Hell on the Ostfront Contest Announced!

Scott Tortorice

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View attachment 31006



“We are in the position of a man who has seized a wolf by the ears and dare not let him go.” – Generalmajor Friedrich Wilhelm von Mellenthin


It witnessed some of the most brutal warfare in human history. Never before had so many men, tanks and aircraft clashed on such an epic scale. It was hell on Earth.

It was World War II’s Ostfront.

This titanic clash of Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Soviet Union would claim more casualties than any other theater in the war, and elevate such obscure locales as Stalingrad and Kharkov to the pantheon of the greatest battles in human history. Perhaps no other front is as fascinating to military historians…or wargamers.

One authentically exciting way to relieve combat on the Russian Front is Matrix Games’ well-received tactical wargame, Panzer Command. Utilizing 3D graphics combined with realistic units, tactics and terrain, Panzer Command: Operation Winter Storm and Panzer Command: Kharkov have proven to be a hit with Ostfront aficionados.

Not willing to lose momentum on the East Front, Matrix Games has recently announced a third expansion. Arriving in October, Panzer Command: Ostfront will include all the content of the previous Panzer Command titles, as well as including all new content!

To celebrate the pending launch of Panzer Command: Ostfront, Matrix Games has partnered with Gamesquad for a “Hell on the Ostfront” contest. Here are the details:


  1. Starting today, registered members of Gamesquad.com are invited to submit original creations depicting warfare on the Russian Front during World War II. All types of creations will be accepted, including short fiction, artwork, cartoons, screenshots and even videos.
  2. All submissions will be public. To submit your material, post it in this thread. Just be sure to put a [SUBMISSION] header somewhere in the post!
  3. On October 11, Gamesquad will pick three winners based on originality, effort and that all-important “Wow!” factor.
  4. Prizes will include:
  • First Place: One copy of Panzer Command: Ostfront and another free game, courtesy of Matrix Games
  • Second & Third Place: A free copy of Panzer Command: Ostfront

That’s all there is to it, so get going! Good luck to all! :salute:

PS: Feel free to kibitz in this thread, too. :)
 

SoccerDJ

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Cool contest. I already own Panzer Command: Winter Storm and Kharkov but the free one from Matrix Games would be nice. I'll have to see if I can pull anything together.
 

Scott Tortorice

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You guys do realize that the first guy to submit an entry will be automatically in the lead, right? :D Come on, I know you guys can come up with something interesting. :)
 

Heinrich505

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Hey guys, new to the forum. Just read about this contest and am intrigued. It sounds like a really cool idea. I've been checking out PCO at the Matrix site and am pretty convinced to get it when it comes out. Of course a free copy would be fabulous. :laugh:

I might have something to include. How do we post a submission? Just attach it as a file?

Heinrich505
 

Scott Tortorice

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Glad to hear that! You can submit it as a posting in this thread (attaching a file is fine). Just put [SUBMISSION] at the top of the post with any relevant info/explanation, etc.

If you need more help, just let me know! And welcome to the forums!
 

Heinrich505

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Scott,
Thanks for the welcome.

I've got a slight problem. The story I've got is 2.22 megabytes, which is too large for the standard attachments. When I tried to upload it, I got that little exclamation mark saying the file is too large. There are quite a few screenshots in the word file which I guess is what makes the file as large as it is.

Any suggestions? I could break it up into several parts, if there is no way to upload the entire file as is.

Please let me know.

Heinrich505
 

Scott Tortorice

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Could you just post the story to this thread? Just use the 'insert image' button to add in the images (or attach the images and insert them 'inline'). If you're not sure how to do that, feel free to send the file to me (STortorice@gamesquad.com) and I'll take care of it for you.
 

Mad Russian

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Here let me get you started:

"Once upon a time......."

Hope that helps.

Good Hunting.

MR
 

black_beast

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G'day,

I might have a crack at this.

Eric Rutkins, over at Matrix, did a really entertaining AAR recently

http://www.matrixgames.com/forums/fb.asp?m=2557969

I was considering writing an 'on the ground' story from the point of view of one of the units involved in the battle. Might involve lifting a screenshot or two from Eric's AAR. So the fiction would be original but there would be, perhaps, a couple of copied screenshots to provide some atmosphere.

Thought I'd better run this past the judges first with regards to eligibility before I put some time into it.


Cheers,
Black_Beast
 

Scott Tortorice

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An AAR is a fine idea, but I would like to see original screenshots (that's part of the fun! :)). Is there a reason why you can't take some new screenshots?
 

