I’ve played so many World War II games that they’ve long since ceased to have any individual significance.
They seem to be a senseless blur of sandbags and MG42s. I’ve played so many World War II games, and for such long unbroken intervals, that the distinction between one and the next has long since faded. Return to Castle Wolfenstein, Medal of Honor, Battlefield 1942, Day of Defeat….
More ominously, I can no longer distinguish between the genuine events of the conflict and those that have been rendered onscreen. I’ve come to understand that the Allies were fighting against the Axis, though it’s unclear to me who ultimately won. There were also some Russians. They tended to defend the flag.
I now speak fluent German.
I know the subtle difference between the turning radius of a Supermarine Spitfire Mk I and the Messerschmitt Bf 109 G. I can recognize their silhouettes clearly from up to 1000 yards in the fog and gauge the distances to them with ground-based flak-cannons. I’ve not been outside for six months.
I know more about the equipment of an American 82nd airborne soldier on D-day than I know about the condition of the underwear I’m wearing. If, indeed, I am wearing any.
This morning my friends came in and found me playing the original 1992 version of Wolfenstien, screaming for someone to “GET THE FLAG.”
They probably didn’t understand me, of course, because I was speaking in German.
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