Venezuela Strike: Was Admiral Bradley a Pawn — or Instigator of a War Crime?

Admiral Frank Bradley is no stranger to making difficult decisions in the dark. On 2 September, the Special Operations commander authorised a second, lethal strike on survivors of a disabled Venezuelan vessel. That decision has placed him at the centre of a growing legal controversy. Supporters see him as a commander fighting a new war against drug cartels, while legal experts warn he could be facing war crimes.

Shifting Official Narratives

The official story continues to evolve. White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt insists Bradley acted 'within his authorities' to neutralise a threat. However, reports suggest Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth issued a verbal order to 'kill everybody'. President Trump has now stated he 'wouldn't have wanted' a second strike, leaving Bradley increasingly isolated. The commander is now at risk of being scapegoated for a verbal order that lacks a paper trail.

The Legal Framework and the Red Line

To understand the gravity of Bradley's predicament, it's crucial to examine the laws governing armed conflict. Under the Geneva Conventions, shipwrecked members of armed forces are classified as hors de combat—meaning 'out of the fight'. International law mandates they must be 'respected and protected in all circumstances.' The US Department of Defense's Law of War Manual (§5.9.4) echoes this, stating that attacking such persons is 'dishonourable'.

However, an important exception exists. The manual notes that protection applies only if individuals are 'wholly disabled from fighting.' It acknowledges that in naval warfare, it is often 'difficult to distinguish' between helpless survivors and combatants re-engaging. This legal distinction is pivotal. If the men in the water were incapacitated, killing them would be a war crime. If they were manoeuvring to attack, then using lethal force would be justified as an act of war.

However, there is a critical exception. To qualify for this protection, the US manual notes a person must be 'wholly disabled from fighting'. It acknowledges that in the chaos of naval warfare, it is often 'difficult to distinguish' between a helpless survivor and a combatant who is re-engaging. This distinction is the legal pivot point. If the men in the water were incapacitated, killing them was a crime. If they were manoeuvring to attack, killing them was an act of war.

The 40-Minute Window

The debate hinges on what exactly transpired during a crucial 40-minute window on 2 September. Reports indicate the US Navy initially disabled the Venezuelan vessel with a precise strike, leaving it dead in the water. Its crew—now survivors—were seen clinging to debris. According to standard rules of engagement, the attack should have ended at this point.

But it did not. A second strike was carried out, killing the remaining men in the water. Leavitt defends this follow-up attack, stating Bradley 'worked well within his authority' to 'ensure the boat was destroyed' and that the 'threat to the United States of America was eliminated.'

Venezuela's government, however, is raising serious questions. Its National Assembly has launched an inquiry into what President Jorge Rodríguez calls the 'murder of Venezuelans in the waters of the Caribbean Sea.' Senators from both parties are demanding the release of video footage of the strike, arguing that without it, the public cannot determine whether those men were attacking or simply trying to survive.

Legal and Political Accountability

Bradley finds himself caught between two conflicting legal worlds. International law experts are critical of the actions reported. Former Department of Defence special counsel Ryan Goodman states he 'literally cannot imagine' a legal basis for such a strike, adding that it is 'hard to see how this would not be murder.' While military officers are trained to refuse unlawful orders, disobeying them is perilous. Military law expert Rachel VanLandingham explains that officers who refuse an order must prove it was illegal—an often difficult task—else they risk a court-martial.

The White House, however, frames the incident within its broader 'War on Cartels'. By designating drug vessels as terrorist threats, the administration implies a new rule of engagement where total destruction is the goal. Defence Secretary Hegseth dismisses criticism as 'fake news', asserting all operations are 'lawful' because traffickers are 'affiliated with a Designated Terrorist Organisation.'

Bradley's actions align with this policy demanding lethal results, but he will face scrutiny under existing laws where 'following orders' is rarely a valid defence.

The Future of US Military Engagement

Bradley's fate could mark a turning point in US military policy. Security analysts at the Centre for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) warn that destroying vessels 'without warning' signifies a significant shift in tactics. They caution that if cartels retaliate, 'the war will certainly escalate,' potentially dragging the US into broader conflict—using Navy destroyers as instruments of swift, decisive action.

For officers watching Bradley's career, the lesson is clear. An exoneration would suggest that the 'War on Cartels' now overrides traditional rules of engagement. Conversely, a prosecution or quiet dismissal would imply that military commanders remain pawns in a political game. As investigations in Caracas and Washington intensify, the missing footage of those final 40 minutes will ultimately decide whether an admiral is seen as defending his country or committing a war crime.