In Hell

In Hell

Colonel

Luis Alberto Villamarín Pulido

www.luisvillamarin.com

Smaswords Editions

In Hell,

Testimony of a Farc terrorist.

© Luis Alberto Villamarín Pulido

© Ediciones Luis Alberto Villamarín Pulido

Tel 9082624010

New York City, NY-USA

www.luisvillamarin.com

Email:

lualvipu@hotmail.com, lualvipu@latinmail.com

info@luisvillamarin.com, lualvipu@gmail.com

Updated to February, 2017

ISBN 9789589608210

Smaswords Editions

Without author’s written authorization, this book can not be reproduced, neither partially or totally, nor other pressed or electronic form, nor used to audio nor film activities. All the copyrights belong to the author. It was done the legal deposit in Colombia.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Luis Alberto Villamarín Pulido, from Fusagasugá-Cundinamarca, is Colonel (r) of the Colombian Army with 25 years of military experience more than a half of them commanding combat operations against narcoterrorist groups in his country.

Distinguished among his fellow soldiers in operational activities and military academics, as well as being a brilliant commander of troops on the battlefield, he has set out its research vision in 23 books and over 750 articles that he has written, related to the complex Colombian conflict, international terrorism, geopolitics, national defence and national history.

Member of: the Bolivarian Society of Colombia, the Academy of History of Huila and the Colombian Academy of Military History. Villamarín has received the awards Latino Literary Awards 2003 by the book La Silla Vacía (The Empty Chair) in Los Angeles, California; True Hispanic Pride 2006 by the book Delirio del Libertador (The Delirium of the Liberator), in Elizabeth New Jersey, and International Prize for Literature, 2009 Jairo Hoyos Salcedo in Washington DC, by the book Complot contra Colombia (Plot Against Colombia).

Some of his works have been translated to English, Portuguese, German, French and Polish. His book entitled In Hell is a basis for a film in Hollywood, California, and other documents of his authorship are used as study material in prestigious universities such as Harvard in the U.S., Complutense in Spain, Universidad Autónoma de México and Los Andes of Colombia, for the de velopment of undergraduate, graduate, masters or doctoral degrees thesis, in subjects related to his wri-tings.

He has been interviewed as specialized analyst in radio and television programs of opinion, in various countries, individually or as a participant in panels of international experts pertaining to terrorism strategic issues, Colombian armed conflict, guerrilla warfare, geopolitics, national defence and hemispheric security.

The Colombian Institute of Science and Technology of Colombia (Colciencias) endorsed registration in the CVLAC in the fields of Military Sciences, Political Sciences and Social Sciences, in the database that meets together scientific researchers in Latin America and the Caribbean.

This book has been dedicated to you ─kind reader─ because it reflects a drama, which unfortunately has still, not been written in its entire truthful dimension.

INTRODUCTION

This book is based on the spontaneous Johnny’s testimony. He is a former guerrilla who belonged and spent almost 13 years inside many of the Farc fronts.

In Hell, summarizes some real facts for historic memory, around the dramatic experiences of Johnny, a Colombian peasant teenager. He was 12-year-old, when he abandoned his mother’s home to be incorporated as guerrilla to the oldest Latin-American terrorist organization.

Johnny’s narration articulates a dramatic and exciting storm of facts ─hidden or masked─around the daily situations inside the Leninist systems. The violent style of political life inside the Farc was cultivated by Luis Alberto Morantes, a. Jacobo Arenas, its instigator and founder.

The documental testimony reflects unsuspected profiles about the revolutionary war that is besieging Colombia since five decades ago, as a logic consequence of the audacious management that Pedro Antonio Marín, a. Tirofijo or Manuel Marulanda Vélez gave to this terrorist organization.

Furthermore, the situation has become worst, due to the corruption of several politicians, whose actions or omissions, have allowed that the extreme level of the violence goes ahead until unsuspected scenarios.

40% of Colombian guerrillas are composed by thousands of young peasants, whose inoffensive appearance, described with amplitude and precision by Johnny reveals flagrant violations on International Humani tarian Laws and Codes of actual and potential victims.

