Ten Little Soldiers

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.


Chapter III: Vacational Aid

Eight little Soldier boys traveling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.

Polenta Filipepi didn't know it, but he was currently holding the record for going undercover in the Vongola and staying undercover. Sadly neither did anyone else for he was mostly forgotten outside the city he was situated in.

He had patiently made his way in the Vongola Famiglia under the name of Piero Torregrossa over two years and more than anything he was annoyed that he had been situated in Zurich, Confederazione Svizzera. Nothing of great importance ever happened in Switzerland aside from certain bank transactions he had no chance of snooping in. He had been out of way during two little mafia wars and the Cradle Incident – and it had been excruciatingly embarrassing to explain to his Inspettore Capo he hadn't had a clue what it was about, except that the Nono's son was rumoured to have gone AWOL after. Now a Japanese teenager – why Japanese of all things? – had been declared the nex don and Xanxus Vongola had been rumoured to have appeared again and he had been out of loop for that also.

All in all Polenta was more than pleased to be recalled to Italy. Maybe he would finally get into the thick of it, learning of more than some minor money laundering and petty drug deals.

It was the first time he had been to the The Vongola mansion. It had eight acres of landscaped grounds planted with olive, orange and magnolia trees and Polenta's experienced eye could catch cameras hidden in the green, gold-speckled shadows as he walked the path towards the building. Ancient oak and cypress tree surround the villa, which was cream-coloured building with several towers. Crime did seem to pay, he thought dryly as he finally arrived to the patio of the villa.

There was an oriental-looking man in a black suit, the jacket open to reveal a white shirt, and a little girl who walked out of the front doors just as Polenta arrived to the scene. He had straw blond hair, which made Polenta suspect he was half European in origin, and the little girl was an adorable thing wearing kiddy combat gear, a crimson cape, a toy infrared visor and a pacifier around her neck. Polenta had always had a weak spot for children and when she frowned so fiercely storm cloud could almost be seen gathering around her head he felt his heart melting.

Then she turned her head and he saw an angry red scar on her left cheek and it made him angry. Mafia was no place for a child to grow up in.

"Your next orders," the man said, "are to take a vacation." There was a moment of silence.

"A… vacation," the girl asked like she didn't know what the word meant. The man nodded vigorously.

"You know, travel the world, see the sights, do whatever you want for a month or so. You are overdue for one and it would break Colonello's heart if an ulcer sent you to early grave." The man pressed his both hands over his heart as he said this. The girl made an angry sound.

"Like I care what Colonello thinks!" she argued, a girl at the age when boys still have cooties. "I don't think I understand. There's a lot of work to be done here and we can't be sure Millefiore's future is gone for good and you want me to take a vacation?" the girl asked with voice that was all hard edges, making Polenta frown. What kind of meeting was the man letting his daughter sit in for her to speak like that? (Millefiore, a part of him filed the name for later research. That wasn't a name he had heard before.) A child this girl's age should worry about tea parties for her dolls. The man waved a hand dismissively.

"We're taking care of that. I just think you need a break, Lal." He tried to pat her over the head and she swatted his hand away. Polenta had a feeling something was wrong with this picture and the feeling kept intensifying.

"I wouldn't know what to do with a break," Lal finally admitted. The man laughed a little.

"Oh, right. It has been a while since you've had a vacation, right?" He paused to think, then hit his left hand with his fist and beamed at her.

"Don't worry, I have great idea!" He ignored her mutterings of "that's what I'm afraid of" and turned to look at Polenta, who was frozen under those brown eyes. They were thoroughly friendly, laughing even, and yet he broke sweating under his own jacket. There was weight behind those eyes and he decided he really didn't want to make this man angry, ever.

"Hey, what's your name?" he asked. Now Lal was demanding he didn't foist strange people off on her, but he ignored her.

"Piero Torregrossa, Signor," he answered promptly.

"I'm Iemitsu Sawada, the leader of CEDEF, and this is my minion Lal Mirch. You are to act as her Vacational Aid for a month. Don't worry, you are getting a budget."

So this was the father of the future Vongola Don. The feeling that he was missing something got worse still, but Polenta didn't want to seem difficult in front of this man. Who was still smiling like they were best friends. The Decimo had to be a formidable person indeed to have been raised by this man. Well, Polenta thought, getting into the CEDEF leader' and the future Don's father's good graces could benefit him greatly. He walked up to them and bent down, leaning his hands against his knees.

