Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

LXXI

There is something wonderful about Erk, and it's that he's able to quickly put aside what bothers him, hurts him, makes him sad.

That night at dinner he was himself, laughing, joking. Of course, since his kidnapping by the SRH, he had lost a bit of his innocence, and I think after Sochi and Chechnya he had already lost quite a bit anyway.

I think he's careful not to inflict his temper on us, to make us do anything stupid, make us sad, or that sort of thing.

Or does he have a rare ability, and that is being able to heal his mind, in return for not being able to heal himself? That's what I wish him, anyway.

Anyway, that evening, he seemed to have put aside what he had done. I had seen him in deep conversation with Cook and, also, sitting in the gravel outside the base next to his brother, who had put an arm around his brother's waist, leaning against him. He had probably sorted it out, as he says. First with our shrink and then with the one for whom he had committed this murder ... no in cold blood, because he is not a psychopath, just a man with very strong values. And, for his little brother, an immense love that drives him to do things he would no doubt regret all his life.

He was at the table with all the other officers and NCOs, which was exceptional. Not that Erk is at the table with us, that we are all at the same table. We tend to group ourselves by patrol. We all carefully avoided talking about the afternoon incident.

The girls dined among themselves, Song gradually relaxing, daring a quiet laugh at times. Kim had stayed with Phone, Mike having requested to return to her post in the Ops room.

At our table, Kris and Lin were sitting on each side of the giant, casually, but we didn't have to worry, he had his usual appetite, smiled when we made a joke, even laughed. And yet today I was the fucking fool who reminded him of what happened in the SRH Fortress, and he had killed so Kris didn't have to. But if he was in a good mood, I wasn't going to ruin that.

To drink our traditional end-of-meal herbal tea, we regrouped by patrol, Kim followed Quenotte, Song, Baby Jane, so there were ten of us, JD sitting at the table with us, Yaka at his feet.

When the Koreans approached, she got up, went to smell them. Song tensed, JD told her to relax, to hold out her hand, so Yaka could know her scent. She gently sniffed the outstretched hand, sneezed, causing JD to chuckle.

- She says you must know how to give scritches behind the ears, he said when asked what made him laugh. I don't know how she can know that just from your scent, Song. Come on, sit down.

We moved to make room for them. During the discussion, Kim wanted to know if he would be with us on patrol. Kris said no, probably, since our patrol was full.
- Do any of you know how to ride a motorbike? Erk asked with his warm baritone.

And I saw Song open up like a flower in the sun. It was wonderful to see her happy.
- Yes, I do, she said.
- Perfect. I think we can entrust you to Mac and Stig.
- Mac? Stig?
- The Italian lady with a billiard ball for a head. Stig, on the other hand, is so non-descript that you forget him, unless you can see his eyes. They have an extraordinary color, khaki green, said the one with the most extraordinary eyes that I know, borage blue, or the blue that the sky takes on when the weather is very beautiful and very cold in winter.
- So Mac's patrol is complete, Kris said. Kim, we'll probably put you in Shorn's, who's guarding the base.
- Shorn? The bald one?
- No, the Curly one. Shorn is curly.

I could see that they were both lost, so I explained our nicknames to them, and why we called Fatso so, when he wasn't.

Quenotte diverted our attention from the Koreans who were thinking at full speed.
- Say, the brothers, I have a question for you.