An officer once, while briefing us on our mission, casually took out his Webley and shot a rat that had been scurrying around his feet. He scarcely looked at the thing when he took the shot and he barely broke pace in his clipped, focused monotone. He seemed so at home in these trenches, neither devil nor human, all things that make the creatures of heaven, earth, and hell stripped from him. He was a homonculus, soulless, aimless, no will of his own. As I saw him, my heart sank to be led by such men into great danger.
I think this is where my distrust of authority really began to set in.
Severe Deja Vu 