At mile 438, the forward operating base’s beacon appeared on the passive sensor array. Eva could see the Hesco barriers, the faint glow of chem-lights along the perimeter. She killed the engine two klicks out and coasted—silent, dark, cold.
“Shut up and monitor the tires.”
She didn’t answer. She aimed for a narrow defile between two collapsed buildings. The M1120 scraped through, concrete dust billowing. The drones couldn’t follow—too tight. By the time they circled around, she was already accelerating into a dry riverbed, kicking up moon dust. m1120 driver
A voice crackled over the tactical channel. “Coffin Nail, this is Watchtower. You’re two minutes early and still in one piece. Didn’t think that was possible.” At mile 438, the forward operating base’s beacon
A pause. “Manual mode is less fuel-efficient and increases operator fatigue.” “Shut up and monitor the tires
The AI powered down with a soft click. In the sudden silence, Eva rubbed her eyes. Some drivers called the M1120 a coffin. But right now, sitting in the dark with the smell of coolant and her own sweat, she thought it felt more like a lifeline.
