Prologue

Jesse

“DRIVER, REVERSE!”

The order tears itself from my throat before I’ve even thought it through. The tracks shriek against the frozen earth, kicking up plumes of powdery snow that billow across the external cameras. The whole nineteen-ton vehicle lurches, straining for grip as steel bites ice and the engine bellows in protest.

I scan the screens in front of me with the speed of instinct, eyes darting between fractured images of the battlefield. Forests flicker past in jagged frames of motion, dark branches clawing against the pale sky. I search for movement - more than that, I search for silence, the kind that means something is waiting to pounce.

A glimmer cuts across my vision. Sunlight flashes off a rounded turret sliding through the trees. Enemy. Flanking. My mouth outruns my thoughts.

“GUNNER! TRAVERSE RIGHT! TANK!”

The turret above us groans, servos whining as the massive gun swings into line. I already know the model. A second is too long to waste on naming it. The gunner steadies, crosshair hovering - then I hear the subtle electronic chirp of the fire control system correcting aim, feeding in range data.

“FIRE!”

The recoil hammers through the cabin, a thunderclap reverberating in steel bones. Smoke swallows the cameras, leaving only a shifting gray haze on the screens. Still, I track the tracer burning like a comet’s tail, streaking through the storm. Half a heartbeat later - impact. Sparks scatter. A geyser of fire erupts from enemy hatches, their ammunition cooking off like fireworks beneath the snow.

No time to breathe. My head whips around, every screen a window into a nightmare panorama of churned mud, cratered ground, and twisted bodies strewn like discarded dolls. The autoloader behind me clatters, shoving another shell into the breech.

“GUNNER! TRAVERSE LEFT! TANK!”

The turret swings hard, the stabiliser fighting to keep it flat as the vehicle bucks beneath us. On the ridge, another shape looms, halting abruptly. Its barrel swings toward us. My teeth grit. Too slow.

“FIRE!”

The gun roars again. The sabot peels away mid-flight, leaving the dart to streak unimpeded toward its prey. The spent casing clatters to the floor, rolling, hissing where it meets snow blown in through fractured seals. On the feed, I see the strike - lower plate, a weak spot. The dart punches through, carving a path of ruin through flesh and steel. The carousel ammunition beneath the turret ignites, detonating in a flash that rips the turret free, flinging it skyward like a discarded toy.

For a moment, triumph. Then my stomach freezes.

A second tank emerges beside the wreckage, less than a stone’s throw away. It stops, gun already locked on us. My autoloader’s cycle isn’t finished. Too late.

“DRIVER! HARD RIGH-”

The enemy fires.

Smoke, fire, thunder. Time slows. I watch the dart tear reality open, a ripple of compressed air around it as it screams toward us at Mach five. There is no raising my hands, no chance of defense.

The round slams through our upper glacis, shrieking like a banshee. It punches through the driver’s neck in an instant before plowing into the cabin. The world convulses - screens flicker, sparks spit, dust dances like fireflies.

The gunner never even sees his death. One blink, and a one-twenty-five millimeter dart vaporizes his lungs, severs his spine, and rips through the rear of the compartment. Blood sprays, warm flecks striking my cheek like raindrops.

For a second, my mind stalls. Nothing moves. Then survival snaps me back.

My hand slams the override, seizing control of the vehicle. A slight buzz vibrates my head as my headband connects to the vehicle’s systems. I grip the twin sticks on the seat’s armrests, right hand jerking the turret into line as the autoloader finishes its cycle. I pull the trigger, the whole machine rocking with the recoil, the blast rolling through the ruptured hull. The wounded screens bloom with fire as the enemy tank detonates.

Half-blind, half-deaf, I wrench the left stick. The engine howls, tracks tearing snow and soil alike. Only half my eyes remain - the others are dark, lifeless glass. Through the surviving feeds, I glimpse a line of soldiers twenty meters ahead. One shoulders a launcher.

Instinct pulls the coaxial into action. The machine gun snarls, shredding the line with streaking tracers. They crumple before I even register the kill.

Then - two more tanks burst from the treeline. Both aimed straight at me.

I’m faster. The gun bucks, and one erupts in fire, pieces of armor spinning skyward. But I already know there’s no time for the second. The autoloader is empty. I knew it before I even fired the shot.

The enemy fires.

The dart rips through our flank, annihilating what screens remained. Pain erupts in my arm - a white-hot scream of agony - as steel obliterates flesh. I look down and realize the shoulder is gone, torn clean away.

Flames flicker behind me, catching on spilled propellant. The smell of burning insulation fills my lungs. I know the end has come.

Thoughts tumble in rapid-fire clarity. University. A life I should have pursued. A career far from the battlefield. A family I’ll never have. All the roads I could have walked that would have led anywhere but here.

We all knew this mission was suicide. Defend the retreat, they said. Buy them time, they said. We agreed anyway, eager for glory. And now here we are.

I smile despite the pain. Always desperate to be the hero.

The flames climb higher. Ammunition begins to cook off. A heroic death, perhaps - but meaningless all the same.

There’s a roar like the sky itself tearing apart. The ammo ignites, ripping the tank into a storm of fire and pressure. My body ceases to exist, reduced to ash and vapor.

Yet instead of the expected blackness - nothing but white.

An endless, empty white, stretching forever. I don’t even have time to understand it before I’m pulled into the void.