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The following account was submitted by one of your fellow listeners, a veteran of the U.S. Army who actively served during the 1980s. He writes, It was December 1986, and most of our combat engineering battalion had been deployed to the small Central American country of Honduras to construct a new airfield just north of the Rio Coco, a river which served as much of the official border between Honduras and Nicaragua.
Although it was my first deployment outside of the US, I wasn't thrilled to be spending Christmas in the jungles of Central America. But being in the army, missing holidays away from your family just goes with the job, I guess. That, along with some degree of risk. But far from what amount of danger I could have ever anticipated going into a combat zone, this lesser inhabited region of the Honduran jungle
appeared to be harboring something far more frightening than a few socialist guerrilla fighters. The truth is, this is not a story I'm very excited to share with you. Because not only was it a terrifying experience, the way my command treated me afterwards is somewhat embarrassing. My name is Robert. I'm a U.S. Army veteran. And this is my story of an encounter I had with something they called El Diablo. I'm Luke LaManna.
And this is Wartime Stories. The 1980s was a turbulent time for Central America. The third world country of Nicaragua had suffered a major earthquake in 1971, followed by an economic collapse, extreme government corruption, and a violent political revolution.
Similar to the recent war in Vietnam, there were two sides to this fight. The first being the Sandinistas, the socialist rebels who overthrew their corrupt government at the end of the 1970s and were ultimately being funded by the communist regimes of the Soviet Union and Cuba. The other side was the counter-revolutionaries, the Spanish term being Contras, who wanted to overthrow the now equally corrupt and violent Sandinista government.
the Contras were being covertly funded by the US in its effort to prevent the spread of communism into Central America, essentially making this another proxy war between the US and the Soviet Union. Having been run out of their own country, the Contras had taken refuge north of the Nicaraguan border in Honduras. The US was likewise providing support to the Honduran military as the intense border fighting had created growing fears that a full-scale military incursion into Honduras could happen at any time.
And that's where my unit came in, the 27th Airborne Engineering Battalion out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Our construction of an airfield near the village of Hamastron would not only bring US troops in and out of the country, but its location, only about 15 miles north of the country's border, sent a message to the Nicaraguan government: "Stay on your side of the border if you know what's good for you." But although our units had been issued live ammunition, the US wasn't officially at war with Nicaragua so we couldn't go around shooting up the place.
Our orders were that direct combat with Nicaraguan forces was expressly and officially forbidden, except if they fired first. So we were only authorized to return fire in self-defense. I'd say this was very similar to the beginning of the war in Vietnam.
While some of our guys worked on building the airfield, a portion of our battalion, along with a unit of Honduran soldiers, had also been assigned to conduct highly visible border security patrols and surveillance operations to both discourage and monitor any potential enemy activity. Being a radio/com guy, I didn't have much to do as far as working on the airstrip. Being from Tennessee, I could have driven a tractor if they'd asked me, but they just sent me out with the patrols most of the time.
As far as keeping an eye out for enemy fighters, driving back and forth on the many winding dirt roads near the border really limited us to what we could see. So our patrols would also receive various reconnaissance reports from overhead aircraft and from the Sotokano Air Base, some 200 kilometers driving distance to the west.
But it was rare that we ever got any actual, real-time updates on enemy troop movements. More often than not, we'd receive reports of suspicious vehicles, boats, or groups of people sighted in close proximity to the river. So one morning while my patrol unit was already out driving the roads, at about 10:30 hours, we received a radio communication that a small boat, or rather what might be a boat, was moving upstream, a few miles away from our location.
We were instructed to rendezvous at specific coordinates and then proceed on foot to the river's edge, in hopes of being able to identify the type of craft that was moving upstream. Using our radios, we quickly coordinated with the other vehicles in our squad, we usually had either three or four of them, and worked out the meetup location on our maps. Then we loaded up into our Vicks and quickly sped down the dirt roads past the various village huts and local farms.
Trying to get to the river to find some good concealed positions before the boat passed by. Echo 4, this is Command. Command over. I got it. This is Echo 4. Send it. Be advised, craft on the river is reported as moving erratically. Changing direction and speed as well as start and stop it. I'll copy over. Moving erratically? The hell does that even mean? Uh, interrogative. Any idea what it is? Over.