"What would you say about going to the Paris Disneyland, Signorina Mirch?" he asked. Her face darkened and now he froze under her eyes, brown almost a shade of red.

"Do you want to die?" she asked. Sawada laughed.

"Lal Mirch is one of the Arcobaleno," he explained, making Polenta almost choke on his spit. He had heard fantastical stories of them of course, assassins and informants and combat specialists and martial artists put under a curse that had changed them into babies, but also granted them magical abilities and animals. There was a lot of strange claptrap in The Vongola about supposed pyrokinetic abilities and magical rings – like they were role playing Tolkien's Lord of the Rings – and recently of magical boxes that turned into animals, but Polenta had never realized they were taking their own press this seriously.

"Of course. I am sorry," he said, fuming quietly inside. He swore then to give this poor girl the best vacation of her life and get her removed from this insane asylum ASAP. Sawada slapped him to the back and he smiled sheepishly, his face disconnected from his true mind.

"You'll get along just fine," Sawada promised. Lal, Polenta noted, didn't promise a thing.

In the end he was the one who planned their travelling schedule. Sawada had told to take her on a tour and Lal herself had only told him to not take her to anywhere with annoying people, or else. First he was going to take her to Spain. The last Wednesday of August month was just three days away and that was when the yearly tomato fight, La Tomatina, would take place in Buñol, Valencia. Not too childish for Lal's pride, but nevertheless a giant vegetable fight was something a child should definitely enjoy. The there would be The Aarhus Festival in Denmark. Ten days and every year a new theme with new performances and entertainment. He had gone through their website and they seemed to have a Viking Festival this year. What children didn't like Vikings?

He wasn't sure where he would take her after Aarhus, but hopefully she would have relaxed enough at that point for him to take her to someplace for children, maybe even breach the subject of finding her a real home.

Buñol, Valencia

Tens of thousands of people had been throwing tomatoes at each other in Spain in what was possibly the world's biggest food fight. Local folklore told the contest had begun with a food fight that had broken out between youngsters near a vegetable stand in the town in the mid-1940s. From there the battle had grown into an annual event. There were five rules to the fight.

You may not bring any bottles or objects that could cause an accident.

You must not throw or tear t-shirts.

You MUST squash the tomatoes before throwing them. (To avoid hurting anyone.)

You must be careful for any truck or lorry that comes along.

When you hear the second shot you MUST stop throwing tomatoes.

They flew to Valencia in first class. It was the first time Polenta ever traveled so luxuriously and now he was feeling a good deal bitterer over the crime paying well. The individual laptop powerport connections were useless because he didn't have a laptop, but the food was good and served on white linen table cloths and with real cutlery, with the natural exception of knives. For once he had more than enough room to stretch on his seat and he had in-seat personal video system with personal viewing monitors and a variety of programming and personal reading lights and privacy dividers were separating them from the other passengers. He felt completely out of place despite his suit matching those of the other passengers, like anyone could take one look at him and tell he didn't belong, which wasn't a comfortable feeling for an undercover police. Lal was wearing her red cape and combat suit and she sat regally like a queen on her seat.

"Would you like something to drink, Signor?" a beautiful stewardess asked him. He had only seen beautiful stewardesses during the flight and he was wondering if they were maybe chosen for their looks in this class.

"I am fine, thank you. Would you like to have something, Lal?" he asked his charge. Lal shrugged minutely.

"Mineral water, please," she said. The stewardess complied quickly, but Lal didn't seem to get any pleasure from her drink. Polenta was wondering if she was maybe forbidden from drinking soft drinks. Very healthy and sensible of course, but children should be allowed to be children.

"Would you have preferred a coke?" he asked. Lal gave him a disdaining look.

"If I wanted a coke I would have asked for it," she snapped at him.

The captain of the plane announced that they were about to land in Valencia. The landing was rather uncomfortable as Polenta's ears had always been sensitive to changes of atmospheric pressure. They were ushered through the special check-in and security zones at the airport and offered complimentary limousine service. It was all great and enviable and yet he was more than a little relieved to change out of his suit at the hotel they would be staying at.

Polenta took Lal to watch the first even of the day: climbing of a greased pole with a ham on top. Then at eleven o'clock a shot rang and Polenta handed her red swimming goggles. They were standing at the edge of the Plaza del Pueblo, both wearing old, hackneyed T-shirts and shorts they could throw away when the day was over. Red banners had been spread over the streets. The people were milling around, the air was practically electrified with anticipation and glee and the sun was beating down on them from a cloudless blue sky.

