Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

XX

After lunch, the chosen ones took a nap. Mandatory. The idea was to be in shape for the night's party. The good thing about our lousy job is that you learn to sleep anywhere, anytime. It came true quickly.

Then, around 1600, Erk went around the sleeping beauties to wake them up, but not with a kiss, except for his brother, whom he loves to tease. I must say it's reciprocal.

We ended up in the mess hall, having a fortifying early dinner, so as to not be betrayed by an empty stomach. Then, we equipped ourselves with our tactical vests, which are bullet-proof, helmets, throat mics and earpieces. The R&R set theirs on our frequency.

Quenotte and I checked our bows and arrows, one by one. I rejected a few and so he did. Of course, we also had our EMA 7 and our Behemoth, like the others. Shorn and Tito each carried a Bulldog and two rockets. The Bulldog is a rocket launcher – missile launcher, I should say –, pretty ugly but damn effective. It's a bit heavy to carry, but Shorn and Tito are tough guys.

We would have taken Baby Jane with us, but the farm is in the middle of a fairly large treeless plain, and her snipe rifle would be useless. And too noisy.

Igor chose two guys to come with us, one that was quite stocky and beefy, a certain Curtis, he looked like an corn-fed American, to me, and another one, taller, very silent, named Ladislas. When Lin handed out some RDX DOA "Smoking" bricks – an explosive that is seven times more powerful than TNT –, his eyes lit up like a kid's in a toy or candy store. Something told me he liked to blow things up. I hoped he was an expert, too, because if it was just for fun, it might hurt.

The plan was to leave two hours before dusk in the Land-Rover with Lin at the wheel and JD as escort. The ten of us would sit on the flat-bed. Then we would surround the place and drop the most sentries silently, either with our bows or by Tito and Bloody Mary – now you know where she got her nickname from. We each had a sector, so I wouldn't stick an arrow in the ass of one of our assassins.

Once the premises were secure, we would call the helicopters to come and refuel. Depending on the amount of juice in the cisterns, one or both birds would come. We would take to opportunity to ride them back to base and, depending on the time of day, the R&R would leave or end the night with us.

Just before boarding the pick-up, Erk checked our vests one last time, paying closer attention to his brother's.
- Watch out, little brother, OK?
- Promised, bróðir.
- You'd better. I don't see myself coming to Hella to tell her...
- Hey, I told you I'd be careful, right? How do you think I felt when the SRH took you?
- I'm sorry, it's just that...
- I know, brother, I now. Don't you worry, babe, I intend to come back.
- Babe... Erk shook his head. Dumbass!

Kris was the last one to get onto the flat-bed, so, after wishing us a safe trip, Erk turned around and headed back to the Ops room where he would follow our adventures via radio.
- Hey, babe, keep your ass warm for me, would you?

Without turning around, the Viking brandished high his stiff middle finger and Kris burst out laughing. But when the base was gone, he darkened and looked out, pretty darned silent.
- Is that your way of saying goodbye, Kris? I whispered.

He turned to me, eyes sad. Well, shit...
- Kind of. We've rarely been on missions separately. But I can't help but fooling around when... Well, you see.

Yeah, I saw, all right. Expressing your emotions, when you're a guy, is never easy. And the brothers, rather than saying nothing, were trading banter.

I saw him concentrate for a moment, then a lovely smile spread on his lips. He closed his eyes and then whispered in Icelandic. I assumed – correctly – that Erk had spoken to him privately over the radio and had cheered him up.
- Kris, I kept whispering, why don't you just hug like you did the other day? You're brothers, that won't seem... weird.
- We're not really brothers. Well, yes, a little... It's fucking complicated. Our parents lived on the Vestmann Islands, south of Iceland. Erik's father flew the seaplane that commuted to the capital on the mainland. One month before he was born, the plane was found empty, floating on the sea. His father's body was washed ashore two weeks later. His mother, not very strong to begin with, held on until his birth but died four hours later, when I was born. My parents, Hella, my mother, and Dýri, my father, adopted him as soon as they knew he was an orphan. So, we are foster brothers. But we are not blood-related.
- Oh... And what you feel about him is... ?
- At times, a little more than purely brotherly and that scares me. Not because he's a man. I just feel like I'm completely dependent on him, you know?
- Yes, I think I see. If he were to disappear, you would be, what, lost?
- Devastated, I think. Aimless, alone... When I think about his disappearance, and it happened not too long ago, I realize that without him my life would be meaningless. I mean, I would continue doing my soldier's job, but that would be on autopilot, out of habit, with a part of my soul missing... He makes me be a good guy, pay attention to consequences of what I do. If I lost my soul with him, I would be a soldier still, but would I really think about the others? I don't know and I don't think so.

