Israel and U.S. attacks Iran. What happens next?

Israel and U.S. attacks Iran. What happens next?

By Steve Douglass

If reports that Ali Khamenei and several top commanders of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps have been killed in the joint Operation Lion’s Roar strikes, that changes the dynamics dramatically on multiple fronts. In a system like Iran’s, the Supreme Leader isn’t just a figurehead — he’s the linchpin of political, religious, and military authority, the final decision-maker for the Revolutionary Guards, nuclear policy, and internal security. Outside observers — including Benjamin Netanyahu — have said there are “many signs” Khamenei may be gone, and that key military figures have been hit, though Tehran has not confirmed these deaths publicly. (The Guardian)

Inside Tehran, that kind of leadership vacuum would be felt immediately and viscerally. State institutions would be in triage mode: banks and markets might halt operations temporarily as uncertainty spikes, and communications — already strained from bombardment and retaliation — could be disrupted further. Security forces like the IRGC and Basij militia, which ordinarily enforce regime control, would have to decide quickly whether to rally around a successor group or start jockeying for influence. Unlike in a stable democracy where succession is routine, in Iran it is a mix of religious councils, security elites, and clerical authorities that would jostle for control, and that process takes time and creates uncertainty.

If the remaining Guard leadership stays cohesive under a new figure — say a senior general or adviser who was not targeted — the system could reconstitute itself quickly and impose order. You would see heavy military visibility on the streets of Tehran, checkpoints at major intersections, curfews, and rapid suppression of any large civilian gatherings. In that case, the death of top leaders ends up tightening internal discipline rather than dissolving it.

However, if there aren’t clear lines of command, or if rival factions within the Guard and army begin to disagree on how to respond — whether to escalate retaliatory strikes, seek negotiations, or jockey for power — that fracturing would produce instability. Ordinary people in Tehran might find police and militia units acting differently from district to district, with some areas under strict control and others relatively lawless. Fear, rumor, and panic buying — already visible after the first strikes — could intensify as people try to make sense of competing authority messages. (Reuters)

Into this volatile mix come the ongoing military actions. The strikes are not just symbolic; they’ve targeted operational centers, missile sites, and possibly elements of the nuclear program. Iran’s retaliation has already involved missiles and drones directed at Israel and U.S. bases across the region, prompting sirens, interceptions, and heightened readiness in multiple countries. (The Times of India) In practical terms that means Tehran isn’t automatically slipping into political calm — it’s being battered from multiple directions, and that compounds internal stress.

If the U.S. were to send in stealth bombers tonight to specifically go after Iran’s remaining nuclear infrastructure — the deeply buried enrichment facilities at places like Natanz or Fordow — that would introduce a new layer of complexity. Such strikes are logistically challenging and inherently risky: Iran’s most sensitive nuclear infrastructure is protected deep underground and guarded by air defenses that have already been active. Even with stealth capabilities, the risk of collateral damage to civilian structures increases, which could fuel anti-American sentiment and feed Iranian propaganda that the conflict is an existential struggle against foreign invaders.

Destroying nuclear sites would also likely eliminate any plausible diplomatic path — remaining Iranian technocrats or moderates who might have favored negotiation would lose leverage. From inside Tehran’s fractured power circles, hardliners could use such strikes to justify even harsher crackdowns and rally support around revenge. That, in turn, would heighten the risk of asymmetric retaliation: cyberattacks, missile attacks on U.S. forces, and importantly, terrorism overseas. Past conflicts have shown that when a regime feels cornered or eliminated, its proxy networks — whether in Iraq, Lebanon, Yemen, or even sleeper networks abroad — become more active. Intelligence professionals would almost certainly raise terrorism threat levels across Western countries, particularly around symbolic or high-profile targets. (Reddit)

Global markets would feel these reverberations too, especially energy markets. Iran’s geography near the Strait of Hormuz means any perception of instability can send oil prices sharply upward and disrupt shipping patterns, insurance costs, and broader economic confidence. Past strikes on nuclear facilities have already caused volatility in oil and equities as traders weigh risk against supply fears. (https://www.wgem.com)

This is all to say that if Khamenei and multiple senior commanders are genuinely gone, the situation in Tehran would not settle into a single outcome quickly. On one hand, a new leadership core might assert control and keep the regime intact, imposing order from above. On the other, internal power struggles could turn the city into a patchwork of contested authority until one faction prevails. Layer in the ongoing external military pressure — including possible future strikes on nuclear sites — and the risk of regional escalation and global economic shocks increases.

From Israel’s perspective, eliminating the core of Iran’s decision-making structure would be viewed as a historic operational success. Tehran has been Israel’s most capable long-term adversary, especially in terms of missile development, proxy warfare, and nuclear ambition. Removing the Supreme Leader and senior IRGC leadership would significantly disrupt centralized command and could degrade Iran’s ability to coordinate complex retaliation in the short term.

But here’s the paradox: tactical success can produce strategic escalation.

In the immediate term — the next 72 hours — Israel would likely be on its highest nationwide alert level in decades. Missile defenses such as Iron Dome, David’s Sling, and Arrow would be operating continuously. Airspace restrictions would remain tight. Reserve mobilizations could expand. Critical infrastructure protection would intensify. The expectation in Israeli security planning would be that retaliation is not only possible, but probable.

If Iran’s remaining leadership stays cohesive, Israel should expect heavy, symbolic retaliation. Ballistic missile salvos aimed at major cities, attempts to overwhelm missile defense systems, and attacks on strategic targets like power plants or military bases are plausible. Even if interception rates are high, volume alone creates risk. Civilian casualties inside Israel would dramatically shift the domestic political atmosphere.

If Iran’s leadership fractures instead, the situation becomes more unpredictable rather than safer. Some missile units or proxy networks could act autonomously. That increases the risk of miscalculation or uncontrolled escalation. Israel’s northern border becomes especially sensitive because of the role of Hezbollah. Hezbollah possesses a massive rocket arsenal and is deeply integrated into Iran’s strategic architecture. If it enters the fight in force, Israel would face a multi-front war that stretches missile defense capacity and ground forces.

There’s also the nuclear dimension. If American stealth bombers were to conduct deep strikes against Iranian nuclear facilities — particularly hardened enrichment sites — Israel would likely support that action strategically. It would remove, or at least delay, the long-term existential threat Israel has consistently cited. 

However, striking nuclear infrastructure carries consequences. It could push any successor regime in Tehran toward accelerated weaponization under a “never again” survival doctrine. It also risks environmental contamination if facilities are damaged in ways that release hazardous material. And politically, it eliminates moderate voices within Iran who might have argued for negotiation rather than confrontation.

For Israel, that means the nuclear issue could temporarily recede militarily but intensify politically unless they are entirely destroyed. 

