The 38 Minutes That Defined a Generation of Warriors
An anniversary reflection on leadership, courage, and the unrecorded heroism of Desert Storm
Thirty-five years ago, in the predawn darkness of February 24, 1991, American soldiers prepared to do what they had trained relentlessly to accomplish: breach the enemy defenses of the Iraqi 48th Infantry Division and execute the ground offensive of Operation Desert Storm. Through a landscape obscured by oil fires and blowing sand, Team C, Task Force 2-16 Infantry of the Big Red One, stood poised to assault fortified positions defended by minefields, wire obstacles, anti-tank weapons, and artillery.
These were young Americans, most barely out of their teens. The mission was unambiguous: breach, destroy, and continue the attack. Failure was not an option.
I commanded Team C that morning. What unfolded in the hours that followed, particularly during 38 decisive minutes, has haunted and humbled me ever since, through another war and across the decades that separate us from that moment. This anniversary compels me to reflect not on my role, but on the extraordinary soldiers whose courage and skill went largely unrecorded by history, witnessed only by those of us who were there.
Gregory Fontenot’s “The First Infantry Division and the US Army Transformed, Road to Victory in Desert Storm” provides a clinically precise, analytical breakdown of the Big Red One’s and specific unit actions:
“When TF 2-16 INF entered the 48th ID sector, it immediately made contact with active defenses. At 9:11 AM CPT Scott Rutter’s Team C identified trenches and bunkers supported by at least three dug-in armored vehicles; he called in artillery and maneuvered to their rear. One of his Bradley’s destroyed an Iraqi armored vehicle with an anti-tank missile at a range of more than 2500 meters out. The other two armored vehicles fled east. Team C continued to close the range engaging the defending infantry with both artillery, tanks and Bradleys. At 9:22 AM Rutter lifted artillery and ordered his troops into the assault. The attached Vulcan air defense artillery platoon let loose with their 20-millimeter Gatling guns in support of the attacking infantry. The infantry completed clearing bunkers and trench lines on foot covered by “over the shoulder” direct fire from the Bradleys. Rutter’s team cleared complex defensive earth-works covering an area some one hundred by four hundred meters from flank to rear. The fight was over at 9:49 AM.”
Between 9:11AM and 9:49 AM, just 38 minutes, my soldiers executed a combined arms assault that broke the enemy’s will to fight and opened the door for the continued advance. What the historical record doesn’t capture is this: at 9:22 AM, when I lifted artillery and ordered my troops into the assault, I was forward with them, because that’s where a leader belongs when asking soldiers to face the ultimate test. The historical record captures the tactical sequence but cannot convey the raw intensity of those minutes: the thunder of 20mm Vulcan cannons tearing through fortified positions, the acrid smoke of burning vehicles, the weight of split second decisions that determined who lived and who died, or the extraordinary courage of infantry soldiers clearing enemy bunkers one by one, never knowing what awaited in the next fighting position.
There were no reporters embedded with Team C that morning. No cameras captured Bradley Fighting Vehicles charging through enemy fire. No film crews recorded dismounted infantry soldiers advancing on foot through that same fire, moving toward fortified positions with nothing but their rifles and their courage. No journalists documented the faces of young soldiers as they dismounted and moved bunker to bunker, trench line to trench line, clearing enemy fighters at close range. No photographers captured their commander moving forward with them into the breach. The magnitude of their heroism went unrecorded except in official reports and in the memories of those who were there.
But I was there. I saw it. And I will never forget.
What troubles me most about military narratives is what they leave out: the individual acts of courage that never make the headlines, the young leaders making life or death decisions with clarity under fire, the absolute trust between soldiers that makes such operations possible. We speak easily of “combined arms operations” and “violence of action,” but these sanitized terms obscure the human reality: the fear overcome, the responsibility borne, and the physical courage required to close with and destroy an enemy fighting for survival.
These soldiers performed with a level of skill and professionalism that still moves me decades later. They executed textbook tactics not in a training scenario but against a determined enemy, under the most demanding conditions imaginable. Their discipline, courage, and aggressive fighting spirit exemplified everything that has defined the Big Red One since World War I.
And these 38 minutes, as decisive as they were, represented just the beginning. Over the next 72 hours, Team C and the entire Task Force 2-16 Infantry would engage in assault after assault, encounter after encounter, as we drove deep into enemy territory. Each engagement demanded the same courage, the same split-second decisions, the same physical and moral courage from soldiers who had already proven themselves but were asked to do it again, and again, and again. The initial breach operation was merely the opening chapter of three days of continuous combat operations, each presenting its own challenges, its own tests of will and skill. Those who focus solely on the opening minutes of the ground war miss the sustained excellence, the relentless pressure these soldiers maintained as they continued the attack hour after hour, day after day, never knowing when the next enemy position would materialize through the smoke and sand.
The lessons learned that morning, and throughout those 72 hours, lessons learned while leading from the front alongside these warriors, became the foundation for everything that followed in my career. When I returned to combat as commander of Task Force 2-7 Infantry during Operation Iraqi Freedom I, I carried those lessons forward, leading from the front once again, sustained by what those Team C soldiers had taught me about leadership, preparation, and the capabilities of well-trained American soldiers under fire. They taught me that soldiers will follow leaders who share their risks, who are present in the decisive moments, and who lead by example rather than from safety.
Yet as we commemorate such anniversaries, I’m compelled to ask: What does this history teach us beyond military circles?
It speaks, I believe, to the extraordinary things ordinary Americans can accomplish when properly trained, led, and entrusted with responsibility. Most of those soldiers were teenagers with high school diplomas, yet they demonstrated tactical sophistication, moral courage, and split-second judgment that would be remarkable at any age. They had been given difficult, dangerous work and told it mattered. They had leaders who trained them relentlessly then trusted them completely, and who stood beside them when it counted most. They rose to the challenge with a competence that still astounds me.
It also reminds us that the most significant moments in any conflict, the moments that determine outcomes and save lives, often occur far from cameras and reporters, witnessed only by the participants themselves. History remembers the broad strokes, but the fine details, the human details, those fade unless someone who was there takes the time to remember them.
What troubles me most about military narratives is what they leave out: the individual acts of courage that never make the headlines, the young leaders making life or death decisions with clarity under fire, the absolute trust between soldiers that makes such operations possible.
Thirty-five years later, I remain profoundly humbled to have commanded these soldiers in combat. The privilege of leading Americans in battle, first in Desert Storm and later in Operation Iraqi Freedom, has been the defining honor of my life. What I witnessed, the unbelievable acts of courage, the selfless service, the unwavering commitment to mission and to each other, remains seared into my soul.
To every soldier who served in Team C that day, and to all who fought through those critical hours of Desert Storm: You exemplified everything best about the American soldier. You prepared me to lead again when our nation called. Your courage demands to be remembered, even if no cameras were there to record it.
History may forget the details. I never will.
No Mission Too Difficult, No Sacrifice Too Great. Duty First.
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