On May 10, 2025, ten soldiers from the New York Army National Guard’s 101st Expeditionary Signal Battalion were awarded the Purple Heart at the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor in New Windsor, New York. These honors were bestowed in recognition of injuries sustained during a drone attack on January 28, 2024, at Tower 22, a U.S. military outpost in Jordan.
The Mission at Tower 22
Tower 22 isn’t the sort of place that shows up on a tourist brochure. Perched in the far northeastern corner of Jordan, it sits quietly but tensely near the intersection of three volatile nations—Jordan, Syria, and Iraq. The base is about six miles from the Iraqi border and nestled in the Rukban region, a harsh stretch of desert that’s more known for its strategic headaches than scenic vistas. You’d need to squint hard at a satellite map to find it, but make no mistake—Tower 22 is a nerve center in the ongoing shadow war in the Middle East.
So, what’s Uncle Sam doing out there in the sandblasted backlands? For starters, Tower 22 was born out of necessity—part of the larger U.S.-led campaign to grind the Islamic State into dust. Since ISIS kicked off its brutal caliphate dreams in 2014, Tower 22 has played a supporting role in keeping those dreams dead. It’s a linchpin for U.S. special operations and coalition efforts just across the border in Syria, where the fight against terror isn’t so much over as it is evolving.
One of its main jobs is backing up the Al-Tanf garrison—a lonely U.S. outpost just 15 to 20 clicks north in Syria. Al-Tanf is like a splinter in Iran’s side, planted along a key highway connecting Tehran to Damascus. That highway doubles as a smuggling route for weapons heading to Hezbollah and other Iranian proxy goons. Tower 22 provides Al-Tanf with logistical and air support, making sure supplies, reinforcements, and eyeballs in the sky keep flowing.
But it’s not all about Syria. Tower 22 also helps bolster Jordan’s border security. The U.S. has spent the better part of a decade beefing up Jordan’s defenses to keep militants from slipping across the Syrian and Iraqi borders. Our troops help watch the wire, provide training, and keep the region’s chaos from spilling into one of our most reliable Middle Eastern allies. The Jordanians may not openly broadcast that they’re hosting us, but make no mistake—they value the stability our presence brings.
Roughly 350 American personnel call Tower 22 home, including both Army and Air Force units. They’re not there kicking in doors or hunting insurgents in the night—they’re engineers, logistics crews, aviation teams, and security forces. Think of them as the scaffolding that holds the whole regional mission together. Without their work, outposts like Al-Tanf would be left twisting in the wind.
Zoom out, and you’ll see Tower 22 for what it really is: a vital cog in America’s broader Middle Eastern machinery. Jordan hosts around 3,000 U.S. troops in total, quietly supporting operations that the public rarely hears about. These aren’t headline-grabbing deployments, but they matter. They’re the unseen backbone of missions that keep terror cells from reconstituting and push back against the ambitions of Iranian proxy networks.
In plain terms, Tower 22 exists because the job isn’t done. ISIS might not control territory anymore, but their fighters are still lurking, and Iran’s shadow war isn’t taking any days off. Tower 22 keeps the lights on, the fuel flowing, and the good guys in the fight. It’s quiet, it’s dangerous, and it’s about as far from comfortable as you can get—but it’s necessary. And for the troops stationed there, every sunrise is a reminder that stability in the region doesn’t come easy. It’s earned, one watch shift at a time.
On May 10, 2025, ten soldiers from the New York Army National Guard’s 101st Expeditionary Signal Battalion were awarded the Purple Heart at the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor in New Windsor, New York. These honors were bestowed in recognition of injuries sustained during a drone attack on January 28, 2024, at Tower 22, a U.S. military outpost in Jordan.
The Mission at Tower 22
Tower 22 isn’t the sort of place that shows up on a tourist brochure. Perched in the far northeastern corner of Jordan, it sits quietly but tensely near the intersection of three volatile nations—Jordan, Syria, and Iraq. The base is about six miles from the Iraqi border and nestled in the Rukban region, a harsh stretch of desert that’s more known for its strategic headaches than scenic vistas. You’d need to squint hard at a satellite map to find it, but make no mistake—Tower 22 is a nerve center in the ongoing shadow war in the Middle East.
So, what’s Uncle Sam doing out there in the sandblasted backlands? For starters, Tower 22 was born out of necessity—part of the larger U.S.-led campaign to grind the Islamic State into dust. Since ISIS kicked off its brutal caliphate dreams in 2014, Tower 22 has played a supporting role in keeping those dreams dead. It’s a linchpin for U.S. special operations and coalition efforts just across the border in Syria, where the fight against terror isn’t so much over as it is evolving.
One of its main jobs is backing up the Al-Tanf garrison—a lonely U.S. outpost just 15 to 20 clicks north in Syria. Al-Tanf is like a splinter in Iran’s side, planted along a key highway connecting Tehran to Damascus. That highway doubles as a smuggling route for weapons heading to Hezbollah and other Iranian proxy goons. Tower 22 provides Al-Tanf with logistical and air support, making sure supplies, reinforcements, and eyeballs in the sky keep flowing.
But it’s not all about Syria. Tower 22 also helps bolster Jordan’s border security. The U.S. has spent the better part of a decade beefing up Jordan’s defenses to keep militants from slipping across the Syrian and Iraqi borders. Our troops help watch the wire, provide training, and keep the region’s chaos from spilling into one of our most reliable Middle Eastern allies. The Jordanians may not openly broadcast that they’re hosting us, but make no mistake—they value the stability our presence brings.
