The steady thud of helicopter blades filled the air as the small contingent of Black Hawks and Little Bird escorts cruised in formation just above the treetops, speeding across the landscape of northern Colombia.  Each helicopter was armed to the teeth with two 50 cal. machine-guns, with the Little Birds having an additional pair of mini-guns.  The trees below flashed by in an ever-changing collage of various shades of green in the glow of the setting sun.<br/><br/>Sitting on the right side of the third helicopter in line, PFC Dan Thompson looked out over the trees, a quiet sigh of resignation escaping his lips.  Here they went again.  First Afghanistan, then Iraq, and now it was time to bail out the Colombians.  In the past few weeks, the news circuits had been buzzing with the growing tensions between Colombia and Venezuela, and now, with the murder of Congressman Hanson still fresh in the mind of his fellow politicians, it seemed as if a war with Hugo Chavez and his militias was all but inevitable.<br/><br/>"I can hardly believe it, but I wish I was back in Wisconsin," Thompson thought to himself as he looked down to check his M16 rifle.  At least in the Dairy State, you could breath the air in July, here it was like he was walking through water even sitting down.  "Damn FARC bastards... why did they have to pick a fight now, of all times?  I could have been at a barbecue, drinking a beer, for God's sake..."<br/><br/>Glancing to his left, Dan eyed the other riders in the chopper, his eyes finally coming to rest on the newest member of Third Squad.  What was her name?  Kat?  Poor girl.  The first deployment she gets is to the crappiest hell-hole on the planet.  And on the brink of a war, just for kicks!  Ah, the joys of international politics.  Catching her eye, he gave her a bit of a smile, nodding in recognition.  Hopefully, she could hold her own when the shit hit the fan.  He didn't want to have to watch another squadmate die.