"Keep these on, for safety's sake, and be careful. There are going to be a lot of people who aren't watching where they are going," he advised.

"I still don't see how tourists throwing tomatoes at each other is supposed to be fun," she complained, holding a purple box in her hand. It was rather small, small enough to fit her palm, and she was giving it a considering look. Polenta would have asked, but that was when the trucks backspaced to the plaza and poured tomatoes all over the ground. That was when the chaos began.

Men without shirts and women in small tops were crawling all over the cobblestones, grabbing tomatoes and throwing them. They ran around and screamed and laughed and crushed their projectiles between their fingers, red juice flowing down their arms. In the middle of this Polenta shielded his charge the best he could, getting hit several times, and Lal was the very picture of affronted dignity until one tomato hit her squarely to the back of her head. She raised her hand to her hair and touched the pieces of tomato flesh stuck in there. She looked at her fingers like she couldn't believe what she saw and then her lips were stretched in a positively feral smile.

"Oh, this fight is on now," she growled. And she proceeded to break rule number one.

She pressed the box in her hand against her pacifier and it glowed deep purple. What are you doing, Polenta was going to ask, but he didn't have enough time before the box opened with a flash and there was a giant black centipede.

Polenta stared. Giant black centipede. It had a look to it that vaguely reminded him of the movie Alien and its sequels. At first it was maybe the size of a big dog, which was way too big for an insect ever, but it grew and grew and grew until it was twice the length of a horse. It didn't crawl towards the rejoicing people, it pounced and flew, firing purple fire from its tail, or maybe it was from its head, Polenta thought and heard himself laughing. He didn't know much of centipede anatomy, heads or tails, whatever; oh, that sounded like a game of dices. He laughed as Lal Mirch took a tomato and without squishing it first threw it to a middle-aged overweight man who was aiming for her a few meters away. He missed, she didn't and he keeled over from the force of the blow. People were screaming and they were different kind of screams now, full of fear instead of mirth. The ground was flowing with crushed red paste and the smell of tomato was so strong Polenta thought it might permeate his brain. His chuckles were beginning to turn into sobs and he bit his hand, recognizing the sign of onsetting hysteria. Giant black pyrokinetic centipede from a magical box.

Lal Mirch grabbed the T-shirt of a long-haired woman in order to throw her down to the tomato paste. Then she disappeared from his view, but not for long.

The fight was over with half an hour to spare and they were the only ones left standing. One truck had been turned on its side and as almost clean Lal Mirch walked towards him with springy steps he thought that she only didn't break that last rule because there was no one left to throw tomatoes at. The sun cast her shadow behind her and shadows could be funny things, because for a second Polenta could have sworn he saw the shadow of a mature woman.

"You were right, Torregrossa. This was invigorating. Where are we going next?" Lal Mirch asked. Polenta stepped gingerly around the unconscious bodies and quickly booked them tickets to Denmark.

Aarhus, Denmark

Polenta had spent the entire plane trip trying to for a report that would make some kind of sense in his head and failed spectacularly. The centipede was probably some robotic kind of weapon, all right. As to how it fit inside that tiny, little box, well, technology was fantastic these days. And the reason Lal Mirch had been given this new technology was because she was in truth an adult woman who had been somehow de-aged, a medicinal miracle old people would pay anything for. A very, very strong adult de-aged woman. He had difficulties convincing even himself.

The news on the television had told of a mysterious riot at La Tomatina in Buñol: mass hallucination of monstrous centipedes! He had switched the channel immediately.

They had a few days to spare before the beginning of the festival and spent those sightseeing. Polenta was getting used to names of food that had nothing to do with the food they were attached to at all, except for Blodpølse, which he had found out afterwards was really made of blood. It had been a very traumatic experience. They had taken a city tour in Copenhagen and gone to look at the Amalienborg Palace and the Little Mermaid statue in the harbor and thankfully neither the centipede nor Lal Mirch's violent tendencies had made a second appearance. Still, he couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

The first day of the Aarhus Festival dawned cloudy and rather chilly, but at least it wasn't raining. At that point Polenta had decided that thinking about what Lal Mirch's real age, which he wouldn't ask just in case it was a touchy subject, was maybe breaking his brain, but that didn't mean he should take to the children's events.

