It is ironic that the myth of American military invulnerability, and Israel’s by extension, is dying where it began. Israel’s wars in the 1970s and 80s, or at least the story that has been written and repeated about them, served as a prelude to the 1990 Persian Gulf War, where American and Western air power comprehensively defeated the might of then seemingly formidable Iraqi military, with minimal losses in return.
The Second Offset strategy, as it was called in American strategic discourse, had proved thoroughly superior over the ‘best of the rest’. That the Iraqi military was a shadow of itself after the war with Iran it was armed for and goaded into by Western powers became a footnote in that story. The narrative of technological supremacy mattered more than the messy political realities behind it.
The Second Offset came in response to Cold War paranoia, echoed in movies and popular novels, of vast columns of Soviet tanks, troops, jets, and ships overwhelming American and European defences. The US believed it couldn’t afford to match the Soviets tank for tank, missile for missile, so it sought to field smaller numbers of extremely capable, high-quality equipment, leap-ahead technologies, and associated operational concepts. Precision-guided munitions, stealth aircraft, satellite reconnaissance, and advanced command-and-control networks formed the backbone of this approach.
The 1990 Gulf War appeared to validate this doctrine spectacularly. When US-led coalition forces confronted the Iraqi military during the Gulf War, the outcome seemed to confirm the technological determinism underlying American strategy. Iraqi forces were subjected to a devastating air campaign that dismantled command centers, radar networks, and logistics nodes long before the ground war began. Television audiences around the world watched grainy cockpit footage of precision-guided bombs striking buildings with surgical accuracy
For the American public—and for much of the world—the war produced a powerful visual mythology. The spectacle of high-tech warfare reinforced the idea that Western military technology had entered a qualitatively new age. The conflict was framed not merely as a victory but as a demonstration of overwhelming technological superiority.
The template laid out by that war would be repeated over and over, from the NATO campaign against Serbia during the Kosovo War to the US invasion of Afghanistan after the September 11 attacks, and again during the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Each time, the opening phase followed the same pattern: the destruction of radar networks, the suppression of air defenses, and the use of precision air power to dismantle the enemy’s command structure.
The phrase “shock and awe,” popularized during the Iraq invasion of 2003, captured the underlying belief that overwhelming technological force could paralyze an adversary psychologically as well as physically. It was a doctrine rooted not only in military theory, but in the political desire to minimise American casualties while projecting an image of absolute dominance.
Yet beneath this narrative lay a set of assumptions that were rarely questioned. One of them was that potential adversaries would remain technologically inferior, unable to challenge the core systems that underpinned Western military power. Another was that the infrastructure supporting that power — radar networks, air bases, communications systems — would remain secure enough to function as intended.
There is a language of war that precedes the action in setting the expectations around war. Hollywood and video games, with the faux-realism they present, fill in where reality is ‘classified’.
The time distance between 1990 and 2026 is about the same as that between 1950, when the US fought the Korean War, and 1990, when it first decimated Iraq’s military. While advances in Western technology seem only incremental compared to the leap from the nascent jet age to the age of guided munitions, the US and Israel made the mistake of thinking the world had stood still.
Over the decades that followed the Gulf War, these assumptions hardened into a kind of strategic orthodoxy. The United States invested enormous resources in systems designed to detect and intercept incoming missiles. Among the most advanced of these was the Terminal High Altitude Area Defense (THAAD) system, designed to intercept ballistic missiles during their terminal phase using kinetic energy rather than explosive warheads.
Assessment and analysis following the first two weeks of US and Israel’s war against Iran confirm that Iran’s counter strikes to desperate American and Israeli bombardment have destroyed or damaged several critical American radar systems across the region, including components linked to the Terminal High Altitude Area Defense (THAAD) network. Satellite imagery reportedly showed the destruction of an AN/TPY-2 radar at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base in Jordan and damage to other long-range radars across Gulf states hosting American forces.
