kills a Jotun

The Jotun turned his axe sideways like a flyswatter, took a stride toward me, and raised it.
And that was when I saw Bradley vanish into the haze, the last of the company of escapees—but Murphy hadn’t gone with them.
She was standing next to her Harley, and the box labeled CAMPING SUPPLIES was wide open.
I watched her draw out a round tube with a couple of grip points and a control pad, painted olive drab. She extended the tube, flipped up some kind of little doohickey on it, lifted it to her freaking shoulder, and settled her fingers lightly on the control pad.
“You fight like a woman, seidrmadr,” Svangar snarled.
“Hey, drittsekk!” Murphy shouted.
Svangar turned his head toward her, his expression furious.
One corner of her mouth crooked up in a smile and her blue eyes were cold. “Me, too.”
And she fired the weapon.
I don’t know a lot about military hardware. But if you’re going to fight a Jotun, it seems to me a bazooka is about the right caliber.
I didn’t really see the rocket fly. That’s not how those things work. They move at about the speed of a handgun bullet. There was simply an explosion followed almost instantaneously by another explosion in the hollow of Svangar’s throat. CrackBOOM.
Resisting fire was a nifty trick, but in the end, again, Sir Isaac will always weigh in on matters. Fire is an absolute, a collection point of energy, and it can always get hotter. Eventually, as with any defense, there’s a limit to what it can do, a point of catastrophic failure—and Murphy’s rocket found that limit.
Ever see a watermelon get smashed with a sledgehammer?
It was sort of like that.
Flesh and blood exploded from the Jotun in a cloud of aerial chum. I could see Svangar’s cracked and blackened collarbone and his freaking spine through the hole in his neck. The Jotun staggered, his shoulder smashing into a building, raised his axe one last time—and fell as it dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers.
The giant’s body crushed two cars and knocked over a streetlight as it came down. One outflung hand landed not three feet from my toes.
And suddenly the street was silent and very still.
I got up and walked toward her, taking slow steps, wide around the fallen Jotun. It was a little difficult to keep my balance. I might not have been able to feel it, but the pain was taking its physical toll on me. My entire body tingled unpleasantly.
“Fight like a woman, my ass,” Murphy muttered darkly, glowering at the dead giant.

Battle Ground Chapter 21, Page 200-201