Out of Captivity : Surviving 1,967 Days in the Colombian Jungle

162 OUT OF CAPTIVITYWhen we arrived back at our camp, the change in attitude amongour guards was noticeable. Everyone seemed a lot more jovial. The pressurewas off, I suppose. Even the most serious guards, the ones whonever smiled, waved at us and grinned as if we were movie stars. Theyall took pleasure in knowing that in even the smallest way, by beingthe guy who locked us up at night, for example, they’d contributed tothe FARC’s success. That humanized them a bit—people everywherelike to attach themselves to a success regardless of how much theyreally contributed. Only when I reminded myself that these people whowere holding us hostage had killed some of my friends did I resent ourreception. Despite what Mono JoJoy contended, when it came down toit, the FARC were primarily killers.With just a few more hours of separation from the event, I was ableto process the POL experience in different ways. I was glad for theColin Powell news, and I was glad that I’d heard some of the FARCdiscussing a possible UN intervention. How reasonable either of thosetwo possibilities sounded to me varied by the hour. My interpretationof the events shifted with the sun, and I knew I wasn’t going to findlasting relief or true comfort. At that moment I chose to believe thatthese were positive signs.The morning after we returned to what we called the Second MudCamp, we all took a chance that our imposed silence was over. We gatheredoutside my hooch. With more time since the POL, our points ofview had clarified.“The thing I can’t get out of my mind is those other hostages beingkilled,” Marc said. “Can you imagine that? You hear a helo and the nextthing you know you’re rounded up and shot dead like a dog?”“We’ve got to be careful of helos. You’ve seen it before, though.We can pick up on them being in the area before these guys.” Keithreminded me that we did have that distinct advantage.“Even a few minutes of head start are going to make a big difference,”I told Marc.