Drug Wars

10/4/08
I landed on a steaming piece of tar-mat on the edge of the Dorian Gap at 2300 hours today on what was my first active day of duty in this 40 year long war. Seriously. It’s been 40 years since Nixon first declared that drugs were the problem in 1969 and that we, the imperial, invincible America, would be bringing the fight to the drugs. I hopped off the Blackhawk and quickly fell into formation along with my other FNG’s. That, I quickly learned, stands for Fucking New Guy. Our CO (commanding officer) Col. Pabst, a huge keg of a man, greeted us. He welcomed us to the Colombian Theater and said we had it fucking easy because the marijuana presence here was way lower than what our buddies in Puerto Penasco, Mexico were fighting. There was only one known weed group operating that we, under any circumstances, did not want to cross. Coke and smack levels were about even. Col. Pabst said he’s been down here fighting since “Smells Like Teen Spirit was relevant” whatever that means. The drugs we were hunting move by day, so we were advised to get our asses to camp, aka, the cooler, make some friends and get some shut eye.

I met some of the other guys in the group; there was Bud and Miller, a couple of Joe-six packs like myself. There were some raspy guys named Camel, Marlborough and Virginia Slim. They seemed pretty cool. Then was also Daniels, Bean, Adams, a guy calling himself Magic Hat, this one real ugly guy we all started calling Dogfish Head, and a bunch of others. This guy Adderall was a fucking madman. He reminded me of the coke stories I was told back home something awful.

10/5/08
Our first patrol ended in a disaster. We lost 31 men.

10/6/08
I’ve taken some time out from what I saw. I’m just now able to organize my thoughts into coherent sentences. So much happened so fast in such a short amount of time, it’s hard to process that kind of horror. The fact is, after this all happened, I needed a stiff drink. I needed it like I need to get the hell out of here.

Yesterday we stepped into the bush. We were on a search-and-destroy recon; there were sightings of some keys of coke located 2 clicks from our perimeter. As deftly as one can move in that fucking shitty ass jungle, organized ourselves into position to ambush a small jeep that had a coke driver behind the wheel. He wasn’t moving. The last thing I remember thinking was “…this isn’t right.”

It was a trap. All of a sudden it started raining cocaine. It was like goddamn Berserker Christmas in the jungle. They opened fire on us, lighting up the whole place. Some guys fell instantly. We fired back wildly. One of the coke guys descended from his hiding place way up in the trees and grabbed Dogfish by the face. His powdery hand pushed way up Dogfish’s nose, and then pulled out again. Dogfish stood there for a second, in the middle of all gunfire and rocket explosions. I could see his breathing getting faster, and faster, and faster. His eyes slowly widening to the size of TV screens. Blood trickled out of his nose. He let out his final sound, a scared, angry yell, before his heart ruptured and his chest exploded.

An enemy rocket landed 10 feet away and blew me into the clearing. I rolled up the jeep and stopped when my head made a metallic smack against the door. Christ it hurt. I was disoriented, not sure of who was what and where I am and when I was. Nothing made sense. I did notice the coke driver of the jeep, the one who led us all into a false sense of security. He was dead. His own buddies killed him just so they can lure us all here.

My men made their way into the clearing, which was the stupidest thing imaginable. Now the enemy could see us and pick us off at their leisure while we stood around with our tabs up our asses.

Those sick fucks. They sent smack into the clearing, just to toy with us. It is still inconceivable to me how those guys moved so slow and at the same time were so fucking hard to hit. I’ve never seen anything like it. Their extraneous body movements seemed to border premeditation; they dodged bullets! They were dodging fucking bullets. One made it up to Bud and pierced his can with a needle. Bud’s eyes rolled back, foam poured out of his mouth, and died before his body hit the floor.

And then things got worse. Weed came here to party.

I now know why Col. Pabst said to look out for these guys. They were the ninjas of the jungle. Against the forest background they could appear, deal heavy damage, and disappear in a cloud of smoke without a trace. It was hard to detect weed. We must have stood out like the loud, boorish Americans we were. There was a lot of hate in their eyes. I think they felt resentful for the way they have been treated in our country over the past 4 decades after living peacefully there for centuries. Never ever give the person you are fighting a reason to fight. That is a fight you cannot win. They let us know exactly how they felt by making it rain lead.

The only one who seemed completely normal was Adderall. He was in his element. “Common you faggots! They’re all around us! Nowhere for them to escape to! Ahahaha!” He was mad. It was hard to hear him over the omnipresent gun fire.

I was amazed at how well the enemy fought for being simple, home grown country bumpkins. The boys and I were all backed by huge, privatized, billion dollar industries. It just didn’t make any sense.

The only way some of us were getting out of there was if we charged the jungle and made our way back to camp. Otherwise we would all die. Col. Pabst lead the way. He immediately got shot; fluid started to gush from the wound. The pressure change was so great that the fluid forced a tap in his head to open and before you could say “last call” his insides were as empty as this war we were fighting. I got drenched in Col. Pabst.

As I was running through the jungle I had Adderall and Virginia Slim by my sides. A stray bullet tagged slim in his butt. Adderall and I dragged him 2 clicks through the shitty fucking jungle at full speed, with him shrieking like a little girl, until we made it back to the cooler.

I got a cold wrap bandage around my head; Adderall got a bigger gun out of the munitions chest; Virginia slim got lucky. We were part of the handful that made it back alive. After a few days, word is we will be getting some FNGs to replace the men we lost. When I heard we are heading straight back into the jungle, I went straight to the alcohol serving station to forget that I'm stuck here for 18 months. I’ve been there ever since.