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A
pile
driver
is
a
close
-
combat
weapon
that
uses
an
explosive
charge
to
fire
tungsten
carbide
spikes
-
only
good
against
enemies
within
arm
’
s
reach
.
The
powder
cartridges
it
fires
are
each
as
big
as
a
man
’
s
fist
.
At
a
ninety
-
degree
angle
of
impact
,
the
only
thing
that
can
stand
up
to
it
is
the
front
armor
plating
on
a
tank
.
When
they
first
told
me
its
magazine
only
held
twenty
rounds
,
I
didn
’
t
think
anyone
could
live
long
enough
to
use
even
that
many
.
I
was
wrong
.
Mine
had
four
rounds
left
.
I
had
fired
sixteen
times
,
and
missed
fifteen
-
maybe
sixteen
.
The
heads
-
up
display
in
my
suit
was
warped
.
I
couldn
’
t
see
a
goddamn
thing
where
it
was
bent
.
There
could
be
an
enemy
standing
right
in
front
of
me
and
I
’
d
never
know
it
.
They
say
a
vet
who
is
used
to
the
Jacket
can
get
a
read
on
his
surroundings
without
even
using
the
camera
.
Takes
more
than
eyes
in
battle
.
You
have
to
feel
the
impact
passing
through
layers
of
ceramic
and
metal
and
into
your
body
.
Read
the
pull
of
the
trigger
.
Feel
the
ground
through
the
soles
of
your
boots
.
Take
in
numbers
from
a
kaleidoscope
of
gauges
and
know
the
state
of
the
field
in
an
instant
.
But
I
couldn
’
t
do
any
of
that
.
A
recruit
in
his
first
battle
knows
shit
-
all
.
Breathe
out
.
Breathe
in
.
My
suit
was
rank
with
sweat
.
A
terrible
smell
.
Snot
was
seeping
from
my
nose
,
but
I
couldn
’
t
wipe
it
.
I
checked
the
chronometer
beside
my
display
.
Sixty
-
one
minutes
had
passed
since
the
battle
started
.
What
a
load
of
shit
.
It
felt
like
I
’
d
been
fighting
for
months
.
I
looked
left
,
right
.
Up
,
down
.
I
made
a
fist
inside
one
glove
.
Can
’
t
use
too
much
strength
,
I
had
to
remind
myself
.
Overdo
it
,
and
my
aim
would
drift
low
.