On the terrorism front, Israel would absolutely expect reprisals. Iranian-aligned networks have global reach. Israeli embassies, Jewish community centers abroad, and soft targets would go on heightened alert worldwide. Cyberattacks against Israeli infrastructure would likely surge. Maritime threats in the Red Sea or Mediterranean could increase. Israeli intelligence agencies would shift heavily toward disruption and pre-emption mode.

Domestically inside Israel, the political impact would depend on outcomes. If strikes are seen as eliminating a historic threat with limited Israeli casualties, the government would likely experience a surge of public backing. If retaliation causes heavy damage or drags Israel into prolonged multi-front conflict, internal criticism would rise quickly. Israeli society is resilient under threat, but prolonged war strains economic activity, reserve forces, and public morale.

Economically, Israel’s markets would likely experience sharp volatility. Defense spending would increase. Tourism would collapse temporarily. Tech and export sectors could face disruption if airspace closures and regional instability persist. However, Israel’s economy has historically rebounded quickly after conflicts, provided they remain limited in duration.

The biggest strategic question for Israel is this: does decapitating Iran’s top leadership reduce long-term threat, or does it radicalize the successor regime?

If the post-Khamenei leadership consolidates under even harder-line IRGC figures, Israel could face a more openly militarized and revenge-driven adversary. If internal fragmentation weakens Iran’s ability to project power, Israel gains strategic breathing room — but at the cost of regional instability and potential proxy chaos.

If the leadership of Iran has been removed — including Ali Khamenei — Western governments would almost certainly prefer to see someone in charge who is more inclined toward engagement with the West, diplomacy, and economic reform, rather than hardline anti‑West ideologues. That doesn’t mean Western governments would be trying to “install” someone directly — that has a long history of backfiring — but the type of leadership they’d hope for would be markedly different from the clerical‑military fusion that has controlled Iran since 1979.

In practice, the group that Western policymakers have traditionally looked to as a potential bridge are moderates or pragmatists, like former Iranian reformists who have advocated negotiations, economic opening, and better relations with Europe and the U.S. People like President Masoud Pezeshkian (prior to recent crackdowns) embodied this approach, pushing for economic improvement and diplomatic engagement as a way out of stagnation. These figures generally aren’t ideologically aligned with the hardliners in Tehran’s security establishment, and they focus more on economic and social issues than regional militancy.

Opinion research before the latest wave of conflict — including surveys of tens of thousands of Iranians — showed that a large majority of the population wants fundamental change, with many opposing governance based on religious law and desiring the end of the Islamic Republic structure. A large percentage also favored democracy over military or religious rule. That suggests that, at least in broad ideological terms, ordinary Iranians would be open to systems very different from the current one.

But the reality inside Iran is far more complicated. The Iranian opposition isn’t unified. Exiled figures like Reza Pahlavi, son of the last Shah, have symbolic recognition and some Western political support, but many inside Iran reject the idea of returning to monarchy — partly because of the history of repression under the Shah and partly because they fear trading one authoritarian model for another. Other opposition groups like the People’s Mojahedin Organization of Iran (MEK) have detailed transition plans and some international backing, yet are broadly unpopular internally because many Iranians see them as having a problematic history or being disconnected from domestic society.

On the ground, reformists have been repeatedly suppressed by the regime, and in recent months many leading reform figures have been arrested, eroding their organizational capacity and credibility in the eyes of many citizens. Even among Iranians who want change, there is deep skepticism about political elites inside and outside the country — including those seen as aligning too closely with Western governments.

So would Iranians “welcome” a Western‑supported government? The short answer is mixed. Many Iranians want change from the current system, but there isn’t a single, widely accepted domestic figure or faction that stands as a clear alternative, nor is there unified support for a Western‑backed transition. 

Large portions of the population suffer economic hardship, face corruption, and resent heavy‑handed repression, which fuels support for change — but they also deeply distrust external interference because of historical events like the 1953 U.S./U.K.‑backed coup that overthrew a democratically elected government.

Whether Iran’s citizens are ready to “join a modern world and economy free of sanctions” if given that chance depends on how you define that phrase. Many ordinary Iranians, especially younger generations and urban professionals, aspire to more personal freedoms, better economic opportunity, integration with global markets, and an end to punitive sanctions. But sanctions have also crippled the middle class and targeted precisely the groups who might serve as bridges to reform, weakening those voices domestically.

So the picture inside Iran is something like this: a population largely dissatisfied with the current regime and open to alternatives; a reformist camp that has been weakened and discredited by repression; a fractured opposition in exile without broad domestic legitimacy; and deep historical memory of foreign intervention that makes the idea of a Western‑backed government unpopular to many, even those who want change. 

If the regime collapsed, Iranians wouldn’t all chant the same slogans about what comes next — some would push for democracy with sovereignty and national pride, others might favor strong nationalist voices, and some would reject any external influence outright.

That’s one reason why Western hopes for a “friendly” successor regime have historically backfired in many countries: outsiders often underestimate the complexity of internal dynamics, the diversity of domestic aspirations, and the deep mistrust of foreign interference. In Iran, where legitimacy is tied not only to politics but to history, religion, and identity, any transition would be negotiated as much inside society as it would be on the geopolitical stage.

Nothing about this is static. The scenario we’re looking at is extremely fluid: battlefield reports, leadership confirmations, and diplomatic shifts are changing by the hour. In hours and days to come, the trajectory could range from temporary consolidation under a new hardline leadership to a far more chaotic power struggle within Iran that alters the Middle East’s security landscape for years.

OSINT -Are the United States and Israel on the Brink of War with Iran?

OSINT: Are the United States and Israel on the Brink of War with Iran? 

By Steve Douglass

The question keeps resurfacing all over the Internet: are the United States and Israel on the brink of war with Iran?

Amateur war bloggers publish Chinese satellite photos as soon as they get them. B-2s taking off from Whiteman Air Force Base are photographed and plastered everywhere. Flight tracking software websites are clogged with users all looking for patterns, counting military aircraft crossing the pond. All of this signals war is imminent right? 

No war has officially begun. But the atmosphere feels heavier than in previous cycles of tension. Military assets are repositioning. Nuclear negotiations remain fragile. Internal pressure inside Iran continues to simmer and increasingly, visible military signals are adding to speculation about what could come next.

What makes this moment particularly tense is the convergence of three forces at once: strategic military buildup, nuclear brinkmanship, and internal instability within Iran.

The Military Signals

The United States has significantly reinforced its posture in the region. Carrier strike groups are operating within reach of Iran. Advanced air assets have reportedly been repositioned. Commercial satellite imagery — including analysis circulated by Chinese satellite firms — has shown American aircraft deployed in Israel, including F-35s, F-22 Raptors, long-range bombers, and aerial refueling tankers.

That mix of aircraft is not random.

F-22s establish air superiority and escort strike packages. Tankers extend range and loiter time. Long-range bombers provide the ability to hit hardened, deeply buried targets. Together, that configuration signals readiness for high-end contingency operations — even if those operations never materialize.

And then there is the B-2 Spirit.