Way one, over. Great, now they got us chasing trash bags. Can't confirm. Report just says it's a wedge-shaped object, dark in color. Over. Are there even people on it? How big is it? How many tangos on board? Over. Report doesn't say. Doesn't look like they can see any passengers. Over. Perfect. Roger that. We are nearing our insert point. We'll radio you once we get eyes on. Over. Alright.
Arriving to our rendezvous point, we hopped out of the trucks. Three squad members stayed behind to watch the vehicles, while the remaining six of us double-timed it down to the riverbank, which was about a half a mile away. This area wasn't as dense with jungle. Most of it was actually open grassland, so moving quickly through only light tree cover, we made pretty good time.
We soon crossed onto a cattle farm and had to navigate across two sections of barbed wire fencing before we reached an open field. Unlike other areas in this region, this field had also been cleared of brush and overgrowth to allow cattle to have grazing opportunity. 100 yards on the other side of the field was the river. We were able to find cover behind some trees, but most of the vegetation had also been cleared away along the riverbank, probably to give the cattle easier access to the water.
So we moved across the field into the tree line, staying back about five to eight yards to remain out of sight of both the approaching boat and anyone that might be on the opposite side of the river, which was Nicaraguan territory. Come on, let's go. Take cover. Robert. Paolo. Yes, sir. You come with me. See, you, Paulus, you go down that way.
We couldn't see anything on the water upstream from us, toward the west, and our last radio update confirmed that the boat hadn't passed by yet, and was still moving in our direction. So, we waited. Should, uh, should be here in a few minutes. Solo, unos minutos. Si, si entiendo. Whiskey 4, should be coming from your direction. Let us know if you see it. No boat yet. Can you tell me what the hell just passed by me? Something big coming your way, in the water. Roger.
Yeah, I see something. A dark thing? That's it. That's what they want us to look for. Looks like a log or something. Thought it might be a crocodile. Pretty big for a crocodile. Submarine? In the river? Well, it's moving upstream. Against the current. Gotta be something. Oye, Paulo. Si. Esa cosa negra en el agua. The black thing. ¿Qué es? No sé. No sé, amigo.
Whiskey for him. Does that look like... Oh, God. Wallace, don't move. Do not open fire. Hey, man, no names over the radio. Don't open fire at all. Nobody move. The hell, that thing is fast. Oh, God. Just knock them all right over, man. Oh, God.
Yo, this is mental. Look at those teeth, man. What's it doing? I think it's... It's picking which one it wants. Whoa! Not that one! Jeez! I just crushed it with its head, man. Wallace! Not... Fire! The entire cow? It's heading back to the water. Everyone stay down. What the hell, man? Well, you were wrong about one thing, Sergeant. Huh?
What's that? It sure as hell wasn't a trash bag. It, uh... It all happened very quickly. Once the snake had left the water, it just darted straight for a group of four cattle. Rammed right into them with its head. It was so big, it just knocked three of them over. Considering how big it was, it was... It was fast. And just as the cattle started to panic, it darted towards the second group and rammed into them as well. And then it lifted its head off the ground.
about the height of at least two men, maybe 10 to 15 feet. And after seeming to select which of the injured cattle it wanted, it just slammed its massive head down onto it, crushing it. I mean, I guess it was too big. I mean, it didn't need to constrict the animal. It just, we heard the sounds of the cow's body being crushed, like bones snapping. It probably killed it instantly.
At that point Wallace had raised his rifle, and I can't blame him, but Sergeant Perez had signaled him to drop it immediately. Because, I mean, something that big, no doubt, our gunfire wouldn't have done anything but to just piss it off. I'm not sure how intelligent snakes are, certainly not one that big, but I was fairly certain it had seen us before leaving the water, but it was clearly more interested in the cattle.
And after crushing one of them to death, the snake just picked its head back up, opened its mouth, and I mean practically picked the entire cow up in its mouth. With the head dangling out of one side and the rear legs out of the other, it just carried it back into the water, just slid right back past us. Once it had gone, we just stood around quietly for a few moments staring at the riverbank.
