Frozen Dead Zone

  At the start of the mission, the first thing I could see were the remains of a massive quarry, abandoned to the cold and the ghost of the war that still loomed over it. From the cockpit, the world was a monochrome of whites and grays; the cameras weren’t malfunctioning—this was simply the climate as it truly was—broken only by the faint glow of the HUD and system indicators, which I switched to red to create contrast against the white palette. The air whistled so violently outside that it could be heard even from inside my walker’s cockpit. The white hell called winter—the one I hated so much—was back.

  Outside, the wind howled with a fury that felt personal. Snowflakes the size of coins slammed against the hull with a constant tic-tic-tic that seeped through even the acoustic insulation. The storm had worsened, if that was even possible, since my arrival. Weather sensors read 28°C and falling, with sustained winds of 70 km/h and gusts exceeding 100.

  VALKYRIA:

  “PRIEST, this is VALKYRIA:. I’m outside the crater. Initiating movement toward preliminary rendezvous coordinates,”

  First things first: I had to adjust the walker and its parameters for the environment. Luckily, on one of the monitors, Momo appeared in a secondary window, her fingers flying across virtual keyboards.

  GLASS:

  “GLASS here.”

  “You’re probably having visibility issues with all that snow—everything must look completely white I guess.”

  “Switch your visual input to thermal cameras.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “Okay, done. Now the entire screen is dark blue, almost black.”

  “The thermal systems are blind in this cold. I need to recalibrate.”

  GLASS:

  “Yeah, that was bound to happen. Don’t worry—that’s how thermal cameras work.”

  “Conventional thermal cameras are calibrated for human or vehicular temperature ranges. In an environment at -25°C, practically everything sits at or near the thermal ‘dead zone.’”

  “What we need to do is redefine its reference point—the zero point from which the camera assigns colors to temperature variations.”

  “Yes, it’s possible, but it’s not as simple as changing a single value. Let me access your optical system remotely… rapid typing sounds… there we go.”

  “I’m seeing your current settings: the sensor is calibrated for a range from -20°C to 150°C, with the zero point set at 20°C ambient.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “That calibration is useless here. Anything that isn’t a burning engine just blends into the background.”

  GLASS:

  “I’m going to perform a real-time adjustment. First, I need you to shut down the walker’s heating system for 30 seconds so the sensor can acclimate to the actual ambient temperature.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “Turn off the heater… seriously?”

  “…”

  “Ugh, damn it. This is going to hurt.”

  “Thirty seconds. Make it worth it, Glass.”

  “Shutting down the system… now.”

  After pressing the button, I immediately felt the change in the environment. The wind slammed against the metal with even greater force, as if the deadly aura of the cold had suddenly been drawn toward me. I could feel every degree of warmth bleeding out of the cockpit. Holding my breath, I tried to endure the cold creeping in. In mere moments, frost began forming along the edges of the canopy and my seat. Then the alert tone signaling the new calibration sounded—and with it, my chance to turn the heating system back on.

  GLASS:

  “Perfect. The sensor is now registering an ambient temperature of -26.3°C. I’m going to redefine that as my new thermal black. Instead of using an absolute scale, I’ll create a relative one.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “How does that work?”

  GLASS:

  “I’ll recalibrate so that -26°C is pure black, and anything fifteen degrees warmer is pure white."

  "This means that a hidden Walker emitting residual heat from its engines, even if it’s only at -11°C, will appear as a bright spot against the background.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “Oh, it looks like it’s working! I can see variations now… there’s a pattern of warmer stripes to my right, about 200 meters away.”

  GLASS:

  “That’s the buried road. The asphalt retains slightly more heat than the surrounding ground, even though it’s covered by half a meter of snow. Excellent—the sensor is detecting differences as small as 0.5°C.”

  “This should make everything a lot easier.”

  “Possibly. With this configuration, anything above minus fifteen degrees will appear in warm tones. But be careful: it will also highlight your own thermal footprints.

  "Your steps melt the snow and leave residual heat for a few seconds.”

  “I’ll leave it on, since the other Walkers are probably configured the same way.”

  “It Also seems the locomotion system isn’t fully adjusted for the ice building up with the storm."

