I checked my watch: 384 hours, 41 minutes, 20 seconds.

  Click. 0600 hours, November 20, 2073.

  43°32'17"N, 111°01'46"W. Altitude: 2,300 meters. Ambient temperature: -66°C.

  Pitch black. The mountain moaned as tempestuous winds pelted us. I lay prone on a frozen Kevlar blanket. I wiped the snow from the open 40mm ammo boxes and the stacked RPG rockets. Directly in front of me were two loaded RPGs; in front of Rain, three more. A small cutout in the soil was filled to the brim with fragmentation grenades; those bastards loved to roll down the slope.

  Safety clips removed.

  My right hand brushed against the loaded grenade launcher and began shivering. It was not from the cold. I hid it in my pocket.

  Rain was to my left at arm’s length. Carbide and Wire were twenty meters further left along the natural defilade. Both of Rain's hands were trembling as he clutched his battle rifle, eyes staring blankly at our cover. My left hand dared to reach for his. We hadn’t exchanged a word since he set up the mines.

  “Rain, status!”

  No answer. I raised my head and peered over him; Carbide and Wire were embracing, shivering.

  “Rain!” I whispered.

  “Combat ready.” His teeth rattled.

  I slung the grenade launcher on my back and pulled him into my arms.

  “F-f-fuck,” he whimpered.

  “Less ammo, more blankets next time?” I smiled.

  “N-noted, Logi.” He held on.

  I slid the PDA out and tried to turn it on. Frozen solid.

  “Why did we set up the ambush here, Rain?”

  “Ask Havoc.”

  Fuck Havoc. “For how long...?”

  “...You don’t get it, do you?” He cut me off.

  My body felt useful for the first time in its disgusting existence. I wrapped around him, covering his body completely. My right hand stopped shaking. His shivering lessened.

  “Didn’t need blankets after all,” he smiled.

  “How long can Gen-6s last in this, Rain?”

  “Not very long at all, Logi... I mean, Blanket.”

  “Glass!” I stood, picked up the binoculars, and tried to peer at her position. The lenses were frozen solid. “How much time has she got, Rain?!” I pointed toward her position.

  “She wanted to kill you, Blanket. Why care?”

  “Answer me, Rain!”

  He shook his head.

  “Schei? drauf! Fuck!”

  “Let’s check her status!” He yanked my hand away as I tried to activate my helmet comms.

  “Trust. Perform.” His hands shook.

  “Copy!” I held him again, tighter. He stopped shivering.

  He gently closed his eyes; we were in each other’s arms, lying on Kevlar.

  Minutes passed. The wind screamed. Snow fell on us like shrapnel, our concealment barely holding.

  “Embers...” he whispered.

  “I am here.” Rain’s eyes groaned open as I shielded him from the snowstorm.

  “Blood...” His voice cracked.

  “I will never replace her. It's fine.”

  “Let us survive today and have a proper talk, Blanket.” A smile melted onto his face.

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  We held each other and brought our weapons close. No words, just the screaming of the wind. Every so often, I cleaned the snow from our weapons.

  “Rain. We will survive!” I screamed. He just nodded. The wind somehow felt less harsh, the cold less lethal.

  0800 hours. Ambient temperature: -46°C.

  The wind’s wrath finally calmed. It was no longer pitch black; sunlight somehow managed to crawl through the thick radioactive clouds.

  I heard the shuffling of snow underfoot to my left. My grenade launcher instinctively aimed in the direction of the noise. Carbide had started to crawl toward us. He gestured with his palms toward me; I lowered my gun.

  “Status,” he croaked, the menace in his voice gone.

  “Combat ready.”

  “Carry on.” He turned to leave.

  “Commander—”

  Rain shoved a palm over my mouth.

  “We will prevail,” Rain groaned, saluting.

  Carbide returned a lazy salute and started crawling back to his position.

  Suddenly, the wind died. The snow stopped falling.

  A tingling sensation crawled into my fingers. Something felt very wrong. I peered over our cover with the trench periscope.

  “Clear.”

  Then I heard it: the unmistakable whirring of propellers cutting the air. A UAV.

  “Rain!” I whispered. “It's closing in!”

  We held still. The sound grew louder over the next four minutes.

  A much more terrifying sound drowned it out: the screeching of steel on steel.

  Tracked vehicles.

  Rain reached for his RPG. I did the same. Rain looked at Carbide; I followed his gaze. Carbide gestured something and racked the charging handle of his HMG.

  I peered over the cover again and looked left along the entrance of the valley. Headlights were blazing right at me; I could not identify or count them.

  The past tried to invade my vision. I reached for Rain.

  “Time to cash in,” Rain said with his usual mocking smile.

  “Copy,” I whimpered. He slapped my back softly and pulled me away from the periscope.

  He pressed a letter on my rig.

