72nd Ferryman of Phlegethon - his role is rather redundant, as his Ferry, the Earthshaker-class Earthmover USS Benjamin Franklin can navigate the rivers of Hell just fine on her own. He runs a gay bar next to her runway.
Benjamin (Franklin) - amphibious aircraft carrier type Earthmover, aka Earthshaker after Poseidon. Made in the USA. It's unclear how Benjamin actually got to hell, especially since she was built around a massive fission plant and theoretically should have survived the Long Night.
T470 - He/him lesbian. A quirk of machine psychology caused most of them to take the pronouns used by equivalent vessels in their country of origin; as Russian female tanks, ЧТ-01s identify near-universally as transmasculine or butch. Absorbed some Marxist leanings through processor upgrades scavenged from machines programmed to be good communists. His original build quality wasn't the greatest, leading to malfunctions that caused him to sympathize with his fuel tank early on.
T470's fuel tank — during a time of particularly heavy losses, Soviet manufacturers actually managed to run out of deserters, political prisoners, and POWs to stuff into Guttermen. To meet quota, they used sex workers who wouldn't be missed. She, a bisexual prostitute with various diseases, was one of them. Developed a relationship with T470 where she would alert him to attacks from behind in order to keep them both alive.
N799 — Porsche Nashorn menschenpanzerjäger (AKA Porsche Rhino guttertank), equipped with faustpanzer left arm, rocket launcher right arm, and rocket resupply device backpack. The Porsche Rhino was significantly more comfortable to "drive" than similar designs. Since the Nazis never rose to power, Germany was a haven for queer sexualities and gender identities throughout the Final War. N799's fuel tank is a trans woman whose consciousness and corporeal form have pretty much totally merged with her.
T470 sighed. (Internally—he had never found the need to fit a vocoder.) He hadn't really expected to see any other women at this particular gay bar—femme lesbians, for some reason, tended to appear in Lust rather than Violence—but it was a disappointment all the same. He'd had partners who could do more Violence Against Nature with two carefully trimmed fingers than most men could with their entire bodies, but either Hell or Minos didn't seem to agree. "So what can I do you for," asked the bartender, casually tapping his chisel on a small hell mass as one on Earth would idly clean a glass. "Not to stereotype, but your kind usually like Tu-22 coolant served in a rubber heater."
T470 shook his head and linked to a debug panel to voice his thoughts. More power to them, the panel said, but that's a function of their blood packs' preferences bleeding through. Lots of crashed bomber pilots missing limbs, lots of test pilots paralyzed from downward ejects...that damn plane was a real windfall for our population, let me tell you. Get me a Peach Bellini and a long straw. With a mental command, T470 popped open his coffin-like backpack. He turned around, revealing an emaciated female within to the bartending Ferryman. She likes the taste, and I've never really enjoyed heavy drinking.
The girl shakily raised her head. "'S cute," she rasped around the feeding tube in her mouth. I wouldn't know about cute, but I'm guessing he's gay, came the debug panel's synthesized voice. "C'n still 'dmire th' m'rchndise. 'Sgot real nice bone structure."
"It's about all I have, I'll admit..." said the ferryman, holding the straw to her lips. "You're pretty calm about your situation, all things considered."
She took a sip. "Can't really complain. I mean, how many Gutter-types even bother to install doors? (Boy my throat was dry)" Yeah, I've been trying to scavenge better hydration for you, but there just isn't much to go around.