Heinrich505

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Scott,
I sent you a rather large e-mail at the address you gave me, with my submission. I've attached the submission in several forms, hoping you can use it in one shape or another. It is a good read. The SS were pretty nice too. Let me know if it didn't go through.

Heinrich505
 

Scott Tortorice

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Got it, thanks! I sent you an email back with a question. Also, could you send me the screenshots separately? It will make it easier for me to embed the images as a forum post.

Thanks again!
 

black_beast

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G'day Scott,

O.K, I'll do my own screenshots. Original from top to bottom.

Appreciate you running the competition.

Cheers,
Black_Beast
 

Scott Tortorice

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[SUBMISSION from Heinrich505]

Note: Heinrich505's submission originally included pictures, but I am unable to embed them. Also, this is part one of a five part AAR. Feel fee to post the rest of the AAR in another thread, Heinrich!


AAR HSG KC Lt Oberloskamp PART I


March should not be so damned cold, but here we are, middle of Russia. Of course it is cold, thinks Hpt Griess. He is freezing, and inside a building. Imagine how his men feel, out in the cold, in shallow foxholes gouged out of the frozen earth. One thing is certain. This God-forsaken village – what is the name again, Dyuki – is hardly worth the blood of his soldiers. And yet, they are here, ordered to hold so that others can retreat from what HQ refers to as a developing pocket and the “straightening of the lines.” Oh yes, he thinks bitterly. Straightening the lines simply means giving up hard won territory, purchased with the blood of young German soldiers. Such a deceptively clean phrase.

A call from his Second brings him up cold. Word is relayed back from Lt Laumann’s position. Engines heard, probably tanks. He has ordered no firing of purple flares. He wants to catch Ivan by surprise. The Russians know what those flares mean, and he doesn’t want them to become cautious. Several tank hunter teams are assigned, and he means to give them an advantage.

Far off to the right, Lt Fischer calms his men. Don’t fire until they are close, he has told them. We have an infantry gun, so we’ll try to keep them at a distance, but when we open fire, it will be concentrated and overlapping, he tells his troops. Being the junior officer, half of his men are green replacements, due to the double killer of Russian soldiers and the Russian winter. He surmises that he was assigned the infantry gun to bolster his weak unit. Perhaps we won’t catch the brunt of any assault, he thinks hopefully.

To his left is Lt Bott. Bott has most of the veterans. He and Laumann have constantly petitioned Hpt Griess for consolidating the veterans and regulars. They have been successful. Hence, Fisher has the new guys, and the infantry gun.

To the far left flank is Lt Schmalturm, with their AT gun and mainly veterans. He is guarding the main approaches from the road that will surely bring the Russians. He was not happy to be so far from the action, but in their briefing, the Hauptmann assured him there would be plenty of action to go around.

In the fall back, is Lt Balaban, who commands one of their precious MGs, along with a covering AT gun. Balaban is the Hauptmann’s favorite, as they have shared a lot of combat together. After him, there is no stopping the Russians.

Griess has been promised reinforcements if things get “too hot.” He also wonders where that phrase comes from. How can anything be “Too Hot” in this bloody freezer? he wonders. “More information,” he orders. Moments later the reply. “Herr Hauptmann, Leutnant Laumann’s troops report light armor and tank riders. Infantry in unknown strength further behind, possibly flanking to our right.”

“Alert Bott and Fischer,” he orders. Light armor, eh, he thinks. If the men report that, it must really be light. They usually confuse all Russian tanks and fearfully report T-34s. Perhaps we will be lucky this time, he thinks. He can hope.

Sounds of gunfire and the infantry gun opening up on the right flank carry with the cold Russian wind. “Never mind,” says Griess. “They already know.”

“Herr Hauptmann, more tanks, now reporting T-34s and riders,” calls his Second, Lt Marks. “Yes, that figures,” he sighs wearily. Too good to be true, no T-34s.

Laumann has the front row seat. He hisses commands to his men in a low voice. He has been there before, so they listen. The only one firing will be the MG, he orders. Perhaps they can snap the arrogant Soviet tank commander with a quick burst. More tanks are coming down the road, and things look bad, as usual. As the light tank comes into the line of sight, Laumann gives the command, and a spray of MG bullets tear up the commander’s cupola. The Red tanker disappears from sight quickly, and the tank halts abruptly. Maybe that got him, thinks Laumann. Still plenty more behind him though.

