Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

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Lin was personally driving the Land-Rover pickup that reached our hideout the next day after lunch.

Tracks are narrow around here, and Lin didn't want a Humvee, too wide. She chose a Land-Rover pickup, on the roof of which she had a M2 Browning machine gun mounted. The kind of big gun that makes the guy opposite think twice about shooting at us.

The pickup bed isn't very big, but for now, uncrowded. Lin had the good notion of putting two mattresses in it. She had only one guy with her, a guy we called JD. He was standing in the back, gripping the M2 handles. Lin would have a sort of thing rigged behind that would allow the shooter to lean against so as not to fall down, without having to grab for the handles. In the meantime, we had to hope that shooting was an option and that just showing the big gun would be enough.

We had the two journalists climb in the front with Lin, laid our two wounded on the mattresses and hunkered around. Tito and Curly kept an eye on the SRH.

God, the tracks are so fucking bad here! Good thing Lin is such a good driver. But that didn't stop Erk from moaning and sitting up suddenly. The pickup was buffeting him too much. His whole back hurt in one way or another and despite the mattress, he was suffering. Kris offered morphine again and because he's stubborn, he said no, once more. That pissed Kris off and he threw him a punch to the chin and the giant folded, out for the count.
- Fucking stubborn ass! I don't believe it!, the little brother said, carefully laying the Viking down, which is no mean feat considering his weight. Those two brothers are cute.

Baby Jane almost slapped Kris. She held back in time. I don't know how the Viking does it but, right now, he's vulnerable and we're all suddenly overprotective. Even from his own brother.

We had been on the road for a while when Lin braked sharply and knocked on the rear window. Kris took the binoculars and took a gander forward, leaning on the pickup roof next to JD. We all looked out, EMA 7 at the ready.

On the road in front of us there were bikes and horses.
- It's the Dotard! Kris said to Lin.
- You hit me, said Erk at that point in a thick voice.
- Later, bro, Kris replied, eyes still glued to the binocs.

Tito took the Viking's hand – took full advantage of it, the rascal – to let him know that now was not the time. Erk looked surprised, then closed it and waited, Behemoth in his hand.

The Dotard, on horseback, decided to come to the Land-Rover, since Lin refused to move. They traded looks, murderous (!) for the Dotard, carefully indifferent for Lin, then the man continued to the back of the pickup. Lin started the pickup again, but he had had time to see the guns trained on him.

When we reached the bikes and horses, Lin flicked the pickup roof. JD heard and cocked the machine gun. The snap of the breech echoed in the canyon. We added a bit much by cocking the EMA 7. Re-snapping of breeches. The bikes moved away. Roar of the engine, the horses shied away. Lin drove on. Everything was fine.

Then one of the riders recognized one of the SRH when the truck passed him. He drew a handgun and shot a bullet through his head. We were sprayed with blood and brain. Lullaby reacted like lightning and killed the killer. Baby Jane managed to grab the reins of the horse. Like a proper English lady with good breeding.

Lin stopped dead.

She opened her door, unsheathed her Behemoth as she climbed out of the car, and shot at the Dotard's horse, making the bullet ricochet on the shank of the horse bit. The horse reared and the old man had to deploy all he could to not drop.

They traded glances again, murderous on both sides this time.
- Whenever you want, köne! You know where to find me!

There was fear in the Dotard's eyes. He made his horse turn and walked away slowly, so as not to lose face.
- Damn! We didn't need that! Lin exclaimed. Then she immediately calmed down. Is everyone OK, in the back? No other damage? she asked looking at us. Erk was white as a sheet, in his brother's arms, his hand clutching the tactical vest he wore, like the rest of us.
- Skítt! What's wrong with him? Did he get hit?
- Maybe you could drive slowly, right? Kris was mad. It's the pain.
- Give him morphine, then!