Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

LXXXVIII

The storm of emotions that had shaken the brothers finally died down and Kris helped us back to the barbican, just in time to hear Phone calling Lin and the officers, so we diverted to the Ops room.

Mac and Stig's patrol had just called for help. One of the bikes had left the narrow path the patrol was following and found itself, with its two riders, at the bottom of a small ravine. Minor injuries for the bikers, and their steed was in poor condition.

The good thing about the education the Icelanders gave us is that Lin often doesn't have to give orders. Curly announced that he was going with Jude, Benji and Rafa, leaving the rest of his patrol behind.

They returned three hours later, the motorcycle a pile of spare parts, or almost, and its two riders on the bed. Jo was waiting for them with his tool box, Nanny and Fara with stuff to treat the scratches. Afghanistan is quite dry but we are far from everything, and it is better to clean everything properly, while waiting for Erk's Healing, when he has the right to do so, of course.

When Jo saw the motorbike, he started to whine, then,; upon hearing Clem's cry of pain, when Nanny was putting his shoulder back in place, he shut his trap and went to see Lin, who was standing next to us. We, Erk, Kris and I, were on the mattress, half dozing. After all, we were convalescing.

So Jo approached, announced that it would take him a bit too long to fix the bike. Lin told him that it was not important, it could wait. It's true that we have twelve motorcycles, but only eight guys on patrol, and that there are always two motorcycles with pilot and passenger, so only six motorcycles out. When Mac and Stig return from patrol, they rest for a day and then leave with the other six motorcycles, while Jo does maintenance on those that have just returned. He finally told Lin that he would do a thorough check of the bike, to see what he could salvage and what should be replaced.

As for the men, Clem had dislocated his shoulder falling off the bike, and his passenger, Alma, had ended his barely controlled roll in a thorn bush, ending with a bleeding face but, lucky bastard, his eyes intact.

Seeing the total number of injured – seven in total if I counted correctly – Doc threw up her hands, called Cook, and asked him to Heal Erk. The giant ended bare-legged and bare-chested in the yard – T-shirt under his armpits and pants at his ankles –, Cook's hands on his wounds.

The Viking whispered something to the cook, who nodded. Erk put his hands on those of the American, and they shone brighter than usual. When Cook removed his hands, there were no further scars on the giant's porcelain skin. And a big smile on his tired face.

- What happened, Erik? Lin asked.
- I tried to give my... my power? Yes, my Healing power to Cook. It worked, look, no scar. But it's much more tiring than if I was Healing someone, so I won't abuse it...

He yawned behind his hand. Kris ran a hand over his chest, grimaced, and sped off to the kitchen. Well, I thought it had had the same side effects as a usual Healing.

After drinking the infamous concoction Kris brought back from the mess, Erk got dressed again and Healed us. He closed our slashes, reduced Clem's inflammation, made Alma's huge scratches disappear. Then he yawned again and before Kris even said anything, sped off to his pad to crash.

Kris followed him with his eyes, then shrugged.

- This is the first time that I don't have to insist.
- He looked really beat, though, Lin said. What did he say, exactly?
- That it was much more tiring than normal...
- Yeah. To be reserved for emergencies, then.
- If he's conscious, Kris muttered.

Yeah. If he was conscious...

That evening, we ate the orange Provence stew and we enjoyed it. Erk, awakened by his brother, ate two full portions, then went back to bed.