I never closed my eyes.

Thick moisture dripped off my chin.
The dense, impenetrable jungles of
Honduras weren't exactly
pleasant. The heat was so thick
you could smell it, accompanied
by swarms of ungodly gnats
that got in your nose, ears,
and eyes.

It was always hard, always...

I couldn't figure out where the
guerrillas were going. Maybe the
American was leading, but why would
he head into the jungle. More
than that, the sups wouldn't tell
me who the American was.

Finally.. caught them filling their canteens.

We'll hit 'em at dawn. They are on the horn begging for
resupply. Their higherups are writtin' 'em off.


Move forward, 3 50 meters left. I'll take right. Move.

Base of the mountain, 250 meters. My mark...


We let all fucking hell loose.

Suppressive fire. Watch the left side! GO!

The first team smashed forward.
My team gave them cover fire.
Now it was our turn to move.

The American didn't look like your average
"Gentleman leftist" idiot revolutionary.

I've got eyes on the American.

A satisfying red mist exploded from his throat.
He went down, clawing. I went ahead
and put his radioman down too.

More grenades, another few minutes of withering fire.

We lit the whole fucking area up.
Everything was dead.

A little tingle crept up
my spine as I walked up
on the American and his radioman.

The green beret on his head
struck me first.
Then his face, familiar...

Someone had betrayed him. The CIA director
was a real shithead. He tried to tell me
I did a good job. I knocked him out.

Never saw that guy again.

Eric Haney was a Delta Force operative. He told his story to Maxim.
This is what he must have been thinking during one of his particularly intruiging operations.
Call it artistic interpretation.
By the way, this is a true story.


OOoOOo! I'm being oppressed! Damn The Man, Save The Empire!