13 Hours The Secret Soldiers Of Benghazi (2016)... (Desktop UPDATED)
The roof erupted. Dust, concrete shards, and the blinding white flash of an explosion turned the Annex into a furnace. Jack scrambled through the grit, his lungs burning. Through the haze, he saw Rone, steady as a rock, returning fire into the dark tree line where the muzzle flashes flickered like angry fireflies.
Jack stood on the roof of the Annex, the matte finish of his rifle cool against his palms. In the distance, the honey-colored glow of the city felt deceptive. Somewhere out there, the Ambassador’s compound was a skeleton of smoke and ash, and the reality of their situation was sinking in like lead. 13 Hours The Secret Soldiers Of Benghazi (2016)...
Tyrone "Rone" Woods didn't look up from his optic. "They always come back, Jack. They’re just waiting for us to get tired." The roof erupted
Jack nodded, watching the light hit the Libyan coast. They were the secret soldiers—the ones whose names wouldn't be on the morning news, but whose shadows would forever guard that patch of desert. They had survived the night, but they had left a piece of their souls in the shadows of Benghazi. Through the haze, he saw Rone, steady as
The humid night in Benghazi didn’t smell like revolution anymore; it smelled like spent brass and diesel.
They weren't fighting for a flag anymore. They weren't fighting for a policy or a grainy video that had sparked a riot. They were fighting for the guy to their left and the guy to their right.