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

394 OUT OF CAPTIVITY“I know, I don’t get it. We’re on less than half rations.” Keithshrugged.A moment later, we heard the sound of something other than ricebeing poured into the pots. In a few minutes, we heard and smelled thedistinctive sound and odor of freshly popped corn. We sat huddled inthe forest watching the wide-eyed and nearly trembling FARC drinkingtheir afternoon ration of coffee or chocolate while munching onpopcorn.“Those guys are really shaken up,” I said between bites.“Those Hawks did what they’re supposed to. That show of force puta lump in my throat.” Keith grinned, then tossed a kernel of corn intothe air and caught it in his mouth. “Quite an afternoon matinee.”“This thing is over,” Tom said, an air of determination and dread inhis voice. “Time is running out on them—” His voice rose at the endas if he was asking a question or leaving a blank that we could have allfilled in. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as I was when those heloscame over. It was the most breathtaking thing I’ve seen in five years.”Very early the next morning, the tension was back in the camp. We’dbeen in total blackout conditions the night before, and Tom had spilledsome soup in his hammock. He was trying to get cleaned up when theguards came over and began hassling us to get on our way. Tom said,“Why didn’t you just get us up at midnight?”Enrique’s voice cut through the gray predawn. “Who said that?”Tom responded calmly, “I did.”Enrique strode toward him, his pistol drawn. He leveled it at Tom.“I’ll kill you.”“Just do it. I know you don’t have the orders to do it. Let’s see if youcan do something on your own.”Enrique lowered the gun, as if he intended to shoot Tom in thegroin.“That’s not going to kill me. If you’re going to shoot me, have thedecency to make it a clean kill.”