Tanto watched with satisfaction as one of the friendly militiamen tightened flex-cuffs around the men’s wrists and marched them to one of the trucks. Tanto didn’t know how long the men had been hiding there. He also didn’t know if they were mortar spotters, a reconnaissance team, or otherwise linked to a hostile militia. But at least Tanto hadn’t been imagining voices coming from the field all night. He never learned what became of the men.
Sunrise on September 12, 2012, arrived at 6:22 a.m. in Benghazi, just as the surviving Americans made final preparations to leave the Annex. A half-dozen Annex cars lined up to drive out the front gate to join the big convoy, along with the hatchback bearing Oz and Dave Ubben. Tig got behind the wheel of the flatbed bearing the bodies of Rone and Glen; Jack rode shotgun. Sean Smith’s body remained in the Mercedes for the ride to the airport.
As everyone waited for the signal to move out, Jack watched an argument erupt between Bob the Annex chief and the Benghazi GRS Team Leader. Bob told the T.L. that he wanted to remain behind, to gather information and intelligence from locals about what had happened and who was to blame. The T.L. objected, but Bob held firm, smoking a cigarette outside Building C.
“You are relieved!” the T.L. told Bob. “Get in the fucking vehicle.”
Bob snuffed out his cigarette and complied, but he wasn’t done arguing.
When the Americans drove through the gate, they filtered in among their armed escorts, who made sure that the pickups with mounted machine guns covered each vehicle from the Annex on all sides. Several Technicals drove out front as a motorized wedge, to block off intersections so the Americans could roll through without stopping. Tanto felt concerned that they might be vulnerable to attack moving toward the airport in daylight, but then he decided that they were part of “the biggest, baddest thing in town.” Nobody in his right mind would mess with them.
As Tig steered the flatbed through the gate, Jack saw the gardener whom he’d watched smoking and praying outside his shack during the firefight. The gardener turned himself into a one-man honor guard, waving goodbye to his American employers.
Jack looked through the back window of the truck cab, to make sure the sheet-wrapped bodies remained secure. He noticed a perfectly shaped bullet hole through the glass and pointed it out to Tig. Then they returned to the silence of their own thoughts.
Jack thought about Rone’s wife, Dorothy, and the infant son who’d never know his father. He felt pangs of sadness as he recalled that Rone had told him Benghazi would be his final job as an operator, and how much Rone looked forward to getting home to be with his family for good. Jack winced as he remembered that Rone had extended this trip twice. One painful thought followed another. He felt crushed by the memory of Rone saying that he planned to surprise his wife with a trip out west to visit Jack and his family. She doesn’t even know he’s dead yet, he thought, and she won’t know about that trip because it’s never going to happen now.
Jack wished that someone else had met him at the airport five weeks earlier, that someone else had slipped the loaded pistol into his hand as a welcome gift, and that someone else had shown him the lay of the land so he’d do good work and stay safe in Benghazi. But Jack also knew that Rone never shied away from protecting others or from doing what he thought was right.
Jack also wished that Glen had never come from Tripoli to help them, and had never climbed the ladder to see Rone. But he knew that Glen wouldn’t have wanted anyone to have taken his seat on the plane to Benghazi. He knew that connecting with friends defined Glen’s life. And Jack knew that Glen’s actions fit the warrior code they all lived by: If his fellow operators were facing danger on rooftops, Glen would be there, too.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the flatbed cab, twisting his head backward to watch over the bodies, Jack felt devastated. His only solace was knowing that Rone and Glen had died as heroes.
When the convoy reached the airport, a militia guard team stationed there prevented it briefly from entering. But soon the convoy rolled through a gate to the noncommercial side of the tarmac and parked near the small jet the Tripoli team had chartered. Several Tripoli operators carried Dave Ubben toward the stairs up to the plane door. The operators had lashed him to the stretcher so they could turn it sideways to get the badly wounded DS agent through the narrow entrance. Ubben veered in and out of consciousness.
