Gentlemen, thank you in advance for your advice and comments.
Micro transactions in EVE are another story. I'm paying for the game already. If some dullard wants a monocle, fine. But if he can buy UBER ammo/ships with another PLEX then either eve needs to be free to play or I need to free up the $38 I spend a month to keep my accounts going. That would buy me all the gold I would ever need in one month. (maybe I will...)
[SPOILER=Forward Scout, Call Sign "Red Five"]The same moment I downloaded the game I sent a text to my brother demanding he download it as well. He did this morning and we got a few hours of game time before I had to head to work. He's fallen in love with Self Propelled Guns, so I hopped in my M2 Prototype and scout for him. The map name I forget, but it's the German urban map with the high hill on the side. The battle went as follows...
After the thirty agonizing seconds tick down to zero, my driver thrusts both levers forward and my tank speeds off leaving a trail of dust and loose cobble stones. Luck had us on the far right flank so we didn't have to weave our way around the other tier I and II traffic as they figure out what direction left is.
Apexing corners my driver maintains as much speed as possible as we make the ascent. Reaching the summit, I find there are no tanks in view, but I hardly decrease our pace as the driver prepares for a rapid decent and a left turn into enemy HQ. (Tastefully designed in white chalk via rope and donkey.) A few tanks are spotted and my radioman confirms locations but these are forward scouts (or rather lost souls about to become fodder) and soon I hear my brother celebrating his first SPG kill.
"Great, kid, don't get cocky!"
My stomach elevates to my tonsils as the nimble scout tank plunges down the steep incline. And I spot our first catch of the day! Slowly tractoring up the hill is a bone stock Cunningham, billowing black diesel exhaust as it struggles against its own weight. Tracking it instantly, I fire, and amazingly all five rounds hole the Cunningham's steel skin as we pass.
Trusting the steady hand of my driver, I swivel the turret and send another volley scoring two hits into the rear of the confused tank. My radioman transmits the enemy position to friendly artillery units as the driver pulls the left lever back, almost clipping the building on the inside of the street. Soon sparks fly as the right side of the hull scrapes bricks, but not enough to slow the tank. Another wild turn succeeds in keeping speed from dropping below 40 on the narrow streets. Behind us, the Cunningham is enveloped in an explosion of indirect fire.
Ahead, several tanks are in view and in a defensive posture. The small main gun spews bullets but there are too many targets and my lack of focus sends rounds in all directions. The Radioman is talking as fast has he can as he reports the seven tanks still on the edges of their own chalk line.
Weaving on a mad course that makes aiming near impossible the driver works his levers in a blur of movement, keeping our speed and thus our safety. As fast as I can, I cycle rounds down range, spraying bullets as we whiz past, breaking tracks on one tank and jamming a turret on another. Explosions erupt all around us as the defending tanks attempt to track and fire on us. Some of them carelessly fire on friendly forces in their vain attempt to stop us. Angry German voices crackle over the unsecure channel in what I am sure was a promise to return the friendly fire if it happens again.
Suddenly those angry voices are silent as two enemy tanks are decimated by a hail of high explosive rounds. On the far flank I see another cluster of enemy units and I open fire on them. Before I can assess the damage, I'm pinned to the left side of the turret by centrifugal force as my driver turns 180 degrees and screams the tank right back at enemy HQ. Who says Mustang pilots are the only warriors who pull multiple G's?
I peel myself off the bulkhead and aim the main gun. I fire a volley, then a second, and then a third! Three more enemy tanks lie dead and smoking, but a fourth finds his mark on the port side track. The explosion rocks the tank and the ringing in my ears still drones on to this day! Our momentum carries us out of his line of fire but the damaged little tank veers into a small café and we smash to a halt.
My order to get us moving is ignored and I look down to find out why. My driver, better than any I’ve seen, is slumped over dead. His head is a bloody mess of brain matter and shrapnel. Once the shock passes I desperately try to move him aside and get us moving again. The terrible sound of the Russian medium tank, who crippled us, grows louder as he gets closer.
As calm as ever, my Radioman relays the Russians position and in the distance I can hear the thuds of indirect fire. Just as the seemingly huge barrel swings toward us, the Russian tank is split open like a tin of caviar at an Orthodox wedding. The Radioman puts a hand on my shoulder, “It’s over Sergeant. All Enemy tanks destroyed.”
SPOTED : 10