A Soldier's notes...(an excerpt)

I wonder if I should write this down. Most people would advise me against this. People would tell me not to. They would point out the all too obvious disadvantages to my spilling my guts. But I will tell the truth anyways. It's my life and I can decide to reminisce on what I will.
Besides, I'v never really cared what people think.
My name is Maj. Gen. Emmanuel Oluyemi Obasogie. This is bad manners, I know I should have introduced the lady at my side first. I always, always, should act like a gentleman. That is what the Army taught me, at least when it was still an honourable profession.
The girl can't talk anyway. She is dead. She lies on the bed beside me. Earlier today she was bursting with life and energy, promising to do things to me I can't even imagine. Now she lies naked on the sheets, her skin cold as ice.
A dead whore.
I need a drink. I think I have some left in that bottle. I bought a dozen bottles of whiskey and rum last night. I think it's morning now. It has to be. My body tells me it is. My body hasn't been wrong in twenty years. Not since i joined the Army.
I hate war. It's a foolish venture. A soldier is supposed to say that. We are told to hate war. We are taught to live for it. To love it. I hate war.
As a General, I am accustomed to having an adjutant at my every beck and call, some young officer eager to serve a true military professional such as I. Most times we Generals hardly bother with carrying weapons, but the Army drums into you, much more than the Boy Scouts, be prepared at all times. I have an Army issue Beretta. Right now I have no idea where it is. I should look for it, as soon as I find my clothes.
I remember the first time I put on an Army tunic. It was a proud moment. I had dreamed of being and Army officer for so long, the first feel of brown khaki on my shoulders threw me into a near-orgasmic frenzy. That was how cleaning my first issue felt also, the smooth lines of the rifle, the hard stock and tight trigger, it was a simple CAR-15 rifle but i loved it like you loved a womans body. On nights we were given R&R and my mates went into town, I stayed over in the barracks cleaning and polishing Ada, my rifle, my first born.
The first time I went on R&R into town was a disaster. I would rather not remember it. Nevertheless, the taste of a woman's flesh has never been able to replace the feel of the rifle stock against my cheeks when i kneel to snipe. Not to talk of the Fear of GOD. The Fear of GOD is something that annoys me sometimes. The endless wonder of whether one would go to heaven or not. Just like this dead girl. Would she go to heaven or not? This dead whore...?
Her last words were a scream, a strange scream. I wonder why she screamed. I thought she was happy. Maybe she wasn't. She begged me with her eyes. She begged and she screamed but i didn't hear a sound. Her mouth was just open. The scream was in her eyes. Maybe it was because my hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezin tight...