His fellow operators began to lift Oz’s stretcher, but he stopped them. “Hell no,” he said. “I walked into this country, and I’m going to frigging walk out of this town.”
Oz scooted to the edge of the hatchback and raised himself upright. Pushing through the pain, Oz steadied himself. Step by difficult step, he approached the plane with blood dripping down his left arm despite the tourniquet. When the plane’s uniformed flight attendants saw Oz coming, they went wide-eyed and ran to spread towels down the carpeted aisle and across a couch near the plane’s tail.
Oz climbed the stairs then lay down on the couch. The stretcher-bearers placed Ubben on the floor beside him. The Tripoli medic sat between the injured men for the flight.
Other Americans boarded while their baggage filled the cargo hold. As the loading continued, the militia that apparently controlled the airport challenged the presence of the much larger military convoy that escorted the Americans. Jack watched as dozens of combat-ready men screamed at each other on the tarmac.
This is going to be a complete massacre, Jack thought. If somebody starts shooting, there’s no cover, everyone is just standing around. He held tight to his assault rifle as the argument raged. Jack said an operator’s silent prayer: Please, nobody shoot.
Tanto watched the showdown and predicted the future: The militia that runs the airport has, like, two cars here. Our militia has fifty cars. There’s no diplomatic solution here. Whoever has the biggest guns or the most guns is going to win.
When tensions seemed highest, a militiaman inadvertently fired his AK-47 into the ground near his feet. The operators braced for action, suspecting that the accidental discharge would trigger jumpy militiamen to start shooting. Instead it seemed to defuse the situation, as though the single careless shot reminded everyone how easily they could all be killed.
As the Americans filed onto the plane, Bob the Annex chief again objected to leaving. He was in Benghazi as an intelligence officer, yet he was being told to evacuate with an endless list of unanswered questions about what had just happened. Bob began a new shouting match, this time with the country GRS Team Leader from Tripoli. The Tripoli T.L. exercised his authority as the ranking American security official in Libya. “You are relieved of duty!” he yelled. “You will get on that plane or I will put you on that plane.” Finally Bob complied.
The plane overflowed with Americans eager to take off. But before the pilot started to taxi, the men and women on board began to suspect that they were snakebitten with bad luck: A second accidental discharge cracked loudly, this time somewhere aboard the jet. A further delay followed, as the crew and the operators tried to determine whether the bullet had pierced the hull of the pressurized aircraft, making it unsafe to fly.
Holy shit, Oz thought, are we ever going to get out of here? The shock had worn off and so had the morphine he’d been given. He lay on the couch writhing in the worst pain he’d ever experienced. Oz tried to make jokes, to distract himself and ease the mood. But then his arm would cause him a jolt of agony and he’d unleash a torrent of curses before fighting to regain his sense of humor.
As the delay stretched on, Oz’s main concern became Ubben. I’m going to get up with my pistol and frigging tell the captain he’s flying one way or the other, Oz thought. We got to get Dave to a hospital or he’s gonna die.
Finally someone discovered that the bullet had burrowed harmlessly into the metal frame of a seat. At about 7:30 a.m., the first planeload of survivors from the attacks at the Special Mission Compound and the CIA Annex took flight.
Left behind were Jack, Tanto, D.B., Tig, DS agent Alec Henderson, the two
D-boys, two of the Tripoli operators, the Tripoli-based linguist, and the country GRS Team Leader, along with the bodies of Rone, Glen, and Sean Smith.
Members of the militia escort understood that the Americans would be abandoning their vehicles, so several asked for the keys. One man with pleading eyes approached Tanto for keys to a four-door BMW, a twin of the sedan with Tig’s go-bag that they’d left at the corner of Gunfighter Road.
“Vehicle, sir?” he asked. “Vehicle?”
