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The squad fell back, leapfrogging under the cover of smoke grenades as the desert behind them erupted into a pillar of orange flame. The SCUD launcher was gone.

"We're made!" Connors roared, his M60 beginning its rhythmic thumping. conflict-desert-storm

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 . The squad fell back, leapfrogging under the cover

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. They were Alpha-Two, a small wedge of Delta

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."

The heat in the Kuwaiti desert wasn't just a physical weight; it was a living thing that pressed against Sgt. John Bradley’s lungs as he adjusted his gear. He looked at the three men around him—Foley, the calm sniper who had nearly been lost in an Iraqi prison; Connors, the heavy weapons specialist currently checking the belt on his M60; and Jones, the squad’s engineer and medic, who was busy double-checking their C4 charges.

"Jones, you're with me for the charges. Connors, find a spot to lay down covering fire if things go south," Bradley ordered.