Conflict-desert-storm May 2026

They were Alpha-Two, a small wedge of Delta Force—or SAS, depending on who was telling the story—driven deep behind Iraqi lines during the opening days of .

Foley didn't say much. He just shouldered his rifle and moved toward a high ridge. A few moments later, his voice came through: "I’ve got eyes on the site. Two tanks guarding the perimeter. Guard patrols are tight." conflict-desert-storm

"Jones, you're with me for the charges. Connors, find a spot to lay down covering fire if things go south," Bradley ordered. They were Alpha-Two, a small wedge of Delta

The squad moved like a single organism. While Foley picked off the tower guards with silent efficiency, Bradley and Jones crawled through the sand, avoiding the sweeping searchlights that cut through the desert night. They reached the first mobile launcher, the massive SCUD missile looking like a white ghost in the moonlight. Suddenly, a flare hissed into the sky. A few moments later, his voice came through:

The air filled with the chaotic symphony of war: the sharp crack of Foley’s sniper rifle, the heavy chatter of the machine gun, and the desperate shouts of Iraqi soldiers scrambling to their posts. Bradley didn't panic. He focused on Jones, who was rapidly wiring the detonator. "Done! Move out!" Jones yelled.