  “What is that, Rain?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Carbide held his palm open. We nodded; I looked again.

  The mechanized column came into view fully. 500 meters and closing. Two M1A4 Abrams MBTs leading six M113s; five Bradleys at the end of the column. A HEMTT logi-truck lagged behind the formation. No hover tanks.

  “We open fire once the big boy hits the mines.”

  I set the periscope aside. Arms loaded and zeroed on the killzone. Rain cranked a dial on a remote controller, activating the anti-tank mines on the road in front of us. He placed his palms on my helmet and stared into my eyes.

  “No hesitation. No prisoners.”

  I nodded, though pain shot through my chest.

  “Tanks, APCs, infantry—in that order. Repeat it.”

  “Tanks, APCs, soldiers.”

  He nodded slowly. Headlights lit the valley. Soon the sound was deafening; I could feel the vibrations of the tracks in my belly.

  “Five minutes, then we get drone-swarmed,” Rain said coldly.

  Rain set his watch.

  I mirrored: 5:00.

  Click. 4:59.

  RPG in hand. Top-attack mode on.

  Safety off.

  Seconds passed; I could hear my heartbeat.

  “Mines will fuck the first; we RPG the second tank. Fire first.” He jabbed a fist in the direction of the RPGs.

  I held my breath, eyes trained on the M1A4 leading the convoy, RPG in hand. Rain had taken position five meters on my right flank.

  I ducked in cover, opened my mouth, and covered my ears as the tank was about to hit the mines.

  A crack echoed through the valley, followed by a hiss. The UAV was instantly turned into a fireball half a click above us.

  Comms: "Molot! Weapons hot!"

  The Talbot Valley erupted.

  I peeked. Fire was blazing from every hatch. Burning people tried to crawl outside and froze in place as hell consumed them, their NBC masks melting into their faces. One of them screamed, pulled out his pistol, and ended his suffering.

  Orders.

  Gunfire.

  Explosions.

  Torn steel.

  Burning flesh.

  Screams.

  Time slowed down.

  Reflex sight on the side of the turret; ammo compartment.

  Click.

  Laser rangefinder: 212.5 meters.

  The reticle bled red.

  “Forgive me.”

  I pulled the trigger.

  The missile left the RPG and gained altitude. Rain fired his RPG a split second after me; same target. The APS intercepted my missile as it dived on the turret, but not Rain’s.

  A torrent of fire erupted from the blowout panel.

  Second RPG in my hands. The mortally wounded tank did not die; it screamed toward us. The commander crawled from his hatch and tried to swivel the .50 BMG toward us; the loader jumped out of his hatch and crashed onto the snow, steaming.

  I pulled the trigger and ducked in cover. The missile and what it delivered were no longer my responsibility.

  Impacts hit the cover centimeters from my previous position.

  Explosion. The tank’s tracks stopped moaning.

  Grenade launcher in my hands. Safety off.

  I peeked from a different position and looked at my burden. The tank commander was an unidentifiable corpse. The loader was gasping for breath on the pavement, clutching his guts, screaming. Fire devoured the steel coffin. The commander’s charred, empty eye sockets stared at me, engulfed in fire.

  Burning flesh.

  Shouldered the grenade launcher. Heavy.

  Reticle on the APC behind it. Shame.

  Pulled the trigger. Pain.

  Explosions. Regret.

  Pulled it again, four times. Disgust.

  I am filth.

  The APC stopped. Rear hatch opened. Burning people.

  HE-Frag in the chamber. This time, the trigger was not heavy.

  Body parts. Viscera.

  Empty. Slung it on my back.

  Frag grenade in hand.

  Different... position? Peeked from cover.

  Soldiers taking cover behind a burning APC. A futile attempt to suppress a triple crossfire in a killzone.

  Back in cover. Tears...

  ...Frozen in place.

  Pulled the pin. The spoon flew into the snow. The fuse popped.

  Five seconds. 220 meters. Trajectory automatically calculated.

  Four seconds.

  Three seconds.

  “Frag out,” I wanted to scream. I croaked.

  Two seconds.

  One second.

  Explosion.

  Screams.

  “God.”

  Silence.

  Gunfire.

  Hell.

  Frag in hand.

  “How much more?”

  Watch: 4:15.

  Rain: “APC 4!”

  Carbide: “Get some!”

  Comms: “GET THE BIRD IN THE AIR! CAPTURE THE HEMMT!”

  Peeked again. Four soldiers cowering beneath a mangled APC.

  Tried to pull the pin. It did not move.

  Watch: 4:14.

  Pulled the pin. Spoon. Fuse.

  “Frag out.” Numbness.

  Explosion.

  Wind.

  Comms: “Cease fire!”

  Pressed the button on my helmet.

  “Glass! Status!”

  No response.

  Fear.