My next thought was that I wanted nothing but to go back to the trucks and leave the country. Really, I couldn't. I mean, I could not have imagined that something like that could have possibly existed. What an absolute nightmare. But you know how guys are. A sick curiosity got the better of us and we began discussing, arguing really, about how big it had been. Nobody seemed to agree with our estimates ranging from between 50 to 100 feet.
so three of the guys decided to pace it out walking the distance from the riverbank to where its head where we remembered its head was when the tail had left the water 31 steps 33 steps and 34 steps by our pace counts we knew that roughly put its length at approximately 75 to 80 feet the only cattle left in the pasture at this point were the injured ones probably having had their legs broken
Someone mentioned that the snake might come back for them. So we agreed then that it was time to leave. On our way back to the trucks, I received a radio call asking if we had spotted the boat. Before responding, I first checked with Sergeant Perez. He said to tell them that we'd report what had happened after we got back to our vehicles. But when we did, and Sergeant Perez radioed back to Sotocano, before he could finish his report of what had happened, he was interrupted.
We were told then to maintain complete radio silence about the incident and were ordered to return to base immediately for debriefing and that we could each file individual reports when we got back to Sotocano. It was a long drive back, not only because of the distance, but I'd say we all seemed to have a sort of bad feeling about what was going to happen when we got back to the base.
The only reason we were being called back was clearly because of what Sergeant Perez had said before being interrupted in his radio report. You know, maybe they thought we were just screwing around on the radio, trying to be funny or something. When we arrived, we were met by a large group of uniformed men. A few were officers. The highest rank was a major. Two Hispanic men wearing Honduran army uniforms were also present, as was an apparent Honduran civilian. Sure enough, the major did not look happy.
Neither did the three Hondurans. All of the other men just kept their bearing and seemed to avoid expressing any emotions. We'd all had ass-chewings before, and by the concerned glances we then shot at each other, I'm pretty sure that's what we were expecting to get here. We were called out by name, and one at a time, taken away. When they called my name, I was led to a car and instructed to get in. A lieutenant and two enlisted men got in as well. All of this just felt very ominous.
I was driven to, well, to the rear area of the base, the area furthest from the main runway. Not that it was that large of a base in the first place. And we stopped at a small nondescript building, which would actually describe most buildings there. And I was escorted inside. I was led down the main hall to a room at the end on the right. It was plain, nothing out of the ordinary, just some type of meeting room.
But the room only had one door and no windows, and a light fixture holding a single bulb was mounted in the center of the ceiling. It was just a very appropriate setting for what was clearly going to be an interrogation, I thought. There was a table with chairs around it, and at the far end sat a different major. He likewise did not look very happy. The lieutenant instructed me to sit in the chair opposite the major. As I sat down, the other men sat down on each side of the table, and then...
No one spoke. Everyone just looked at me. I was wondering if I shouldn't say something, but it was the Major that spoke first. All right. What happened, soldier? Tell me everything. Well, sir, um, my patrol. As I recounted the story, the Major was very concerned with the details, from the time we'd left our vehicles until the time we'd return to them later. I was instructed to leave nothing out, so I did as I was told and detailed everything I remembered.
As I spoke, no one else said a word. No one moved. Hell, I don't even think anyone blinked. I finished recounting everything I'd recalled, and I glanced around at everyone in the room, just hoping for the best. Well, the Major's facial expression hadn't changed. He glanced towards the door behind me, or to someone standing behind me, and then back at me. Tell me what happened, son. I want to hear it all again. I think I missed something. For anyone who hasn't been in the military, or maybe the police,
I had only been in the army for two years at this point, but it was my experience that the senior enlisted guys, you know, the staff NCOs, were usually the ones to yell at you, you know, the ones that chew you out. But when a senior officer is acting like this, well, I hadn't done anything wrong, and I just didn't understand why they were treating me like this. You know, this major had a way of making me wonder if what I was saying was even true, even though I knew it was.
It had literally happened just a few hours earlier. And now he was asking me to retell the whole story. Now I'm starting to wonder if he was trying to tell me to change my story or that he knew something that I wasn't telling him. Or was this some kind of psychological pressure to try and get me to lie? And then if I lied, would they punish me? You know, they'd compare my story with the other guys. I couldn't think of anything else to say other than what I saw. So for a second time, I told him everything exactly as it had happened.
