Recollection.

"Even then, we knew the battle was almost done. It was getting dark at the time, and our tanks were crawling through the last of the battie's burrows. They made short work of the trenches, but once they got near the bunkers, the mud made it impossible for them. Those spider legs of theirs were too heavy... sank like bricks. So, our unit was dispatched along with some rooks.

Our rook was a youngin', the armor made him think he was safe. Didn't know any better. Didn't know that there was something on the field with us worse then shells or gas. Taking an hour putting on the exoskeleton donned with titanium armor would make anyone feel that way. But those bunkers had behemoths waiting for us. War tractors retrofitted with spinning arms and eighty pound barbed whips cared little of muddy terrain. We were able to get back into the trench by the time one came barreling towards us... except for our rook.

Reinforced titanium, ceramic plating, flesh, then bone. All split cleanly open, dissected by a behemoth's blade. At the moment, I think I recall seeing him holding his rotary cannon up to protect himself, but it really didn't make any difference. Their weapon's metallic innards spilled out onto the mud along with his own. Spools of red-hot copper wire slid out of the cannon, still spinning from the last volley of shots it fired, clattering loudly along with other metal parts as it all slid out as a jumbled clutter as it seared intestine and dirt alike. The blade cut through the cannon, through the powered armor's seven inches of metal plating, and split open the whole front of his chest, down to the stomach.

After the tractor and bunker were reduced to rubble by a strafing run, we were able to make way and survey the damage. When we found what was left, it seemed that the armor was sturdy enough to keep him upright after he collapsed to his knees. Made a vivid exhibition of their anatomy."