Martin was a child.
Douglas knew calling a man in his thirties a child was crude, unfortunately he couldn't help but compare the Martin Crieff of today to the Martin Crieff of tomorrow.
The man Douglas knew in the future was well into his seventies. A confident man, a strong man, a man Douglas was more than willing to go to the end of the Earth for. The boy Douglas knew here in the present had none of those qualities of his future counterpart.
Martin had little self-confidence, could barely give a command without stuttering. And for the love of pete, cried when someone gave him lip. Douglas had no idea how someone like Martin would eventually turn into the resistant leader of the human race.
Of course, it was not as if he didn't question Martin's orders in the future. When Douglas was given the mission to go back in time, he had protested. "I'm nearly fifty," he said to his General. "Surely it would be best to send someone younger and not suffering from premature arthritis."
Martin smiled at him. Despite his age, his eyes were as sharp as ever. "I picked you, because I trust you above all else. Will you do this for me, Douglas?"
"Of course," Douglas had said without hesitation. He was wlling to die for Martin. How could he rufuse? "Anything."