  "Although a Walker should be able to move through snow more easily than a tank, that doesn’t mean it isn’t a challenge for them as well.

  I’m going to modify the weight distribution algorithm. You’re sinking too much."

  "It’ll probably jostle you a bit more, but with this you shouldn’t sink into the snow anymore.”

  A soft hum ran through the Walker as the systems reconfigured. The soles of its feet expanded slightly, spreading the weight over a larger surface. The next steps were firmer, sinking only half a meter instead of a full one.

  VALKYRIA:

  “Alright, that’s better."

  "I’ll keep moving forward and let you know how it goes.”

  After speaking, I set off and left the quarry behind, making my way toward the city. The storm made it almost impossible to take any kind of reference point, so I only had the compass as my guide, always trying to keep to a heading of 285 degrees. I was accompanied only by the sound of my Walker’s joints and the wind slamming against the outer frame. Along the way, I could see the thermal trace of a large road, as well as the spots where streetlights glowed through the snow. One of its signs showed it was the M-10. I didn’t think it was a good idea to walk directly along the road—it was surely being watched—but I could stay near it and use it as a guide to reach the city.

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  A barely perceptible tremor traveled through the frozen ground, a distant rumble that wasn’t the wind—explosions, without a doubt. Artillery, I thought. Faint, muffled by distance and the storm, but unmistakable. The hiss of supersonic engines slicing through the air—probably saturation salvos of supersonic missiles. The battle had begun.

  PRIEST:

  “Attention, Crimson Empress.”

  “We’ve just received the first confirmed reports. Clashes have begun in the northern district of Saint Petersburg, Vyborgsky area.”

  “The rebels are pushing in from the northeast. The White Army is trying to contain them along the Neva River line.”

  “I repeat: active combat on the northern edge of the city.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “Understood,” I replied, tightening my grip on the controls. “Anything more specific on Damien’s location?”

  PRIEST:

  “Nothing yet. The snowstorm is creating ice crystals in the air that are interfering with analysis.”

  “It’s almost like a natural mini-jammer; it doesn’t cut communications completely, but it reduces them significantly—and it stacks on top of everything else already present in a war zone.”

  “Right now, IDOL and GLASS are doing everything they can to keep the communication line open by applying FEC error-correction algorithms and polarization diversity.”

  “You might find it funny, but right now, talking with you is costing about 700 dollars per minute of call time, just to give you an idea of the level of support behind this.”

  “Although the satellites have detected fairly high energy sources, they’re most likely residual signals from walkers. What we don’t know is whether they’re loyalist or rebel.”

  Just then, the thermal display flickered. About three hundred meters ahead, at the edge of what should have been a secondary road, a cluster of anomalous shapes emerged. They weren’t the blurred streaks of asphalt, but solid blocks—some still emitting faint halos of heat against the deep black background.

  VALKYRIA:

  “GLASS, I’m seeing something… structures. Several of them. They look like vehicles.”

  GLASS:

  “Residual heat?”

  VALKYRIA:

  “Yes, but very weak. Like they’ve been powered down for hours in this cold.”

  “I’m going to check it out. They might have something useful.”

  I decided to investigate. I slowed down, activating stealth mode. The Crimson Empress’s electric engines dropped to an almost inaudible hum. I advanced carefully, using what remained of a skeletal grove as cover for my walker. Snow piled on fallen branches slid off with each step like ghostly dust. I pulled my coat tight, placed my hand on the access lever, and took a second to appreciate the last bit of warmth inside. I pulled the lever, and the walker’s cockpit opened to the elements. I jumped outside and heard the walker seal the cabin and shift into escort mode.

  Once again, the terrifying cold tried to unleash its full fury in front of me, asserting its obsession over the field. Almost immediately, I felt the bite of freezing temperatures seep into my body. Thankfully, the Arksuit detected the sudden drop and activated its thermoregulation system, warming me despite the brutal cold, making it bearable—helped by the coat I wore over the armor.

  The landscape revealed itself as a frozen snapshot of war.

