News (Media Awareness Project) - Colombia: Anti-Drug Pilots Decry Image Of Lawlessness |
Title: | Colombia: Anti-Drug Pilots Decry Image Of Lawlessness |
Published On: | 2001-08-17 |
Source: | Miami Herald (FL) |
Fetched On: | 2008-01-25 10:45:51 |
ANTI-DRUG PILOTS DECRY IMAGE OF LAWLESSNESS
We're Not Rambos, Aerial Sprayers Say
BOGOTA, Colombia -- Bob and Mark want everyone to know they're not the
"Godless and Lawless Rambos" portrayed by the local press. They are simply
American pilots who spray herbicides on Colombia's coca and opium poppy fields.
They call themselves "aerial applicators," a term that may be technically
correct but hardly suggests the occasional moments of sheer terror faced by
pilots who glide 200 miles per hour at tree-top level while gunmen
protecting illegal crops fire at them from below.
"The adventure for me has worn off," said Mark, a four-year veteran of the
spray campaign whose aircraft has been hit by gunfire seven times,
including one attack in 1999 in which it received eight bullet impacts.
It's just a job, insists Bob, who, like Mark, is employed by DynCorp Inc.,
a U.S. government contractor based in Virginia. They admit it may be a tad
dangerous, but it's steady work and well paid -- "with the added value of
having an effect on drugs."
In Washington, critics are trying to limit the role of firms such as
DynCorp in the war on drugs, saying they are proxies for the U.S. military
in regions where American public opinion would not allow direct U.S.
engagement.
In Bogota, they are sometimes painted as wild guns-for-hire. A recent
headline in the newsweekly Semana trumpeted: "MERCENARIES -- The Gringos
who spray . . . are a band of Godless and Lawless Rambos."
But in a rare meeting with reporters, four DynCorp employees portrayed
themselves as average Americans, with wives, kids and grandkids, who watch
TV, listen to music and play volleyball in between not-so- dangerous spray
missions.
No photos were allowed, and the men could only be identified by their first
names under the rules for the interview, arranged by the U.S. Embassy to
erase some of the mysteries and controversies surrounding DynCorp's work.
Sporting longish hair, loose civilian clothes and some incipient pot
bellies, Bob, Mark, helicopter pilot Thomas and Colombia program
administrator Keith looked far from the stereotype of derring-do mercenaries.
DynCorp has 335 employees in Colombia, half of them U.S. citizens, working
under the spray contract with the State Department's International
Narcotics and Law Enforcement Bureau, said Keith, 44, from Virginia.
TWO WEEKS OFF AND ON
But only 90-100 American pilots and mechanics are here at any one time,
usually working two weeks on and two off with OV-10 twin engine spray
aircraft. Most of the Americans come from commercial aviation rather than
the U.S. military, Keith added.
Bob, a 47-year-old father of three from Texas, and Mark, 44, a Southerner
and father of one, spoke about the dangerous side of piloting their OV-10s
almost as if it was not very important.
Mark said armoring on the cabin and engine compartment protected him on the
multiple occasions when his plane was hit, but smoke filled his cabin one
time. After he landed safely, Mark said, he wondered "how much lead must
have been in the air" to have been "tagged" eight times.
Mark didn't tell his wife about the incident, but she read about it in an
e-mail sent to Mark, "and we had a family discussion about it." He offered
a weak smile and a so-be-it shrug.
12,000 HOURS
Bob, with 12,000 flying hours under his belt and past work in DynCorp
eradication programs throughout Latin America, said his plane had been hit
twice in the past four years -- but noted that four friends had died in
U.S. crashes in the same period.
And he was once shot at in the United States -- by an angry farmer awakened
from his early morning sleep by the spraying run.
Five DynCorp pilots have died since 1995: three Americans killed in
accidents, one Colombian shot down and killed and another Colombian who
crashed. All pilots are issued pistols as part of their survival vests.
Thomas, the "Huey" helicopter pilot with what seemed the most dangerous job
- -- flying the search and rescue (SAR) chopper that lands and helps downed
aircraft, if needed amid gunfire -- said he'd never been required to do
that so far. Four other U.S. piloted helicopter gunships protect each
mission, though the gunners are Colombian policemen.
Instead of adventure, the pilots seemed attracted to Colombia by the steady
paycheck, the security offered by the SAR crews and the chance to work with
the cutting-edge satellite technology that guides their spray missions.
In the United States, Bob said, aerial application is seasonal work,
requiring the pilots to move around the country and work on contracts that
offer no retirement or health benefits.
Crashes grow more common toward the end of the day and the end of the
season, as pressures mount to finish the job on time, and "we never know
how much we're going to earn until the end of the year." Income for work in
the United States ranges from $40,000 to $120,000 a year, Bob said.
But with DynCorp they have steady employment, a SAR helicopter never more
than 10 minutes away, retirement benefits and health insurance. Salaries
have been reported to range from $90,000 to $110,000 per year.