On the right flank, Lt Fischer’s hopes are quietly dashed, as out of the trees comes a Soviet pioneer squad. They are particularly feared, as they often have flame throwers and satchel charges. They are usually well trained and highly disciplined, which adds to their lethal qualities. Obg Breuer does not wait for a command to fire from the nearby leutnant. Their first round is right on the Russian squad. “Pour it on,” he encourages his crew. They keep dropping rounds right on the enemy squad.

Leutnant Fischer notes that his men are still holding their fire, waiting for his orders. When the enemy, still advancing into the fire of the gun crew, crosses a line of trees that he earlier marked, noting their optimal range for maximum concentrated fire, he shouts “FIRE!!” and they open up on the unfortunate Russians. As the pioneer squad flees, more Soviet infantry appear in the woods. Fischer is already worried about being over-run.
Hauptmann Griess is getting many reports now. A whole column of Soviet tanks are approaching. He looks behind and sees Obg Winnings getting his AT gun crew ready. Lt Laumann reports at least 5 T-34 tanks with riders, and two light tanks. One light tank is not moving, and he thinks they killed or wounded the commander.

With a roar, Winnings’ gun crew opens up. AT shells scream past Laumann’s position, and one smacks into the motionless light tank. This gets them moving, as the enemy backs up rapidly. Laumann watches as a second light tank tears past his positions, not close enough to close assault. A T-34 is rumbling closer, with riders on the rear deck. Pokorny sprays the light tank with his MG, but it doesn’t slow down, rushing the corner of the road. Laumann hopes the men he detailed to cover the road approach will take care of that one.

His immediate threat is the giant T-34, lumbering just out of range. He plans to order Pokorny to fire on the riders, but Pokorny swivels his MG to the right, and opens fire on enemy infantry that is flanking past them on the right.

Obg Winnings is elated with his gun crew. He watched as their second round tore into the light enemy tank. Unfortunately that tank was not killed, and backed away fast. A second light tank tears past their line of sight too fast for tracking, but moments later, a giant T-34 rolls into their view. Winnings smacks his gunner on the back, ordering him to line up on the T-34. “Already on it, Obergefreiter,” he is told. Seconds later the gun recoils in the snow and Winnings sees it is a ricochet off the front turret. “You are on, just hit him in the wrong spot,” he announces. More rounds rip from the barrel of his gun.

The T-34 disappears from view, but then reappears between a gap in the trees. “There he is,” shouts Winnings, and the gun roars again. Suddenly Winnings is on the ground, stunned. His crew is strewn around beside him, the gun barrel canted downwards crazily. What the hell? he wonders, hearing cries of pain from his crew. He shakes the snow from his eyes, and then realizes his gun has been knocked out. “Dammit!” he shouts. “We were just getting the range.”

Further up, Lt Laumann hears the shell come screaming through the trees, and sees a shower of sparks and then smoke from the side of the T-34 turret. “Treffer,” he cries out, to no one in particular. The Red infantry tumble off the enemy tank, and Laumann sees that this enemy tank is knocked out. He wonders why the AT gun has stopped firing though.

Hpt Griess has seen this drama taking place. He too, almost felt the AT gun shell tearing past his building, and sees the slight smoke rising from the broken T-34. A small smile catches the corner of his mouth, but then he sees a light tank tearing into the village at the bend in the road. Several infantrymen are rising from their foxholes to attack it. He remembers the tank assault drills that Laumann was running his platoon through. They better perform quickly, he thinks.

“Herr Hauptmann,” calls his radio man, “Lt Laumann reports that some T-34s look to be turning southeast, to flank us from the woods on the right.” “Just what we need,” says the Hauptmann. “Alert Fischer and Bott.” “Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann,” is the reply.

The Hauptmann curses in anger as he sees the light Russian tank suddenly back off, apparently unharmed. Laumann’s men got some hits, as he saw the sparks flying, but they didn’t kill it. Now it has backed out of danger, and fires at their MG team.

Reports are flying in, all emergencies. Lt Fischer’s men have spotted a T-34, already well into their right flank, which they are trying to engage by using their infantry gun. This probably will not play out well, Griess imagines. Reports are now totaling about 10 of the T-34s, and now they are down one AT gun.

Lt Fischer can hear the engines roaring in the trees, but their visibility is limited. He knows they are in trouble. Suddenly a huge tank crashes through the trees, and turns away from their skirmish line. The driver must have become disoriented and made a left instead of a right, thinks Fischer. Obg Breuer gestures wildly to his crew, and his gunner makes the adjustments. They fire, but the shell hits slightly short, around the treads of the steel beast. A miss, groans Breuer.

