(You can read part one here)

(Dedication for this article goes to my SOFREP sister Ms. TXAZZ)

Correction from part one: the Brigade commander Colonel “Rodriguez,” it rather named “Velasquez.” I was able to dig up some documents on this subject that I had holed away that allowed me to make the correction.

To further clarify, in-country I went by the name Carlitos, and my squadron brother went by the name Ricardo.

After weeks of inactivity due to the excruciatingly indecisive Colonel Velasquez, we began to live by the fragile premise that if you banged your head against a wall in the same spot enough times, a hole will form. The rumor flavor of the day was that the Colonel was on the cartel’s payroll. I didn’t buy that because it was too easy to blame all woes on the cartel payroll.

It puts me in mind of a three-day bout of non-stop rain showers during the monsoon season there. I stood outside of our shelter, just under the overhang of the roof smoking a Colombian Mierda cigarette. Momentarily I was aware of the (large) presence of Ricardo standing next to me, also sucking one, frowning at the downpour.

“This weather must be on the cartel’s payroll,” he remarked.

“Good one Ricardo… and I’m pretty sure Candelaria our cook is also on the payroll; the food sux so bad.”