A Secret SEAL Raid on North Korea Went Sideways — and Killed Civilians

In early 2019, a small team from SEAL Team 6 slipped out of a nuclear sub, rode mini-subs through 40-degree water, and swam toward a rocky North Korean shore. The mission—personally greenlit by President Trump—was as audacious as it gets: plant a covert device to intercept Kim Jong-un’s communications during high-stakes nuclear talks. If it worked, Washington would gain a rare window into Pyongyang’s thinking. If it didn’t, the fallout could be catastrophic.

It didn’t.

US spy agencies had a tool they believed could tap Kim’s comms. The catch: someone had to put it on the ground inside one of the world’s most surveilled, hostile states. Red Squadron of SEAL Team 6 trained for months. No drones, no live video, almost no comms—anything overhead would be spotted. The team would operate nearly blind, relying on satellite snapshots and pattern-of-life guesses about local boat traffic.

Two mini-subs crept to a designated point and parked on the seafloor. In the dark, one overshot and had to turn around—putting the subs nose-to-nose instead of aligned. With time tight, the swimmers pushed on. Then a small North Korean boat appeared, flashlights sweeping the water.

From the mini-subs’ viewpoint below, the boat seemed distant. From the beach, it looked on top of them. With radios silent, the shore team made a split-second call: they opened fire.

After seconds of gunfire, the North Koreans aboard were dead. Post-contact checks suggested they were unarmed civilians, likely shellfish divers—not patrol forces. The mission was blown.

Per the plan, any contact meant an immediate abort. The SEALs hid the evidence as best they could, swam back to the mini-subs, and sent a distress signal. The mothership risked shallow water to retrieve them, then sprinted for the open ocean. US satellites soon spotted a surge in North Korean military activity along the coast. Publicly, Pyongyang said nothing.

The device was never planted.

The operation has never been acknowledged by Washington or Pyongyang. According to people familiar with the mission, key congressional overseers weren’t notified before or after, an omission experts say may violate the spirit—if not the letter—of notification laws for especially consequential covert actions. Internal reviews under both administrations remained classified; the Biden Pentagon later briefed select lawmakers.

Special Operations live off precision and surprise. They also fail—sometimes spectacularly—when fog and friction overwhelm even elite units. Here, a no-ISR, no-comms profile magnified tiny errors into an international crisis risk. The episode also reflects a broader pendulum swing: tighter reins on commando raids late in the Obama years; a faster trigger under Trump; renewed scrutiny under Biden.

The Hanoi summit came and went with no deal. North Korea resumed tests and has since expanded its arsenal. The mission’s promise—a direct line into Kim’s inner circle—vanished the moment civilians died on a dark sea.

The lesson is stark: intelligence bonanzas that require boots on an enemy’s beach demand more than bravado. They demand redundancy, real-time eyes, and a political plan for when things go wrong—because sometimes, they do.

With input from the New York Times and CNN.