In “On Friends and Firefights,” Schilling recalls feeling too tired during the battle to empathize with a Somali man he saw cradling his dead granddaughter. Photo courtesy of Dan Schilling/Instagram. The armored door that saved Schilling’s life in Mogadishu, now on display at the Combat Control Museum. The armored door he installed before the mission stopped several bullets intended for him. Schilling narrowly escaped death several times before the fight was over. As the convoy of humvees and trucks attempted to make their way to the downed Black Hawks, casualties mounted and ammunition ran low until the group was eventually forced to return to base. On that fateful October morning in 1993, Schilling found himself in the rescue vehicle convoy, where he was exposed to some of the battle’s heaviest fighting. On top of being lethal versions of air traffic controllers, they’re all SCUBA, airborne, and HALO certified, making them some of the most versatile and deadly operators in America’s arsenal. They can infiltrate some of the most non-permissive environments and deliver devastating firepower. Operating on the ground, the lesser-known Air Force members direct fire-control from myriad aircraft. The book’s final chapter - “On Friendships and Firefights” - is Schilling’s own recollection of the battle. He was one of just four Combat Controllers involved in Operation Gothic Serpent. Schilling’s writing career kicked off in 2004 with The Battle of Mogadishu, a collection of firsthand accounts of the daylong firefight. It’s here that Schilling does most of his writing.
BAREFOOT SITTING ON CLOUDS PATCH
He’s personally invested in the small patch of the Wasatch Mountains he now calls home. “Snowbird’s done a really amazing job with preserving the integrity of the canyon here,” he says. He’s meticulous about its preservation, picking up the tiniest pieces of trash he finds along the route to the summit. “There’s not as much snow as there should be this time of year, but this weather is still perfect.” Schilling unofficially adopted Little Cottonwood Canyon as his own when he moved to nearby Draper. Beautiful,” he says, pointing to a wide basin across the draw from us with one set of ski tracks still visible in the snow.
BAREFOOT SITTING ON CLOUDS MAC
Photo by Mac Caltrider/Coffee or Die Magazine. Schilling at home in the Wasatch Mountains, May 28. That’s when skis aren’t enough of a thrill, so you strap on a parachute and combine the two extreme sports into a single, adrenaline-pumping method of descending mountains. He spends nearly every day either hiking, skiing, or speed riding - his favorite. In a climb toward his goal of becoming a New York Times bestselling author, he’s published three books since 2004, including Alone at Dawn : Medal of Honor Recipient John Chapman and the Untold Story of the World’s Deadliest Special Operations Force. After initially balking at the idea of writing that book, preferring to focus on writing fiction, Schilling accepted the responsibility of telling the story of the Air Force Combat Controller who was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for actions in Afghanistan in 2002.įive years after retiring from the Air Force as a lieutenant colonel, Schilling hasn’t slowed down. Now, when he isn’t challenging himself or stirring up adrenaline in the great outdoors, Schilling devotes his unending energy to writing books. Schilling served as an Air Force Special Tactics Officer and, before that, a Combat Controller - in other words, as one of the deadliest warriors in the world. After spending half of his life operating in some of the most austere environments in the world, he’s comfortable being uncomfortable. Schilling’s 30 years in special operations are evident in the ease with which he ascends the steep path. With that, we step off to climb 11,000 feet through snowbanks and loose granite, because that’s how the soft-spoken author likes to relax. These views never get old,” he says, cinching his pack-straps tight and turning with a smile. At nearly 60, Schilling’s white hair shows his age, but his high energy suggests he’s anything but old.
His white pickup matches his long hair and beard, camouflaging him against the snowy, late-spring Utah landscape. He grabs his ruck - packed with snowshoes and hiking poles - from the back seat and shuts the truck door. The sun has barely crested the snowcapped peaks of “his canyon” when Dan Schilling pulls into the back lot of Snowbird ski resort.
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