There were Three Warriors. Armoured warriors here my friends, not scantily glad and massively built blonde mean with pig tails and beards. There engines we're idling, and they were ready to go.
Two Anti-Tank Infantry Sections sat waiting patiently in two of them, and a Rifle Section in the remaining one. They sat, their Clammy hands holding their rifles, their faces, greasy with cammo cream, there hearts thumping with in time with the distant artillery.
A right click, and they rumbled into action, crushing grass and flower, and breaking clear of the woodland surrounded area i'd Chosen to deploy in.
The Country club to the right of our battle line was already chaotic with shit, shot and shell and the constant shouts and calls over the network were becoming indecisive and I tried in vain to drown them out. We trundled along the length of a plowed field. To our right, we handrailed a long strip of thick forest, thick enough to conceal us, but to long and dense to be tackled by the lads on foot. I'd ferry them North with the Wagons, drop them off, and shoot back to pick up the Reinforcments who had parachuted in not long since our deployment.
We reached the Forward Rendezvous without making contact. A clicked order and smoke cannisters shot from the ports of the Warriors and they screamed to a halt, their rears shooting into the air as the forward brakes bit into the soft ground. The rear doors shot open and the troops ran out, at a sprint, through the smoke and into the forest. The manouvre lasted less than two minutes, and we were ready. The Warriors were stayed on station until the lads were in position, then shot back to the forming up point to collect the next platoon.
I was in my own world at the time and calls and shouts from the other field commanders were skimming by un-noticed. I was oblivious to all but my own. My lads were waiting in ambush, laying quietly in the thick brush, ready. We were so far in front of our front line, that we knew the Warsaw Pact bastards wouldnt expect us, and right on cue 4 T-80s, Heavily armoured Machines who’s only role on the battlefield was to deal shitty death to anyone brave enough to try and thwart their insatiable lust of command points! Their powerful cannon can be costly when fired on un-protected troops, and more horrorfying, they can crush men beneath their tracks – if you allow them to get close enough. The boys on the deck had orders not to fire unless given the direct order by myself, and I wanted to balance the timing, allowing them close enough to warrant accuracy and effectiveness on the part of my own arsenal, but not too close so that they pose a quick turn threat, and my Sections are turned to the consistency of crunchy strawberry jam.
I waited patiently, and at a time I considered best gave the order and the pine scented forest air broke into the horrid whiff or cordite and scorched metal as the lead and rear vehicle were lost in a spray of Anti-tank rockets. Quickly a further Salvo from both AT Sections rendered them destroyed, and the Enemy commander tried in vain to deploy a smokescreen, but they were too close, and after reloading, we quickly dispatched the surviving two in a similar fashion.
I considered this a great success. I had lost very few men in the initial contact, and each of the Sections was still comfortable above 80% strength, and what was more, my Warriors were now trumbling back with more troops. I flashed back to a memory my grandfather had shared with me when I was a lad ‘If it aint broke, don’t fix it!’ had been a common anecdote, and despite any training I’d received in life, I decided to keep my ambush team in the same position, and try the ambush again. This went against everything I’d ever been taught about the art of ambush whilst serving Queen and country, but gaming instincts and the odd ‘what the hell!’ came into play. Plus I decided the enemy wouldn’t really expect me to still be in the same position.
I Reinforced my lads with another two AT Sections and another Rifle Section to give protection from Air or Infantry attack and waited.
And this, my friends, is where it all began to go wrong. As I watched another Column, this time of T-72 tanks approach my killing zone, a flash through the air and blinding flash announced the presence of an enemy bomber. A Frogfoot I thought, but had no time to identify as my infantry we’re engulfed in a swift corridor of Burning Napalm. I was pissed, but with another reinforcment, and a swift deployment back into the Battle Area would mean no major loss. However, this is where the Arguments began. I was immediately engulfed with ‘Hendrix u n00b!’ ‘LOL @ Hendrix’ and ‘n00b team!’ messages. These persisted until the match ended, and I logged out. Similar things like this have happened since, and before.
So to sum up, I ask you my friends, Why are the World In Conflict Community, such fucking pricks? I’ve played many, many games online, and never before, have I met a bigger bunch of self possessed, nasty, elitist bigots. Its just stupid. The game is without a doubt the best crafted RTS experience I have ever had the pleasure of gracing my hard drive with, yet the community suck. Its shrinking because of pricks like these, and it pisses me off! Any thoughts?