The armor was hot, thick, clumsy and heavy. It was also totally useless; the twisted piles of bloodied metal all around him made that painfully clear.
He tried not to think about his odds of making it out of this battlefield alive, all he knew was every sudden blast and dying scream around him meant they kept getting lower.
The cacophony of desperate conflicting orders pouring out of his com-link only made the shaking of his hands worse.
The shells kept missing more and more nearly as he searched in vain for cover. He cursed his luck, his stupid superiors, the enemy, even his dying friends. His whole mind was filled with pure and primal fear of oh his imminent death.
And then, as a heat-seeking missile barely missed his head, he suddenly realized he had nothing left to lose… he was already dead.
He stood up among the blasting rounds, shut down all systems, and casually climbed down the clumsy metal giant.
The whistling bullets suddenly meant nothing to him. For the first time in his life he felt totally free.
The hot air filled his lungs with the smell of cordite and hot metal as he calmly lit his last remaining cigarette. It felt so good feel the scorched ground under his own two feet.
He casually flicked the spent butt over his shoulder, cocked his rifle… and let out a battle scream before charging towards the enemy, running into the swirling smoke with total wild abandon.