In Hell has been written in first person, looking for keep the emotional overcharge and explain the guerrilla final objective, sometimes enhanced by the Colombian ingenuousness that believes in innocent peace, despite the Farc’s integral strategy, seeking to seize the political power, through of the combination of all the means of struggle.

Readers find and understand in In Hell, how and why, the guerrillas commit all sort of crimes on behalf of the armed socialist revolution, e.g., kidnapping, children recruitment, illicit drugs traffic, terrorism, massacres, lies attached to the Marxist-Leninist dialectical, and how the links of local, regional and national Communists bosses work with their armed branch.

Besides, there are other Farc’s aberrations such as: premeditated judgments as a result of felonies, inexistent concept of women’s dignity, forced abortions, and persistent elimination of wounded mates.

All of these profiles are characteristic signals of the conflict’s degradation, and the intentional oblivion for the laws of the war and fundamental rights of civilian population, despite that all time, guerrillas say that they are committed to fighting to liberate poor people, from rich and capitalist oppression.

Initial publishing of 30,000 copies of En el Infierno (Spanish version), plus 25,000 more copies, translated to English under the title In Hell, shows the astonishing psychological hit, that this terrifying chronicle causes among its readers.

As author, I invite you to judge and give your ver dict about this evident truth, because the Colombian absurd war continues, while thousands of Johnnies are trapped into the mud of irrational violence.

Colonel Luis Alberto Villamarín Pulido

Author

Chapter I

FROM BIKE-RIDING DREAMER TO COMMUNIST ASSASSIN

This bitter stage of my life gravitates around the strange twists and turns of fate. This is the story of how, in less than three months, a teenager inhabitant of rural Colombia, native of the agrarian middle class of the third world, became a blood-thirsty murderer.

My father was a farmer and my mother a humble housewife. Unfortunately, when I was child my father was murdered during rural violence between Liberal and Conservative parties. I cannot remember much about him, but I cannot forget when I was told how he died, because he paid with the life, his political affiliation and per sonal creeds.

To complete the tragedy of my orphanage, some years later, adding more violence to violence, my former comrades, those guerrillas who with deceits joined me to the armed movement, butchered to my mother in retaliation for my desertion from the guerrilla.

But those are merely some sort of little footnotes confronted on the real story. I was born in May 16, 1969, in Colombia -Huila. I attended a public school through four grades and I always was an average student.

My first great dream was to become a world-famous cyclist, like Colombians Rafael Antonio Niño, Martín Emilio Cochise Rodriguez, José Patrocinio Jiménez or Alfonso Flórez who won in 1980, the Tour de L’Avenir in France.

I lived these years for ride my bike and racing. I wanted to be someone important, and to leave behind the drudgery of rural life, cause and reason, of the majority of the inexplicable tides of violence, that affect our country since the birth as an independent republic. So pedaling along Huila’s back roads on my dilapidated bike, I tried to fulfill the childhood dream of being a world-champion cyclist.

I participated in a cyclist race for young in Gigante-Huila, between September 23 and 26, 1981. I got the third place in the general classification, and I was awarded with a special trophy, which is still at my mother’s home.

I suppose during the long years of my absence, that by misfortune were the last ones of my mother´s painful existence, the trophy offered her some source of pride.

For circumstances of the destiny, suddenly, the competition’s organizers told me:

—If you want to continue racing in our official competitions, you had to get a professional bicycle—

But my mother thought that her sons and daughters, instead, should get education for the future.

My mother and I were still discussing about the bike when I finished fourth grade, and went to a family owned farm in the rural village of Galilea at the East of Colombia-Huila. That trip would be the prelude of the undescriptible odyssey.

The hair-raising drama of my existence began on December 6, 1981, at about ten in the morning, when Dar win, Duvar and Marleny appeared there. They were three members of the Farc’s 17th Front, then known as Compañía Isaías Pardo. I was the only one in home at the time. I offered them agua de panela (Colombian typical beverage) which the unexpected visitors drank gladly.

Then they sat down and started to clean their weapons in front of me, and they intentionally allowed that I took their armament on my hands. They patiently taught me the right way to distinguish some weapons: a .30 carbine, a MP-5 gun-submachine, and a G-3 rifle.

