The terror attacks on New York and Washington on Sept. 11, 2001, changed the lives of all Americans — few more so than the millions who have participated in the two major wars that followed the attacks. For a few tens of thousands of Americans, the wars even created essentially brand-new careers by massively expanding demand for what were once obscure, niche fields. Drone pilot, ground-robot wrangler, bomb hunter and other military and civilian specialties ... these are the jobs that barely existed on Sept. 10, 2001. Robot Squadmate In 2001, the U.S. military possessed just a few ground robots that it used for bomb disposal. A decade later, it has literally thousands, ranging from experimental four-legged Big Dog robo-mules and driverless ATVs to rugged wheeled and tracked recon automatons, in additional to the traditional bomb-bots. One of the earliest post-9/11 ground robots actually had its "combat" debut at ground zero in New York in the days following al-Qaida's attack. Robot-maker sent in one of its PackBots — basically a lawnmower-size tank with an articulated arm and a couple cameras — to help search for survivors. The smaller Multi-Function Agile Remote-Controlled Robot, or "MARCbot" (pictured) is essentially a remote-controlled toy truck meant for combat. Brookings Institution analyst Peter Singer, author of Wired for War, recalls one Army unit that strapped mines to its MARCbots -- and used them as robotic suicide-bombers against enemy ambushers. "Of course, each discovered insurgent meant $5,000 worth of blown-up robot parts, but so far the Army hasn’t billed the soldiers," Singer wrote. Efforts to form official man-robot combat squads faltered. The Army sent three armed Special Weapons Observation Reconnaissance Detection System, or SWORDS, to Iraq in 2007. The ATV-size, tracked, machine-gun-equipped SWORDS were meant to patrol, with a soldier controlling the 'bot from a safe distance using a handheld terminal. But the Army didn't trust the SWORDS squads to avoid killing the wrong people, and kept them confined to base. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

Warplane Whisperer Before the U.S. invasions in Afghanistan and Iraq, ground and air forces fought what were essentially separate wars, each trying its best to stay out of the other's way. But after 9/11, badly outnumbered U.S. ground forces desperately needed the close support of fighters, bombers and drones. GPS and satellite communications made possible unprecedented coordination, and helped boost a brand-new career field: the Air Force Joint Terminal Air Controller, or JTAC. Now thousands strong, they're the "warplane whisperers," accompanying the Army, Marines and Special Forces into battle, translating the chaos of close-quarters battle into specific instructions for pilots and drone controllers. Hit this, don't hit that. Use this bomb, don't use that one. "If I'm doing my job, it means the shit has hit the fan," said Staff Sgt. Kevin Rosner, a JTAC in eastern Afghanistan. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

Online Combat Cartoonist The terror attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, not only changed the way we wage war — it changed how we depict war, too. A generation of young reporters weened on comic books brought their graphic sensibilities to war correspondence, while the military turned to comics as a communications tool and therapy aid. The result is a genre of war comics that arguably began in the 1990s with Joe Sacco, but truly blossomed after 9/11. Ted Rall's war memoir To Afghanistan and Back was first. Sacco himself contributed a short tale about Iraq. I added two comic books of my own, War Fix and War is Boring, while Anthony Lappe imagined an endless Iraq conflict in Shooting War, and Matt Bors toured the war-torn Afghan countryside. Meanwhile, the Pentagon discovered that comics could help introduce trainees to the duties of a combat medic, and provide a therapeutic outlet for survivors of war trauma. U.S. forces teamed up with Afghan commandos to hand out crude propaganda comics (pictured) portraying the commandos as heroic protectors of Afghan security. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

Improvised-Bomb Hunter To attack heavily defended, highly trained U.S. forces, insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan unleashed a decade-long barrage of improvised bombs: 1,300 a month in Afghanistan alone, as of this spring. Improvised explosive devices are the biggest killers of U.S. troops in both wars. To beat the insurgent bombers, the U.S. and its allies mobilized a huge force of counterbomb specialists, from "route-clearance" patrols trained to spot bombs on roads to explosive-ordnance disposal techs who can defuse the devices themselves. These fearless men and women, tens of thousands in all, ride in special armored vehicles, sometimes wear bizarre armored suits and command an incredible array of robots, supersecret sensors and even bomb-sniffing dogs. But mostly, they're just skilled ... and patient. "We’re slow and methodical,” said Capt. Brandon Drobenak, commander of a route-clearance unit in Afghanistan. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

