"We have sixty eight hours of combustible energy remaining on the primary gauge."
Kira leaned her weight onto her uninjured leg and pointed at the flashing red numbers on the main console. She kept her posture rigid to mask the dull throbbing pain radiating from her bandaged thigh.
Malcolm gripped the steering yoke of the Leviathan. The mobile warship ground its way through the frozen northern suburbs of the dead metropolis. They followed the coordinates extracted from the ruined bomber flight recorder.
"The drag from the deep snowdrifts is increasing our fuel consumption," Malcolm noted. He watched the reinforced plow blades push a mountain of icy debris off the ruined asphalt.
"General Varga consolidated his supply lines at a staging ground ten miles from this intersection," Kira sta