Again, no one else in the room spoke while I was talking, and there was complete silence when I finished. The Major then leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, and I noticed he kept glancing at the door behind me, as did the other men in the room, as well as shooting glances across the table at each other, but they looked more worried. The Major just looked even more pissed. And once more, the Major repeated, "Tell me what happened. I want to hear it all again." "Sir?" "Nope, that's an order."
Tell me what you saw. I was getting genuinely scared, and I still wasn't even sure if he believed anything I was saying. I almost wish we'd never said anything about the damn snake in the first place. But now that I was already here, I couldn't change my story, because then it wouldn't match up with what everyone else was saying. And I reasoned that this thing could pose a danger to our men, and they needed to know about it. So I repeated my story for a third time.
This was followed by another long period of silence as the Major just continued to glare at me. He then stood up and walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind himself. I could hear him talking loudly out in the hall with someone. I couldn't hear everything of what was being said, but I could tell it was him. He was speaking Spanish now, not fluently, but fairly well. He was clearly talking to a Honduran officer or other official of some sort.
My Spanish wasn't any good, but I did catch things like Rio Coco, Agua and Comer. Those were easy. Water and eat. I thought maybe the other person was referring to the snake eating the cow, or maybe he meant that the snake could have eaten us, I don't know. I had some small hope that this whole interrogation had actually gone well, and I had been right not to change my story. Then I heard the Honduran officer say "El Diablo". I knew that meant "the devil".
and then muertos, which I knew meant dead. Muertos was said a few times. The other person did most of the talking. The Major just seemed to be responding most of the time by saying, "Si." I heard El Diablo mentioned several more times, wishing I knew more Spanish. And finally the Major came back into the room, and he returned to his end of the table, but he didn't sit down. He stayed standing, leaning over the table and putting his hands down on it, and he began to talk. And boy did he talk.
loudly and angrily. For the next 10 minutes or so, he let me have it. He told me that I was wrong about everything that had happened. He said we'd only seen a large anaconda, maybe 20 feet long at most. He said that I'd been mistaken, and it was probably a dog that we'd seen in the serpent's mouth. He assured me that it was not a fully grown cow. He laughed at me for saying that we'd encountered a giant snake. He ridiculed me over everything I'd said.
He accused me of fabricating the entire story. He said we hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary, nothing, except probably a large clump of leaves and branches floating in the water. He accused me of telling a ridiculous story that would hurt the US's developing diplomatic relationship with Honduras. He informed me that if I continued to insist that the snake was over 75 feet long, that I would face consequences, adding that I could be charged with falsifying an official report or worse.
he never actually mentioned an article 15 or court-martial but i knew where he was going with what he was saying i felt pretty terrible because i knew i was in no position to argue with him and he made it very clear that if i didn't change my story he would follow through on what he said he finished by saying that i was stupid and that i shouldn't throw my career away over something like this he sat back down in his chair
I then realized that instead of me, everyone was now staring at him, and they all looked kind of shocked at what he had said to me. But nobody said anything for probably another good minute. The Major then leaned forward, and again he repeated what he had said three times before. One last time, tell me what you saw. With all eyes on me, I quietly told him that we'd only seen logs and brush floating in the river.
that before leaving we'd seen a regular snake carrying off some small animal, maybe a rabbit or unlucky dog that it had managed to catch. As much as I knew I was saving my career, I felt sick. I finished the story, which was a complete lie, and then sat there, staring at the table. The Major finally seemed relieved. He almost smiled. The tension in the room seemed to immediately disappear though. The Major stood up again, thanked me for my time, and strolled right out the door, like it was any other day.
As he turned down the hall in the direction of the front entrance, I heard him say something like, "Don't forget the audio tapes or get the audio tapes." Something like that. The lieutenant finally spoke and he said, "Now don't you feel better, specialist?" I just shrugged, wondering what was going to happen next. What was going to happen to me next? I was escorted back outside and driven back to where we'd first stopped on the base. I was told that I'd be returned to our camp at the airfield we were building.