I have a ton of questions in my head, there's no way I will ask them now. There's one, however...
- Kris, your surname is Hellason, and not Dýrison.
- Ah, you're trying to stir me away from melancholy, eh?
- Yeah, kind of... And I know that in Iceland, you take the name of your father and –son or –dottir.

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts.
- My father adores my mother so much that he wanted to use her name as his patronym, which is never done. But he was so keen on it. He called himself Hellaseiginmaður, spouse of Hella, and insisted that both his sons, the biological one and the adopted one, were called Hellason, sons of Hella. As everyone thought it was cute, the mayor said OK. Voilà. Any other questions?
- No, well, yes, but it can wait. Are you out of your funk?
- Yes buddy. Thank you.

We heard a high-pitched squeal in our earpieces – we all jumped – then the Viking baritone came online. Kris and I looked at each other, hoping he hadn't heard the blond's confession.
- Sorry guys. Weather update: it's getting cloudy, Cain's eyes will have a hard time following you [these are the satellites, which are flying high over us and watching us, therefore...]. So be nice to us and talk.
- Copy BLC, Shorn replied.

Kris had leaned over to Igor and translated the giant's message into terrible Russian. It went: "too much clouds, not seeing, talking". Curtis surprised us by translating fluently into Russian. Kris blushed and Curtis shot him a smile with some satisfaction in it and I wondered what the Icelander would do with it.

Lin braked and turned off the headlights. We had arrived. No more thinking about anything but the mission now.

We all gathered around her, she shook hands with all of us, even the R&R, and whished us good luck. She went back to base with JD.

Erk put us in a closed circuit with him. Poll started to ride the airwaves, and when he found his way to base and our receiving telepath, he nodded. Lil' Elise kept Erk company in the Ops room, both aircrafts ready for take-off. There was just enough fuel in both birds to hit the farm.

We moved slowly towards our target then, within half a kilometer, each of us whose mission was to kill the sentries went on their way. Tito gave Curtis his Bulldog.

We confirmed to Erk, via Poll to whom we whispered, that we were all in place and ready. He gave the go for the four of us. I straightened up, arrow notched, aiming at my first victim. The arrow pierced the night, I had already notched the second, let it fly to my second victim. The two fell almost at the same time. I confirmed both deaths to Erk.

Quenotte confirmed his three kills. We waited for Tito's return – three targets too – and Bloody Mary's – two, like me.

All sentries were silently eliminated. So we moved forward, joined by the rest of the team under Kris's orders. We made as little noise as possible while getting closer to the hangar.

And then, luck abandoned us, one of them came out for a smoke. And at that point, the moon came out from behind the clouds and reflected off one the Bulldog's sights. And the guy must have been an ex-military, because he didn't think, he just shot. Damn reflexes!

We answered back with our EMA 7, face down or from behind boxes, trying to make ourselves small enough to avoid the flying lead. Other guys came out of the building so Shorn, super calm, straightened up and, calmly, like at the shooting range, lined up the door and let the rocket loose.

The building blew up, the bits and pieces that were falling down were not all concrete or metal. Curtis aimed at the third building and did the same. There was one hell of a fucking explosion, because it hit the poppy sap processing lab and all the highly flammable chemicals suddenly caught fire.

We were lit up like in broad daylight and found ourselves the targets of the four guys still standing. I barely straightened up so I could aim. I felt a damn hammer blow to my helmet, was thrown backwards and found myself lying down on my back wondering what had happened.

I was deaf, I was blind, I was...