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Snow fell lightly over the war-torn plains. Flakes settled on the few remaining blades of grass and carpeted craters in soft white.
The only thing visible for miles was a single figure, dashing across the fields, leaving segmented grey indents as it went.
The courier mech's thrusters burned hard, boosting it across the pale landscape as it leaned forward deeply and pumped its legs hard to keep upright and moving. Its navigation systems stuttered as it pressed closer to the frontline, long-range communications jammers shredding incoming location data from orbital GPS satellites. Still, it pressed on, relying on memory to reach its destination.
Within what would normally be an armored cockpit, boxes of parcels and envelopes jostled around with the mech's movement, nestled safely under several layers of heavy ablative armor plating.
As the courier's AI scanned the landscape, picking out landmarks to navigate by, its audio receptors picked up an incoming shell whistling through the air. It dashed to the side as the projectile came down, leaving a fresh crater almost too close for comfort. Hostile fire began rolling out from the far side of the snowfall, artillery shells and airburst rounds weaving a deadly net around the mech.
The mech pushed its thrusters harder, afterburners blazing, and kicked on its downward facing thrusters, lifting it into the air to skim across the scorched earth, dancing between bursts of flak. It rocketed on toward the forward operating base, even as shrapnel and bullets glanced off its armor.
Suddenly, a series of muffled explosions rang out from deep in the storm, off in the direction of the enemy forces. Two sets of engine glows slowly faded into vision through the intensifying snowstorm, resolving into a pair of hovering high-mobility units as they approached. The radio crackled with static when one's pilot spoke.
"Postal Three, we have your approach covered. It's good to see you, sister."