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"I didn't expect to be beaten by someone part of "a brand new melee gaming clan" who play "all sorts of maps, preferably LT style", but still, more ridiculous stuff happens every day, I mean, I have a losing record to Keanu_Reaver for crying out loud" - Ling-erie's A Pubbie Tourney BR
Report Rating: 8.4, # of Ratings: 5, Max: 9, Min: 8 Lifetime Rating for Turbo_Noob: 6.5714
Delta Farce: Assault Squad Sierra
Delta Force: Land Warriors is one of those shooters that is so cheesey you can't help but fall in love with it. I actually discovered Delta Force by accident a short while ago. I was searching for Fallout Tactics, and being unable to obtain it legit I decided to swashbuckle my way across the p2p programs and download it for myself. A supposed salvation came on Ares, where a file distinctly labeled "fallout tactics" awaited me. I invited it back to my harddrive for a while and it agreed, then began slowly downloading itself to my shared folder. After a schoolday of downloading, the file was completed and waiting patiently for unpackaging. I started putting my moves on it, you know, teasing the icon with my mouse and all that until double clicking it right on the sweet spot. Thus we began the game of love installation, as blue rectangles danced joyously across the install screen in a digital festival to celebrate our joining.
But something was wrong, and from the unconcious depths of my mind a voice sounding strangely akin to Austin Powers' yelled, "IT'S A FAKE BABY!" And the voice in my head was right, for there sitting smugly in my fallout tactics folder was a game called "Delta Force: Land Warriors". I headed straight for the uninstall icon, but somewhere along the way I must have accidently double clicked the game exe. What followed is the slapstick comedy of, "Delta Farce: ASS (Assault Squad Sierra)"
Chapter One: GO, GO TEAM SIERRA!
After a little navigating through the linear menu system, I created a profile under the handle "TurboNoob" and found a list of classes waiting for me to choose from. The list contained nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual sniper, gunner, assassin, medic, and demolitions expert with their own biographies and features put down in military-file fashion. I decided on the Native American sniper named "longbow" for my character because I've always enjoyed capturing a foe's last few seconds of life via a screenshot of them through my crosshair, adding it to my fetish collection of dead, pixelated soldiers. And I was kinda hoping that I'd get to call upon my ancestors, or charm animals or something. (Get it? Because Native Americans worship pigs and trees BWAHAHAHA!)
Anyways, after a short tutorial section (which failed to tell me how to crouch) I was off to the quick-missions roster to pick out a crisis I found worthy of my presense. Operation: Safe Passage won my heart with the promise of rescuing a pinned down group of rangers from the clutches of evil Mexican terrorists. Poncho was about to eat his last burrito, but first I had to decide on some weaponry.
M82A1: A sniper rifle for some long distance lovin'.
MP5-SD: A silenced SMG for close quarters battle.
.45 SOC: A pistol, trophy wife of the group.
AT-4: A rocket launcher (No I don't know why a sniper would have/need this)
Kevlar Vest: Body Armor because I want to live long enough to kiss a girl.
And Frag Grenades: I call them Bangers.
A. Reach pinned down Rangers
B. Escort Rangers to extraction point
Crescents= Hilly Area | Blue Line= River
The Actual Game:
The game finally started, and it began with a bang. My brother in arms "Pitbull" (the gunner) started running in the direction of the pinned down squad and I followed. The commander was barking orders, something about how time was of the essence, and I could hear gunshots in the distance.
Pitbull and I sprint towards the rangers in distress
The rangers were completely surrounded when we got there, but Pitbull's A.I decided to play rambo and charged him straight into the terrorist lines. I however, was content to stay back and pick off the tangos from a distance. The salt and pepper team of his machine gun and my sniper rifle layed into the bastards like a hot knife through baby. And by luck or horrible aiming, Pitbull didn't get hit once as he hit the prone position and sprayed the entire enemy force with lead. Supressing a slight wave of envy towards Pitbull for having the bigger gun, I advanced up the hill I was sniping from and continued my long-range massacre. The fight had become a deadly game of timing, shooting the terrorists that were too close to the rangers, as well as the ones with their sights on me.
Red X= Me | Blue X= Pitbull
Thin Red Line= My movement towards sniping hill | Thin Blue Line= Pitbull's advancement
Blue Circles= Rangers | Red Circles= Relative positions of terrorists
Bold Red Line= Terrorists' line of attack
But after the initial adrenaline-rush from losing my mission-virginity, the task of sniping generic mexican terrorists became suprisingly easy, since all of their fire was directed at the rangers and Pitbull, who managed to dodge every bullet in a matrix-esque fashion. But that was only the beginning of the firefight, as while the original force distracted us an entire new wave of terrorists had been closing in on us from the back and from over some nearby hills.
The new attack took everyone completely by suprise. But whereas Pitbull and the rangers decided to curl up in the fetal position, I ran up to the top of the hill and began raining hell upon our enemies in the form of .7mm bullets. The lives of a few, brave CPUs were on my shoulders, and I couldn't let them down. I ventilated skull after skull of the enemy soldiers, but they just kept coming. Finally, realizing the hopelessness of the situation, Pitbull started pleading for evac over the mike and the commander ordered a chopper down on a stretch of land across a nearby river. The distance between us and the LZ was daunting, especially when there would be tangos firing at us the whole time we moved towards it. So I did the gentlemen's thing to do and vouched to provide cover to my comrades while they made their way to safety.
