Narzack

I got back into Rising Storm/Red Orchestra multiplayer in recent weeks, as Haley can attest to.  I’m still pretty rubbish at it, rarely able to do more than run forward for a minute and a half towards an objective, only to take a bullet to the temple as soon as I crest a hill.  Even still, it’s pretty fun. One interesting side effect of being slaughtered over and over is how much it makes me afraid of war.  Of course, as with any rational person, I’ve never wanted to actually see combat.  Video game and movie glorification aside, at no point past the age of seven have I wanted to be in a war.

But, I’ll tell you.  Red Orchestra/Rising Storm stresses me out and scares me so much that it has crushed any childhood dreams of infantry heroism.

One night, I was playing on a map- I don’t remember which it was, some snowy forest outside of a bombed-out village- and, for the first time that I can remember, I felt scared during a multiplayer map. 

I was prone on the side of a small rise, trying to decide what to do.  I could hear the zip and snap of bullet whipping over my head, as innumerable German troops peppered the forest with gunfire.  I looked to my right to see one of my comrades dash forward in a low crouch.  As soon as he crested the slight hill I was on, he jerked and cried out and a red cloud replaced his head.  His body crumbled and tumbled past me.  Immediately after, a fresh salvo of automatic fire passed overhead, blurring my vision and filling my ears with a terrible rushing sound.  I pushed backwards from the hill, suddenly terrified.  In that moment, I felt real fear. No way was I going to climb over that hill and return fire.  I was too scared to even hurl a grenade.  I was a coward, afraid to die after seeing one of my mates fall so easily.

Then came the shelling.  Sudden explosions tearing up the hillside, shredding trees to splinters.  I had nowhere to hide, so I just cowered, stomach churning as explosive death rained down around me.  It was just like a movie, I looked around and saw other friendly soldiers hunkered down as the bombs fell, exploding in a gory mess.  Just unlucky, I supposed.

Eventually, the shelling tapered off and I crept forward peering through the smoke to try to see any Germans.  A quick snap was all I heard as an unseen sniper spotted me and put an end to my misery.

Later, I was holed up in a shelled building on the outskirts of the forest.  The Germans had pushed us out of the trees and were assaulting our rally points pretty heavily.  I’d pop out of a window, fire a few panicked shots in their direction and duck back, return fire tearing at the windowsill and walls.  They started to enter the building, so I retreated(ran at top speed is more like it) outside.  I put a few buildings between us and stopped to catch my breath.  Then, the shelling resumed.  I dropped to a prone position, hugging the wall since the building I was beside had no entrances.  A few terrified minutes later, the shelling had slowed enough that I moved forward to try to find any friendlies.  A few stray explosions rocked the street and I spotted two friendly contacts across the thoroughfare.  I immediately began to move toward them, as gunfire had resumed.  My plan was to join up with them.  I was just about to cross the street when one last shell landed.  Even as far away as I was, some ten yards, a few body parts landed at my feet.  I was stunned.

And then a German shot me in the nuts and I died.

Narzack

Have you ever played an online game and realized that the whole time, you've thought yourself the good guy?  And every time someone kills you, they're either a bastard, evil, or somehow dastardly?

A few days ago,  I was playing Rising Storm as the Axis on some sort of urban map(I really need to learn map names).  As usual, I spent the first ten minutes running to catch up with my team, getting lost, and being subsequently torn to gory shreds. 

Finally, after some time, I managed to find another player in some sort of train station building.  He was on the second floor firing out of a window.  I made my up the stairs and peeked out a window beside him.  A couple rounds impacted on the wall beside me, so I ducked back and decided to cover his back. 

Now, the second floor was more of a balcony that ran around the inside of the building, with a large opening in the middle through which you could see the first floor.  I laid prone with my gun trained on the first floor.  Apparently, my ally was causing some havoc to the other team, because enemy soldiers kept rushing into the building, quickly falling to my gunfire. 

At one point, the return fire from outside grew too fierce, so he left the window as a few more enemies poured into the building.  He dropped down beside me and we dispatched the group. 

At this time, I knew that we had been marked, and there would be a push to clear us out of the point.  Naturally, my adrenaline spiked.  Palms sweaty, eyes wide, breath shallow.  The two of us lay on the floor, guns trained on the area below us, waiting. 

Suddenly, rounds began to explode and tear through the planks between us.  Someone directly below us was firing straight up, hoping to kill us.  As bullets ripped through, just beside my head, I threw a grenade downstairs, hoping to destroy our assailants.  It exploded and I saw a blood splash on the tile.  I crawled over to the stairs, to check if anyone was coming up. 

Once I got there, for some reason, I panicked, thinking I had no ammo left in my clip.  Hands shaking, I checked my clip, counting the remaining rounds.  As I did so, an enemy soldier stalked up the stairs, his pistol ready.  Frantically, I tried to shove the clip back in, but he lined up the shot and all I saw was black.

Initially, I was mad.  What an asshole!  Arrogant bastard, you just saunter up here, smug as you please, and kill me in one shot with a pistol!  What a stupid jerk!

Then, I realized something. In my mind, I was the good guy.  My story was the righteous one.  I was the one who was wronged.  But, looking at it a little more, I began to understand that he probably felt the same way.  Maybe I had killed him a few times already.  Maybe he'd seen his buddies die to our guns.  Either way, we were an entrenched enemy causing problems for his team.  We were the bad guys.  We were the enemy that had to be stopped.  Perhaps he was out of ammo, and his pistol was his last weapon.  Maybe he'd been the one to fire up at us, and his teammate was killed by my grenade.  Then, vengeful and bleeding himself, he'd climbed those stairs, and, vision clouded by blood, body beaten and burned, managed one heroic shot.  Finally killing those assholes who'd been murdering his buddies.

 I wonder what his narrative was.