hush he speaks of love and brotherhood, his face flitting between solemnity and ecstasy. As the battle progresses he shows graphically how others lost a hand, an eye or a leg, and wipes imaginary blood - other men's blood - from his face. Tears tremble under his lashes as he relives his moment of conversion in front of me, at his office desk.
"Afterwards the colonel wanted to give me a decoration for staying on my feet through the battle. I refused. I told him I could never bring myself to kill another man. He said he understood and asked me only to keep my sentiments to myself.
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