Playing Day of Defeat while on the phone with your woman can really stress an otherwise healthy relationship

The narrow streets of Northern France were pockmarked with shell holes and piled with broken brick from the hollowed out homes smoldering on either side. Distant mortar-fire rumbled from the sky, but my eyes, tired as they were from lack of sleep, were locked unwavering into my sights. I crouched amidst the wreckage, focusing all my attention at the shattered road junction I was guarding, partially masked by the hollowed shell of a car’s wreckage.

“Oh no honey,” I said into the phone cocked on my shoulder. “It’s fine if your mother visits next weekend. We could have a lot of fun. Remember that my mother wanted to come down the weekend after that, though, so we won’t have a lot of ‘us’ time if you know what I mean.”

Suddenly the tense tranquility of the scene was punctuated by staccato bursts of gunfire. One of my friendly GIs backpedaled into my field of vision, bleeding. His rifle fired wildly down the street – Pop! Pop! Pop! – then clanged as his empty clip ejected from the gun and clattered onto the brick pavement. His bullet-ridden leg couldn’t carry him fast enough. He dove for the car but from around the corner I heard the rake of an MP40 spraying bullets in a tight arc. I looked on helplessly as my teammate caught one to the jaw and another to the ribs. Howling, he crumpled against the car and slid down lifelessly into the rubble.

“Yeah, I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it. Tell your mom she can visit. We’ll clean up the guest room a week early.”

I swung my rifle to the corner where I’d heard the MP40 shots come from. Crouching, a Nazi commander and his scout came creeping into view. I waited, waited … I wanted a clear shot at them both. When the scout dashed for the flag I unloaded on his Kommandant, who cried out before being silenced as the bullets popped his helmet off in a spray of crimson. His lackey stopped mid-run, tried to drop to the ground, fired helplessly down the alley but didn’t see where I was hiding until it was too late. He jerked back and his weapon slid to the ground as I peppered his chest with bullets. I paused to reload.

“What would you like to do while she’s here? We can go to Disneyland, maybe see the new Tom Hanks movie WHOA–”

Within a few inches from my face, I heard the zip of a bullet and saw a piece of plaster explode in a puff of debris. I rolled, sliding uncomfortably through the broken bits of building and deeper into a shell hole for cover. Sniper!! Bastard must’ve crept up into the second floor of the hotel while I was concentrating on his buddies. I frantically reloaded as another shot rang out and ricocheted off of the broken car with a loud pang of metal. I was pinned. I had to take this guy out or we were TOAST.

“Hold on, you want your mother to visit for two weeks?” I asked, an edge to my voice. “Then your mother and my mother would be here at the same time. That would be all bad. You know, where would they sleep? Who would get the couch? Oh, and, like it’s okay to drink beer with your mother but it’s a no-no with mine. What if they fight? Hey, hey now, I’m not saying I don’t like your mother. What I’m trying to say is –”

Through the shattered glass of the hotel window I saw a shadow move. It had to be him! Maybe he thought he’d pegged me? My hands jittered – it was my only chance for a clean shot. I popped up, slammed my BAR against the hood of the car and let it rip, full auto. The wooden frame around the window exploded in chunks and splinters as the bullets raced inside, shattering the remains of the glass and shredding the yellowed curtains. I let up on the trigger and dove behind the flattened front tire, risking a glance toward my target. He screamed out! I heard his rifle hit the floor and saw the shadow of his body fall.

“SUCK it DOWN you Nazi scumbag BITCH!!” I screamed. “Oh no honey, not you sweetie. No no I mean – no you’re not a Nazi sweetie. No – no honey – no, your mom’s not a Nazi either – no, I wasn’t saying, I was just – honey? Hello? Hello?”

[Based on an unfortunate but mostly true story submitted by GameSpy reader Alex Merced.]


Victim Pic Small

I hung up the phone with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then, it passed. I slammed another clip into my BAR and rose to my feet. “Bring in on, Fritz!” I cried, dashing ahead.


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