"That thing's still running?" Collar asked in disbelief.
"Of course it is," Scope replied, "We've been maintaining it for the last 50 years."
"Yeah, it's less the 'maintaining' part and more the '50 years' part that I can't get my head around," said Collar.
By looks alone, one would never be able to tell that Scope's frankenstein sedan was a functional machine-- much less a moveable vehicle. The rear doors' edges had been melted by rust while the driver's door was littered crosswise by dents. The hood was a clean eggshell blue in contrast to the coarse red rust that coated the rest of the hull. The tires were all mismatched, but at least none of them were spares, Collar supposed.
"It's an ugly critter," Scope admitted, "But it's my responsibility. Since Dad was put in charge of the munitions van, the recon car is in my hands."
"You don't think the hood is too obvious?" Collar said, turning to Scope, "The rust on everything else blends in with the dirt."
"Yeah, it's a temporary installment," Scope scratched his neck, "Hopefully we'll find a hood that fits soon, otherwise we'll have to paint this one. You ever maintain red and orange paint on a bright blue surface? It's a pain in the ass."
"Well, if the enemy thinks it's just a pile of scrap, I guess that'd be camouflage enough," Collar shrugged.