Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

LXXVII

We set off again under the hot Afghan sun, single file, just as careful as ever. We were in enemy territory, and therefore we had to be fifteen times more careful.

- Tito, are there any houses in the area? Kris asked after an hour's walk.

The Albanian tweaked his head-up interface and announced a village over four hours' walk away.

- Thank you. Well, we will pass the village and sleep further away. If the inhabitants are friendly, we will see to wash a little, that will do us good.

It is true that it was very, very hot and that, under our bulletproof vests and our henleys, we were sweating heavily. I knew that tonight, we would change our T-shirt, to sleep in something dry, because it is still cold at night.

As far as I was concerned, and I honestly think I wasn't the only one, I blessed the guys who designed our boxer shorts and I'll let you know why. I could feel my sweat running between my shoulder blades, sliding down to my belt and being absorbed by the pants. In the front, same. On the sides, legs, ditto. I saw halos of sweat on all of us and all over the place. Our faces were shiny with sweat... Except for Erk, still covered in the dust moved when undermining the embankment. In short, you get the picture.

The worst place was the crotch. The fatigue pants weren't adjusted, otherwise we would have had problems with circulation, or with comfort, quite simply. And then, although there were different sizes of pants, none were bespoke. Well, except for Erk, since his fatigues are - necessarily - to his measure, but this is exceptional. So there was always a little slack in the crotch. And with the heat, our upper thighs would pick up the moisture from a little higher. And so, without the canvas of the pants to protect them, normally our thighs would have rubbed together and as long as there was sweat to lubricate it was fine. I'm not going to lecture you on the poor lubricating qualities of sweat. But as soon as it dried, it rubbed, it irritated and damn, it hurt, in the evening. Like burns.

Fortunately, our boxer shorts were a bit longer and managed to limit getting hurt. Fortunately, too, because otherwise Erk would have had to Heal us every night and it would have made for some funny scenes, since he can only heal by touching the wound, except for Kris.

Anyways. I kept an eye on my head-up display for satellite data, which was rather absent at the moment. But the heat, the sweat... The henley, with its long sleeves, protected us from the sun, but I would have loved to roll up the sleeves to take advantage of the mini draft created by the walk. I would have liked to take my helmet off so that the same current would dry my hair...

We took a lunch break in the punishing sun, shade was a thing of myth around here. No water source either, we sparingly drank, we could take more at the village, there was a river not far away, we just had to boil it before pouring it into our water bottles. We had been in the area for a long time, we had become more or less used to the water, but we were never safe from a bug or something else.

- Phew, what a heat... said Erk, pushing his helmet back to wipe his forehead and involuntarily displacing the thin layer of dust that had settled on his brow.

- And it's not the hottest of the summer here yet, I replied.

- Oh shit ... and when is that?

- Around mid-August. You weren't here last year.

- No, that's right, Kris said, we were by Lake Como. It is much more green and peaceful. Even if the circumstances that brought us here weren't so.

- That's where... Quenotte asked, before stopping.

- Yes, it is there, Erk answered, in Matteo Rizzi's villa, that I came to my senses after Chechnya. And before you ask me the question, Quenotte, I have no precise recollection of that period. And the ones Kris has aren't necessarily very positive.