back to the exfiltration point. Another time I saw the enemy moving some prisoners of war, a small group of Navy SEALS. I went outside my orders, took out the al Qaeda guards, got the POWs out of there, and the brass gave me a Silver Star for that. Not a year later the same guys who’d given me the medal were throwing me in the federal slammer.
Why did I get the slammer? It’s because of what I saw when I went outside my briefing in my last drone operation. Guess who gave me the briefing? Major Roger Verrick: “You search this area, Wolfe, don’t go outside it, we’re not risking another drone. Don’t get cowboy with those drones. You know what those things cost?”
He’d given me a much smaller area than usual. It bothered me. I was fully vetted, I had top access, it was like he didn’t trust me to see some operation.
So maybe I ignored him, and wandered outside the search area a little; yeah, maybe I colored outside the lines. Verrick had been working on my last nerve. Calling me a cowboy, telling me to stay on my leash like a good doggie.
Maybe I should have. But they train Delta Force to think independently.
It was nighttime on the Somali coast, and I was watching the roads from a drone’s eye view, infrared scanning, and saw something interesting: a fairly small cargo truck heading south on a highway paralleling the coast—but it was a truck with an escort. There were two unmarked humvees along for the trip, one in front of the truck, and one behind it.
That looked like one of the CIA’s little convoys. Why hadn’t I been briefed on it?
Then I saw the humvee in front of the truck skid to a stop. The truck had to stop, too, so the humvee in back stopped.
Then four men got out of the front humvee, all at once. I had to move the drone in closer to try to see their faces. They wore paramilitary togs, with no insignia, and cammie blacking on their faces. I zoomed as much as I could. One of them looked at the sky, just for a second.
The driver of the front humvee moved back to the truck’s driver, and had the driver open the door. While he spoke to the driver of the truck, another man moved to the passenger side. Meanwhile the other two paramilitaries from the front vehicle moved toward the rear of the truck. They signaled the rear humvee, which, apparently on their orders, backed up about twenty meters. One of the guys from the front humvee climbed up into the back of the truck—and a moment later jumped out, with an RPG launcher in his hands. Rocket Propelled Grenade...
The RPG gunner had the weapon set up. He fired it straight at the rear humvee.
The rocket hit the humvee solid, right in the grill. The big vehicle exploded—and it was too big an explosion for an RPG: someone had set another explosive in advance, a passive charge, somewhere on the front of that vehicle. Because, let me tell you, Pearce, that thing went up like a can of gasoline under a flamethrower. Ka-wham. Pieces of it rained down everywhere.
The man with the RPG looked up at the sky. Could be he sensed a drone nearby. His glance gave me a good shot of his face. I wasn’t sure, but... Blacking on his face or not, I thought that was Major Roger Verrick, down there.
I caught flashes from the front of the truck and I realized the two men flanking the truck were opening fire through the open doors.
Even from the drone’s high point of view I could tell the men inside were shot all to pieces. Had to be.
I thought about calling in a strike on the shooters, or calling in other observers—but I didn’t know for sure what was going on. If that had been Verrick, there could be an operational reason for all of this. Those guys in the truck and the rear humvee might be anyone...
Maybe Verrick had warned me away from observing this area for legit reasons.
But this sure didn’t feel legit.
The killers pulled the bodies out of the cab of the truck, climbed up, and took over...They must’ve settled down in puddles of blood, on those
Why did I get the slammer? It’s because of what I saw when I went outside my briefing in my last drone operation. Guess who gave me the briefing? Major Roger Verrick: “You search this area, Wolfe, don’t go outside it, we’re not risking another drone. Don’t get cowboy with those drones. You know what those things cost?”
He’d given me a much smaller area than usual. It bothered me. I was fully vetted, I had top access, it was like he didn’t trust me to see some operation.
So maybe I ignored him, and wandered outside the search area a little; yeah, maybe I colored outside the lines. Verrick had been working on my last nerve. Calling me a cowboy, telling me to stay on my leash like a good doggie.
Maybe I should have. But they train Delta Force to think independently.
It was nighttime on the Somali coast, and I was watching the roads from a drone’s eye view, infrared scanning, and saw something interesting: a fairly small cargo truck heading south on a highway paralleling the coast—but it was a truck with an escort. There were two unmarked humvees along for the trip, one in front of the truck, and one behind it.
That looked like one of the CIA’s little convoys. Why hadn’t I been briefed on it?
Then I saw the humvee in front of the truck skid to a stop. The truck had to stop, too, so the humvee in back stopped.
Then four men got out of the front humvee, all at once. I had to move the drone in closer to try to see their faces. They wore paramilitary togs, with no insignia, and cammie blacking on their faces. I zoomed as much as I could. One of them looked at the sky, just for a second.
The driver of the front humvee moved back to the truck’s driver, and had the driver open the door. While he spoke to the driver of the truck, another man moved to the passenger side. Meanwhile the other two paramilitaries from the front vehicle moved toward the rear of the truck. They signaled the rear humvee, which, apparently on their orders, backed up about twenty meters. One of the guys from the front humvee climbed up into the back of the truck—and a moment later jumped out, with an RPG launcher in his hands. Rocket Propelled Grenade...
The RPG gunner had the weapon set up. He fired it straight at the rear humvee.
The rocket hit the humvee solid, right in the grill. The big vehicle exploded—and it was too big an explosion for an RPG: someone had set another explosive in advance, a passive charge, somewhere on the front of that vehicle. Because, let me tell you, Pearce, that thing went up like a can of gasoline under a flamethrower. Ka-wham. Pieces of it rained down everywhere.
The man with the RPG looked up at the sky. Could be he sensed a drone nearby. His glance gave me a good shot of his face. I wasn’t sure, but... Blacking on his face or not, I thought that was Major Roger Verrick, down there.
I caught flashes from the front of the truck and I realized the two men flanking the truck were opening fire through the open doors.
Even from the drone’s high point of view I could tell the men inside were shot all to pieces. Had to be.
I thought about calling in a strike on the shooters, or calling in other observers—but I didn’t know for sure what was going on. If that had been Verrick, there could be an operational reason for all of this. Those guys in the truck and the rear humvee might be anyone...
Maybe Verrick had warned me away from observing this area for legit reasons.
But this sure didn’t feel legit.
The killers pulled the bodies out of the cab of the truck, climbed up, and took over...They must’ve settled down in puddles of blood, on those
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