The B-2 is not routinely forward-deployed for routine deterrence in the same way fighters are. It is designed specifically for penetrating heavily defended airspace and striking hardened or deeply buried targets with precision-guided munitions. In the context of Iran, analysts often associate B-2 missions with hardened nuclear facilities such as underground enrichment sites.

Because of that, if B-2 bombers were observed launching from the United States or forward bases in significant numbers toward the region, many military observers would interpret it as a potential signal that kinetic operations were beginning — not merely deterrence.

That does not mean such a launch would automatically equal war. Bomber flights can also serve as demonstrations of capability. But compared to fighters or carriers, B-2 movement would represent a qualitatively different signal — one closely associated with strategic strike missions.

In short, certain aircraft deployments suggest posture. Others suggest preparation. The distinction matters.

The Nuclear Flashpoint

At the core of the standoff remains Iran’s nuclear program.

Iran maintains that its enrichment is peaceful and sovereign. Israel and the United States argue that once enrichment approaches weapons-grade levels, breakout time becomes dangerously short.

For Israel in particular, allowing Iran to cross a technological threshold could permanently shift the regional balance. For Tehran, surrendering enrichment under pressure would weaken its leverage and domestic standing.

This creates a narrowing window dynamic — one in which each side fears waiting too long.

How Conflict Would Likely Start

If war began, it would most likely start with a limited, high-precision strike rather than a broad invasion.

Israel could initiate targeted attacks on nuclear infrastructure. The United States might provide intelligence, cyber capabilities, missile defense, refueling, or — if it deemed necessary — direct participation.

In a scenario involving deeply buried facilities, stealth bombers such as the B-2 would be among the few platforms capable of conducting certain types of bunker-penetrating strikes. Their launch would likely be interpreted globally as a major escalation signal.

Iran’s retaliation would almost certainly be asymmetric. Ballistic missile launches toward Israeli territory. Attacks on U.S. bases in the Gulf. Cyber operations. Maritime disruption in the Strait of Hormuz. Activation of regional allied militias. The possibility of terror attacks escalating is real. 

Escalation would hinge on casualties and political pressure. If American forces suffered significant losses, Washington would face immediate calls for expanded operations.

Yet none of the principal actors appear eager for prolonged ground war. The most plausible military scenario — if it occurs — would be intense, high-tech, and relatively short in duration, followed by urgent international mediation.

Internal Instability: The Unpredictable Layer

What complicates the strategic picture further is Iran’s internal political climate.

The country has faced repeated protest waves fueled by economic hardship, corruption, and social restrictions. A younger generation has shown increasing willingness to challenge the system. At the same time, Iran’s leadership structure — anchored by clerical authority and reinforced by the Revolutionary Guard — is designed to resist sudden overthrow.

External military strikes could produce one of two effects internally: nationalist rallying around the flag, or intensified anger at leadership for provoking confrontation.

If severe military and economic strain fractured elite cohesion, questions about succession and command authority could surface. Control over sensitive programs like the nuclear infrastructure is layered, but in a crisis scenario, factional competition cannot be ruled out.

That uncertainty is precisely what global powers fear most: instability combined with strategic weapons capabilities.

The Regime Change Debate

Some argue that lasting stability would require replacing Iran’s theocratic system with a secular democratic government. Diaspora figures such as Reza Pahlavi advocate for a referendum and a secular constitutional framework.

But the idea of the United States “installing” a secular leader carries deep historical baggage. The 1953 coup remains embedded in Iranian political memory. Any overt external imposition would likely generate nationalist backlash — even among regime critics.

Moreover, Iran’s opposition is diverse and not unified. Secular democrats, constitutional monarchists, reformists, and ethnic autonomy advocates envision different futures.

If regime change ever occurred, legitimacy would need to arise from within Iran itself. External pressure can weaken a government. It cannot construct durable political consensus.

How It Might End

Three broad outcomes are conceivable.

One is limited confrontation followed by de-escalation. Strikes occur, both sides absorb damage, and international diplomacy pushes toward ceasefire and renewed monitoring arrangements.

Another is internal transformation accelerated by crisis. Severe strain fractures elite unity, leading to negotiated political transition. This would be turbulent and unpredictable.

The most dangerous scenario is prolonged regional war — expanding conflict, disrupted energy markets, and broader instability.

The deployment of advanced aircraft, including stealth fighters and potentially strategic bombers, increases both deterrence and risk. When capabilities are visible and ready, the margin for misinterpretation narrows.

Are We on the Brink?

We are in a high-risk period.

Carrier groups within range. Advanced fighters forward-positioned. Tankers staged. Reports of strategic bombers potentially on standby. Nuclear thresholds narrowing. Domestic unrest simmering.

But brinkmanship is not inevitability.

War usually begins when signals are misread or red lines are crossed unintentionally. It ends when costs outweigh objectives.

Right now, the region sits in a tense strategic equilibrium — one where the movement of certain aircraft, especially something as distinctive as a B-2 launch, would be watched worldwide as a potential inflection point.

The pieces are on the board. The question is whether deterrence holds — or whether one decisive move sets everything in motion.

The OSINT Factor: How Open-Source Intelligence Changes the Equation

One of the most fascinating — and often overlooked and possibly destabilizing — elements of any potential U.S.–Israel–Iran confrontation is how visible it would likely be before the first strike ever landed.

We are living in the age of OSINT — open-source intelligence.

Unlike past crises, governments no longer control the full picture of military signaling. A vast ecosystem of independent analysts, aviation enthusiasts, satellite imagery specialists, and defense watchers now tracks global military movements in near real time using publicly available tools.

Commercial satellite constellations photograph airfields daily. Aircraft transponders can sometimes be tracked. Naval movements are scrutinized. Public aviation notices are analyzed. Logistics patterns are compared against historical baselines. Even shifts in publicly observable communication activity can generate speculation about rising operational tempo.

This doesn’t mean classified plans are exposed. Sensitive communications are encrypted. Stealth aircraft are designed to limit detection. Militaries practice deception.

But large-scale force movements are inherently difficult to hide.

If refueling tankers reposition in clusters.
If multiple strategic bombers depart their home bases.
If forward airfields suddenly fill with aircraft silhouettes visible in commercial satellite imagery.
If carrier strike groups adjust posture simultaneously.

Those patterns generate digital ripples.

In previous decades, the public might learn of a strike hours after it occurred. Today, the buildup itself can become part of the story — debated in online forums, mapped by analysts, and interpreted globally before the first missile is launched.

This new transparency cuts both ways.

On one hand, visibility can strengthen deterrence. When deployments are seen, they send signals. Strategic bombers moving toward a theater can serve as warning rather than surprise. The knowledge that actions are being watched may encourage caution.

On the other hand, OSINT can amplify tension. A routine deployment may be interpreted as imminent war. A training exercise may spark speculation. Social media accelerates narratives faster than governments can clarify them.

