FROG-7 site, outside Al-Asad, during the American invasion of the city.

The two Jeeps sped along the dirt track, their engines constantly whining at a high pitch as they took the dunes in their stride. The occupants inside could feel their teeth rattling in their heads – suspension on twenty-year old vehicles does not get better with time, they would readily confirm that.

The Jeeps were brought to a sudden halt by the drivers on a ridge overlooking the FROGs. The engines were switched off and the nine men disembarked. They lay down on their belt buckles and crawled up to the edge of the ridge and scanned the area below them. Both Sharp and Lieutenant Buckle pulled out binoculars.

Sharp looked around the vehicles, parked and facing Al-Asad. Nobody seemed to be down there. No guards, nobody operating the launchers, and still a fair amount of lying around.

"Sir, can you see anybody down there?"

"No, Sharp, I see bugger all. Say we should go in for a closer look?"

"That I do sir."

"Good stuff. Let's go then."

The men got up and split into two lines, parallel to each other. They headed in single file, the two lines next to each other down the ridge to the FROGs. When they got there, the two lines split up and searched the entire valley, checking all corners, cabins of the vehicles, even the crates that the ammunition came in. Then the order came over the headset of each soldier.

"Patrol, close in! Middle of the valley, go!"

All nine men in to the middle and took a knee, one eye on Buckle and the other on the area, looking out for an ambush.

"Something's not right here," Buckle began, "perfectly good FROGs and not a damn person to operate them or even guard them. Check these missiles – make sure they're genuine and not fakes in an attempt to throw us off-guard. Active missiles will have a red tip – dummy ones are generally light blue."

The eight men got up and went to check a FROG machine each, while Buckle waited in the middle. Sharp walked over to one and climbed up onto the actual launch device. Looking at the missile, the actual warhead had a light blue tip, as well as various 'training missile' messages in English along the body.

Fuck, it's not real.

"Training missile here!" He yelled out, jumping down from the FROG.

"Same here!"

"Training one here as well!" One by one, seven of the eight soldiers announced their missile was either a dummy or a training missile – either way, tactically useless. All except one.

"Uh, sir? Can you get over here fucking quick please?" Nick Watts called out from the furthest FROG machine.

All eight men doubled over to the vehicle where Watts stood pointing at the blood-red tip of the missile.

"One real missile in a bunch of fakes?" Buckle scratched his head. "Why?"

"What does it say on the side, Watts?" Freeman said.

"Uh… hang on." Watts moved further down the body of the missile. "Uhh… W80, USAF AGM-86 ALCM. What does that mean?"

"USAF… United States Air Force," Buckle began, "AGM is Armed Guided Missile and ALCM is Air-Launched Cruise Missile. W80 is the name of the warhead, what that means, I don't know. I'll radio Baseplate – they'll want to know we've recovered a US missile. Everyone else, tactical positions on the ridge facing out. Stewart, I want the M21 facing away from the city."

Sharp and the other seven men sprinted up the hill as Buckle dialled up his satellite phone, connecting instantly to Whitehall.

"Ops Room, Whitehall, who's speaking?" The prim and proper tone of the female secretary in London seemed very out of place in the Middle East.

"Lieutenant Buckle, I want to speak to Colonel MacMillan please."

"Let me just get him for you, sir."

Buckle stamped his foot impatiently as he waited for what seemed like an age for MacMillan to pick up.

"You'd better have a damn good reason to call me Buckle," MacMillan spat down the phone.

"I do sir," Buckle calmly replied, "A US warhead, W-80 printed on the side, looks like a Cruise missile, found at the FROG sites."

"Bollocks." MacMillan's voice went suddenly quiet.

"Sir? Talk to me sir? What's wrong?"

"Shit. Shit shit shit SHIT!" Mac yelled down the phone, then to someone not on the phone. "Summon General Shepherd – tell him to pull his troops out, NOW!"

Mac then turned back to Buckle on the phone.

"You've just found a nuclear bomb, James. 80 kilotons. Went missing from American supplies a few months ago. Been a big job keeping it quiet but now we've found it, it seems. Leave now, get the fuck out of there! I have no idea when that thing will blast, but it could be very soon if they realise that the Americans are retreating! Go! GO!"

The line went dead. Buckle immediately snapped into action and ran up the hill to Sharp. He threw himself down next to him. Sharp looked at him in a confused way.

"It's a fucking nuke," Buckle panted. "We found a bollocking nuke. We have to leave, and-"

"Sir!" Stewart's voice came over Buckle's headset, "I think I have an ID on Horseman number 1!" Buckle got up and sprinted round to Stewart and pulled out his binoculars. At safehouse number 3, Vladimir Makarov was standing talking to another soldier.

"I don't recognize the guy he's with…" Buckle murmured. He traced where both men were looking and realized they were watching the American helicopters flying out of Al-Asad. Buckle's heart started to race.

"They're watching the American retreat!" Buckle shouted, "Stewart, I need you to shoot and kill Makarov or else he will detonate a nuke and kill us all!"

"You don't need to tell me twice!" Stewart shouted. He began to dope the scope and focus on Makarov, but just as he did he saw Makarov raise something to his mouth.

"Too late," Buckle whispered, "too fucking late."

Thank you so much for reading and following the story! I know I wasn't particularly regular with the updates but I'm glad I managed to finish it and I hope you're glad I did as well. Please leave reviews and feedback, I read it all and take it on board and now it's just a matter of finding the right subject material for my next story! Watch this space!