Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

LXIII

LXIII

That was an interesting discussion. Rafa, that was his name, spoke Turkmen, so it was in that language that the conversation took place. Fatso took his smartphone out to record the discussion. He uses the voice recorder a lot, so he doesn't forget anything when an idea pops into his head. And he gets a lot of them.

Anyway.

So, here I am, sitting in Doc's spot on the edge of the bed, next to the guy's tied hand. He looks at me, and I look at him. We exchange glances, lots of glances. Then:

- Shaitan? How is he?

I expected everything and anything, but not this.

- Why do you ask?

He looked away, then back to me.

- I... shot at him and I... I didn't want to. I was afraid of dying and...

- Yet Allah's paradise was waiting for you, wasn't it?

- Pfff, that's a joke. It all serves to push us to die in battle, so we're not afraid of fighting or dying, but war, holy or not, has never opened the doors of Paradise, not to a believer, not to a roumi.

I was beginning to like this guy.

- So, if you don't like it, what are you doing here?

- It's Durrani.

Now we're all listening.

- But first, how is he?

- Better than you.

- That's a bit of an easy answer.

- Yeah, well, you've got the short end of the stick, buddy, so cut the crap and tell us.

- Sorry. Defense mechanism.

I definitely liked this guy. I tried not to react to his words, but it was difficult.

- There never were that many of us, and we had a hard time making ends meet. We offered our services to Durrani, sometimes, in exchange for ammunition or food. He rarely paid us with money, but it's better to have ammo or rations than money you can't spend. Say, can I have some water?

Shorn went to get what he needed. After a few sips, the guy resumed.

- We had to watch the fields, usually. We woke up soaked with dew in some of those fields, by the way.

He had a smirk on his face, but we were careful not to react. He almost shrugged, restrained himself and continued.

- Two days ago, he... summoned is not the word. I was pushed into a truck with the butt end of guns to meet him.

- Why you? Are you the boss?

- No, not really. I was just a messenger. I was taken to his home, to his alcazar. Fuck...

He shook his head vaguely, disgusted.

- This guy lives in luxury and was doling out military rations...

- Get to the point.

- I'm sorry, but frankly, if you had seen that...

I didn't say anything, I had seen it.

- It smelled like smoke that day, and his guards were on edge. I have to say that with the hanged men decorating the trees, there was plenty to be on edge.

- Hanged men? How many?

Fatso had asked.

- Oh, I didn't count, I was trying not to do anything that would send me to keep them company. I was led through a courtyard in which a large mattress and bedding were burning. Th...