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once upon a time in a place far far away there was a solidier. the soldier didn't have any feelings at all. not ever. it made him perfect fighting machine material, according to the seargent major, but the other soldiers were ever so slightly afraid of him. they would tease each other at night in their camp, and make jokes about their wives and somebody called jody, but the soldier who didn't have any feelings never laughed. he didn't feel it was funny.he didn't feel it was sad. he just sat alert polishing his tin hands quietly at the back of the tent all through each night's revelry. a night came when the enemy had reached the outskirts of the camp. all the soldiers were awakened in silence and readied themselves for combat. the night sky came alive with explosions and bursts of fire, and the soldiers crawled forward on their bellies in a radial pattern, signalling with their hands, creeping closer to their doom. with every brillant flash of light faces, filled with apprehension and grim fear, disclosed the child lurking behind the eyes in the darkness. all except for one face, which remained expressionless and eerily serene. the other soldiers quickly realised that they had a new thing to fear from their emotionless comrade. he was giving away their positon to the enemy. in the depth of the black ink night, as an explosion went of and a brilliant ball of light filled the sky...and equally brilliant light reflected from their midst on the ground, bouncing off the soldier's perfectly polished tin face. it was a tense realisation with no time to consider the balance of the interim and no way to openly divulge what the problem was without adding sound to the enemies advantage.....