The church bells were tolling, tolling, tolling like warning from an attack as they walked around the market. A woman in a simple, historical-looking dress, green apron and big silver buckles was selling hand crafted Viking knives. They were all rather small, small enough for Lal Mirch to handle without any difficulty, and she was over the moon about their quality. One knife was pretty much the same as the other to Polenta, but he wanted to keep her happy and their travelling budget was more than generous so he ended up buying her five. He tried not to think about the way she hid them expertly inside her red cape.

"I want to go to a bar now," she decided out of blue.

"You want to what?" he shrieked, not quite believing what he had heard. This little girl… who maybe wasn't a real little girl, but try explaining that to someone, and what about her liver? Lal narrowed her eyes and grabbed the front of Tsuna's shirt, pulling him closer.

"Are you saying that it's a bad idea, Torregrossa?" she demanded and there plain wasn't right answer to that one.

"No!" he immediately yielded, fearing for his life. Lal was one scary not-woman. And she was smirking now.

"If it's not bad," she almost sang teasingly. "Then that must mean that it's a good one. Am I right?"

"Y-yes. But where are we going to find a bar that will let you in?" Polenta thought it better to just agree with everything for now. If he pulled through alive, then he would be happy.

"Leave that to me, I have got good instincts."

Lo and behold, there truly was a bar in Aarhus that would let him in with Lal at two pm. She wasn't the only child there either, though she was the youngest – youngest-looking. Grim Hund had what Polenta thought might be called a rocker charm all its own which was enhanced by the grubby barefoot kiddies running around and the upturned crate chairs. It was dim and full of cigarette smoke. Not to mention the satellite porn on the TV. Again he felt completely out of place, he was beginning to think he was losing his touch. Again Lal Mirch fit in easy as breathing, marching to the barkeeper and demanding a coke. Polenta was too busy being relieved that she wasn't trying to buy alcohol that he didn't much care why she had wanted to come there in the first place.

Not before a harsh voice called from the outside "Politi!" and that sounded an awful lot like Danish for police. The long-bearded, dirty men sitting already at the bar didn't even blink, but there was the sound of something lunging and then footsteps. A door Polenta hadn't even seen – it was papered just like the walls were – opened and an exodus of gang of twelve year olds from the room behind the door out back due to the police raid. There was a pool table, the sticks abandoned every which way on the floor. He turned towards Lal Mirch to take her away the same way, but the words on his lips turned into a groan when he saw her cracking her knuckles.

"I wanted to get into a bar fight, but this is even better," she crowed. Polenta did the only thing he could think of. He sat on a crate chair, ordered a whiskey, neat, and closed in eyes in a prayer.

The chipped glass was put in front of him with a clearly audible clink. Polenta opened his eyes and the bartender said him something in Danish. Polenta didn't speak a word of Danish so he shrugged and smiled sheepishly. The man would understand soon enough.

The first crate-chair flew when his back was still turned. Against his better judgement he turned to see Lal Mirch jump towards a police officer who had been frozen midstep with a look of amusing non-comprehension on his face. That cost him his chance as Lal hit him to solar plexus and he bent like a pocket knife and fell to the floor. Polenta swallowed the whiskey at one go and wondered if he could arrest her for this. Preferably with an army battalion as back-up, but really, she hadn't done anything too outlandish yet… She pulled out a bazooka. An honest-to-God full-sized bazooka from under her little cape, holding it with ease and all of a sudden the size of the knives he had bought her earlier didn't seem so significant criteria. One loud boom that made his ears ring later the rest of the police had surrendered and Lal Mirch had tied them all up, then ordered whiskey for herself. The patrons all mumbled something that Polenta thought might be telling each other how they had never been so drunk so early in the day. Lal had turned out to be very good at teaching languages she didn't speak.

In the end Lal was plied and placated with drinks until Polenta was forced to act as a crutch when they hobbled back to the hotel. She crawled into the bed, not even bothering to change into her pyjamas, and Polenta attempted to figure out the hotel remote control so that it might do his bidding, but that hope was in vain.

"You know, I had my doubts about this whole vacations idea, but I think I will take another next year." Lal's smile was more sleepy than drunk and for a minute she looked like a little angel.

Heaven forbid! Polenta wondered how likely it was that he would be demanded to attend to her then and decided it didn't matter because any probability exceeding round zero was unacceptable. To think there were supposed to be, what, six more of these? He was getting the hell out of this dodge the second he got back to Italy.

"Where are we going after this festival is over?" she asked. It was going to be a long month.

He cried in joy when Sawada recalled them the next day, apologizing profoundly for disturbing their relaxing holiday, but Lal Mirch was needed back in Italy, yesterday.