Finding Remote Work as a Drone Operator
The Airpower Fallacy
A guest essay from my friend, an RPA (Remotely Piloted Aircraft) operator. We first met while attending church and worked together to write this over the course of a week. In it, he speaks about his daily life and comments on what he calls the Airpower Fallacy, the idea that we can make a country surrender using completely remote means.
Pseudonym for obvious reasons. I helped him edit; any embellishment or inaccuracies are on me.
My name is Tokee Moloy. I am a drone operator working at the Holloman AFB in New Mexico. Right now, I’m waiting on the cashier so I can hurry up and go to work. Not like my wrists are in any mood to keep the change. The spots the masseuse rubbed last night are still sore; I wonder if I really am healed.
On some evenings my mother reminds me that our forefathers became war-chiefs by stealing an enemy’s horse. One day, I will work up the gumption to tell her that we no longer join the navy to travel the world. This will be hard for her to stomach, given that my father and her husband was in the air force. He waited until the missiles established air supremacy; then, it was his time to shine by being as sloppy with his carpet-bombing as the missiles were precise.
The Orthodox church nearby our house makes good Orechovnik after service. Some of the babas wonder why I know certain words on Sunday and not others on Monday; I shall not tell them. There’s so many videos of how the Russians use drones in their invasion, and how Ukraine uses them back. When I see the feeds locking on a soldier, my own hands twitch like those of a backseat driver. The soldier catches it and knows his fate before the feed freezes on his face and overlays the [SIGNAL LOST].
I am not a voyeur, like the ones in the comments. I am more a student, studying abroad. Remotely. There was a time when Europe looked upon the Civil War as Americans taking to injun savagery rather than studying how the game has changed. Today Kyiv seems prescient, and a blessing. I shall neglect it.
It is expensive to occupy, but expensive to create a power-vacuum. We decapitate but get not at the heart. In much the same way Egypt was the last country Britain faced as a superpower, so too do I think Iran will be the last one we face as number one.
I think we are too brave in our weaponry and too shy to sacrifice the men who wield them. Every military commander believes in the necessity of war. They scoff at those who always call for peace. Yet among the military, there are dreamers as well. People who believe that war may be fought autonomously, and that the worst we will incur is eyestrain from seeing the damage we do only on a screen. If they say that our boys can take down ten of theirs, it betrays how precious they have become in Washington’s eyes. They inflict violence with no punishment, not even the punishment of being there.
In earlier eras, occupation followed destruction. During the 19th century, both cannoneers and cavalry were at least still men. If needed, they could dismount or abandon their guns to be impromptu infantry. The musket was held by human hands; the silhouette of a gun complemented the man. A tank less so, but still insulated a man within. Now, if an operator like me wanted to take a peek at what he was firing at, it’d be impossible.
Aircraft has proven easier to remote than infantry. It is easier to justify collateral damage from ten thousand feet above than on level ground. For now, we only have the equivalent of drone-dogs, and even these are mere ideas. There are many, many gritty details a man on the ground solves.
Many bosses know this from experimenting with remote work. When the pandemic hit and supply chains were cut off, we should have learned how important making stuff in the states was. Instead we embraced remote work and leaned more and more into service work. Things AI can do better at this point. I hear my friends complain of having to come back into work. I never had that option, but then again I always was remote-working a war.
I believe I’m giving it my all, but I’m probably not as alert as I’d be on the ground. I’d probably do a better job if my life were on the line instead of livelihood. Whereas the prior generation were drilled to dive towards their noble deaths, I sense this generation will have to be drilled in some self-preservation beyond numbers and being fired.
Perhaps we have gotten too sensitive, believing that each human is too precious (i.e. too wealthy) to die for a greater cause. Now, there have always been ranks with greater casualties. But if we do not travel to places of greater danger, what will we use to entice them with?
Even at midnight, there are massage parlors open. I don’t like the waiting room--always Vietnam veterans who couldn’t shake off their yellow fever. The masseuse’s name is Suki; I wanted to ask if that was the best she could come up with. Then again, Tokee is no name.
I decline the happy ending, though Suki seems to hint at it. She’s surprised that I know where she’s from by the clock on her wall with two hour-hands. One of the strenuous things is that we have to account for the timezone we operate the drones in. Much of my back-pain is caused by waking up at odd hours though I can’t prove it. She takes my knots out a bit distractedly, perhaps thinking of the noons on the other side of the earth.
When I return home, I realize I’d forgotten to turn off my game. AFK. I think the paranoia about them causing real world violence was partly true, but only partly. They never made me better at hurting others close to me. Only those far away. Every generation finds a way to kill from further back. I just happen to be so far back I'm home.
I would have slept better had I tipped the masseuse.
The next morning I go to a bookstore. Nothing fictional, never emotional enough for that. Just the section on war. The cashier is college-aged; I can tell her disgust when I check out certain books on military strategy. Think I tried to small talk by asking whether working at a bookstore’s different than working in a library, but she cut it off there and continued shelving. I suspect she’d berate me, if only I weren’t so dark.
The section’s next to the one about entheogenics. “My father was the first one in the family to go to college; and I’m the first to take mushrooms. Can you believe that?” That gets a smirk. Bad lie.
At some point I thought of just shipping everything to my doorstep but I like the presence of being there in the store. It reminds me of work, flying through the shelves rather than the thick of some website where my ken is limited.
Have I seen her at a protest outside the base? Perhaps she has a hint of where I work. Perhaps even a hint of where I frequent at night. All these things are very handsy, from the joysticks and the lotions. But it’s nearing midnight in T—————, and my work is about to begin.
I load up the books that caught my eye and wait for her to come back to the register. If she didn’t want me coming in, then she should have had a smaller shelf on war.
wow i really enjoyed that! the lines: "They never made me better at hurting others close to me. Only those far away. Every generation finds a way to kill from further back. I just happen to be so far back I'm home." hit hard