At the heart of THAAD’s capability lies its radar network, particularly the AN/TPY-2 radar. These massive phased-array radars are capable of detecting and tracking ballistic missiles at great distances, providing early warning and targeting data for interceptors. Without them, the missile-defense system effectively loses its eyes.
For decades, the presence of such systems across the Middle East symbolized the technological umbrella under which American allies operated. The assumption was that these advanced defenses would provide protection against regional missile threats, particularly from Iran.
But the strategic environment of the 2020s is very different from that of the 1990s. The diffusion of technology, the proliferation of drones, and the availability of high-resolution satellite imagery have fundamentally altered the dynamics of warfare.
Assessment and analysis following the first two weeks of the US and Israel’s war against Iran confirms that this new reality has begun to manifest itself in dramatic fashion. Iran’s counter strikes against America and Israel’s desperate bombardment has destroyed or damaged several critical American and Israeli air defence installations across the region. Satellite imagery reportedly showed the destruction of an AN/TPY-2 radar deployed at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base in Jordan, while other long-range radars, including an AN/FPS-132 phased array radar, were struck in Qatar.
If accurate, these strikes represent the structural vulnerability within the architecture of modern Western air defence. These radars are large, expensive, and often fixed in place. Their size and power requirements make them difficult to conceal or relocate quickly. In a world where commercial satellites can photograph military installations daily and open-source analysts can identify them within hours, the very systems designed to detect threats have themselves become highly visible targets.
The paradox is striking. The most sophisticated elements of the air-defense network are also among its most fragile. A radar system costing hundreds of millions of dollars can be rendered inoperable by a relatively inexpensive weapon.
Iran’s strategy in any potential war has long been shaped by necessity, and confined largely to asymmetric options. Decades of sanctions and technological restrictions have left the country unable to match the United States or Israel in conventional military platforms such as advanced fighter aircraft. Instead, Tehran has invested heavily in missiles, drones, and other relatively inexpensive, easily replaceable systems designed to exploit the vulnerabilities of more technologically sophisticated adversaries.
One example frequently cited by analysts is the Iranian-designed Shahed drone. These unmanned aerial vehicles are relatively simple and inexpensive compared to advanced Western systems, but they have demonstrated a remarkable capacity to disrupt modern defenses. Flying low and slow, they can evade radar coverage designed primarily to detect faster-moving threats. Their small explosive payloads may be modest, but when directed against critical infrastructure, such as radar arrays or communications nodes, they can have outsized effects.
The economics of this exchange are difficult to ignore. A missile-defense interceptor can cost several million dollars, requires months to manufacture, and is available in limited numbers. A drone capable of disabling the radar that guides that interceptor may cost a fraction of that amount. The result is a strategic imbalance in which defenders must spend far more resources to counter attacks than attackers need to launch them.
This dynamic has already been visible in other conflicts. The war triggered by the Russian invasion of Ukraine has demonstrated how inexpensive drones and precision artillery can challenge even sophisticated air-defense systems. The widespread use of commercial satellite imagery and open-source intelligence has also made it increasingly difficult for military units to remain hidden.
What is emerging is a new form of battlefield transparency. In the past, the ability to conceal troop movements or installations provided a critical advantage. Today, the proliferation of sensors, from satellites to drones to smartphone cameras, has made the battlefield far more visible. Static targets, particularly large radar installations, are easier to locate and track than ever before.
The Second Offset strategy once allowed the United States and its chosen partners to leap ahead of its rivals by exploiting emerging technologies. But the diffusion of those technologies and the emergence of new ones has eroded that advantage.
If the Gulf War symbolised the triumph of Western technological warfare, the war with Iran symbolises the limits of that model. The myth of invulnerability, sustained for decades by largely uncontested air dominance, is giving way to a far more complicated reality. In that reality, even the most sophisticated systems can be neutralised by a well-placed drone, and even the most advanced militaries must confront an uncomfortable truth: technological superiority alone no longer guarantees control of the battlefield.
Zeeshan Ahmad is a freelance journalist and media scholar who writes about politics, security, technology and media narratives
All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author
