Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

XXIX

It was a pain staying on base without being able to do your job as a soldier. Oh, Erk and I finished painting the bikes, but we didn't have the pleasure of testing them.

On the other hand, we... well, he got a surprise with the weekly helicopter delivery. Yeah, they are weekly now.

At first, a heli would come, a big one, something that could carry 12 trial bikes, for instance. Or a Land-Rover... It would set down a net, land next to it, then the pilots would go to the mess hall for a coffee while we opened and emptied the net.

Someone, might have been Lin herself, found it damn inefficient, so now the bird gently lays the net on the ground, one of us unhooks it from the winch, hangs up last week's net and the whole thing goes away.

That day, Tito had just finished his sentence, Doc had discharged him from sick bay and along with me and a few others he found himself having to clear the net. Erk, forbidden the use of his arm, was flashing the barcodes on his tablet, to make sure the packing list and the delivery matched. Booooring, but necessary task. We used little hand trucks, called diable (devil) in French, so I got to make a joke about using a diable (hand truck) because of the weight of our sins. They were nice to me, they laughed.

The items on the delivery list matched the shopping list except for two packages, one addressed to E. Hellason and the other to Fratelli Hellason. We dropped them off at the mess hall and huddled around them like beetles around fresh dung.
- Who is Fratelli? A third Icelander? Tito asked.
- No, it means Brothers in Italian.
- Ah.
- Yes. And as we don't know that many Italians, it can only come from Rizzi.
- Did I hear Matteo's name? said Kris, whom we hadn't seen for a little while.
- So you're back, lil' brother?

They exchanged a look and then Kris came to stand next to the Viking. They looked at the airway bill.
- There, instructions: per aprire a Natale. We'll have to wait until Christmas, big guy.
- Fine. But what can a Mafia godfather send us for Christmas?
- A horse's head, someone started. There was a sneer from Shorn then a sudden inspiration from Curly.
- Wait, what? Matteo Rizzi, THE godfather of the Lombard Mafia?
- You can add Piedmont, Veneto, Liguria and, actually, all of northern Italy down to Bologna and San Marino, Kris said.

Curly sat down a bit abruptly.
- Well, fuck! I don't believe it! THE Rizzi sends you Christmas presents... Why...

The brothers traded another look.
- Nei, Kris, nei, Erk said, shaking his head very hard.

Kris stared right at him with a devilish grin.
- Erik saved his life... He told us without taking his eyes off his brother.

In the borage blue eyes I saw treason, anger, sadness, then Erk turned around and stormed out.
- Skítt, Kris said and rushed off behind him, apologizing.

We followed and got to the yard just as Kris caught up with him.
- I'm sorry, big guy, I...

Erk grabbed his brother by the sweater, with his good hand, and almost lifted him off the ground, shaking him.
- I asked you not to say anything, but no, you had to go and open your big mouth and spill the beans!
- But what's the problem, Erik?
- He's a fucking mobster, Kris! A criminal!
- So? He's a good man! You saw what he did to regulate it all!
- He's still a mobster, a criminal, a... a... a gangster!
- I tend to forget how straight you are, sometimes.
- Maybe, but when I ask you not to talk about it, I would like you to obey.

Kris bristled as he slapped his brother's hand to get free.
- Obey you?! I'm not your subordinate, jerk, I'm your brother!
- Little brother! Erk roared, insisting on little.
- And what does that change, eh, big brother? I'm proud of you, hálfviti, proud that you saved the life of that man I happen to like. Proud that you put your disgust aside to do your job as the true pro you are. You didn't have time to get to know him as I did, since you spent most of our time either avoiding him or unconscious. But I discovered a man with a great sense of honor, who has re-established in northern Italy a criminality that is certainly organized, but honorable and without collateral damage. And without him...
- Without him, what?