In a crisis involving Iran, Israel, and the United States, open-source observers would likely be among the first to notice unusual patterns — increased air traffic, aircraft repositioning, surge logistics, or maritime movement. Not because they possess secret intelligence, but because modern military operations leave footprints.

This means any potential escalation would unfold under a global microscope.

Strategic surprise is harder. Narrative control is weaker. Perception becomes part of deterrence.

In that sense, the next Middle East crisis would not only be fought in airspace and cyberspace — it would also be analyzed in real time across thousands of independent screens worldwide.

The Double-Edged Sword of OSINT

While open-source intelligence has made military movements more transparent, it has also created new opportunities for manipulation.

OSINT is powerful precisely because it relies on publicly visible signals — satellite imagery, aircraft tracking, logistics footprints, and observable communications patterns. But those signals can be shaped.

In modern conflict environments, perception is a battlefield.

States understand that independent analysts monitor aircraft deployments, naval movements, and changes in operational tempo. That awareness opens the door to strategic signaling — or strategic deception.

False flags, simulated force buildups, staged aircraft positioning, or deliberately visible movements can all be used to influence an adversary’s calculations. A country might reposition assets not to launch an attack, but to provoke a response. It might allow certain movements to be seen in order to amplify deterrence. In some cases, decoy deployments or misleading communications patterns could be designed to suggest an operation that is not actually imminent.

Information operations now extend beyond traditional propaganda. The goal may not be to convince the public of a specific narrative, but to inject uncertainty into decision-making cycles. If analysts, journalists, and policymakers misinterpret routine maneuvers as imminent strikes, escalation pressure can rise artificially.

At the same time, fabricated imagery, manipulated communications, or falsified tracking data — amplified through social media — can further blur the line between real military preparation and strategic theater.

This creates a paradox:

OSINT increases transparency, but it also increases the volume of signals that must be interpreted — and potentially misinterpreted.

In a high-tension environment like the U.S.–Israel–Iran standoff, perception itself becomes a strategic variable. A cluster of refueling aircraft might signal imminent action — or it might be routine rotation. A surge in communications traffic could reflect operational preparation — or a training cycle.

The danger is not just war. It is miscalculation driven by misinterpretation.

In today’s environment, conflict does not begin only with missiles. It can begin with narratives, signals, and assumptions moving faster than verification.

That reality makes restraint, verification, and careful analysis more important than ever.

Open-source intelligence is powerful — but it is not the same thing as verified intelligence. And one of the biggest mistakes people make is assuming that because something is public and data-driven, it must be accurate.

It’s not that simple.

First, OSINT is built on fragments. A satellite image shows aircraft on a runway — but not why they’re there. A spike in air traffic might indicate surge operations — or routine rotation. A naval movement might signal escalation — or a scheduled exercise. Context is everything, and context is often missing.

Second, timing distorts interpretation. Open-source data often arrives in snapshots. Satellite imagery might be hours or days old. Aircraft tracking data can be incomplete or intentionally masked. By the time something trends on social media, the situation may have already changed. Analysts may be debating yesterday’s reality.

Third, confirmation bias is rampant. People tend to interpret ambiguous signals in ways that confirm their expectations. If someone believes war is imminent, every deployment looks like proof. If someone believes deterrence is holding, the same deployment looks routine. The data rarely speaks for itself — people speak through it.

Fourth, states understand they are being watched. That means visible movements may be signaling, deterrence, deception, or simply bureaucratic routine. Not everything observable is operationally meaningful. Sometimes what is meant to be seen is the message itself.

Fifth, digital manipulation is now part of the landscape. Images can be miscaptioned. Old footage can be recirculated as current. Data can be selectively presented. In high-tension environments, misinformation spreads faster than corrections.

China releases satellite imagery of American military movements. Should we trust the images are real?

When China publicly releases satellite photos of foreign military movements, it’s rarely just about the imagery itself. It’s usually about signaling.

First, it demonstrates capability. By publishing clear images of airfields, carrier groups, or troop deployments, China shows that it can see what’s happening. That visibility sends a message: “You are not operating unseen.” In strategic competition, surveillance capacity is a form of power projection.

Second, it shapes narrative. If satellite imagery is released alongside commentary, it frames how events are interpreted. Instead of allowing Western media or governments to define the story, China can insert its own interpretation into the global information space. The image becomes evidence in a broader geopolitical argument.

Third, it influences deterrence dynamics. Publicly exposing military buildups can serve as a warning — not necessarily to escalate, but to signal awareness and resolve. Transparency, in this context, is strategic. It tells rivals that surprise is unlikely.

Fourth, it appeals to domestic audiences. Demonstrating technological sophistication reinforces national pride and confidence in the state’s capabilities. It supports the narrative that China is a peer competitor with global reach.

Fifth, it complicates diplomacy. When military movements are made highly visible, it increases public pressure on all sides. Leaders may feel constrained by what their populations now see. That can either discourage escalation — because everything is under scrutiny — or harden positions.

There’s also a subtle information warfare dimension. Releasing imagery can blur the line between intelligence and messaging. The act itself becomes part of the geopolitical contest. It may not reveal secrets that weren’t already detectable — commercial satellite firms operate globally — but it changes who controls the framing.

In short, when China publishes military satellite imagery, it’s not just revealing information. It’s participating in strategic signaling, narrative competition, and power demonstration — all without firing a shot.

The image is the message.

The most disciplined way to approach OSINT is probabilistically, not emotionally. Instead of asking, “Is this proof?” ask: What are the plausible explanations? What information is missing? Who benefits from this interpretation? What would change my assessment?

Real intelligence work — whether open-source or classified — is less about dramatic conclusions and more about managing uncertainty.

OSINT is valuable because it widens access to information. But it becomes dangerous when treated as revelation instead of raw input. In today’s environment, skepticism isn’t cynicism. It’s analytical hygiene.

That old line — “the first reports are usually wrong” — exists for a reason.

In fast-moving situations, the earliest information almost always comes from partial visibility. Someone sees smoke, hears an explosion, notices unusual aircraft movement, or spots a social media clip. That initial observation gets posted, amplified, and interpreted before anyone has a full picture.

Speed beats accuracy in the first wave. Early reporting tends to suffer from three structural problems.

First, incomplete data. In the opening minutes of any major event, observers are working with fragments. A single video clip. A blurry image. One sensor feed. But people instinctively try to build a coherent story from incomplete pieces. That story often fills gaps with assumptions.

Second, emotional momentum. When something dramatic happens, the information environment accelerates. Journalists compete to publish first. Analysts compete to interpret first. Social media rewards certainty over caution. The incentive structure pushes toward immediate conclusions rather than careful verification.

Third, narrative gravity. The first explanation often becomes the anchor. Even if later corrections arrive, the initial framing sticks in people’s minds. Psychologists call this anchoring bias. Once an early version of events circulates widely, updates feel like revisions instead of new assessments.

