Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

XIII

Erk was sedately going on his sentries patrol and had just left the last one, approached "his" ditch and had a look. In a middle of the ditch, he had left a path about 3m wide, to allow passage of the Land-Rover, among others.

He was thinking about having to dig a little deeper in the west part when he felt a weighed net on his back – not enough to stop him. He was getting out of it when bolas wrapped around his ankles, knocking him to the ground at the edge of the ditch, tangled in the net.

And then his body has been shaken by a Taser shot. His teeth clicked shut, he almost bit his tongue. As shock took control of his limbs away from him, he was stripped of everything but pants and t-shirt. His socks were taken off too. In these mountains, it's not good to walk barefoot...

As he had started to overcome the effects of the Taser, he got a second one. Then they tied him up with thick hemp rope and put him on a horse, across like a sack of potatoes, face down. He pitied the horse. Typical Viking.

He doesn't really remember the trip, except that his back started hurting again, he felt the wounds reopening, and traveling upside down with something bumping into your stomach is puke inducing. Literally. Before losing consciousness, he figured his vomit would make a good landmark for the wolfdog. During his two days of rest, he had made friends with the beasts, Alpha and Yaka. Alpha is a big strong male, Yaka a female, slimmer and definitely more intelligent. Their fur is gray-yellow, adapted to the landscapes here, and they have an excellent nose.

He had gone from unconsciousness to sleep when the sound of hooves under the arch of the fortress's gate woke him up. That, and a hand that patted his behind. And since he's 200% straight, the shock woke him up!

The lack of shadows on the ground told him it was around noon. At that time, we were crossing the river.

They threw him off the horse, which gave a big sigh of relief, he said. Without untying him, the SRH dragged him – 110kg of man, I hope as hell it made them sweat! – to a room in the basement, barely lit by electric lamps on batteries. They sat him up a bit roughly on a wooden chair. Without securing him better.

The guys were speaking Dari, which Erk doesn't understand. They gestured with their hands, pointed at him, then a blow flew, straight for this stomach. Bending forward to cushion the blow, he clenched his abs which took the blow. More punches followed, all to his stomach. He has steel abs, which is why, despite the beating, and apart from his liver which was a little messed up – nothing serious – he has no other internal damage. However, his whole belly is just one single bruise, which Doc and Kris treated with helichrysum essential oil, a real miracle maker for contusions.

Then the baddies took a break. He took advantage of it. He threw himself back, taking the chair with him, rolled back, had time to put his wrists in front of him which, with his bodybuilder physique, is no mean feat. To do so, he dislocated the shoulder his brother had already roughed up. In the boot of a guy behind him, he grabbed a beautiful eagle-headed dagger, and severed his ties with it.

The dudes were so surprised that a guy who had taken so many punches could move so much and so fast that they were petrified, not reacting. It was the adrenaline that kept him going.

And then, dagger in hand, he threw himself into the fray, with the sole purpose of reaching the door and getting out of there. He told us that at that point he was hitting only with the hilt of the dagger, he just wanted to open a passage.

He had reached the foot of the stairs when he heard a loud bang and found himself on all fours, excruciating pain blossoming in his left shoulder, the dislocated one, just below the collarbone. In the few seconds that followed, the still able-bodied guys jumped on him and, on an order from the chief, pinned him to the ground, face down. One of them grabbed his hair and pulled to block his head. Then, silence.

It was so quiet he heard the footsteps of the chief slowly going down the stairs, saber at his belt, a smoking .38 Special in hand.
- I told you you would be mine, roumi, he said in a soft voice and kneeled down.

He stroked his face, on which a bruise was blooming. He ran his thumb over the tall blond's lips.
- Tss, tss, your so beautiful face.

[It's weird to hear the chief's words said in Erk's monotonous voice, but you can imagine that his voice was quite caressing, considering the words.]
- Fortunately, a bruise disappears quickly, with a little ice and a lot of tender loving care.

The chief's hand left the cheek and, very slowly, went all the way down to the giant's bottom. He tensed up. Prolonged caressing of his curves. He ground his teeth. He was sweating, and it wasn't just from the pain, either of his shoulder or stomach.

Then the chief drew a knife with ultra sharp point and edge. He showed it to the Viking, pricking his finger to show him how sharp the weapon was.
- Spread his legs. He spoke in Dari then English, to make sure his prisoner understood.

"No, not that", Erk thought, completely panicked. He squeezed his legs together as hard as he could, but a prick from the knife just above the knee made him fold. He ended up with his legs spread wide on the earthen floor, with a blackened stomach and a shoulder pierced by a .38 Special bullet. And a knife-wielding maniac with direct access to his family jewels.
- I wanted you in my bed, but given your power and strength, I'll geld you first, it'll calm you down [not true, doesn't work on us humans]. I'm going to make it last, to make you pay for the death of my men. Centimeter after centimeter...

Erk felt the cloth pressing on his skin and then a sting just behind his balls. Pain, surprise, paralyzed him. Some of the guys relaxed their hold on him.

The bastard showed him his own blood on the tip of the blade.

The Viking lost all control.

Despite the pain, despite the weight of the others, he heaved and stood up, sending the men flying about the room and, with his right hand, with what he found, he killed.

He twisted necks, punches plexuses, tore his saber from the chief to disembowel him and then slash at anything that moved in his field of vision. His left hand, unusable, had curved like talons, his eyes were completely crazed. His mouth wide open in a grimace of hatred, he bared his teeth. He was screaming in rage. He was crying.

Despite the blows to the face, or because of them, his rage burned bright. That is what enabled him to eradicate the SRH. Yes, I did say eradicate.

He came to his senses to the smell of blood and emptied guts. He stumbled away, the blood of the others on his feet absorbed by the dust of the courtyard, his tracks would be blurred by those of the scavengers.

Not knowing if he had any pursuers, he decided to take the first opportunity to get off the track.

His shoulder, his back, his stomach, all of that was nothing compared to the friction of his boxer-shorts on the tiny wound. Eventually he collapsed where we found him, bleeding. He laid there for a little more than 24 hours. He had fallen on his left side, bending his injured shoulder and, strangely, slowing the bleeding. Bothered by jackals who thought him dead, he had punched them away with a stone. If he hadn't been that force of nature that he is, he might have met his end there.

* *

Doc reassured us, the cut is superficial, only the skin has been damaged. The Viking still has the possibility to pass on his (very good) genes. Other physical damage will subside relatively quickly.

Kris told us that the rage that helped his brother free himself was akin to the berserker rage the Vikings of old could achieve.

But what worried us the most was the impact these murders, this horror, would have on his psyche.

The tears, the refusal to meet our eyes in the pickup, it was shame. Shame of his injury, on this attack to his virility... Shame of his actions.

The monotonous voice, without inflection, to tell all this to Lin, hides a distancing that is very bad. Erk needs to talk about his ordeals. Will he be strong enough to overcome this trauma?

We hope so. We hope so with all our hearts.

I like him, this guy. He is nice. He's a happy dude... I miss his smile.

Oh, the lump in my stomach is back.

Shoot, I am crying and my tears are falling on the paper.

Good thing I write with a ball-pen.