They lifted off before dawn, a routine anti-narcotics mission in a country where “routine” has always meant risking everything.
Somewhere above the dense green canopy, routine turned to nightmare as gunfire ripped through the helicopter’s body,
sending it spiraling into hostile territory controlled by the very cartels they were hunting.
Survivors were few; rescue teams arrived to a scene of twisted metal, burned earth, and unbearable silence.
Across Colombia, flags dropped to half-mast while President Gustavo Petro condemned the attack as a cowardly assault on the nation itself.
Yet behind the official statements lie children waiting at windows, spouses staring at unanswered phones, parents identifying uniforms instead of faces.
This tragedy exposes a brutal truth: every flight, every patrol, is a coin toss between duty and death.
The investigation may find the killers, but it cannot fill the empty chairs left behind.
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