Off We Go

"Take care now, lad. It isn't an ordinary battle you're walking into. Best way I can describe it is... hm. What's an easy read...?

"A golem, son, is a freight train with hands. Might be faster critters, sure, aye. Rabbits. Horses. Your partners sprinting with fear adrenaline and piss down their trousers. But speed isn't what it's made for. It's made as mass and force, and it has plenty of both. Once it starts going, there's not much that's going to stop it beyond its handler or its own volition, so if you possibly have the chance to seize control, by god, do it, boy. It doesn't feel pain. It doesn't feel fear, but you certainly might. You'll have to bust it to rubble or it'll keep coming, and swords break a lot faster than rock. Bullets score tidbits out, but have you tried shooting a wall for two hours? Doesn't do much, does it? Try shooting it for the two minutes before it surges forward and hits back. I can guarantee it isn't going to need more than two strikes to mash some ligaments and bones alike."

The grizzled old sergeant laid his hands on the recruit's shoulder. "You're a good one. I don't want to have to sponge what's left of you off the trees like the last squad. Do it smart. Keep it immobilized and keep goddamn out of range if you can, but it can throw things, throw them harder and a lot farther than those farming winches you have back home. This won't be like fighting a rhino- there's nothing soft at all under the armor. It's solid through and through."