I was ordered not to discuss the incident with anyone, not even amongst the men I was with, if I ever happened to run into any of them again. Soon a vehicle arrived and I was instructed to get in it. The fact that I was being brought back alone and the guys who arrived with me weren't going back in the same vehicle, I don't want to sound dramatic, but I was 21 and with the entire experience up to that point, some pretty dark thoughts crossed my mind as I got in the truck. Like, I wondered if I was ever going to see my mom again.
I sincerely questioned whether they were actually going to take me back to the camp or somewhere else. But fortunately, they did just take me back to the airfield. I was met by a sergeant and escorted to my quarters. And for the next three days, I slept, I ate, I showered. And that's it. I was no longer allowed to perform any work or ever leave the camp. Three very long and boring days later, I was driven back to Sotocano and put on a plane.
They were sending me back to Fort Bragg. On this flight out of Honduras, there were only a few people on board with me. One of which was a Honduran soldier in uniform. He had three chevrons and a rocker on his rank. A sergeant. He was seated a few rows behind me. And after takeoff and reaching cruising altitude, he got up from his seat and came up to my row. He leaned down slightly and in a hushed tone asked if he could sit beside me. I nodded, not knowing what to expect. So...
i didn't expect that part of me hoped this guy was being serious but after the less than friendly treatment i'd received at that point i had my guard up but then again i guess i wasn't surprised that people would have heard about the incident and spread it around
I was still paranoid that this guy was maybe trying to trick me into talking about it and violating the orders I had been given, so I stayed quiet. He didn't seem offended, he just made the sign of the cross over his chest, then he got up and returned to his seat, and the rest of the flight was uneventful. I wasn't sure what to expect when I got back. My return to Fort Bragg was likewise uneventful, but something was different somehow. I'm not saying I was shunned, but things just felt.
Different. As if something had been communicated to my command. About us. About me. And only a month later, I was transferred to Fort Campbell in Kentucky, which happened to be very near my hometown in Tennessee. I'd only served two years with my first command, and this sudden transfer to a new unit was unusual. It's the kind of thing you might expect in cases of harassment or assault or something. Sending someone away to a new unit to get a fresh start.
I thought it was a bit odd, don't you think? Sending me to the closest military base near my hometown? I thought so. I still think my command might have done it as a favor, a sort of thank you for doing what I was told and staying quiet. And I certainly didn't rate it, but when they put me up in my own small apartment, alone, rather than in the barracks with a roommate, I also wondered if that wasn't another favor or maybe a reason to avoid having a roommate to swap crazy stories with.
I dare say my time at Fort Campbell would eventually offer up a number of other strange experiences. For me, that's just the world we live in. Strange things happen and can't always explain them. As for the giant snake, El Diablo, they apparently called it. Well, you can imagine I certainly looked into it over the years. There are, of course, rumors and other stories like mine.
But aside from the odd 30-foot anaconda being found alive, they have since found fossils of massive snakes in Colombia. And even that was a fluke because they were strip mining, digging for coal when the bones were found. And I believe the archaeologists only had so much time to look for fossils before they continued excavating for coal, you know, possibly destroying any other fossils. They didn't find skulls or anything, but just a few bone fragments. Vertebrae, I believe.
So they had to estimate the prehistoric snakes original size after doing a comparative analysis to living snakes. They estimated these snakes grew to about 40 maybe 45 feet long and they also estimated that they lived 60 million years ago. I'm not a scientist. What they found probably was that size and lived that long ago. But I know what we saw only a few decades ago. And if that Honduran soldier on the plane was serious about what he said
The Honduran locals living along the Rio Coco might still live in fear of El Diablo even today. I really can't blame them.
Wartime Stories is created and hosted by me, Luke LaManna. Executive produced by Mr. Ballin, Nick Witters, and Zach Levitt. Written by Jake Howard and myself. Audio editing and sound design by me, Cole Lacascio, and Whit Lacascio. Additional editing by Davin Intag and Jordan Stidham. Research by me, Jake Howard, Evan Beamer, and Camille Callahan.
Mixed and mastered by Brendan Cain. Production supervision by Jeremy Bone. Production coordination by Avery Siegel. Additional production support by Brooklyn Gooden. Artwork by Jessica Clarkson-Kiner, Robin Vane, and Picotta. If you'd like to get in touch or share your own story, you can email me at info at wartimestories.com. Thank you so much for listening to Wartime Stories.
