Free After the Fall by William Meikle

 
    The Hummer bounced along a road rutted by mortar blasts and studded with the wrecks of long abandoned cars. The battle had finished months ago, but the desert had not yet started to reclaim the aftermath. Rogers studied the wreckage with something approaching despair.
    What the hell are we doing here? The locals don’t want us, the enemy is as elusive as a weasel and the folk back home couldn’t give a toss. I signed up to fight, to be a warrior. There’s little honor in this.
    They were a long way from base, in hostile territory, and it had been a while since any of them had got a rest, never mind a good night’s sleep. The strain showed on the men’s faces, and Rogers knew that they should be heading back to the relative safety of the barracks.
    Indeed, he had been intent on doing just that, but aerial support had reported something going on in the hills to their west, and Rogers had been ordered to investigate.
    Sammy Brown had driving duty and he wasn’t happy at being taken off road.
    “I’m just saying Sarge,” he said. “The roads are shit enough round here, but if we hit a rock of any size, you can wave bye-bye to the back axle. It’s rusted to buggery and ready to go.”
    The wind blew sand in whirling vortices that s pattered against the windscreen like gunshot. The other four men in the back of the Hummer seemed oblivious, lost in a game of three-card brag that had been going on for hours.
    The comm whispered in Rogers’ ear.
    “You’re getting close,” the pilot said. “Two klicks further. Whatever it is, it’s kicking up a shit-load of sand. I can’t make out a thing.”
    Rogers turned to the men in the back.
    “Settle up lads, it’s show time.”
    The cards disappeared fast, and the metallic clang of weapons being readied filled the interior of the Hummer.
    The comm whispered again.
    “It’s right in front of you.”
    The view through the windshield cleared enough for them to see where they were headed.
    “Holy shit Sarge,” Sammy whispered. “What the hell is that ?”
    Rogers had no answer. He stared at a wall of blackness – a deep, pitch black vortex that spun, counterclockwise, in a one hundred yard area straight in front of them.
    Tornado?
    But he knew this was no natural phenomenon.
    But it could be a new weapon.
    He’d heard stories. Who among them hadn’t? The Yanks were close to perfecting the HAARP weather modification and rumor had it that they had successfully tested it in Alaska.
    Maybe this is an enemy attempt at something similar.
    But it didn’t just look wrong. It felt wrong. It felt like something that was completely out of place. Rogers didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
    “Back off, now,” he said.
    Sammy didn’t need a second telling. He flung the Hummer in reverse. Tires screeched and sand flew. The back axle took that moment to live up to its description of being rusted to buggery and gave way, sending the vehicle lurching to one side. Rogers fell sideways, body pressed tight against the passenger door, as Sammy struggled with a steering wheel that bucked in his hands.
    The black wall was getting closer. Metal screeched against metal as Sammy tried to get them turned. It was too late. The blackness engulfed them, falling on the Hummer like a wave crashing on an inexperienced surfer.
    Everything went dark.
     
    ~-o0O0o-~
     
    Rogers felt like a cat in a washing machine as the Hummer rolled and tumbled. Only his seat belt kept him from knocking his body against the doors and the roof. Someone screamed behind him, and he heard the unmistakable crack of bones breaking, but he couldn’t move to turn as the vortex sucked them deeper inside. The sensation of speed grew stronger, as if the vehicle was flying at vertiginous velocity.
    Then, as quickly as it had come, the vortex was gone.
    The Hummer came to a grinding halt in a flurry of sand and dust. At first Rogers did not realize the ordeal was over, for it was still dark beyond the windscreen.