Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

LXXXII

If you are reading these lines, it means I was able to write them. And that I got out of it. I had to put some order in my mind, after spending a long night in Lin's arms, reassuring myself of my status as a living man. Yes, I know, the reproductive instinct that kicks in when you escape death... It's cliché, but it's cliché because it's true.

When everything was settled, Curly told me that when he had received the call from Lin, he had been paralyzed for a moment and that it was Jude who had taken the wheel, rushing hell for leather on the tracks of Afghanistan, the men behind gripping to what they found, and Benji manning the M50 Browning, clinging to the handles of the machine gun.

In the pick-up there's always more ammo, because the Land Rover does not get tired carrying extra weight. We knew that, and we were counting on it to allow Curly and his platoon to get us out of the mess we were in.

He told me how, once he recovered from his stupor, he drew his combat tablet, called our coordinates and studied the terrain. He had decided to come from the east, so as to catch our attackers between us and him. If he came from the north, he would be facing us, in our shooting range. And friendly fire isn't. From the east, no problem.

Jude, from almost a year of driving on the rough roads around here, had developed fucking reflexes and was even better at driving the Land than Lin. While Curly pondered, Jude drove the pick-up towards our position, hoping to not arrive too late.

He also told me about his anguish, sitting on his ass unable to do anything to help us. He knew he would help us, he hoped he would help us, but before that, they had to get to the theater of operations, and he told me he had the impression that the goal was moving away, despite what the GPS was telling him.

On our side, things were looking bad. The guys went on with the attack, but armed with a knife or, at best, a handgun.

With a look, Kris told his brother to stay hidden and got up on his knees, firing at our attackers and hitting the bull's eye every time. His last magazine slammed empty and he let himself drop, spinning when the bullet hit him at the hip. Erk caught him, pulled out another pair of pliers, and took care of him.
- Idiot, why did you have to expose yourself, fool?
- It's... pot... calling kettle... black...
- Dumbass...
- Love you... Erik, Kris said in a breath, and he passed out.

The giant lay him gently next to him, looked at us, but while he Healed his brother, we may have listened to them, but we had remained focused on our attackers.

A second wave had launched an assault on our eyrie after the first was destroyed by Kris.
- I take it, I said.

Without getting up, I shot at the guys, counting my ammunition and stopping with a bullet in the chamber.
- I'm out.
- I take it, said Tito.

Aiming carefully, he emptied his magazines, saving his last bullet as well.
- Out.
- I take it, said JD.

And so on until the only one left was the Viking. He caressed Kris's cheek, handed his gun to Baby Jane, giving her a very pointed look. He put his big hand on her cheek and kissed her.
- See you on the other side. Take care of Kris, sweetheart.

And he drew his two blades, got up and, jumping over the edge of the bowl, launched himself at the guys, who were so surprised that he had killed a number of them before they reacted and lead began to fly.
- No, cease fire, Durrani wants them alive!

Erk continued his job as a reaper, gathering in the process some fucking slashes that stained his uniform crimson. Then we looked at each other, Tito, JD, Quenotte and I and we drew our blades too.
- Baby Jane, if one of us gets caught, and you see he's not gonna make it, shoot him dead. Stay safe, girls. And, Baby Jane, if all is lost, and Erk is dead, think of him, I said pointing to Kris still unconscious.
- Don't worry, Archer, I'll do what it takes.