If you’re going to hold Hillary and Obama accountable for Benghazi, you better make plenty of room for Shrub, Powell & Rice for the dozen attacks that happened on Shrub’s watch. There were as many attacks during his administration as there have been during O’s. Not all of them have been fatal and not all of the fatalities are Americans, usually they’re indigenous security contractors, although The attacks in Nairobi & Tanzania had far more spectacular body counts.
There have been 41 attacks in the last century. 33 since 1979. A dozen each on shrub’s & perezo’s watches. They have been increasing in frequency & ferocity.
If you’re going to hold Hillary and Obama accountable for Benghazi, you better make plenty of room for Shrub, Powell & Rice for the dozen attacks that happened on Shrub’s watch. There were as many attacks during his administration as there have been during O’s. Not all of them have been fatal and not all of the fatalities are Americans, usually they’re indigenous security contractors, although The attacks in Nairobi & Tanzania had far more spectacular body counts.
There have been 41 attacks in the last century. 33 since 1979. A dozen each on shrub’s & perezo’s watches. They have been increasing in frequency & ferocity.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attacks_on_U.S._diplomatic_facilities
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie:Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori (it is sweet and honorable to die for one’s country)