Later, I realized that such showroom reinforced with wide explanations, was a premeditated act, because that day, they deliberately were trying to accelerate my engagement to the Farc. Many times during her speech, Marleny praised guerrilla’s life, and insisted that I had to join to the armed revolutionary movement. Her offers seemed promising. I was confused, so, I felt they treated me with respect.

She said for example:

—Edison: Come on... Join to Farc movement. You will not be remorseful for doing that. That is good. Teenagers like you, incorporated to our armed movement are the country’s future. For the 2000 year, you will be 30-year-old, the best human being’s age.....¡Look at and analyze my case!: The popular war is as a total compromise. I left my little daughter Mary Luz in Puerto Toledo, Meta, to come here to fight against the official ar my. She is a baby. Right now, she is three-year-old—

The multiple offerings were a sea of premeditated goodness, surrounded with nice words. The purpose was to catch another unwary guerrilla. Then, none of them told me the truth about the wretched existence, which the Farc members live in the jungle or in the wilderness.

I neither suspected nor imagined, how my life would change, from dreamer bike-rider child to a Communist-assassin. I became foolish servant of a politic party and an organization out-of-law, during almost 13 continuous years of existential turbulence.

Due to the dream of becoming a sport celebrity had been denied, I joined the Farc guerrillas, in fit of adolescent rebellion against fate.

Like most thirteen-year-old guys, I also was immature and bit unstable. I perhaps shared the common a dolescent feeling, of being misunderstood and the desire to be grown-up and admired by the people in the world.

I also wanted to avenge my father’s death. So I fell into a dark criminal world, disguised as a class struggle on behalf of the Communist revolution.

I agreed to go with those three guerrillas after my mother’s birthday, on December 8th. We finally decided to meet us again in December 10th before noon.

—Do not forget to bring a pair of boots. You will need them so much— said Marleny with persuasive tone.

On December 8th, all the family met on the rural home. I did not say a word to my mother about that, but my sister Gabriela, forever serious and clever, realized what I was up, and she quickly warned to my mother.

With her maternal wisdom and love, my mother tried to persuade me saying: not to be foolish. She also told me how much she would suffer if I were to the Farc.

—Tomorrow we come back home, or better, we are going to Neiva now, to the house of your aunt Rosalía. If you want to go ahead in the life, you must to study. You must not think on Evil’s things. Elder people in the Huila know that belonging to guerrillas is like being in hell. We are poor but honest people. In our family we have never had bad guys or black sheeps. Follow your elder brother’s example. He is working with the National Army. Right now he is a sergeant— asserted my stressed Mom.

—¡I can´t do that, because I have already given my word to them, and I am going to honor it!— I replied arrogant.

I really did not know what I was doing. I was still disappointed because of the bicycle. My pride was hurt, and I was acting out of vanity. It was a hasty decision that will deeply regret for the rest of my life.

My mother left for Neiva tearful, downhearted and sad. I waited on Galilea until December 10. The guerrillas arrived as planned. La guisandera cooked lunch for us. My family was neither rich nor poor, but, as people say, we had modito de vivir, because we had small crops of coffee, cocoa, beans, and fodder for the cattle.

So I thought that my mother could buy the bike, but she did not want give me this gift. I did not understand, that the family had more obligations, that an alone and unemployed widow could not cover, because she also was the mother of several more children.

Five or six years later when I was a guerrilla, I understood that peasants are who receive less money in the chain for commercialize their products, because the great earnings are taken by merchants. Those are the strange laws of offering and demanding.

This fatidic day, I talked with the guerrillas about my future, while waited for lunch. Darwin took the word to say:

—Edison: your life will change. Your first destination will be a revolutionary training school, where you will stop being a useless child, and become a new man with ideas and enough reasoning, to understand and project the changes about the Colombian life—

According to the peasant customs, we ate on the floor of the hall. Without say goodbye to la guisandera, because she knew all about the situation, and naturally she was not agreeing with me, and the incorrect way that I treated Mom, we went to the revolutionary training school, which turned out to be a school for crime.

That night we slept in the open. We set up camp at El Silencio, not far from village’s school. Three guerrillas hung hammocks and covered them with sheets of plastic. I did not have hammock, so they showed me how to cut fern fronds, which I put underneath of