Leaning back against the HESCO, the smoke from his freshly lit Camel drifted into the Venezuelan night sky. With temperatures nearing the 110s during the day, chain smoking in the night was the closest John was ever going to get to self-care out here in the jungle. Besides escaping the heat, the view was worth staying up; you could see the stars here. Not just stars, but the occasional little blip of red light streaking across the dark expanse. Playing either the role of guardian angel or grim reaper, pilotless drones continuously circled overhead, watching. Always watching. Hunting. At least these were friendly ones, he knew that for certain. If they hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have been able to finish his cig without the impolite interruption of a thermobaric artillery round.