Military History

In 2001, a pint-sized German diesel sub snuck past an entire carrier strike group managing to get within ramming distance of the mighty USS Enterprise, like a ghost in broad daylight. She fired a mock torpedo, then surfaced to wave hello with green flares—just to let everyone know they’d been “sunk.”.

This Independence Day, as we fire up the grills and look up to the skies ablaze with fireworks, let us also light the torch of accountability in our own hearts—because freedom, as our forefathers knew, isn’t a gift handed down, it’s a responsibility earned every day.

Roy Benavidez wasn’t awarded the Medal of Honor because he was fearless—he earned it because he was wounded, outgunned, and still chose to charge straight into hell to bring his brothers home.

Mercy dogs didn’t need orders, medals, or parades—they just saw a man bleeding in the mud and ran straight into gunfire to help him.

Twenty years later, Operation Red Wings isn’t some sanitized tale of heroism—it’s a gut-punch reminder that war is messy, men are mortal, and sacrifice doesn’t come with a soundtrack.

Somewhere between Cold War nostalgia and modern drone warfare, an aging Iranian F-5E met its fiery end on a Dezful runway—proof that in the Middle East, even museum pieces still get shot at.

Captain William McGonagle didn’t just hold the line aboard the USS Liberty—he held it while bleeding out, commanding a shattered crew through hell, and then kept his mouth shut for thirty years before finally telling the truth.

We did more than send a message—we carved it into the bedrock with a 30,000-pound pen named MOP and left Tehran to read it in the dark.

You don’t build nuclear bunkers for TED Talks—Trump knew it, Tehran knew it, and now the crater where a centrifuge used to be says the quiet part out loud.

The men of the NCDUs who stormed Normandy’s beaches faced certain death but fought with relentless courage, clearing the way for Allied forces in what would become the deadliest day in Naval Special Warfare history.

Under Saddam, theft wasn’t a crime—it was the national business model, sanctified by fear, filmed for posterity, and sold back to the people like a bad memory on repeat.

Woody Williams didn’t just carry a flamethrower into the jaws of hell—he carried the weight of his fallen brothers, and somehow kept walking.