This is especially true in geopolitics and military affairs. If the first reports say “strike,” markets move. If the first posts say “invasion,” panic spreads. If the first interpretation says “retaliation,” escalation narratives take hold.

Later, as more data comes in — satellite imagery, official statements, cross-confirmation from multiple sources — the picture often changes. But by then, the emotional reaction has already happened.

That doesn’t mean early reporting is useless. It means it should be treated as provisional.

The paradox of the modern information age is that we know more, faster — but understanding still takes time.

In high-stakes situations, patience is not passivity. It’s protection against being misled by the fog of the first wave.In volatile situations — whether geopolitical crises, breaking news, or viral claims — it often is a wait-and-see game. That doesn’t mean passivity. It means resisting premature certainty.

Early information creates emotional pressure to conclude something: This is war. This is retaliation. This changes everything. But complex events unfold in layers. Initial signals are often ambiguous. What looks decisive at hour one can look routine at hour twelve.

Waiting serves three purposes: First, corroboration. Independent sources either align or diverge. Patterns emerge. Noise falls away. Second, intent clarification. Governments issue statements. Movements either continue escalating or stabilize. Markets and military postures reveal whether something is structural or symbolic.

Third, narrative correction. The first interpretation often softens once fuller context arrives. A “strike” becomes an “incident.” A “mobilization” becomes an “exercise.” A “collapse” becomes a “temporary disruption.”

In the OSINT era, patience is harder because information arrives constantly. Every new data point feels decisive. But real understanding usually comes from trend lines, not single moments. The discipline is simple but difficult:

Observe without overcommitting. Update assessments as evidence improves. Hold conclusions loosely until patterns solidify. In fast-moving situations, the people who look calm aren’t uninformed — they’re calibrated and calibration almost always requires time.

The Best Outcome:

So, imagine the situation from Iran’s side first. The country is in a tense standoff: nuclear talks have stalled, sanctions are biting, and the shadow of military action is looming. From Iran’s perspective, the best-case scenario isn’t about showing off strength — it’s about staying alive and keeping the country intact. 

That means a deal that allows them to continue civilian nuclear work, get sanctions eased, and restore some normal trade. It’s like Iran is trying to balance on a tightrope: too much defiance, and the U.S. or Israel might strike; too much concession, and hardliners at home get furious. The ideal outcome keeps the economy breathing, gives the leadership some legitimacy, and reduces the chance of bombs falling on cities.

Now, from the U.S. and Israeli side, the picture looks different. Washington doesn’t want a nuclear Iran — or at least, they don’t want one that can quickly make a bomb. So the best outcome for the U.S. is a deal that freezes enrichment, keeps inspectors in, and ensures Iran doesn’t get a breakout capability. Israel’s view is similar but sharper: they want a guarantee that missiles and nuclear material can’t reach their territory. So for them, the dream scenario is a secure, verifiable Iran that can’t threaten Israel, ideally without having to fire a single shot.

Here’s where it gets interesting: the overlap between what Iran wants and what the U.S./Israel wants is smaller than it looks. Both sides want to avoid war, both want some stability, but what Iran considers “enough sovereignty” might look like a loophole to Israel. And what Israel or the U.S. sees as “enough inspection” might feel like an existential threat to Iranian pride.

So the key is communication and credible diplomacy. If Iran can get a deal that lifts sanctions and preserves some dignity, while the U.S. and Israel get security assurances, everyone walks away from the brink. No one looks perfect, but the country survives, the region doesn’t erupt, and the U.S. and Israel avoid a costly war.

On the flip side, if miscalculations happen — one side misreads the other’s resolve, or a small incident sparks retaliation — the consequences could be catastrophic: bombed infrastructure, regional conflict, and domestic chaos in Iran. That’s why analysts keep saying diplomacy is the only realistic lifeline.

In short: Iran’s best hope is a deal that feels like a compromise rather than surrender, while the U.S. and Israel’s best hope is a deal that guarantees security without firing missiles. The sweet spot is narrow, but if they hit it, everyone benefits more than they lose.

Why We Probably Won’t Get Full Disclosure — Even If Trump Talked About It

 
Why We Probably Won’t Get Full Disclosure — Even If Trump Talked About It

By Steve Douglass 

A former president hints aliens are real, and a classified file gets mentioned. A former intelligence official goes on television, and now Donald Trump has promised to declassify all things UAP and suddenly the internet lights up with the same question: Is this it? Is disclosure finally happening?

Donald Trump said more things today, and made promises about transparency.  He didn’t exactly confirm anything — but he didn’t completely dismiss it either. For believers, that was enough to spark hope that a sitting president might finally pull back the curtain.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: even if a president wanted to disclose alien contact, the odds are incredibly slim that we’d see a dramatic, world-shifting announcement.

First, the presidency isn’t a master key to every secret vault in Washington. That may sound surprising, but modern governments are built on layers of compartmentalization. Information tied to advanced aerospace research, classified intelligence programs, or experimental defense systems doesn’t just sit in a neat folder waiting for a curious commander-in-chief. It’s buried in bureaucratic structures designed specifically to limit access. Presidents are powerful, yes — but they operate inside a machine that predates them and outlasts them.

Even if something extraordinary existed, what would “disclosure” actually mean?

Over the past few years, the U.S. government has acknowledged unidentified aerial phenomena. That alone was historic. But “unidentified” doesn’t equal “extraterrestrial.” It means exactly what it says: something was observed that hasn’t been explained. That gap between unexplained and alien is massive. It’s not a small step — it’s a canyon.

There’s also the issue no one likes to talk about: national security. If the government encounters technology it doesn’t understand — whether foreign, experimental, or truly unknown — its first instinct isn’t philosophical curiosity. It’s a defense assessment. Could adversaries replicate it? 

Let's not forget about politics.

Imagine any president walking to a podium and announcing confirmed extraterrestrial contact. The shockwaves wouldn’t just be cultural — they’d be economic, geopolitical, and religious. Markets would swing wildly. Allies would demand briefings. Rivals would question motives. Religious institutions would scramble for theological clarity. Even if humanity handled it better than expected, leaders would still have to consider the risk of being wrong or overpromising based on incomplete data.

That’s not a small gamble.

There’s also a deeper, quieter reality at play. Governments are not single personalities. They are ecosystems. Administrations change, but defense agencies, intelligence officials, and classified oversight structures continue. If there were something monumental being concealed for decades, it wouldn’t hinge on one presidency. It would be embedded in a culture of secrecy that spans generations.

Culturally, we may be imagining disclosure all wrong.

We picture it as a cinematic moment: an Oval Office address, a stunned press corps, a global pause. But historically, paradigm shifts don’t arrive with drumrolls. They creep in. Scientific consensus forms slowly. Data gets verified, then re-verified. Language shifts subtly before the public fully registers what changed.

