Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

LXIX

So, there it is.

First, the squadron of fucking troubles was still circling above the base. Every now and then one would leave and another would arrive.

Then, the big envelope was addressed to Captain Lineik and came from Milan. When I walked into the office with Kris, Lin was holding a number of pages of paper, covered in handwriting. In our days of dictation or video e-mail, a letter written with ink on paper was just plain archaic or a complete luxury. Who would still take the time to write and waste paper by crossing some words...

Apparently the Boss of the Lombard Mafia, friend of a French Legionnaire who was born Icelandic.

Anyway. Lin handed the sheets to Kris, who began to read. I looked at my Captain. She was affected by what was in the letter. You could hardly see it, but since I've shared her bed a certain number of times, I've learned to read her.

Kris's hands started to shake as he read it.
- It's ... God damn it, how can you imagine ... It's so ...

Poor Kris couldn't finish his sentences.
- Try to organize your thoughts, Kris.
- I... I need a drink. Something with a kick.

She opened a cupboard, pulled out a bottle of Finnish aquavit, poured four glasses, and we accompanied Kris.
- Okay. In February 2119, Erik and I were on vacation in northern Italy. After Venice, Verona, Lake Garda, we arrived in Milan where we saved a man one evening from an assault. This man was Matteo, but we still didn't know who he really was. On his advice, we were, three days later, on the Piazza del Duomo, watching a procession to San Ambrosio, the patron saint of the city. And there, an old lady, who we had asked who this man was in the procession in great discussion with the chief of police, this man who was the old man who had thanked us for saving him with a good dinner, told us that this man, therefore, was Don Matteo Rizzi. I got it right away.

He paused, shook his head.
- Of course, when I told Erik, he started by feeling betrayed and then he saw a guy rushing towards Matteo, one arm raised. He said "protection" to me and threw himself forward, between Matteo and the aggressor. He took a stake in the shoulder. Well, for the record, it was wenge, which makes a lot of splinters, hence the twisted star-shaped scar on his right shoulder. The trip to the hospital, the wait ... if it hadn't been for Mauricio, Matteo's son, I think I would have done something fucking stupid.

He handed his glass to Lin, who filled it.
- Out of gratitude, the Rizzis took me home, had Erik treated, and then took him home as well. The first evening, I learned that there was a turf war in Milan, between the Lombard Mafia which controlled the traffic in drugs considered soft or recreational, and the Russian Mafia which dealt in hard drugs, with an upsurge of overdoses. But Matteo was keen on the reputation of the Lombard Mafia for cleanliness, which he and his father had worked so hard for. A sort of honor of the brigands, no collateral damage, no bloodshed, no terror.

He rubbed his forehead, waved a hand in the air, a vague gesture.
- Anyway. The man who attacked Matteo was high on PCP, Angel Dust. It increases strength tenfold, makes you forget the pain. A chemical berserk, in a way. This is how the stake was able to cut through Erik's thick leather jacket and go so deep into his shoulder.

He shivered, great tremors that shook him from head to toe.
- Erik and I had set foot in a gang war, with, on one side, a clean Italian Mafia and on the other a group - you can't really call them Mafia – with no honor nor rules ready to do anything to seize the territory of Milan. Thanks to Erik, Matteo had escaped two attacks, because the assault was no accident. Matteo's wife, a renowned hacker, has launched a program that works like a trawl, it scours the web to catch specific information. In this case, photos or videos of Erik, to destroy them. He is so recognizable, we had to avoid it being known that this particular guy was the reason why the attempt to take power in Milan had failed. It was to protect him from possible revenge.