  It was a checkpoint—or what was left of one. A shredded metal barrier lay twisted across the road. Beside it, two light armored vehicles—probably Russian Army Tigrs—were overturned and burned out. Their blackened, warped armor exhaled the last traces of heat into the open plain. The snow around them wasn’t white, but a filthy crust of soot and pinkish ice.

  But it wasn’t the vehicles that made my heart stop.

  It was the figures.

  A dozen—maybe fifteen. Scattered around the armored vehicles, in positions that spoke of an instant, sudden death. Some lay behind improvised barricades of sandbags, still clutching their rifles. Others were strewn across the ground, as if someone had swept them away in a single blow. Frozen so quickly that some seemed caught mid-motion, trapped in the act of running or falling. The snow was slowly burying them, shaping soft mounds over boots, backs, and helmets. There was no liquid blood—only dark, crystalline stains, like onyx set into the white.

  “Shit… they were fuck really hard.”

  PRIEST:

  “Valkyria? Report.”

  VALKYRIA:

  “I found an outpost. Destroyed. Vehicles and… casualties. Looks recent, but already frozen. Probably from last night—less than twelve hours ago.”

  PRIEST:

  “Markings? Identification?”

  I cautiously approached one of the enemy transport doors. The scorched metal plate was completely covered in ice, so I used my hand to scrape it away and look for something.

  It was an eagle. A double-headed eagle, its heads turned toward east and west, a crown floating above them and a scepter in its talons. The coat of arms of the Russian Empire. The symbol of the White Army—gold and black on crimson fabric—now torn by shrapnel and splattered by battle. But still recognizable.

  VALKYRIA:

  “They’re loyalists. Looks like National Guard. All dead. Frozen.”

  “It was the White Army. This outpost was wiped out.”

  At that moment, something at the edge of my vision caught my attention. Nearby, half-buried in the snow, there was a rectangular object.

  One of the soldiers, near what had been a heavy machine gun mounted on the barricade, was partially seated, slumped against a sandbag. His helmet had rolled several meters away, and his exposed face was covered in a layer of frost that gave it a marble-like pallor. His eyes, wide open, stared down the road—to the south, to where the attack must have come from. In his hands, still locked in a death grip, was an AK-12 assault rifle, its barrel pointed at nothing.

  He wasn’t a rebel either; his armband was also white, with a poorly drawn deagle hastily drawn on it with a marker.

  I crouched down to pick up the tablet lying on the ground beside him, despite the cold.

  It was a military tablet. Rugged—waterproof, shockproof. The screen was cracked, but it still flickered weakly to life. I pressed the power button.

  A tactical map opened. Blue icons—loyalist units—arranged in a defensive perimeter around what I recognized as the Petrogradsky District in Saint Petersburg. Red icons—enemy forces—advancing from multiple directions. And at the center, a blinking golden icon: “PRIORITY OBJECTIVE – RAVEN, D. – PRIVATE RESIDENCE.”

  They had known exactly where they were going.

  VALKYRIA:

  “PRIEST"

  "I think the rebels have now obtained precise intelligence. They already know where Damien is.”

  PRIEST:

  “Are you sure?”

  VALKYRIA:

  “I’ve got a command tablet from one of the corpses. It shows the full force deployment and the marked objective. This wasn’t a chance encounter. It was a route clearance.”

  “Most likely the rebels obtained this information at another outpost and are now focusing their attacks on the city’s access control checkpoints.”

  The sound came again—closer this time. Not artillery, not distant thunder, but the sharp, unmistakable crack of weapons fire carried through the storm, followed by a low, concussive thump that vibrated through the frozen ground beneath my boots. Too close. Whatever was happening, it was moving fast, and it wasn’t far from this road. I didn’t need to see it to know I had lingered too long. I rose immediately, backing away from the bodies as the wind swallowed the noise, and broke into a run toward the Walker. Snow clawed at my legs, ice biting through every step, but the Crimson Empress was already responding—systems waking, cockpit opening as I run to vaulted inside. The seals locked shut, warmth flooding back as the machine came alive around me. I didn’t look back. Setting my heading toward the city once more, I pushed forward, leaving the frozen outpost behind as the storm closed in and the war drew nearer.