And the two weeks at home give him quality time with his family, said
chopper pilot Thomas, 50, the only army veteran in the group, a father of
three and grandfather of seven.
"I really take offense at the term mercenary. We're here to perform a job .
. . just applying a chemical to a crop," said Mark.
We're Not Rambos, Aerial Sprayers Say
BOGOTA, Colombia -- Bob and Mark want everyone to know they're not the
"Godless and Lawless Rambos" portrayed by the local press. They are simply
American pilots who spray herbicides on Colombia's coca and opium poppy fields.
They call themselves "aerial applicators," a term that may be technically
correct but hardly suggests the occasional moments of sheer terror faced by
pilots who glide 200 miles per hour at tree-top level while gunmen
protecting illegal crops fire at them from below.
"The adventure for me has worn off," said Mark, a four-year veteran of the
spray campaign whose aircraft has been hit by gunfire seven times,
including one attack in 1999 in which it received eight bullet impacts.
It's just a job, insists Bob, who, like Mark, is employed by DynCorp Inc.,
a U.S. government contractor based in Virginia. They admit it may be a tad
dangerous, but it's steady work and well paid -- "with the added value of
having an effect on drugs."
In Washington, critics are trying to limit the role of firms such as
DynCorp in the war on drugs, saying they are proxies for the U.S. military
in regions where American public opinion would not allow direct U.S.
engagement.
In Bogota, they are sometimes painted as wild guns-for-hire. A recent
headline in the newsweekly Semana trumpeted: "MERCENARIES -- The Gringos
who spray . . . are a band of Godless and Lawless Rambos."
But in a rare meeting with reporters, four DynCorp employees portrayed
themselves as average Americans, with wives, kids and grandkids, who watch
TV, listen to music and play volleyball in between not-so- dangerous spray
missions.
No photos were allowed, and the men could only be identified by their first
names under the rules for the interview, arranged by the U.S. Embassy to
erase some of the mysteries and controversies surrounding DynCorp's work.
Sporting longish hair, loose civilian clothes and some incipient pot
bellies, Bob, Mark, helicopter pilot Thomas and Colombia program
administrator Keith looked far from the stereotype of derring-do mercenaries.
DynCorp has 335 employees in Colombia, half of them U.S. citizens, working
under the spray contract with the State Department's International
Narcotics and Law Enforcement Bureau, said Keith, 44, from Virginia.
TWO WEEKS OFF AND ON
But only 90-100 American pilots and mechanics are here at any one time,
usually working two weeks on and two off with OV-10 twin engine spray
aircraft. Most of the Americans come from commercial aviation rather than
the U.S. military, Keith added.
Bob, a 47-year-old father of three from Texas, and Mark, 44, a Southerner
and father of one, spoke about the dangerous side of piloting their OV-10s
almost as if it was not very important.
Mark said armoring on the cabin and engine compartment protected him on the
multiple occasions when his plane was hit, but smoke filled his cabin one
time. After he landed safely, Mark said, he wondered "how much lead must
have been in the air" to have been "tagged" eight times.
Mark didn't tell his wife about the incident, but she read about it in an
e-mail sent to Mark, "and we had a family discussion about it." He offered
a weak smile and a so-be-it shrug.
12,000 HOURS
Bob, with 12,000 flying hours under his belt and past work in DynCorp
eradication programs throughout Latin America, said his plane had been hit
twice in the past four years -- but noted that four friends had died in
U.S. crashes in the same period.
And he was once shot at in the United States -- by an angry farmer awakened
from his early morning sleep by the spraying run.
Five DynCorp pilots have died since 1995: three Americans killed in
accidents, one Colombian shot down and killed and another Colombian who
crashed. All pilots are issued pistols as part of their survival vests.
Thomas, the "Huey" helicopter pilot with what seemed the most dangerous job
- -- flying the search and rescue (SAR) chopper that lands and helps downed
aircraft, if needed amid gunfire -- said he'd never been required to do
that so far. Four other U.S. piloted helicopter gunships protect each
mission, though the gunners are Colombian policemen.
Instead of adventure, the pilots seemed attracted to Colombia by the steady
paycheck, the security offered by the SAR crews and the chance to work with
the cutting-edge satellite technology that guides their spray missions.
In the United States, Bob said, aerial application is seasonal work,
requiring the pilots to move around the country and work on contracts that
offer no retirement or health benefits.
Crashes grow more common toward the end of the day and the end of the
season, as pressures mount to finish the job on time, and "we never know
how much we're going to earn until the end of the year." Income for work in
the United States ranges from $40,000 to $120,000 a year, Bob said.
But with DynCorp they have steady employment, a SAR helicopter never more
than 10 minutes away, retirement benefits and health insurance. Salaries
have been reported to range from $90,000 to $110,000 per year.
And the two weeks at home give him quality time with his family, said
chopper pilot Thomas, 50, the only army veteran in the group, a father of
three and grandfather of seven.
"I really take offense at the term mercenary. We're here to perform a job .
. . just applying a chemical to a crop," said Mark.
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