Pokorny watches now in amazement as the Russian HQ unit, apparently the riders on the knocked-out T-34, suddenly charge their position. They are taking flanking fire from two light tanks now, one to the left and one to the right, but so far they are okay. Pokorny takes a moment to appreciate the bravery of the Russians, and then gives the order to fire. The MG rounds tear up the snow around the Russian officer and his HQ unit, and then tear into their bodies, spraying red blood into the white snow. They are down and still in moments.

Breuer’s crew reloads in moments. The cold slows them down a little, but a new shell is loaded, as adrenaline is kicking in fast. The Russian driver must have realized his terrible error by now, and as Breuer shouts for his crew to fire, the gunner hits the trigger, sending another round away. This time it is a hit. Several loaders shout “Treffer,” and the T-34 staggers, the round tearing apart the rear engine compartment. The tank slews to a halt, smoking. “You are not done yet!” roars Breuer. “No one has bailed out.” His gunner has barely re-adjusted the sights when he hears the breech slammed shut. He hits the trigger again, and the gun roars, flames spouting from the barrel.

Another hit, sees Breuer. Before they can celebrate, all hit the ground as a Soviet machine gun opens up on their position, rounds tearing up the snow and dirt. Fischer sees the hit, as the round tears into the rear turret and explodes. The tank is done.

Hauptmann Griess watches as the Soviet light tank fires in the direction of Obg Pokorny. He waves madly at his tank hunters, just across the street in a crater. Obg Weisberg gives the “Understood” signal, punches his partner, Schutz Voll, in the arm, and announces “Now we earn our pay, Franz. Let’s go!”

Weisberg is on his feet in a flash, and Voll is right behind him. They dash hell-bent-for-leather towards the church, hoping to get there un-noticed. Griess watches with clenched fists, almost willing the men safely forward. He sees the Russian tank spin on its tracks, and start charging up the road again, heading into the town. “Dammit, Watch Out!” he calls, not realizing the tank hunters are too far away to hear him.

The Russian tankers are a gutsy lot, as they race past two pickets, where they take rifle grenade hits, but are not slowed down. The driver slews his nimble beast hard left, and races behind the German positions, planning to cut them down from the rear. Lt Laumann orders his HQ to fire at the tank, as the rest of his platoon are busy firing at a wall of Red infantry that is charging from the road. Laumann is close to despair, not having any anti-tank weapons to stop the Russian tankers. The enemy tank halts in the lee of the church, and begins to fire at Laumann’s squads from the rear. Things are going bad very quickly.

Weisberg and Voll dash through a side door of the church, wet boots pounding on the wooden floor. They catch a glimpse of an enemy tank through the windows, and without missing a beat they both pound up the stairs to the second floor. The Russian tank commander thought he saw something, and begins to rotate the turret, but then changes his mind. It must be nothing, he tells himself, focusing on the rear of the German positions.

Weisberg and Voll crash to the floor near an upstairs window, blood pounding through their veins, roaring in their ears. They are breathing in painful gasps now, but adrenaline is kicking in. They recover in moments, hiding just long enough for the enemy tank to look elsewhere. As they hear the Russian 4.5 cm gun open fire, they creep to the sill, finding their target directly below them. The Russians are completely unaware of the imminent peril they are in. Weisberg pulls the arming cord, leans out the window, and then gently releases the magnetic mine, directly onto the enemy tank. It couldn’t be easier. There is a terrific blast, and the Russian tank is torn open.

Lt Laumann cannot believe his eyes. Just when they were about to be over-run from the rear, he sees an object fall – or was it dropped? – from the upper floor of the church. Then the enemy tank is ripped by a terrific explosion. “Tank hunters!” he exclaims to his HQ unit, as the only possibility comes clearly to him. “Fire on the crew,” he orders, seeing only one man leap the tank. The terrified tank survivor tries to crawl into the woods for cover, but the fire from Laumann’s HQ seeks him out and then he is motionless. Meanwhile, Russian infantry rushes towards his position. There are just too many of them, Laumann thinks.
 

black_beast

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[SUBMISSION from black_beast]



Cold. Inhumanly cold. Insipid sun dragging itself reluctantly up over the horizon.

Huddled over the rumbling twelve cylinder Maybach rubbing circulation back into my hands. All hatches shut in an effort to keep the subzero Russian hell breath from seeping into our metal home. Diesel fumes don’t kill you. Not as fast as the cold anyway.

