Three hours later, the sun blazed directly overhead. The convoy crawled on through the desert, engines groaning in the heat. Inside, Dan had dozed off beside Brian, drooling against his shoulder. Only ten miles left to their destination.
Brian stared out the window, watching sandstone hills rise in the distance. The Humvees began climbing a steep dune, the tires churning through the loose sand like they were wading through waves. Then—a flash of light hit them from above. The glare was so bright it swallowed everything in front of the lead vehicle.
"What the fuck is that?" The sergeant muttered, squinting. He reached up, adjusting his visor. As the light drew closer, it darkened—a massive shadow taking shape against the sun. Something with jagged wings. "It's comin' straight at us!" A roaring jet engine cut through the wind—a fighter plane was diving directly down their path.
The sky turned gray with smoke and fire as the jet streaked toward the sand. It hit hard, skimming the ground, kicking up a storm of dust that split the desert in two. The sound was deafening.
"Hard left, now!!" Walsh yelled, grabbing the wheel and wrenching it. The Humvee swerved violently—everyone's heads slammed to the side as the left tires dug into the sand. The jet's wing scraped the roof with a screech of tearing steel before slicing past them.
The second Humvee behind them barely dodged it. But the third and fourth weren't so lucky.
"Alpha Two! Get off the vehi—" Walsh's voice cut off. The plane's wing sheared through the middle of both vehicles like a blade through paper. Fire and debris erupted into the air.
The fifth Humvee in the convoy screeched to a halt—the soldiers inside staring, horrified, as bodies and metal rained down. Walsh and his men jumped out of the lead vehicle, rifles ready, rushing to the wrecks. The sight froze them in place. The two destroyed Humvees were nothing but twisted shells—the men inside torn apart, limbs scattered among the burning sand.
Brian approached the downed fighter jet, weapon drawn. Smoke hissed from the engine. The cockpit was empty. No pilot. The air reeked of burning oil and blood. Every man held his rifle close, silent. They stood still with silence, mourning for the fallen fellows—the desert wind howling like a dirge across the endless, sunlit waste.