If extraterrestrial life were confirmed tomorrow, odds are it wouldn’t arrive as a thunderclap. It would look like a gradual normalization of strange data, increasing transparency about unknown phenomena, and cautious scientific framing long before anyone uses the word “alien.”

The fascination isn’t going away. If anything, it’s growing. Advances in space exploration, private aerospace ventures, and new sensor technologies are expanding what we can observe. Curiosity is natural. Wonder is human.

But dramatic disclosure? The kind people imagine — one president revealing the ultimate secret?

That may be the most overlooked part of the entire disclosure conversation.

People tend to imagine a scenario where “those who know” form a tight inner circle — a handful of officials sitting around a polished table, fully aware of the whole extraterrestrial picture, simply choosing silence. It’s a compelling image. It also misunderstands how modern secrecy actually works.

In highly classified environments, information isn’t centralized. It’s fractured on purpose.

Compartmentalization exists to prevent exactly that kind of single-point vulnerability. Programs are divided into pieces. Access is granted strictly on a need-to-know basis. Engineers might understand one component of a propulsion anomaly. Intelligence analysts might see raw sensor data. Contractors might handle materials without knowing origin theories. Oversight committees may receive summaries without operational detail. Each person sees a slice, not the entire pie.

In that kind of structure, the idea that there’s one all-knowing gatekeeper becomes less plausible. The system isn’t built around a grand overseer; it’s built around insulation, and here’s where it gets interesting.

If something extraordinary were buried inside a deeply compartmentalized defense program, no single individual today may hold the entire narrative in their head. Institutional memory shifts as personnel retire, administrations change, and classifications evolve. Documents get redacted, renamed, and reorganized. Even within legitimate black projects, the full architecture can become diffuse over decades.

So when people ask, “Why doesn’t someone just come forward?” they assume there’s someone who has the complete, undeniable, panoramic truth. If there’s any serious internal effort happening, it’s probably not a hunt for “how do we tell the public everything?” It’s more likely a careful excavation of what can be released without compromising national security, and that’s a very different mission.

Inside security institutions, the first filter is always risk. Not curiosity. Not public fascination. Risk. What can be confirmed without exposing sensor capabilities? What can be acknowledged without revealing tracking systems, satellite resolution, radar ranges, or response protocols? What language avoids signaling vulnerability to adversaries?

Even something as simple as saying, “We detected this object at this altitude moving at this speed,” could unintentionally reveal how detection systems function. And that’s valuable intelligence — not just for the public, but for rival governments.

So if information is being reviewed for release, the priority wouldn’t be spectacle. It would be insulation.

You’d likely see teams combing through data, asking questions like:
Can we confirm the event happened?
Can we describe it without describing how we saw it?
Can we release imagery without exposing sensor fidelity?
Can we admit uncertainty without signaling weakness?

That kind of vetting process naturally produces documents that feel cautious, clinical, and heavily redacted. It also explains why official reports tend to stop short of dramatic conclusions. The threshold for saying “we don’t know” is already high. The threshold for saying “we know, and it’s non-human” would be astronomically higher.

And there’s another layer here that people often miss.

Even if analysts privately suspect something extraordinary, suspicion isn’t disclosure-ready evidence. Before anything reaches the public, it would have to survive interagency review, legal scrutiny, political impact analysis, and international implications. Every step favors restraint over revelation.

So yes — the dig would be for releasable information, not for explosive truth.

Information that satisfies oversight requirements.
Information that reassures without destabilizing.
Information that maintains a strategic advantage.

That’s a very narrow window, which means what we’re most likely to see going forward isn’t silence — but controlled transparency. Enough to acknowledge mystery. Not enough to disrupt security, and in a system built to protect first and explain second, that balance will almost always tip toward protection.

But what if there isn’t?

What if what exists instead is a mosaic of partial knowledge — scattered across agencies, contractors, and time periods — none of it clean enough, centralized enough, or personally accessible enough for one dramatic act of revelation?

That possibility changes the tone of the conversation entirely.

It shifts the narrative away from a secret cabal guarding a clear answer, and toward something murkier: a bureaucracy so layered and insulated that even insiders may only glimpse fragments. Not a vault with a single key — but a labyrinth with no central map, and if that’s the case, disclosure wouldn’t be blocked by one person’s decision.

It would be blocked by the structure itself.

That’s probably more myth than imminent reality.

What we’re likely to keep seeing isn’t a dramatic unveiling — it’s sanitized, incremental transparency. Lower-level UAP reports. Declassified summaries. Heavily redacted documents where the most interesting lines are blacked out in the name of “sources and methods, and that makes sense when you look at how governments think.

Over the past few years, agencies have acknowledged unidentified aerial phenomena and even created formal review structures to study them. But notice the pattern: the language is careful. The conclusions are restrained. Technical specifics are limited. When documents are released, large sections are obscured. That’s not necessarily proof of aliens — it’s proof of how security culture works.

Disclosure, in the dramatic sense people imagine, runs directly against the DNA of national security institutions.

Security is built on controlling information. On protecting capabilities. On preventing adversaries from learning what you know — or what you don’t know. Even admitting uncertainty can be strategically sensitive. If an object demonstrates unusual maneuverability, the details of how it was tracked could reveal sensor strengths or weaknesses. If data is ambiguous, exposing it could fuel misinformation or exploitation.

From that perspective, full transparency isn’t just unlikely — it’s structurally contradictory.

Governments disclose when disclosure strengthens stability. They withhold when exposure could weaken it, and unidentified phenomena, by definition, sit in that gray zone of uncertainty.

So instead of a sweeping confirmation, what we may continue to see is this slow drip:

Acknowledgment that something was observed.
Careful phrasing that it remains unexplained.
Technical appendices with strategic sections removed.
Committees formed. Reports issued. Interest sustained.

But never the leap from “unidentified” to “extraterrestrial.”

Because once you cross that line, you’re not just sharing information — you’re reshaping global psychology, and institutions designed around risk mitigation don’t move in leaps like that.

If there’s any serious internal effort happening, it’s probably not a hunt for “how do we tell the public everything?” It’s more likely a careful excavation of what can be released without compromising national security, and that’s a very different mission.

Inside security institutions, the first filter is always risk. Not curiosity. Not public fascination. Risk. What can be confirmed without exposing sensor capabilities? What can be acknowledged without revealing tracking systems, satellite resolution, radar ranges, or response protocols? What language avoids signaling vulnerability to adversaries?

Even something as simple as saying, “We detected this object at this altitude moving at this speed,” could unintentionally reveal how detection systems function. And that’s valuable intelligence — not just for the public, but for rival governments.

So if information is being reviewed for release, the priority wouldn’t be spectacle. It would be insulation.

You’d likely see teams combing through data, asking questions like:
Can we confirm the event happened?
Can we describe it without describing how we saw it?
Can we release imagery without exposing sensor fidelity?
Can we admit uncertainty without signaling weakness?

