Author: George E. Hand IV

With every fiber of my being, I knew the time had come to shed the shackles of my past, leaving behind the chaos of Delta and embracing the uncertain freedom that lay ahead.

Chuck’s blend of laid-back camaraderie and unflinching leadership made him the backbone of Delta, a commander who could sing ‘How Great Thou Art’ at a brother’s funeral one day and lead us into a chaotic urban assault the next, all while earning the unwavering respect and admiration of his men.

James Van Cleave’s ill-fated escapade with his new gloss black GMC Jimmy ended in a fiery spectacle, orchestrated by a battalion of battle-hardened pipe-hitters, forever immortalizing the truck in Fort Bragg’s legends.

In Delta, where ceremonial precision often seemed an elusive dream, my humbling experience with In-Ranks Inspection at the O&I course became a profound lesson in humility and the unspoken camaraderie that binds true warriors.

From the jungles of South America to the river’s edge at dawn, training with SEAL Team Six showed us the unyielding grit and camaraderie that binds elite warriors, even amidst the sweltering heat and bone-laden stew.

In the heart of war-torn Sarajevo, we stood our ground, orchestrating the General’s perilous jog through the ruins with the precision of Delta Force and the irreverence of a band of misfit guardians.

Facing death with relentless resolve, Greg Coker and his team embodied the audacity to rise, fight, and conquer against all odds—proving once again that true warriors never quit.

In the chaos of combat, the roar of the engine silenced by the enemy’s missile, I prayed and fought for survival with every fiber of my being, knowing my family was waiting for me to come home.

I tracked down a human trafficking ring in Albuquerque, identifying the pimp and his young victim within hours.

All Good Things… My time in A Squadron was essentially up. I had spent the last eight years with the same locker, in the same team room, on the same team. Two of my mates on my five-man team had died in those eight years. Samuel Booth Foster died of a heart attack while running […]

Guido, grinning under the weight of his gas mask, threw me a look that said, “If this isn’t the toughest fun I’ve ever had, I don’t know what is!”

In the thick of a smoky, adrenaline-fueled assault on a hidden underground fortress, Guido and I found ourselves leaping from the frying pan into the fire, literal and figurative both, as chaos reigned both below and above the ground.