War-Zone Community Organizer The Pentagon quickly discovered that firepower alone couldn't win the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. A smarter approach was needed — one that blended combat action with economic development and governance reform. Think of 'em as the rough wartime equivalent of community organizers. Soldiers and Marines were ill-equipped for these "softer" tasks. So the State Department, the Department of Agriculture, the Army Corps of Engineers and even the Drug Enforcement Agency, among other nonmilitary agencies, mobilized thousands of bureaucrats, slapped on helmets and body armor, and dropped them into the war zones. Take Ron Barkley, an experienced State Department diplomat. He arrived in the troubled Baraki Barak district of Afghanistan's Logar province in 2009. With the help of a small team, Barkley rebuilt the district's government from the ground up over a period of two years. Departing in early 2011, he left behind one of eastern Afghanistan's most prosperous and lawful districts. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

CSI Kandahar Every one of the ten thousands of bombs that insurgents have detonated in Iraq and Afghanistan over the last decade is unique. Tracking down the bombers' support networks requires careful investigative work, sifting through bomb shards, cratered earth and even body parts — like a far nastier, battlefield edition of CSI. That's the job of the U.S. military's expanding forensics corps, pictured collecting chunks of flesh from a suicide bomber in Iraq in 2005. Using DNA sampling, blast-pattern analysis, money trails and tips from informants, the blast investigators strive to move "left of boom," understanding bomber networks so that the military can dismantle them before they launch more attacks. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

Killer-Drone Pilot Between 2001 and 2011, the U.S. military's arsenal of aerial drones expanded more than 1,000 times, from just a tiny number of 27-foot-long Predators to some 5,000 flying 'bots ranging from hand-launched Ravens to Global Hawks the size of airliners. And the robot air force isn't done growing. The Pentagon anticipates doubling it over the next three decades. Some are spies. Some are attackers. The one thing all these drones have in common is that somewhere on the ground, a team of human pilots and sensor operators guides their actions, while mechanics keep them fit for duty. It can take 80 or more people to support one four-drone Predator patrol. In that sense, unmanned aircraft are "anything but that," said Air Force Gen. Norton Schwartz. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

Human-Terrain Social Scientist The idea looked great on paper. In 2005, a Harvard social scientist named Montgomery McFate proposed sending academics like her to Iraq and Afghanistan to help U.S. troops understand the cultures of their allies and enemies. “What you’re trying to do is understand the people’s interests, because whoever is more effective at meeting the interests of the population will be able to influence it,” McFate said. With strong support from the Pentagon, McFate recruited scores of so-called "human terrain" social scientists and rushed them into combat. The results were mixed. Three social scientists died in attacks. Turnover was high amid opposition from the academic community. The Army discovered that its own soldiers could do much of the same work, given adequate training. Today, the Human Terrain System maintains a lower profile. But its war-zone researchers are still out there, risking their lives for a little knowledge. Photo: David Axe/Wired.com

Prosthesis Chopper Prosthetic limbs are nothing new. But before the last five years or so, they amounted to little more than hinged, rigid posts with hooks or shoes on their ends. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan changed all that. More than a thousand battlefield amputations and billions of dollars in Veterans Affairs funding opened a floodgate of innovation. Today prosthesis designers can "chop" increasingly sophisticated artificial limbs just as you would a custom motorcycle, modifying the limb for the wearer's unique shape and needs. The socket can be molded around the residual organic limb using a kind of flexible plastic, resulting in a firmer, more comfortable fit. The joints, designed around tiny computer "brains" and adjustable servos, can be programmed to flex according to the wearer's unique gait. The result is better quality of life for amputee service members and, for some, a return to military duty with artificial limbs that are amazingly close to natural ones. But Hugh Herr, an MIT prosthesis designer who wears two artificial legs of his own, is looking beyond even that. "The even longer-term goal is to beat nature," Herr told Danger Room. "It's been done in many many areas except robotics. In this century, we're going to fundamentally change human capability." Photo: David Axe/Wired.com