That kind of vetting process naturally produces documents that feel cautious, clinical, and heavily redacted. It also explains why official reports tend to stop short of dramatic conclusions. The threshold for saying “we don’t know” is already high. The threshold for saying “we know, and it’s non-human” would be astronomically higher.

There’s another layer here that people often miss.

Even if analysts privately suspect something extraordinary, suspicion isn’t disclosure-ready evidence. Before anything reaches the public, it would have to survive interagency review, legal scrutiny, political impact analysis, and international implications. Every step favors restraint over revelation.

So yes — the dig would be for releasable information, not for explosive truth.

Information that satisfies oversight requirements.
Information that reassures without destabilizing.
Information that maintains a strategic advantage.

That’s a very narrow window.

Even if all those hurdles fall one-by-one, there are other, more intangible things to consider, the psychological effect of an entire species coming to grips with the fact that we might be sharing this planet with another, unfathomably advanced, non-human intelligence. 

There’s a profound difference between thinking something might be possible… and standing beneath a sky that no longer behaves the way you thought it did.

A close encounter — something clear, near, undeniably strange — doesn’t just become a story you tell. It becomes a dividing line in your life. There is a before, and there is an after.

Before it happens, reality feels structured. Contained. Even mysteries feel manageable because they sit within accepted boundaries. Aircraft behave like aircraft. Stars behave like stars. Physics is stable. The world makes sense.

Afterward, something fundamental shifts.

It’s not necessarily fear. It’s not even necessarily belief in a specific explanation. It’s the collapse of certainty. The realization that your framework for interpreting the sky — the most constant backdrop of human existence — may be incomplete.

That realization is existential.

You feel smaller, but also more aware. The human story no longer feels sealed inside its own bubble. Possibility expands outward in a way that is both awe-inspiring and destabilizing. You begin asking deeper questions — not because you want to, but because you can’t avoid them. What else is possible? What else do we not understand? How much of reality operates beyond our current models?

And yet, outwardly, life continues. You go to work. You pay bills. You have conversations. But internally, something foundational has shifted. The world feels layered in a way it didn’t before.

Now imagine that shift happening everywhere at once.

Not as rumor, not as debate. Not as blurry footage dissected online, but as a global, undeniable event. The entire planet witnessing something that cannot be comfortably explained away.

That wouldn’t just be news.

It would be a psychological turning point for civilization.

Every culture carries assumptions about humanity’s place in the cosmos. Some religious, some scientific, some philosophical. A confirmed close presence — something unmistakably beyond current human capability — wouldn’t simply add information. It would force a rewrite of those assumptions.

Some people would feel wonder on a scale never experienced before. Others would feel vertigo. If our understanding of physics is incomplete, what else is? If we are not the most advanced intelligence in our environment, what does that mean for power, control, and identity?

Markets would react because uncertainty moves markets. Governments would emphasize calm because stability is their mandate. Scientists would move from speculation to urgent investigation. Religious traditions would interpret, adapt, and integrate.

But underneath all of it would be something deeper: a collective loss of certainty.

When one person has a close encounter, their internal architecture shifts. When billions experience that simultaneously, humanity’s shared architecture shifts.

We would adapt — humans always do. But the adjustment wouldn’t be casual. It would be the most existential recalibration in recorded history. Not necessarily chaotic. Not necessarily catastrophic. But foundational.

That’s why disclosure, if it ever comes in undeniable form, would never be “just information.” It would be transformative. For the individual. For societies. For the species.

And once that door opens — whether for one witness or the entire world — it doesn’t fully close again.

Which means what we’re most likely to see going forward isn’t silence — but controlled transparency. Enough to acknowledge mystery. Not enough to disrupt security, and in a system built to protect first and explain second, that balance will almost always tip toward protection.

If anything ever does emerge, it will likely feel less like a blockbuster movie and more like a slow, almost anticlimactic shift in understanding, and by the time it’s undeniable, it may not even feel shocking — just overdue.

But what about "Disclosure Day" 

Imagine Spielberg right now. He’s spent decades meticulously crafting Disclosure Day, building tension, pacing the drama so that the world collectively gasps at the perfect moment. And now reality is staging its own trailer. Every Trump comment about “interesting things in the skies,” every hint of secret files, is like a spoiler alert flashing in neon: “Coming Soon: Aliens… probably.”

Spielberg must be nervously sipping his Diet Coke, thinking, “I worked thirty years for the suspense… and now Trump’s leaking the climax!” The ultimate cinematic twist — humanity discovering we’re not alone — is suddenly playing out in real life. No slow reveal, no dramatic score, just headlines and late-night talk shows riffing on aliens. Even John Williams can’t score that kind of tension.

And you have to imagine the man’s internal monologue: “I asked for awe, suspense, and wonder… not a live-action spoiler alert starring the President of the United States.”

It’s the kind of irony that makes you laugh, because no matter how much you plan for the perfect reveal, sometimes reality shows up early and says, “Hold my classified file.”

- Steve Douglass 

DID TRUMP JUST CONFORM OBAMA'S ALIENS?

DID TRUMP JUST CONFORM OBAMA'S ALIENS? 

By Steve Douglass 

If you were hoping for a dramatic, Independence Day–style presidential announcement, this wasn’t it. What it was, however, felt like a masterclass in Trump-to-press mischief.

It all started when Barack Obama went on a podcast and casually said something along the lines of, “Aliens are real… but I haven’t seen them.” Now, in context, he was clearly riffing on the vastness of the universe — the whole “statistically, we can’t be alone” idea. But on the internet, context has the lifespan of a fruit fly. Within hours, it turned into: “OBAMA CONFIRMS ALIENS.”

Naturally, reporters later asked Donald Trump for his take.

And this is where it got entertaining.

Instead of swatting the question away with a dry, responsible answer like “I have no information on extraterrestrials,” Trump did what he often does best — he escalated. He said Obama made a “big mistake” and suggested he may have revealed classified information.

Did Barack Obama basically “Trump” Donald Trump — and then force him to raise the ante?

Let’s think about it.

Obama goes on a podcast. He’s relaxed. He’s smiling. Someone asks about aliens. Instead of dodging the question like a nervous CIA intern, he casually says, “They’re real… but I haven’t seen them.”

Boom.

No shouting. No caps lock. No dramatic buildup. Just smooth, confident delivery. The internet explodes. Headlines light up. Conspiracy TikTok goes into overtime. For a brief, beautiful moment, Obama is trending for extraterrestrials.

That’s when Trump gets asked about it.

And here’s where it gets interesting.

Trump could have shrugged it off. He could have said, “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” End of story.

But instead? He escalates.

He says Obama made a “big mistake.” He suggests Obama revealed classified information.

Now we’re not just talking about aliens being statistically plausible. Now we’re talking secret files. Government secrets. Potential cosmic cover-ups. The stakes just went from “space curiosity” to “Area 51 panic.”

That’s the ante being raised.

