It's been six years now.
I got into it almost by accident. Volunteered. Wanted to serve my country, serve my people. Even thought I wanted to help the war end faster. Bring the killing to an end.
They found out that I never become excited, never lose my cool no matter how the situation develops. That I always find a way out. That I always bring more of my soldiers home than any other officer. The soldiers saw it first. They competed to serve under me. They called me "the life insurance policy." The high command was next. They noticed me when I started to turn hopeless defences into deadly, successful attacks. When the enemy's most cunning tricks never worked on me. When finally, the mere news that I commanded a unit on that part of the front frightened them into retreating.
I was happy at first. Some one needed me. Someone saw worth in me, a lot of worth. I was promoted over and over again. Never lost a battle, from the patrol-level engagements I began with, to the army I command now. The soldiers still love me. They say they're safer in the army than they would be at home crossing the street. But...
All the blood, the suffering. Not ours, but the enemy's. I am dripping with their blood. I can taste it in my mouth. The more successful I am, the more ambitious the high command becomes. They don't want a compromise peace any more. They want it all, to win totally, to crush the enemy. Sometimes I think they want to exterminate the enemy, kill every last one of them. And I'm their instrument, their hammer.
I am soaked in blood, enemy blood, but all blood is the same color in the end. I spend all my time thinking of new ways to kill...the enemy? Does it matter any more? I don't know. All I know is that they bleed and scream and die just like our troops would. And that the war would have ended long ago if I wasn't so good at what I do, so good at killing, so proud of the oceans of blood that I've spilled. My skill is keeping this war going, making the high command aim for higher and higher goals.
Or should that be lower and lower? Will they command me in the end to kill every single one of our enemies? The civilians too, old people, children? That's the way some of them are beginning to talk. Because they know they can do it. They know I can do it. And I probably would. I'd dream of their dead faces at night, but I probably would.
Six years ago, when I joined, I just wanted to help, to get things over more quickly. But every time I gave them something, they wanted more. Like hungry animals. And I fed them.
Six years ago, I began this hoping to do good. But see what I've become.
See what I've become. The angel of death.