The Junglas

By Jim Morris

Former Green Beret Jim Morris goes on a mission with the Colombian anti-narcotics police who ferret out the coca-growing revolutionaries known as FARC in the mountainous Colombian jungles. The anti-narcoterrorist force is known as the Junglas (pronounced Hoon-glas), and with top grade U.S. equipment and training, they are a formidable force indeed. You'll parallel the terrain in a Huey helicopter as the Junglas search for the FARCs hiding under the cover of dense greenery. You'll hear the bullets zing by as you circle around to land, and then you'll watch the Junglas round up their catch--all in a day's work.

Jim Morris served three tours with Special Forces (The Green Berets) in Vietnam. The second and third were cut short by serious wounds. He retired of wounds as a major. He has maintained his interest in the mountain peoples of Vietnam with whom he fought, and has been, for many years, a refugee and civil rights activist on their behalf. His Vietnam memoir War Story won the first Bernal Diaz Award for military non-fiction. Morris is author of the story from which the film Operation Dumbo Drop was made, and has produced numerous documentary television episodes about the Vietnam War. He is author of three books of non-fiction and five novels. He has appeared on MSNBC as a commentator on Special Operations. For free articles, stories and videos check out Jim’s website. And check out his books, the prizewinning bestselling Vietnam memoir, War Story, non-fiction Fighting Men and The Devil’s Secret Name, and his fiction, A Battle of Sorcerers, Above and Beyond, Breeder, Silvernail, and Spurlock: Sheriff of Purgatory, available at your favorite ebook retailer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Antenna Books
• Release date: Oct 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781623060534

Jim Morris

Retired U.S. Army Special Forces Major Jim Morris served three tours with the Green Berets in Vietnam. He has worked as a civil rights advocate for the mountain peoples with whom he fought, the Montagnard, and his Vietnam memoir, War Story, won the first Bernal Diaz Award for military non-fiction. He has covered wars for Rolling Stone, Soldier of Fortune, Esquire, and the Saturday Evening Post. For decades he has immersed himself in a deep study of Toltec shamanism. He lives in Bell Canyon, California.

Book preview

THE JUNGLAS

Colombian National Police Antinarcoticos

Jim Morris

Author of War Story

Antenna Books

Brooklyn, NY

This article originally appeared in Soldier of Fortune May/June/July 2005

Copyright 2005 by Jim Morris

Cover Photo Courtesy of the Colombian National Police

Cover Design by Doug Grad

http://www.antennabooks.com/

Part One

Principles of Dirtbag Thought

When the FARC Became Narcoterrorists They Lost All Credibility as Revolutionaries

It was about one p.m. when I arrived at the Bogota airport. I walked down the jetway into a corridor which led to a huge white room. Immediately I was standing in one of multiple parallel lines, waiting for a young uniformed woman sitting in a kind of kiosk to check my passport against a computerized list of bad guys.

That gave me a chance to look over the Colombianos, and compare them with the Peruvians and Bolvians I’d been dealing with for a couple of weeks. They seemed much more cosmopolitan, better dressed, more stylish.

There were more than a few women in those lines who were just plain hot, in heels, very tight jeans, bustiers, bare midriff, the occasional tat, newsboy caps, scarves. I had thought Shakira’s costumes elaborate. Now I think she just goes onstage in her street clothes.

This examination made the time in line pass faster, and soon I was in front of the airport, admiring the trees across the road, with still no sign of my anonymous friend from the Colombian National Police. He prefers to remain anonymous because his survival, both physical and bureaucratic, depends on it.

There were, however, a good many other cops, in a variety of uniforms. Inside the main terminal they wore mostly olive drab dress uniforms. Outside were what seemed to be a couple of SWAT teams. But there was no urgency about them. The guys in SWAT gear stood around, relaxed, chatting. But no one was smoking, and no one was sitting down. They were alert and scanning the area.

I carried three heavy bags, and had no Columbian money. My host wasn’t there. I was about to go back inside, to change money and try the phone, when a cabbie convinced me to just go to his apartment. There were dozens of these guys. But I liked this one’s looks. He was intelligent, polite, but not deferential, and there was nothing feral about him. He said he would take Gringo money, so, no problem.

The drive was instructive. Bogota is huge, sprawling over a