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No
time
to
check
the
Doppler
.
Time
to
fire
and
forget
.
Thak
thak
thak
thak
thak
!
A
cloud
of
dust
rose
.
The
enemy
’
s
rounds
seemed
to
ride
the
wind
over
my
head
,
but
mine
liked
to
veer
off
after
leaving
the
barrel
,
as
if
the
enemy
simply
willed
them
away
.
Our
drill
sergeant
said
guns
could
be
funny
like
that
.
You
ask
me
,
it
seems
only
fair
that
the
enemy
should
get
to
hear
shells
screeching
down
on
them
,
too
.
We
should
all
have
our
turn
feeling
Death
’
s
breath
on
the
back
of
our
neck
,
friend
and
foe
alike
.
But
what
would
Death
’
s
approach
sound
like
to
an
inhuman
enemy
?
Did
they
even
feel
fear
?
Our
enemies
-
the
enemies
of
the
United
Defense
Force
-
are
monsters
.
Mimics
,
we
call
them
.
My
gun
was
out
of
bullets
.
The
silhouette
of
a
misshapen
orb
materialized
in
the
clay
-
brown
haze
.
It
was
shorter
than
a
man
.
It
would
probably
come
up
to
the
shoulder
of
a
Jacketed
soldier
.
If
a
man
were
a
thin
pole
standing
on
end
,
a
Mimic
would
be
a
stout
barrel
-
a
barrel
with
four
limbs
and
a
tail
,
at
any
rate
.
Something
like
the
bloated
corpse
of
a
drowned
frog
,
we
liked
to
say
.
To
hear
the
lab
rats
tell
it
,
they
have
more
in
common
with
starfish
,
but
that
’
s
just
details
.
They
make
for
a
smaller
target
than
a
man
,
so
naturally
they
’
re
harder
to
hit
.
Despite
their
size
,
they
weigh
more
than
we
do
.
If
you
took
one
of
those
oversized
casks
,
the
kind
Americans
use
to
distill
bourbon
,
and
filled
it
with
wet
sand
you
’
d
have
it
about
right
.
Not
the
kind
of
mass
a
mammal
that
’
s
70
percent
water
could
ever
hope
for
.
A
single
swipe
of
one
of
its
limbs
can
send
a
man
flying
in
a
thousand
little
pieces
.
Their
javelins
,
projectiles
fired
from
vents
in
their
bodies
,
have
the
power
of
40mm
shells
.