Heinz muttering besides me, nursing a bandaged hand from the evenings refuelling. In the dark. No lights. Frozen hands peeling skin wherever they touched metal. Wolfgang, Austrian pr*ck that he his, blaming Heinz for his Palatinate clumsiness.

Radio crackles. Five more minutes. Nobody really interested. Abstract thoughts of winning the war coming a poor second to staying warm. Nobody has slept. Up all night with the typical start-stop-wait dithering of those who should know better. Staff Officers mostly Austrians. I feel comprehensively bracketed.

Heinz reassigned to deal with the radio and the bow MG. Wolfgang refusing to stand in as loader. Tempers frayed. Eyes bloodshot. Everybody coughing from the build-up of fumes. Wolfgang ordered to do what I bloody well tell him to.

Go signal arrives in a cloud of white noise static. Gibberish code words. Ivans getting smarter with their signal intercepts.








Pop the hatch. Clenching my facial muscles as I poke my head through. Hard crisp light. Sun doing what it can but failing dismally. Lungs hurting, cheeks going numb. Yell down to Alfons to get us moving, Platoon leader waving us forward.

Field crusted white. Tree line beyond on the ridge shaking as the shells rattle it every which way. ‘Tracks full of the assault platoon streaming out of their holding area in pursuit of our armoured fist.

Ivans huddled down into the dirt of Mother Russia as our artillery tries to smear them further in. Barholomaus, the Platoon leader, insisting that the Ivans are dug in with only their ZiS-2’s for company this time. As if.

I glance sideways where my section leader should be. A 57mm projectile spinning through the snow flurries at 1,000 m/s decapitated him. Took out most of the crew in a single climatic metal mating of prey and predator.

All gone. Except Wolfgang. Crawled out of the drivers hatch with only a mild case of concussion. The devil’s own. With my regular radio operator back at division with frostbitten toes the arrogant one is bundled into my Panzer by decree of Barholomaus. One more unpleasant fact in a generally sh*tty war.

Alfons ratcheting the Maybach up through the gears. Important to build up momentum before we hit the field. Bound to be mud and frozen water lurking just under the crackling crust. Getting bogged in the midst of the open expanses of white dirt and weeds is nothing but a postcard-scenic death sentence.

Torsion bar flexing as our ‘pig’ ploughs through the shallow drainage channels. Daimler-Benz suspension doing its job. My spinal column failing to do the same. Sore backs a constant complaint of any tanker with more than a year in the saddle.

Sore back, sore lungs, eyes streaming tears from the piercing air – situation normal. Two years in Russia and despite everything, the pig and I are still together. Intact. More or less. Only myself, Alfons and Heinz are true pig keel-plate owners. Everybody else a blow-in.

Bombardment ceases. Tree line approaching. ‘Tracks closing up behind.

Bracing against the frigid cupola I scan the trees for Ivan’s long barrelled opposition. An exercise in futility. Lucky to see a mountain in front of me the way we are rattling and shaking our way across the open whiteness of the field.

Firm ground. Pig gripping down hard like a twenty ton rusty grey gorilla. Spray of dirt washes over me as the pig lumbers straight through a rising fountainhead of terra firma. Near miss!

Grip the hatch firmly as Alfons skews first right then left. Doesn’t have to be told. Knows the drill. Ivans can’t be allowed to draw a bead.

Muzzle flash from the trees. Dirt and grit lacerating my goggles. Mouthful of mud. Alfons frantically fishtailing the pig through the muddy snow in an effort to avoid the inevitable third and penultimate shot.

Ivans do things in threes. AT gunners clearly good. Eight hundred metres to the tree line. Maybach roaring full throttle, all three hundred horsepower straining hard in the harness. Cloud of exhaust and steam chasing us down.

Seven hundred metres. Barholomaus radios in the trigger code. Heinz taps me on the leg, simultaneously prodding Alfons with the toe of his boot. More bracing. Rapid deceleration. Slowing. Braking. Downshifting.

By the time we coast to a stop Wolfgang has slammed home the first HE shell into the breech. Fire! Pig Panzer shudders violently. Explosion around the AT gun. I keep a running count in my head of time elapsed. Twenty seconds max. Second round. Fire!

Alfons kicks the pig into reverse. Fifty metres straight back. Fast. Halt. Fire again. Forward. Angle to the right. Halt a good distance from our first firing station. HE loaded and ready. Steiner optics scan the site of the AT gun. Swirling smoke. No movement. No signs of life.

