The year is 1991. You are the Tank Commander of a relentless M1A1 Abrams, a seventy-ton cathedral of steel and firepower. The engine’s roar is a constant, bone-shaking presence, a deep, guttural sound that seems to absorb the silence of the vast, sun-scorched Kuwaiti desert. The air inside the turret is a close, stale mix of sweat, electronics heat, and the ever-present metallic tang of diesel fuel.

Your objective, the destruction of dug-in Iraqi Republican Guard forces, is a dark smudge on the thermal display that represents the final, decisive Battle of Operation Desert Storm.