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

212 OUT OF CAPTIVITYa mesh bag of essentials that we would take with us in case of an escapeor rescue attempt. The go kits were our best case scenario situation. Ifwe had the time and we were prepared enough in advance, we’d grabthem and go. We all knew where we had to go in the event of an attackor rescue. The question that remained was whether we’d ever be forcedto use it.One night at about six-thirty, we were all sitting outside and talking.At one point, Marc held up his hand to silence us and said, “I thinkthat’s a plane.”Keith cocked his head in his familiar bloodhound-dog look as he narrowedhis eyes. “That’s a Blackhawk. More than one of them.”When we’d speculated about escape-and-attack scenarios in the past,we talked mostly about the fixed-wing aircraft that we saw. Helos wereanother matter. We really didn’t know how the FARC would react to ahelo incursion into our area, but hearing them that night, we knew wedidn’t have time to grab our go kits. It was the first time in our captivitythat we’d heard helos and this was no rehearsal. It was what we’dbeen planning for. We had to act. We had no idea if the FARC wouldwait to see what the helos did or if they would simply execute us onthe spot.The helos were low and fast approaching. My heart raced as thesounds of the choppers grew closer, starting to consume the entirecamp. The FARC began to scramble.“Follow me, guys,” Marc said, gesturing with his flashlight. Marchurriedly walked toward the bathroom, looking around furtively to seeif anyone was watching him. He made his way to the small gap in thefence. The darkness swelled around us, and without my glasses it waseven harder for me to see. Marc moved to the hole, and Keith and Istood back. Lifting his head up to the sky, Keith listened to the helosand suddenly hesitated.“Marc!” Keith whispered as loud as he could. “Marc, stay back. Don’tgo out yet.”