Buck

Buck and Pratt located the breaker box by flashlight. Pratt opened the box with a practiced motion. 

“Let me,” Buck said and reached out to flip one of the breakers. If someone was gonna get electrocuted it was going to be his old ass, not one of his recruits.

Pratt nodded and pointed out the main breaker. Buck flipped the switch and waited. Nothing happened. He tried again. And then again.

“Sergeant, if it didn’t work the first time it won’t work the fifth,” Pratt said.

“I know that,” Buck growled. He bit back his frustration. It wasn’t Pratt’s fault.

“The power lines must be down,” Pratt suggested.

Buck nodded. “Yeah. Nothing we can do about it. Let’s go back and listen to Jones’ ghost stories.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Pratt said.

As it happened, Jones was smack in the middle of what must have been a riveting tale from the way every other recruit leaned towards her, listening raptly. Buck let her finish the story. Then, because it had been a damn good yarn, he had her tell another one. That killed a good twenty minutes. Overhead, the storm continued to rage. 

After story time Buck had the recruits line up in the hallway to do some limited physical training. Sometime in the middle of finding out who could do the most push-ups the roaring wind faded to a distant whisper.

“Sergeant, I think the storm’s passed,” Matthews said.

“Or we’re in the eye,” Jones pointed out.

“Good point,” Buck put his hands on his hips and asked, “Who’s got a watch?”

He had powered down his phone to conserve its charge for when the storm passed and they could get a call out. 

“There’s a box of stopwatches in the storage room,” Reynolds announced.

“Perfect. Go grab one,” Buck ordered.

Reynolds hopped to his feet and double-timed into the storeroom. He returned moments later with the requested timer. 

“Set that for thirty minutes,” Buck ordered, “and sound off when it’s done. If it’s still quiet by then I’ll go upstairs and see how it looks.”

“Alone, Sergeant?” Jader asked with his soft midwestern accent.

“Yes, alone. Until you lot earn your stripes you’re my responsibility. I don’t let my responsibilities try to march off into tornadoes,” Buck declared. 

“Was that a tornado, though?” Jones wondered. “I’ve lived through a few, even an F-4, and well, they just didn’t... the sky didn’t look like that, Sergeant.”

Buck, who had also seen some rough weather in his life, had to agree. Not out loud though. Until he had a better idea what was happening he was going to operate under the assumption that they were just caught in a rough storm or a minor tornado and everything would go back to normal soon.

“Might be straight winds or something similar,” Buck suggested. “Everyone, give me some jumping jacks. Then walk up and down the hallway in groups of five to cool down. That should kill half an hour.”

They obeyed, as much for something to do as because obeying their drill sergeant had become nearly instinct after two weeks of training. Buck hovered near the stairwell, listening for any sound. 

Finally, Reynolds jogged over to him. “Thirty minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Right.” Buck turned and took a step up. He powered up his phone so that he could get on the line and start yelling as soon as possible. He wanted to know what idiot had left his recruits out on the tarmac with a storm approaching and absolutely no warning. He didn’t like it when other people’s incompetence endangered his recruits. Someone was going to regret screwing up.

He pressed his ear against the door, and hearing nothing, opened it. The barracks looked just as they had before, missing only the first aid kit that had been bolted to the wall. He went to the outer door and listened again. Still nothing, but you could have a lot of noise and it not make it through the thick metal door. He waited a beat and decided that he had to know. He twisted the doorknob and opened it just a crack.

No roaring storm smashed into the door to try and rip him apart, so he opened it further and looked out.

Well.

It probably wasn’t a tornado after all.

Buck stepped outside, staring at the impossible scene before him. The tarmac where his recruits had lined up for morning drill was exactly as it should be. The men’s barracks behind him were fine, as were the women’s barracks to the left. To the right, the front wall of the armory stood. But the side walls went only halfway to where the back wall should be. There, they just. Stopped. Not collapsed, like they’d been hit by artillery, but just. Like they’d been chopped in half by a massive knife. Beyond that point, there was only purple, green and black... fog? It looked like fog, kind of. The same fog formed a curved horizon beyond the tarmac, cutting off the road which led to the mess hall. Buck looked slowly left, to right, and back.

What in the actual Hell?

He approached the fog and watched a single tendril waft vaguely forward towards him before vanishing into the rest. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the stuff. 

Buck checked his phone. No reception. The power lines leading to the barracks hung loosely at the edge of the mysterious fog barrier. That explained that. 

He paced around the entire circle at a light jog. It formed a large circle, encompassing the two barracks, the training grounds, part of the obstacle course, and half the armory. Everything else was just... gone.

How in the Hell was he going to explain this to his recruits?