(I was busy this weekend.)
I am surprised by the emergence of the Moletank. Its bit pushes through the earth and the spinning treads fling mud dozens of feet into the air. As it slams back down to the ground, hatches along its side open disgorging squads of power-armored soldiers. They deploy along the tank as the steel beast itself turns and begins to rumble in our direction. Machine gun turrets swing out from its side and rake the trenches, forcing me to duck down under cover. I hear a high-pitched whine as several of the soldiers' weapons discharge. I don't know what they are, but they make a great flash and pop when fired, and chunks of earth vanish.
I peek above again, reaching back for a phosphorous grenade. My hand is guided by inhuman instincts as a hurl the grenade, and the grenade bounces off a soldier's head before bursting. The white phosphorous burns at his suit, and he screams as he falls. His death sends up a cloud of white smoke, marking the location.
A lieutenant near me is shouting into the radio, something about fire support, when a wooden fragment blown out from a nearby impact slices through his neck. He falls back, fear in his eyes, as he slowly bleeds out. The radio handset falls into the mud, but I can hear a voice on the line. I pick it up and listen.
What do I hear?