[ WP ] Describe a massacre from the perspectives of one of the killers , a soldier .

Weapons checked, we moved down the grassy slope, quietly, and as a unit. Our boots dug deep into the still-wet mud, avoiding the slickness sticking to dew-covered green. Several thin wisps of smoke rose from dwindling fire pits not too far ahead. On the opposite hill, a signaling light was flashed twice, in slow succession. In the distance, a brighter sun was rising, and the White Dwarf that trailed it was left outshone. 
 
 It had taken time to reach this level of cohesion. We started as kids. Untrained, rags for clothes. Most of us just wanted food. A few of us needed purpose. **They** recruited us, and armed us. **They** gave us direction. Millers, we were to be called. The job came with two rules: *Clear the camps. No survivors*. Failure on either meant taking The Walk. 
 
 Do n't listen to the other Millers. They'll tell you that we were organized from the start; that we've always been as clean as we are now. I've been here longer than any, and I remember. **They** did n't organize us. **They** did n't teach us what a man needs to know. **They** let us learn it ourselves. Living together, marching, and clearing the camps had made us what we were now. We learned the job on our own. We knew. 
 
 We knew to have a few of the more steady ones split off and wait in the deep brush on our opposite side, because, regardless of how fast you can clear a tent, there are always Runners. Never new ones though. The desperate face a Runner makes can break a fresh Miller. Always from two directions. 
 
 We knew to start with the blades, because our ranged weapon was too loud. That lesson cost us most of a camp. **They** were n't happy with that. A lot of us had to take The Walk that day. Old-World metal blades grow dull, but the kind **They** gave us are always sharp. Always blades first. 
 
 We knew to ignore the screams. That lesson is maybe the hardest. A lot of recruits had tried to quit after their first incursion. They could n't take the pleading; lacked the necessary conviction for a purpose like this. We usually put them down ourselves. More civilized than forcing them to take The Walk. Funny how they'd plead with us when we grabbed them. I guess they could n't see the irony. Sometimes they'd slip free and run. Does n't matter. The Jungle takes those that travel alone. Always ignore screams. 
 
 Now we were a unit. Now we knew. Have n't had a Miller take The Walk in maybe 40 cycles; have n't had Runners in over 10. My Brothers are too clean for that now. 
 
 We are at the bottom of the slope now. The first row of tents is 20 meters away. We draw our blades and prepare. The new Miller to my right looks unsure. I hope we make it to 41 cycles. I look ahead, and slowly cut into the rear of the tent. My blade reaches the bottom, blackening the grass at my feet. I am thankful for my Brothers. I am thankful for **Them**. I am thankful for my purpose. 
 
 I step inside.
