The girl was fourteen. On her desk in the classroom, a Kalashnikov assault rifle. She took it apart and put it together again. With her intelligence and agile fingers she was fastest in the class. The Russian instructor, a colonel, congratulated her. She blushed. She liked him. He was kind to them although they weren’t Russian. She hated the Russians who had invaded and taken her country; but not him. She liked the gun too. In a few days they would go to the shooting range. They were preparing for the invasion of Western capitalists. She was looking forward to that.
— Bruno Roggen