Did Hegseth Cross the Line? Double-Tap Strike Divides Washington

Paul Riverbank, 12/8/2025 A U.S. strike on a suspected narco-terrorist boat in the Caribbean ignites fierce debate in Washington, spotlighting contentious legal, ethical, and oversight questions as lawmakers clash over war powers, transparency, and the boundaries of modern military action.

In the aftermath, the ripples have reached into both chambers of Congress, unsettling lawmakers across party lines and sparking a new round of soul-searching: What should count as a justifiable act of war in an era when the nature of threats is shifting? Who, precisely, gets to draw the line?

According to an official briefed on the matter, the crew members of the vessel had already been flagged on a classified U.S. list—names gathered through intelligence sources and thought to be connected to drug cartels named as Foreign Terrorist Organizations by the Trump administration back in February. It's a technicality with enormous stakes. While targeting such groups isn’t strictly forbidden under U.S. or international frameworks, especially after that controversial February order, what happened next is where much of the outrage now concentrates.

Eyewitness reports, some still unconfirmed, claim the initial missile strike wasn’t the end of the assault. As a handful of survivors clung to the debris, a “double-tap” follow-up allegedly killed the rest. “No quarter”—the military term for refusing to show mercy even to surrendering or incapacitated fighters—is a bright red line under international and American codes of war. That, legal scholars note, would move this operation from the realm of sanctioned combat into the territory of potential war crimes.

That’s the view Senator Tammy Duckworth, herself a combat veteran, shared bluntly in a recent television appearance. She pointed out the absence of Congressional debate or authorization for an act of war in this case. “There wasn’t a vote, there wasn’t even a discussion,” Duckworth said, her frustration barely concealed. “It was essentially murder with that double-tap strike.”

But the issue is hardly falling along predictable partisan lines. Senator Tom Cotton, chairing the Senate Intelligence Committee, countered with a stark assessment: a boat full of drugs, crewed by people linked to terrorist organizations—whatever their destination—seems like a valid target. Curiously, he admitted under questioning that he hadn’t been briefed on any proof of an imminent attack on the U.S., but he emphasized “multiple, reliable sources” tied the vessel to both drugs and terrorism.

That word—imminence—has become the fault line in interpreting law of armed conflict. The Geneva Conventions are crystal clear on one thing: once enemy combatants are wounded or signaling surrender, attacking them is forbidden. To breach that rule is to chip away at the legal bedrock on which U.S. conduct during wartime rests.

Calls for transparency are mounting. Representative Adam Schiff urged the Pentagon to release any supporting evidence, even video, to dispel doubts and address public concern. “If they’re so confident in the rightness of what they’ve done, they should let the American people judge for themselves,” Schiff said.

Beyond the facts of this case, the controversy has exposed deeper anxieties haunting Washington’s approach to security. When the Trump administration moved to treat drug cartels as terrorists, the impact wasn’t just symbolic—it handed far more authority to the military in situations that might once have belonged to police or border agents. Some lawmakers, and not a few constitutional scholars, worry that lines between law enforcement and war are dangerously blurred.

This comes at a moment of national fatigue. The U.S. is still absorbing the costs of two decades of military interventions, even as homegrown issues—from spiraling everyday expenses to divisive policy debates—command public attention. Senator Josh Hawley put it perhaps more plainly than his colleagues. “Americans know what’s happening in their neighborhoods, in their grocery stores, at the pharmacy,” he remarked. “They’re not blind to what matters most, and this debate can’t come at their expense.”

For Congress, the fundamental question returns with urgency: Who has the authority to send Americans to war, and where should the boundaries be drawn? With every new operation like the one in the Caribbean, the lines between peace, law, and war shift ever so slightly—demanding a public accounting and the sort of open debate the country, for now, seems to desperately want.

A U.S. military strike in the Caribbean, ordered earlier this month by Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, has opened a raw debate in Washington—one not just about policy, but about the moral and legal boundaries of modern conflict. The operation targeted a boat the Pentagon claims was run by so-called narco-terrorists. All eleven people onboard died.In the aftermath, the ripples have reached into both chambers of Congress, unsettling lawmakers across party lines and sparking a new round of soul-searching: What should count as a justifiable act of war in an era when the nature of threats is shifting? Who, precisely, gets to draw the line?According to an official briefed on the matter, the crew members of the vessel had already been flagged on a classified U.S. list—names gathered through intelligence sources and thought to be connected to drug cartels named as Foreign Terrorist Organizations by the Trump administration back in February. It's a technicality with enormous stakes. While targeting such groups isn’t strictly forbidden under U.S. or international frameworks, especially after that controversial February order, what happened next is where much of the outrage now concentrates.Eyewitness reports, some still unconfirmed, claim the initial missile strike wasn’t the end of the assault. As a handful of survivors clung to the debris, a “double-tap” follow-up allegedly killed the rest. “No quarter”—the military term for refusing to show mercy even to surrendering or incapacitated fighters—is a bright red line under international and American codes of war. That, legal scholars note, would move this operation from the realm of sanctioned combat into the territory of potential war crimes.That’s the view Senator Tammy Duckworth, herself a combat veteran, shared bluntly in a recent television appearance. She pointed out the absence of Congressional debate or authorization for an act of war in this case. “There wasn’t a vote, there wasn’t even a discussion,” Duckworth said, her frustration barely concealed. “It was essentially murder with that double-tap strike.”But the issue is hardly falling along predictable partisan lines. Senator Tom Cotton, chairing the Senate Intelligence Committee, countered with a stark assessment: a boat full of drugs, crewed by people linked to terrorist organizations—whatever their destination—seems like a valid target. Curiously, he admitted under questioning that he hadn’t been briefed on any proof of an imminent attack on the U.S., but he emphasized “multiple, reliable sources” tied the vessel to both drugs and terrorism.That word—imminence—has become the fault line in interpreting law of armed conflict. The Geneva Conventions are crystal clear on one thing: once enemy combatants are wounded or signaling surrender, attacking them is forbidden. To breach that rule is to chip away at the legal bedrock on which U.S. conduct during wartime rests.Calls for transparency are mounting. Representative Adam Schiff urged the Pentagon to release any supporting evidence, even video, to dispel doubts and address public concern. “If they’re so confident in the rightness of what they’ve done, they should let the American people judge for themselves,” Schiff said.Beyond the facts of this case, the controversy has exposed deeper anxieties haunting Washington’s approach to security. When the Trump administration moved to treat drug cartels as terrorists, the impact wasn’t just symbolic—it handed far more authority to the military in situations that might once have belonged to police or border agents. Some lawmakers, and not a few constitutional scholars, worry that lines between law enforcement and war are dangerously blurred.This comes at a moment of national fatigue. The U.S. is still absorbing the costs of two decades of military interventions, even as homegrown issues—from spiraling everyday expenses to divisive policy debates—command public attention. Senator Josh Hawley put it perhaps more plainly than his colleagues. “Americans know what’s happening in their neighborhoods, in their grocery stores, at the pharmacy,” he remarked. “They’re not blind to what matters most, and this debate can’t come at their expense.”For Congress, the fundamental question returns with urgency: Who has the authority to send Americans to war, and where should the boundaries be drawn? With every new operation like the one in the Caribbean, the lines between peace, law, and war shift ever so slightly—demanding a public accounting and the sort of open debate the country, for now, seems to desperately want.