Hereford

"Good morning Sergeant Sharp," the armourer waved Sharp over. Sharp went over to the armourer.

"How are you today, Colin?"

"Good, thanks, Jase. Now, a certain Lieutenant Buckle came by recently and drew out some weaponry. Recommended the same stuff to you."

"What did he take?"

"M4 rifle, M9 pistol, mags and rounds, NVGs, grenades, flashbangs, claymores, binos. The works. You starting the Third World War?"

"Come on Colin, you know that's classified."

"Eh, well, worth a try. So, what'll it be?"

"I'll take the lot, but M4 and three mags for now – I'll do some zeroing."

The armourer nodded and handed over the M4 and three full mags. Sharp signed off the weapon and went over to one of the empty lanes, passing Gaz on the way.

"Morning sir."

"Sharp, you know it's Gaz."

"Sorry, Gaz. So why are you in the range? You off on ops as well?"

"Not yet. We have an FNG coming in today. Want to put him through his paces. See how he holds up. He's been requisitioned by Captain Price already."

"God, the man won't last a minute!"

"I know! Now, you take care wherever you are going, Sharp."

"Cheers Gaz. You too."

When Sharp reached the lane, he put on his ear defence and checked the weapon was clear before loading a magazine and slipping a round into the chamber. He looked down the sight at the Figure-11 target forty metres away and squeezed the trigger. The round shot out and the rifle recoiled but Sharp managed to maintain his stance. He unfocussed from the sight and looked at the target.

Hmm. Too far to the left. He took out a combi-tool and wound the rear sight to the left and tried again.

Half an hour later he had decimated the target face, and returned his weapon to armourer, ready for when they left for the Middle East. As he left the range he walked passed a soldier he'd never seen before. The bloke had a Mohawk haircut and his face was pockmarked with various scars. He stared right back at Sharp, his face showing no emotion.

"Soap? Get a weapon from the armourer and take a position up in lane 1." Gaz's cockney accent rang out through the range and Sharp's ears picked up the FNG's name.

The fuck kind of a name is Soap, he thought as he left the range and headed to one of the warehouses. He slid the door open and walked through to the far end.

The grand space was largely empty, apart from a small space at the opposite end to where the door was which had a table, some chairs and a projector and screen. Already in the room was Lt. Buckle, now wearing Multicam trousers and a sand coloured t-shirt.

"Ah, Sharp!" Buckle looked up from his rummaging through the paperwork on the table and gestured to a chair at the front.

"I've put out a seat for you. I was literally just given the locations we will be patrolling towards and I heard you were on the ranges so I left you to it. All your personal kit ready for the off?"

Sharp nodded and took the map that Buckle had given him. It had four safehouses circled and a route between all four. Sharp frowned as he looked at the location of the second safehouse.

"Sir, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't this route take us through a large urban area?"

"Yes Jason, I'm afraid it does. We'll be passing through Al-Asad twenty-four hours before the US Marines invade there. Six want a report on the situ there so we have to observe and comment on movements. As well as recce a safehouse there."

At this point the warehouse door slide open again and six men walked in, all dressed in MultiCam. Sharp smiled when he saw them. Handpicked by him and Buckle, he could trust these men when the shit hit the fan, and judging by the route they had been given, a lot of shit would hit the fan.

"Morning gentlemen," Buckle's voice had changed from polite to stern when he addressed the men, "sit down and we'll begin. Corporal Wright, the lights."

Corporal John Wright stood up and flicked the switches off. The projector whirred into life.

"Now, I'm sure you lot have been looking at the photos we gave you, of the First and Second Horsemen so I won't go over them. The new information is about the patrol route. After spending hours locked in a battle with MI6, I have had to give in on some things."

The first slide came on the screen. It showed a birds-eye view of Al-Asad and the surrounding land.

"Number one, they want us to go through Al-Asad. Time and time again I refused, saying it's a death trap, especially with US Marines knocking on the door, but they wouldn't listen, so we will be performing a CTR on Al-Asad, looking particularly at any armour they have and leading OpFor officers in the area."

The second slide came on, showing aerial photographs of the four safe houses.

"Second, we are to sweep and clear each safe house that we come across, provided our HVTs aren't there. Again, I warned them of booby traps but they would rather have intelligence over soldiers."

The third slide showed a particularly nasty missile launcher. The photo must have been a stock one, as the background for the launchers was the Kremlin, in Russia.

"Thirdly, there is a detachment of 9K52 Luna-M missile launches just 10km outside the city. FROG-7 launchers, to give their other name, are unguided SRBMs and could do a lot of damage to any invading force. MI6 and CIA want us to go and render them useless. In simple terms, blow them up."

Sharp put his hand up. "Sir, do we have anything er…recent on the Frogs?"

Buckle shook his head. "The trucks literally drove up twenty minutes ago. A UAV saw them but couldn't get any decent shots."

"If they literally turned up a few minutes ago, how do we know they'll still be there when we turn up?" The voice came from the back of the group. Sharp craned his head. He'd recognize that Scottish accent anywhere – Malcolm Stewart leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and waited for the answer.

"We don't," Buckle said, "but the American invasion will be taking place soon so we can expect them to stay.

"If that's everything, gentlemen, then we'll conclude here and I'll see you all outside the warehouse at 0430 in two days' time."