‘Tracks race past the platoons firing line. Sporadic small arms fire as they disgorge their squads. Grey clad puppets dancing forward, occasionally jerking and falling to the ground. Wind up soldiers that have run out of batteries.

Ten minutes of stereographic military tedium. Hill taken. Another military success. Fatherland gets to carves another notch in its Luger.

Radio crackles. Probe forward over the ridgeline. Purposes of reconnaissance only. Ivan on the run. Move by section bounds.

I lead. A one tank section. Typical of many in the battalion. Request permission to recce ridgeline on foot. Refused. The armoured fist needs to keep punching.

Crest the ridge. Brief moment of disorientation as the pig lumbers up and over the hump. Test pilot. Canary in the coal mine. AP round locked and loaded.

Barholomaus calling, wanting to know what he can’t see. Rolling white plains stretching off to forever. Farmland and occasional thickets of trees. Difficult to get a better awareness beyond an overwhelming sense of a vast flat whiteness as we bump our way down the reverse slope.

Unwilling to call a halt in such an exposed position. Signal Barholomaus to bring the rest of the platoon over.

Huge bang. Terrible ringing in my ears. Ugly metal fragment poking out of my left bicep. Glazed eyes. Shattered, jumbled thoughts.

Pig zigzagging rapidly downhill. Hands pulling me down inside the turret. Hatch slamming shut above me.

Situational awareness non-existent. Wolfgang slapping me around the face. Jolting of the turret reminds me of my father’s fishing boat. Heinz working the radio, urgently imploring Barholomaus for whatever help he can provide.

Wall of sound drowns out everything. Pig shunted bodily sideways. Turret bulging inwards from the hit. Inner surface delaminates, shotgunning deadly splinters all over. An angry shard pierces Wolfgang’s left eye. Screaming. Blood spurting from a severed artery further down.

Teutonic Austrian blood splatter makes it hard to see. Alfons struggling to regain control. Maybach revving crazily way up into the red zone. Heinz wrestling Wolfgang out of the way. Down into the engine bay, not being gentle. Wolfgang’s screams starting to tapper off in direct proportion to the slowly dampening spigot of gushing blood spewing out from his neck.

Pop the hatch. Need to see what is happening. Difficult to open. Warped metal.

T-34 off to the right. Thousand metres. Several more behind it. Wolves of the steppe. Stationary. Taking their time. Long murderous gun barrels methodically tracking us as we careen downhill past them. Crossing their ‘T’ in nautical terms. Gefickt in any other.

Dip ahead. Dead ground. Dirt fountains erupt on both sides. Crack of a passing shell reverbs into my already stressed eardrums.

Sliding Pig takes another one in the flank. Right side. Bogies broken, track shredding. Make the dip. Maybach finally had enough. Belching black smoke throughout the compartment. Wolfgang no longer heard or seen. Don’t care. Order everybody out.

Scrambling through the snow in a desperate search for the magic rabbit hole back to Berlin. Pig in its death throes does its best to provide a covering blanket of thick acrid diesel laced smoke.

Get down as low as we can in a nearby gulley. Dying Pig a burning black beacon of hope or despair. Depends on who gets here first.

Shivering, I clench my fist and push down firmly on my bleeding arm. Church bells at high decibels my only sensory input. Lungs coughing up phlegm.

Hell of war.


~ ~ ~


Cheers,
Black_Beast
 
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Scott Tortorice

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And the winners are:


  • 1st Place: Black_Beast for "Hell of War"
  • 2nd Place: Heinrich505 for "HSG KC Lt Oberloskamp PART I"
Congrats, guys! :hurray::hurray:

Both of your entries were very good; it was tough coming up with a winner! I'll contact both of you by PM to get your email addresses so I can send them off to Matrix Games. They will then contact you with your account info so you can download your prizes. Enjoy 'em, you earned it!

PS: Incredibly, there was no third place winner as I only received two entries. Silly, really, as any third submission would have automatically been a winner! :nuts:
 

black_beast

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Hi Scott,

Hey, that's great! Thanks.


PS: Incredibly, there was no third place winner as I only received two entries. Silly, really, as any third submission would have automatically been a winner!
I suspect that if you lowered the entry barrier to allow 'tweets' you may have been inundated. As a big *ssed sweeping statement I'd say that most people have an attention span that is heading south at a rate of knots.

One of the few things that enables me to keep a grip on the land of focus is that I write a (real) letter to my father once a week as he can't access a computer or phone.

I find it a lot harder to compose a letter than bang off a dozen emails. Painful at times.

Cheers,
Black_beast
 
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