Obama tossed out a smooth, viral line. Trump responded by turning it into a potential national security scandal. It’s almost like a poker game:

Obama: “Aliens are real.”
Trump: “That was classified.”

Check. Raise.

But then — plot twist — Trump says he doesn’t know if aliens are real.

Which makes the whole thing feel like political improv at its finest. He amplified the drama without committing to the premise. Maximum buzz, minimum confirmation.

So did Obama “Trump” Trump? In a way, yes. He dropped a viral, cool-headed line that dominated the news cycle. And Trump, true to form, didn’t just respond — he doubled the energy and raised the stakes.

It wasn’t about extraterrestrials.

It was about headline gravity.

And if aliens are watching this unfold from deep space, they’re probably taking notes on how Earth politics works: when in doubt, escalate the plot. 

You can almost hear the collective inhale from the press cabin. Pens pause mid-scribble. Eyebrows rise. Somewhere, a producer is already drafting the chyron: “CLASSIFIED ALIEN FILES?”

But here’s the punchline: when Trump was asked directly whether he believes aliens are real, he said he doesn’t know.

That’s it. That’s the twist.

He floated the idea that Obama spilled government secrets about extraterrestrials… and then immediately declined to confirm that extraterrestrials exist.

It’s the political equivalent of saying, “I’m not saying there’s a UFO in the hangar… but someone might have left the hangar door open,” and then walking away while everyone else argues about what you meant.

The whole exchange had the vibe of Trump spotting a shiny object labeled “Alien Controversy” and deciding to spin it just to see what would happen. It generated headlines, kept him in the story, nudged Obama, and left just enough ambiguity to keep cable news panels debating whether Earth has diplomatic relations with Mars.

Was it a serious national security revelation? No.
Was it a playful jab wrapped in dramatic language? Almost certainly.

If aliens are observing us from orbit, they probably logged it as: “Earth leaders continue to communicate primarily through vibes and headlines.”

In the end, no UFO disclosure happened. No spacecraft landed on the White House lawn. It was less “We are not alone” and more “Let’s see how fast this goes viral.” And judging by the reaction, mission accomplished. 

BREAKING: Is the "Dorito" an electromagnetic attack aircraft? Bill Sweetman thinks so.

 Is the "Dorito" an electromagnetic attack aircraft? Bill Sweetman thinks so. 

By Steve Douglass 

For aviation enthusiasts, the story of a mysterious triangular aircraft nicknamed the “Dorito” has been quietly unfolding for more than a decade. Veteran defense writer Bill Sweetman suggests that this is no ordinary plane. According to him, it could be a highly classified U.S. Air Force electromagnetic attack aircraft — a stealthy platform designed not to drop bombs, but to slip deep into enemy airspace and blind radar systems before other aircraft even arrive.

The saga starts back in 2014. Over Kansas, amateur photographer Jeff Templin spotted a single silent triangular aircraft performing sharp S-turns in the night sky. Its straight trailing edge and angular form were unlike anything conventional, hinting at a next-generation black project. Around the same time, over  Amarillo, Texas, this journalist and captured three unusual aircraft in formation, their boomerang-shaped trailing edges making them immediately distinguishable from B‑2 bombers. 

UK photographer Dean Muskett was there too, photographing the same flight. The dual documentation from two experienced observers gave the sighting credibility and made the Amarillo event especially notable. Analysts at the time suggested there were actually two different black aircraft projects in operation: the Texas trio and the lone Kansas triangle, each with its own shape, flight behavior, and sound signature.

Fast forward to today, and the story gains another layer with recent infrared footage from the YouTube channel Uncanny Expeditions. This latest sighting shows a similar triangular aircraft, moving stealthily through the night sky. When Sweetman connects the dots — from the Kansas triangle to the Amarillo formation and now to the Uncanny footage — a clear picture begins to emerge: these are not random anomalies or misidentified B‑2s. They seem to represent a deliberate, ongoing program, possibly aligned with a long-standing USAF concept called Penetrating Stand-In Airborne Electronic Attack. This is a platform built to enter heavily defended airspace and jam or disable enemy radar networks, essentially carving a path for other strike aircraft.

(C) Anders Otteson

The shape of the Dorito itself makes sense for this role. A clean, triangular flying wing maximizes stealth, provides internal space for electronic systems, and keeps radar returns to a minimum. This is not about flashy dogfights or bombs dropping — it’s about subtle, decisive control over the electromagnetic spectrum, quietly shaping the battlefield from the shadows.

Sweetman also draws a parallel with the Navy's A-12 program from the 1960s.  The A-12 Avenger II was a proposed U.S. Navy carrier-based stealth attack jet designed by McDonnell Douglas and General Dynamics in the late 1980s and slated to replace the A-6 Intruder. Known as the "Flying Dorito" for its triangular flying wing shape, the program was cancelled in 1991 due to severe cost overruns, technical challenges, and management issues after spending roughly $5 billion. In January 2014, the long-running litigation concluded with a settlement where the contractors agreed to pay the government $400 million total, a fraction of the $1.35 billion initially sought. Coincidentally, just after the lawsuit is when sightings of triangular aircraft sightings made a dramatic uptick. 

Concept art: A12 Avenger II

It’s worth wondering if the Dorito sightings we’re seeing now might have deeper roots in older black aircraft concepts, potentially going back to projects shelved or classified during the Cold War. One intriguing postulate is that after the Lockheed A-12 program lawsuits and patent disputes were settled, any design concepts or intellectual property that had been tied up might have been unlocked or released internally, giving engineers the green light to move forward with next-generation designs.

If those designs were “frozen” due to legal entanglements, it’s plausible that once the paperwork was cleared, elements of those concepts could have been dusted off, modernized, and incorporated into new triangular aircraft prototypes, like the ones Douglass, Muskett, Ottsen and others have documented.

This would help explain some intriguing aspects of the sightings:

• The consistency of the triangular planform across multiple sightings and decades, reminiscent of the A-12’s stealth-focused design.

• The presence of different aircraft variations — a trio over Amarillo and a lone triangle over Kansas — which could reflect different derivatives of a common conceptual family.

• The long gestation period: black projects often incubate for years before flying publicly, so something seen now could have roots in decades-old ideas.

In short, the Dorito might not just be a brand-new concept; it could be the modern evolution of triangle-based stealth designs first imagined during the A-12 era, finally made possible by modern materials, sensors, and electronic warfare requirements.

It’s speculative, but it fits the pattern: decades of triangular designs, multiple sightings, and the slow, stealthy emergence of a program that’s long been under wraps

Taken together, the pattern is compelling. From the Kansas triangle to the Amarillo formation, and now to the infrared footage from Uncanny Expeditions, the evidence paints a picture of a stealthy, sophisticated aircraft that might not drop bombs but could decisively switch off an enemy’s sensors before a fight even begins. It’s subtle, it’s secretive, and if Sweetman is right, it could be a game-changer in how the U.S. Air Force conducts modern air warfare.