When the operators felt certain that another plane would be coming, they emptied the vehicles of ammunition, maps, medical kits, and other tools. Tig realized that when the State Department team left in the first plane, they failed to move Sean Smith’s body from the Mercedes SUV. He got the keys and, with help, moved Smith’s body to the flatbed alongside Rone and Glen. Tanto handed the keys from the Americans’ other vehicles to the militia leader. The operators watched as the commander distributed them among his men, who flushed like teenagers with their first cars. The screech of tires as the militiamen peeled out of the airport ended the operators’ murky friend-and-foe relationship with the Benghazi militias.
Several Benghazans who’d served as local liaisons for the Annex had somehow heard what had happened and came to see the Americans off. One Libyan whom several of the operators liked burst into tears as he apologized.
“This never should have happened,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Tanto told him. “You didn’t do anything. Just take care of this.”
“We will,” the man told him. “We’ll make sure people pay for this.”
“You’ve got to, or else this’ll keep happening,” Tanto said. “You got to fix this or else you won’t see us here anymore. And if you do, it won’t be as friendlies.”
Another Libyan in tears was the man who had gone to the hospital to identify Chris Stevens. He understood that there would be no American Corner at his school. The dream of a “friendly, accessible space” where average Benghazans could learn about the United States had died along with the ambassador.
An hour after the first plane left, the operators got word that members of the force that escorted them to the airport had gone to Benghazi Medical Center to retrieve Stevens’s body. When the recovery team returned, Henderson peeled back the sheet to officially identify the remains. Stevens was barefoot but fully clothed, with no signs of injury or abuse, his eyes shut in peaceful repose. The operators placed the ambassador’s body on the flatbed with the three others.
The Libyan Air Force agreed to send a hulking C-130 cargo plane to take the remaining men and the bodies to Tripoli. While they waited for it to arrive, the exhausted operators stretched out on the tarmac to get some rest, keeping their loaded guns close at hand. They shared their cell phones to call loved ones back home to say they were safe.
Jack didn’t know what, if anything, his wife had heard on the news, so he wanted to reassure her. She was not yet three months pregnant, and Jack worried that she might miscarry if she feared that he’d been killed. Jack made sure she was calm, then told her: “Whatever you see on the news, just know that it’s over. I’m OK. I’ll see you soon.”
Jack had told his wife that Rone was with him in Benghazi, so she asked if he was OK, too. Emotions welling for the past few hours overwhelmed Jack. He began to cry. He’d survived, so there was the yang. The loss of his friends was the yin.
“He didn’t make it.”
“What do you mean, ‘He didn’t make it’?” she asked, her voice rising.
Jack could barely choke out an answer. “I’ll tell you when I get back,” he said finally. “But don’t talk about it with anybody, because next of kin hasn’t been notified. I’ll call you soon. I love you.”
Hours of waiting for the plane gave Tanto time to reflect on his fellow operators. If it had been any other six guys, I don’t think any of us would have made it. We lost Rone, we lost Bub, and Oz got hurt, but it could have been worse. We all could have been gone. It was like we were meant to be there together. None of these guys had a panic bone in their body.
It bothered Tanto that they’d be flying out on a Libyan C-130 instead of a US military plane. The more he thought about it, the more convinced Tanto became: If we were given what we asked for in the beginning, air support, you name it, we wouldn’t have lost Rone and Bub. And if they’d let us leave the Annex at the beginning, the ambassador and Sean would be alive.
More than two hours after the Americans arrived at the airport, the Libyan Air Force plane landed and dropped its cargo ramp. The operators drove the flatbed to the C-130’s tail. They carried aboard the bodies, two on medical litters and two on canvas stretchers. One of Glen’s arms stuck out perpendicular to his body, fixed there by rigor mortis. Tanto forced down the arm and made sure Glen was covered.
When all were aboard, the Libyan crew raised the tail ramp and taxied for takeoff. It was about 10:30 a.m., some thirteen hours after the attack began at the Compound. They flew in silence to Tripoli, some dozing, some reflecting, all spent.
