13 Hours The Inside Account of What Really Happened In Benghazi (28 page)

Before heading to the villa roof, D.B. had told the Team Leader that time was their enemy. Not only were they in danger at the Compound, but the Annex grew more insecure the longer it remained without the full complement of operators. “We need to round up all the Americans we can and evacuate,” D.B. told the T.L.

Within minutes of the operators assembling on the roof, their radios rang out again with a call from the Team Leader: “Consolidate now. We’re getting the hell out of here.” They climbed back down, with Tig covering the others as the last man down.

Rone got behind the wheel of the Mercedes. Jack rode shotgun. Tanto got in the backseat. D.B. and Tig climbed into the rear cargo area with Sean Smith’s body. They positioned themselves to watch through the rear window to make sure no one was following them. The Team Leader and Henry remained outside talking with a 17 February militia leader.

Jack opened the Mercedes door.

“Get the fuck in the car,” he told the T.L. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

The Team Leader looked over to him. Without a word, he and Henry got in the backseat, alongside Tanto. The barrels of their guns still hot, seven men and the body of an eighth were crammed together in the armored Mercedes SUV.

Tanto gazed through the side window at the faces of several stunned-looking militiamen who he felt certain had
just experienced their first firefight. Beyond them, Tanto saw the villa and the barracks still on fire. The light cast by the flames across the thick lawn made Tanto think of a flawless soccer field, ready for a night game.

It was about 11:30 p.m., or roughly two hours since the attack began. As they sat in the Mercedes, none of the operators knew how many of the attackers their bullets had hit in the dark. The Compound wasn’t littered with bodies, as some armchair warriors would later suggest, but the operators knew that in their defense of their countrymen and themselves, they had inflicted damage on at least some of their enemies.

Rone did a three-point turn, steering the SUV in the opposite direction, toward the front gate. Squeezed shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, the sweaty, weary men collected their thoughts. Jack braced himself and gripped his gun between his knees, knowing that they might be heading directly into an ambush.

Rone drove the packed Mercedes forward. The moment they reached the gate, the United States Special Mission Compound in Benghazi would effectively cease to exist.

NINE

Zombieland

W
HEN
S
COTT
W
ICKLAND TURNED RIGHT OUT OF THE
Compound’s front entrance with his four fellow DS agents, gunshots struck the armored Land Cruiser. They drove on, but more trouble lay directly ahead. Just as they’d been warned, Wickland and his passengers saw a menacing crowd looming farther east down the gravel road. Wickland threw the Land Cruiser into reverse and turned it in the opposite direction, heading west as he’d been advised, toward the intersection with Gunfighter Road where the operators had initially left their vehicles.

As they began driving west, the DS agents saw a man they believed to be a friendly 17 February militiaman waving at them to turn around. The confused DS agents interpreted the signal to be a warning that they were driving into an ambush. Wickland put his trust in the man and turned a second time, back east toward clumps of Arab men lining the gravel road in the dark.

One reason the operators had told Wickland not to turn right was the warning they’d received from genuinely friendly 17 February militia leaders. Attackers were massing to the east of the Compound, the militia leaders said, and their fighters couldn’t hold their positions. Another reason was the operators’ educated belief that radical Islamists from the Ansar al-Sharia militia had established a base on one of the residential properties a short distance east of the Compound. Days earlier, Tanto had spoken about the Ansar al-Sharia base with Henry, who’d translated documents that described how the fundamentalist, rabidly anti-American militia had furtively become a neighbor to the US Special Mission Compound.

The Benghazi DS agents also knew about the neighboring compound, which they considered to be one of several dozen nearby properties controlled by potentially hostile militias.

After the second turnaround, Wickland drove cautiously, holding steady at about 15 mph. As the Land Cruiser approached the armed men lining the street, none of the Libyans raised his weapon. Wickland continued heading east. Less than a quarter-mile from the main Compound gate, a man stepped into the street and waved his hands in an attempt to direct the Land Cruiser into a driveway. It wasn’t clear whether this was the suspected Ansar al-Sharia base the operators and DS agents had heard about, but Wickland and his fellow agents suspected a trap. Several called out to keep moving, and Wickland tried to speed away.

Immediately the men along the roadway leveled their guns and opened fire. Bullets pounded against the sides of the Land Cruiser. Attackers rolled two grenades under the
vehicle. The explosions rocked the SUV and blew out two tires. Spiderweb cracks spread across the bullet-resistant windows. But the armor held, the men inside remained unhurt, and the Land Cruiser kept gaining speed on its run-flat tires.

The attackers surged forward, some firing AK-47 rounds from as close as two feet as Wickland drove on. The windows didn’t roll down, so the DS agents couldn’t return fire without opening the doors, something they weren’t about to do.

Dave Ubben grabbed the radio Jack had given him. He called to the operators and the Annex: “We’re taking heavy fire! We’re on our run-flats!”

