Army sergeant who is mildly perturbed by one of their new conscripts - the others are appropriately anxious or fearful, or full of bravado, real or acted
This one is just... affable. Cheery, even. Guesses he's the simple sort, but either way, dreads the lad getting his first blood
Bc his cheer really is contagious - he's not especially pretty nor handsome, but he has jovial features suited to his warm nature, and the sergeant knows that even simple lads can snap once their naivety is cut through, that they can descend entirely into woe or despair, or some feverish madness
Almost finds himself selfishly hoping - privately, of course, he never voices it to a soul - that the poor little sod will die before he ever goes over the wall or on his first move out of the trench, just so he never has to fucking see him in the aftermath
He sees a lot of death and a lot of broken men, physically, emotionally, and the innocent ones do cut him worse
Come to meeting the young man months later and he's not just still alive but still has the same demeanour, the same warm and easy affect - tells jolly jokes, cooks well, smiles easy
His fellow soldiers love him, of course, what with the contagious nature of that affect of his, a warmth you can get in the trenches even if you can't boil the fucking kettle
And the sergeant, relieved, is pleased to find the lad so strong-willed, able to keep up this act or this spirit even after
After war - after weathering death and bombs and gas and destruction, blood and guts and viscera
And then they're on the frontlines together or the young man is helping with a prisoner or something and the sergeant sees him killing - still smiling, still easy, still WARM, even
And he's not relieved at all, but sickened to his core, blood running cold in his veins, bc the young man isn't weathering it or suffering, nor is he even cruel or callous
He simply enjoys the slaughter of men as much as he enjoys anything else.
And that's really quite frightening.