When the C-130 landed, embassy staffers met the last Benghazi evacuees at the airport, greeting them with hugs and tears. One of the D-boys brought body bags up the cargo ramp, so Jack did the last thing he could for his fallen friends. He and the D-boy unfolded the white plastic bags and spread them on the floor of the plane. They lifted Rone, then Glen, and placed each inside a bag.
Jack zippered them up and said a final goodbye.
Epilogue
WHEN THE LIBYAN C-130 TOOK FLIGHT BEARING THE last operators and the four bodies, the Battle of Benghazi ended as a combat engagement between Americans and their enemies. But that was only the beginning. Even before the survivors returned home, controversies exploded over how officials in Washington behaved prior to, during, and after the attack. The acrimony can be divided generally along three fronts:
• Prior to the attack: Who, if anyone, deserves blame and potential punishment for security flaws at the Compound, and did those flaws contribute to the deaths of Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens and Sean Smith? Four State Department employees were placed on paid administrative leave, but all were reinstated and given new jobs at State. Two later retired voluntarily.
• During the attack: Was the US military response appropriate, and if not, why not? A related question is whether more aggressive US military action was possible, and if so, might it have prevented the deaths of Tyrone “Rone” Woods and Glen “Bub” Doherty, and the serious injuries to Mark “Oz” Geist and David Ubben?
• After the attack: Did the Obama administration mislead the public for political reasons, by erroneously linking the attack to protests triggered by clips from the Innocence of Muslims movie? A related question was whether the administration downplayed a possible role by al-Qaeda.
Mark “Oz” Geist on a gurney being transported from Libya to Germany. In the foreground is the flag-draped casket with the body of Ambassador Chris Stevens. (Courtesy of Mark Geist)
Like much else in Washington, most answers have fallen on one side or the other of a partisan divide. Republicans and conservatives have been the harshest critics of President Obama, then–Secretary of State Clinton, and the administration’s handling of the Benghazi attacks. Democrats and liberals have been the stoutest defenders of the president, Clinton, and the administration. Media reports have run the gamut on who, if anyone, in Washington deserves blame and punishment, and whether the attacks should be considered a tragedy, a scandal, or both.
However, by early 2014 one conclusion had gained considerable traction across partisan lines: The attacks could have been prevented. That is, if only the State Department had taken appropriate steps to improve security at the Compound in response to numerous warnings and incidents during the months prior. That conclusion featured prominently in a bipartisan report by the Senate Intelligence Committee.
That same committee also confronted the controversial issue of a “stand down” order, exploring whe
ther the Annex team was delayed from responding to the attacks at the Compound. Its final report concluded: “Although some members of the security team expressed frustration that they were unable to respond more quickly to the Mission Compound, the Committee found no evidence of intentional delay or obstruction by the Chief of Base or any other party.” In a footnote, the committee revealed that “informal notes” obtained from the CIA indicated that the security team left for the Compound without approval from the base chief, Bob. But the committee accepted Bob’s testimony, quoting him as saying: “We launched our QRF [Quick Reaction Force] as soon as possible down to the State [Department] Compound.” Nevertheless, the Annex security team members stood by their account of being told repeatedly to “stand down” before deciding on their own to leave.
In a memoir of her tenure as secretary of state, published in June 2014, Hillary Clinton gave her most detailed account of her actions to date. She denounced what she called “misinformation, speculation, and flat-out deceit” about the attacks, and wrote that Obama “gave the order to do whatever was necessary to support our people in Libya.” She wrote: “Losing these fearless public servants in the line of duty was a crushing blow. As Secretary I was the one ultimately responsible for my people’s safety, and I never felt that responsibility more deeply than I did that day.” Addressing the controversy over what triggered the attack, and whether the administration misled the public, she maintained that the Innocence of Muslims video had played a role, though to what extent wasn’t clear. “There were scores of attackers that night, almost certainly with differing motives. It is inaccurate to state that every single one of them was influenced by this hateful video. It is equally inaccurate to state that none of them were.” Clinton’s account was greeted with praise and condemnation in equal measure.
13 Hours: The Inside Account of What Really Happened in Benghazi Page 25
