Oltranella, Corsica, France. 18/02/1992 3.50 am
The night was chilly in the Corsican Scrub around Bertonelli’s farm. The darkness was really deep and the G.I.P.N. men in black were 200 meters from the main building. Everybody lay still on the ground among the little shrubs, the rocks and the pebbles stung them. The only sound was the music of the cicadas. The captain held his breath, thinking again and again about his next move. The attack was programmed at 4 a.m. just after the drops. Everybody was silent and waited for the sound of the airplane. The informants had been really specific, three drops from the Cessna and they can catch Rico Bertonelli and his clan red handed to put them behind bars for years.
“She’s coming right at the time, captain.”
His body was tense, the sweat poured out of him, something was wrong but what?
“Go cut the power.”
The first waves of cops were lead by their captain. They broke into the courtyard, the assailants ran to the main house. Then all the lights came again, they became sitting ducks. Lieutenant Evrard fell beside his captain who threw an incendiary grenade. Several troopers did the same. The noise was thundering, several Corsicans fell on the ground.
“Follow me! We have to take Rico alive with the drugs.”
“Open a crossfire zone and lets go. “
Then suddenly, a big blue flame engulfed the farm and everything blew up.
It was blazing; the whole hill was lit by the flames. Nothing was left; the fire ragged and destroyed everything people and evidences.
Up the hill, there was a man, his face distorted by rage, sorrow and hatred watching this part of his life totally erased. He took an oath. That one day retribution will come to the man who did this.