Still wheezing from smoke inhalation, Wickland steered through the crowd and around a roadblock. He neared the end of the gravel road, where it reached a T-intersection with the street the operators called Adidas Road. The road’s real name was Shari’ al-Qayrawan, and it ran through the heart of a commercial district lined with retail shops. Wickland turned a hard right at the corner, avoided pedestrians in the street, and ran into a typical late-night Benghazi traffic jam.

Fearing that the attackers were close behind, Wickland steered the Land Cruiser over a curb and drove as fast as he could along the grass-and-dirt center median. When the street became less choked with traffic, he bounced the Land Cruiser down off the median and weaved through oncoming cars. After a short distance Wickland tugged the wheel and shifted the SUV rightward into the proper lane.

As they drove on toward the Annex, the rattled DS agents braced again for battle when they spotted two cars that appeared to be following them. The first turned off not
long after it began tailing the SUV, but the second remained behind the Land Cruiser with its lights off. When the Land Cruiser neared the Annex, the second tail car peeled off into the area of warehouses at the edge of the barren area the operators called Zombieland.

As he patrolled inside the Annex shortly after 11:00 p.m., Oz heard gunfire from perhaps a half mile away. That was his first notice that the DS agents were en route. Confirmation came in a radio call from the operators, who remained at the Compound: “State Department is leaving.”

The Annex’s exterior video cameras showed the damaged Land Cruiser racing down Annex Road. Alec Henderson radioed that they were coming in hot. The security officer at the front entrance opened the gate and lifted the steel arm bar to let them roll right in. He quickly dropped the arm and locked the gate behind them.

Oz heard the
flop-flop
sound of flattened tires as he came down the ladder from the roof of Building C. He rushed to see whether the DS agents were injured inside the bullet-ridden SUV. Wickland steered the Land Cruiser to a stop at a carport between Buildings B and C. Bob the base chief and several Annex officials wanted to rush out of Building C to greet the DS agents, but Oz convinced them to remain inside where he could protect them. Oz promised to send at least one agent inside for a debriefing.

The five DS agents stepped out of the SUV looking exactly as Oz expected from men who’d just been attacked by militants, repeatedly searched a burning building, and driven through gunfire and explosions. Oz thought Alec Henderson could use a tall glass of water, or something
stronger, and a place to lie down. But Henderson went inside Building C to tell Bob and other Annex officials about what happened at the Compound during the previous two hours.

When Scott Wickland came out from behind the wheel, he looked like a performer in a blackface burlesque, with patches of ghostly white skin peeking out from swaths of soot. His damaged lungs weren’t delivering enough oxygen, so Wickland went into Building C for rest and medical care. Oz took a quick look at Dave Ubben’s injured forearm, but Ubben said he was fine.

“I need people up on the roofs,” Oz told Ubben and the two DS agents from Tripoli. He wanted them in place quickly, as an added layer of defense in case the cars that tailed the SUV foretold an attack, or if the operators returned with enemies in tow. Oz sent Ubben to the roof of Building D, on the west side of the Annex property. He separated the two Tripoli-based agents, sending one to Building A, near the front gate, and the other to Building B, on the east side. Oz returned to his post on the Building C roof.

Oz had begun hearing more worrisome sounds, ranging from tires screeching to periodic gunfire from the direction of the Compound. He occasionally saw tracers cutting through the black sky, some green, some red. The tracers’ purpose was to help shooters to see the trajectory of their rounds and to correct their aim. Oz could only hope the tracers came from the American side.

He radioed the operators to check their status and was told they were mustering at the Mercedes and preparing to leave. Knowing that his teammates would soon be on the way, Oz climbed down the ladder to make one last check of
Annex defenses. Then he made sure the front gate would be opened quickly, so Rone could pull inside without waiting.

As Rone drove the Mercedes under the archway to exit the Compound, his fellow operators called out in unison: “Left. Go left!”

“I got it, guys,” Rone answered calmly.

Now that Jack knew the attackers had rocket-propelled grenades, his concerns rose. The armor beneath the Mercedes’s metal skin could stop AK-47 rounds, but RPGs were a deadlier story. He felt certain that their enemies would be waiting for them in the street, to repeat the ambush they’d sprung on the DS agents. He’d heard via radio that the Land Cruiser had made it to the Annex without casualties. Jack doubted they’d be so fortunate.

As they pulled out through the gate, Jack realized that he’d felt safer inside the destroyed Compound than he did locked in an SUV heading into uncertain territory beyond the walls. He gripped a handle on the dashboard in front of him, to brace for an explosion he felt certain would come. Not for the first time during the two hours since the attack began, Jack thought about his family. He told himself:
OK, probably not going to make it out of this one, but got to keep trying.

To the operators’ surprise, no one shot at the Mercedes when they turned left to drive west on the gravel road. Still, Tanto thought Rone’s foot was too heavy on the gas. “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “Slow down, man, we need to blend.” Rone eased off and cautiously approached the Gunfighter Road intersection. He kept the headlights off on the dark street, to attract less attention.