Roughly 350 American personnel call Tower 22 home, including both Army and Air Force units. They’re not there kicking in doors or hunting insurgents in the night—they’re engineers, logistics crews, aviation teams, and security forces. Think of them as the scaffolding that holds the whole regional mission together. Without their work, outposts like Al-Tanf would be left twisting in the wind.
Zoom out, and you’ll see Tower 22 for what it really is: a vital cog in America’s broader Middle Eastern machinery. Jordan hosts around 3,000 U.S. troops in total, quietly supporting operations that the public rarely hears about. These aren’t headline-grabbing deployments, but they matter. They’re the unseen backbone of missions that keep terror cells from reconstituting and push back against the ambitions of Iranian proxy networks.
In plain terms, Tower 22 exists because the job isn’t done. ISIS might not control territory anymore, but their fighters are still lurking, and Iran’s shadow war isn’t taking any days off. Tower 22 keeps the lights on, the fuel flowing, and the good guys in the fight. It’s quiet, it’s dangerous, and it’s about as far from comfortable as you can get—but it’s necessary. And for the troops stationed there, every sunrise is a reminder that stability in the region doesn’t come easy. It’s earned, one watch shift at a time.
The Attack Unfolds
On the cold desert morning of January 28, 2024, hell arrived slow and low over the sand. Tower 22 was caught flat-footed. A drone packed with explosives, flown in by the Islamic Resistance in Iraq (an Iranian-backed Shia militia with a grudge and some GPS know-how), crept toward the base under the radar. It slipped in right as a U.S. reconnaissance drone was returning to base, making the perfect smokescreen for disaster.
In a twist of tragic irony, the base’s air defense system had its automatic response features shut off to avoid shooting down our own drone. That left Tower 22 wide open. Despite warnings from both intel reports and militia chatter online about a potential strike, the base stayed on cruise control.
At about 5:30 a.m., while most of the 350 troops stationed there were still racked out in their bunks, the drone punched through the morning calm and slammed into a six-person housing unit. The explosion was devastating. Three Army National Guard soldiers—young men who didn’t expect their last breath would come in that godforsaken corner of the world—were killed instantly. As many as 47 others were wounded, some reports putting the number of injured north of 100. It was the deadliest attack on U.S. forces in the region since the Gaza war reignited in October 2023.
The reaction from Washington came quickly. President Joe Biden called the attack “despicable” and promised swift retaliation. On February 2, the U.S. military answered with a barrage of airstrikes against Iranian proxy sites in Syria and Iraq. But while the bombs dropped and press releases flowed, the glaring holes in our defense setup at Tower 22 became impossible to ignore.
Investigations into the attack laid bare a laundry list of failures. The base was undermanned. Leadership was disorganized, and no one seemed to be holding the reins tight. Worse yet, Tower 22 didn’t have kinetic defenses—no guns, no missiles, nothing to shoot a drone out of the sky. They were leaning on electronic warfare systems to jam or mislead incoming drones, but against a determined attacker flying low and quiet, it just wasn’t enough.
This was more than just a lucky shot by some ragtag militia. It was part of a broader, coordinated campaign by Iranian-backed groups to bleed U.S. forces in the region. And with America backing Israel in its fight against Hamas, the gloves came off. Groups like the Islamic Resistance in Iraq saw an opportunity to strike while we were spread thin and distracted. They took it—and we paid for it.
The Tower 22 attack was a gut punch, a wake-up call wrapped in shrapnel. It showed how cheap tech and asymmetric tactics can punch through a U.S. outpost if the defenses aren’t sharp, alert, and ready to go. It also proved that in modern warfare, the enemy doesn’t need an air force—they just need a drone, some explosives, and an opening.
In the end, this wasn’t just about one drone or one militia. It was about complacency, overstretch, and underestimation. Tower 22 was left exposed, and three American lives were lost as a result. If there’s any justice to be squeezed from the rubble, it’s that the Pentagon is now reevaluating how we defend our forward operating bases, especially in places where the enemy is invisible until it’s too late.
Honoring the Brave
The recent Purple Heart ceremony was attended by military leaders, including Lt. Col. Darren Ketchum, commander of the 101st Expeditionary Signal Battalion, and Major General Raymond Shields, the adjutant general of New York. Lt. Col. Ketchum praised the soldiers for their courage and resilience, stating, “This decoration is not sought, and it’s not given lightly. It is earned through courage in the face of danger.”
Among the honored was Sgt. Guillermo Renderos of Yonkers, who reflected on the bond formed through shared adversity, recalling the words of Chaplain (Major) Chase Wilhelm: “We are all from different parts of the country, but we will forever be bonded by blood.”
Aftermath and Accountability
The attack on Tower 22 highlighted vulnerabilities in base defense protocols. Subsequent investigations identified failures in command decisions, inadequate training, and deficiencies in defensive equipment. Disciplinary actions were taken against four officers, and measures have been implemented to enhance training and counter-drone readiness.
The U.S. responded to the attack with retaliatory strikes against Iranian-backed militia sites, aiming to deter further aggression and protect U.S. personnel in the region.
A Legacy of Valor
The recognized soldiers didn’t ask for medals. They were doing their jobs in a quiet corner of the world most Americans will never hear about—until things go wrong. The Purple Hearts are a recognition of what they endured, but they also stand as a reminder that these missions come with real risk, even in places that rarely make the news.
Their sacrifice is part of a larger story—one of vigilance, commitment, and the hard truth that even support roles in today’s military can become front lines in an instant.
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