Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

IX

At 0300, we had to wake the journalists up – easy – and the wounded. It was much harder.

We weren't very nice to the SRH, but, damn, we didn't care. It was Fatso and Erk who worried us. They both had a fever, of course. The giant woke up pretty quickly but he was muddled. When he saw that Fatso was not so well, he dragged himself over to him to try and heal him.
- Kris, I don't have much hope for his arm.
- How's that?
- I... the wound was never treated and it festered. I did what I could yesterday, but there is nothing I can do about... gangrene.
- Listen, Tito cleaned it up quite well yesterday and we'll see what Doc can do. We'll give him ibuprofen and one of these fucking sons of... their mothers will carry him. One of them is quite alert.
- We can't entrust him to them, Kris, they'll hurt him.
- No, they will answer with their lives for his well-being. Do you remember which essential oil for fever?

Erk's teeth were chattering and he was sweating profusely.
- Wintergreen, I think.
- Thanks. Let's hope I have some, he said, rummaging through his bag.

Now I understand why Erk was carrying his food. In his bag, there is a whole pharmacy for the Icelanders...
- Damn, no wintergreen.
- Ravintsara, then?
- Got this! Give me your wrists.

The adrenaline in his system had dropped while sleeping and his muscles had cooled and clenched. He had trouble reaching out with his injured right arm. Kris took his wrist, put two drops of EO on it, and massaged. He did the same to the left.
- Let's hope it will help you.

Seeing him chattering, the journalist wanted to return his jacket but he refused, saying that he didn't want to get blood on it. But in fact, it's because, otherwise, the poor girl, half shirtless since the SRH had torn her clothes, would get cold and he couldn't stand it.

He took his blanket and put it on his shoulders. Then he got up, picked Fatso up and walked out of the cave before we had a chance to react.
- Erik! Shit, stop!

Unstoppable, the Viking. Unstoppable and shivering with fever. Kris grabbed him by the collar, gave him a – light – kick in the crook of his knee to knock him off and stop him. Erk didn't let go of his charge, but if his brother hadn't caught him, he would have fallen face first.
- Stop it, moron. Tito, bring me one of the SRH.

The SRH in question believed that, because Tito was shorter than him, he could escape him. He quickly understood his mistake, his nose in the gravel and Tito's boot on his ass. This guy speaking Dari, it was Curly who explained the deal to him: he would carry the injured, and each bruise to the man would be returned to him three times by him, Curly. He explained the same thing to the other one because they would take turns carrying Fatso.

Kris picked his brother up, put his left arm around his shoulders, and headed for the base. In the lead, Poll and Tito, then both SRH with the Lieutenant, Curly and Lullaby, the journalists, the brothers, Baby Jane and yours truly bringing up the rear.

We were going slower than going in, obviously. Between the laggard Viking, the journalists not used to this kind of rough going and the SRH carrying Fatso, we were about as fast as the proverbial snail.

For the night, we had – except the sentries – turned our earpieces off, Poll had disconnected himself from the radio waves and the telepath at base. Upon waking up, Kris had turned his back on and contacted the base.
- Lin?
- Kris? Sitrep!

At 4am, she sounded as smart as at 10am. Argh, how can she?

Kris reported in Icelandic, to avoid eavesdropping. I could see his eyes roaming frequently to his brother, who seemed to walk out of habit. Or maybe because it was fashionable. He was leaning heavily on his little brother and his eyes were barely open.
- Lin, do you have transport other than our feet?
- Why the question?
- Erik has a fever, he's not fully operational. And he's a heavy son of a gun. We found the second Lieutenant, who's wounded and not operational at all. Plus two SRH, alert but not fast. And I don't want to talk about the journalists.
- If you can hold on for one more day, I should get a Land-Rover tomorrow. We can pick you up once you've crossed the river.
- Can do, I think. I'll take this opportunity to bring the dumbass's fever down in it, it is so cold.
- I don't want to take a bath with my clothes on, Erk mumbled. He had turned his headset on too.
- So, you're alive! Lin exclaimed. And she started churning out a whole tirade in Icelandic, I guess, which he religiously listened to. He was tempted to turn his headset off, but his right hand refused him the favor.
- Jà, Lin. Jà.

Hop, brought to heel, the Viking! Not that I'm happy with it, but it felt weird to see this mountain of a man behaving sensibly.
- You got chewed out, dumbass.
- Yes, a little. But she wants me to continue playing knight errant...
- Wait? What? Kris said, surprised.
- Seems it would be a good example for the others...
- Seems it could be really bad for your health, bróðir.
- I'd agree with you, but you know how I am...
- That's why I'm worried, you know. You look better...
- Yes, ravintsara did me good. I'd rather have had wintergreen, more effective, but this seems to work.
- Good.

We reached the river the day after, in the afternoon and forded it. Because of the erosion by the river when flooding, there are plenty of shelters at the foot of the cliffs along it. Not caves proper, more like recesses. We made our wounded lie down there. Erk looked a little better, but fell asleep as soon as he was down. Kris put a wet, cold cloth on his forehead, another on his neck, and did the same for Fatso. Ideally, there should have been a third one at the top of their thigh, where the big artery is, but we weren't going to strip them in front of the others. We checked and redone the dressings, including those of our prisoners.

The journalist and her cameraman looked pretty embarrassed. I mean, they seemed glad to be out the claws of the SRH, but they would often look at the giant, with guilt in their eyes. So much the better! It's been known for a long time that this forsaken corner of the world is not welcoming to non-locals, non-combatants, let alone women.

She came closer to the Viking, she wanted to help. Kris took advantage of his brother sleeping to piss her off.
- No, you've done enough for him as it is.
- But...
- If he is like that, it's to save your sorry ass, so leave him alone!

She started glowering at him, he glared right back at her.
- Like all journalists, you wanted a Pulitzer, right? Well, you know what? You would have written your paper from the bottom of a soldier's brothel! If they had given you time between johns for that! Or if their first "hugs" had left you alive!

She had turned all pale. The cameraman tried to come to her defense, but the Lieutenant's steel-gray eyes silenced him. He was very harsh, his words meant to hurt – not to mention rude – and, actually, I get it. The journalist, her ass, her Pulitzer Prize, I don't give a fuck. But my brother in arms, that's important.

Dinner was tense.

Because the Land-Rover would come and get us the next day, we had some left-over rations. We gave one to the journalists – and one to the prisoners. They would have to manage. Lin can pamper them all she wants, those troublemakers, we were damn resentful.

Tito suggested to Kris that he would watch out for his brother and Fatso, so he could sleep. The Lt accepted the proposition. We let him sleep for the whole night, he was knackered. Baby Jane took over from Tito at some point.

I noticed gestures towards the Viking, from these two. I mean, when they refreshed the cloth, or when they touched his cheeks to get a feel for the fever, they did... tenderly. I was expecting that from Baby Jane. But Tito... I didn't know he was batting for the other team... He saw I was looking at him – I was on duty – and he smiled at me. I was expecting a lot of things, but not that smile. I smiled back.

* *

The Viking has opened his eyes! Just long enough to make sure his brother was there, then he closed them back. Doc says it's a good sign. We're all feeling better.

[bróðir : Icelandic : brother - Jà : Icelandic : yes]