Red X= Me | Blue X= Pitbull
Thin Red Line= My advancement into a position to cover team | Thin Blue Line= Escape Route
Blue Circles= Rangers | Red Circles= Relative positions of terrorists
Bold Red Line= Terrorists' line of attack
During a brief pause from the onslaught, I covered pitbull and the rangers as they made their way towards the river. One ranger was shot down in the attempt, and was promptly left to rot as the rest of the squad made it to the river and started swimming. I was still bagging terrorists as the team made it to the other side, and began my own swim to safety as they returned the favor.
No man left behind... Sorta
Under a hail of crossfire from the fighting forces on both sides of the river, I ducked under the water and made as little gasps for air as possible to avoid the bullets streaming over my head. After a few harrowing minutes of danger, I made it out of the river and helped the team silence the rest of the foes before the commander came over the intercom to congratulate us on our victory. We returned to the command center for malt whiskey and softcore cable porn, then ordered a clean-up crew to go fetch the dead ranger. Cheers!
Chapter Two: Runnin' and Gunnin'
Giddy with the success of the first mission, I decided to try my hand at another. Among the assortment of other quick missions, I chose Operation: Free Press for the second installment of this report, having been lured in with the idea of a one-man assault on a winter compound, as well as free press. My equipment had served me well in the safe passage mission, so I decided to leave it be for now and jump right into the action.
A. Infiltrate compound and neutralize all enemy forces.
B. No base equipment may be harmed.
Grey Boxes= Buildings/Fences | Green Triangles= Forested Area
Area Enclosed in a Black Line= Large Hill
After clicking the start button I found myself in a frozen wasteland, wearing a spiffy artic-camo suit, and toting a M82A1 rifle. The commander was making it perfectly clear I was not to harm a hair on any of the base equipments' head, because the Swedish government would get pissed if we made any mistakes while saving their asses from terrorists. But before I could even get into the base, I would have to pick my way across an open plain covered in terrorist patrols and the vicious offspring of a grizzly bear/bengalaas mating season. There was a large snow-covered hill infront of me with two towers perched ontop of it, and since you always take the high ground in a battle (and also because benga-bears can't climb hills) I started towards it. A small two-man patrol group was taking a breather at the foot of the hill, and in a few moments were lying face down in the ice and snow. But upon setting foot on the hill, perhaps attracted to the scent of blood, their friends tried to gank me.
It's amazing how those gosu FPS skills can kick in after lying dormant for so many years of RTS games. Because as those two patrol groups were closing in from both sides of the hill, yelling awkwardly in foreign tongues as their jagged running motions brought them into range, it felt like an ethereal being rose from somewhere in my subconcious to guide my hands through the coming firefight. I (or would it be "it"?) killed the patrol on the southern side first, and the other two pissed their pants and ran for cover in the nearby treeline. But they didn't make it 10 feet before I shot down the straggler of the two. His friend turned around, probably contemplating whether he should play hero but he didn't get the chance. The crisp sound of my sniper rifle firing rang out through the cold plains and he dropped dead, his blood mixing with his urine on the snow in the resemblence of a lunchables' double-dip chip. A third group behind the towers had heard the shooting and took cover... poorly.
Ruh Roh Raggy, I think they've spotted us.
I let my rifle do the talking, and the remaining patrol group was left to cuss at eachother in ghost-chat. Advancing a ways up the hill to take a gander at the base I was about to assault, I found the terrorists had already heard me coming. Their welcome party was a hail of bullets whizzing anywhere and everywhere in a desperate group effort to hit me. I backed away from the edge of the hill, and to my manic foes' gunfire I replied, "Now we dance." In an offbeat parody of an expert pianist, I cracked my knuckles over the keys and readied my fingers in their respected positions. A hushed silence fell amongst the room, and some say they could hear music in the distance as my fingers glided gracefully over the keyboard. For I am gamer, my games are my canvas, and my executions are my art.
Red X= Me | Red line= Path of Destruction | Red No-Solution Marks= Dead Patrol Groups
I bounded into the fray, strafing left and right, ducking and backing away only to reappear and take another life. The screams of both men and gunfire became a symphony of pain and triumph, and I was the tainted conductor. And soon enough the terrorists became overcome with fear of this majestic killer, and conga-lined it back to their bases. After winding myself from the torrent of bad-names I screamed across the field at them, I realized A.I does not care for cuss or swear, and I was forced to comply with their dastardly wishes. So I made my way down the hill, and moved around the base to the back entrance, noticing a few curious tangos plastered against the windows, curiously watching my every move. But after plugging two of them, the rest decided to look no more.
My plan as of now: hit all the buildings in counter-clockwise formation, and attempt to shoot tangos in groin area whenever possible.
Of course an MP5 isn't exactly the ideal counter to a handful of desperate men armed with AK's, but if Britney could bring herself to kiss Madonna, I could damn well kill a couple of make-believe soldiers. The first base was fairly easy, a few terrorists hiding around the corners here and there. But if there is one thing I've learned from counterstrike, it's keep moving at all times, especially when facing a camper. I think they were expecting something along the lines of a silent but deadly infiltration attempt by some professional super-soldier, what they got was a madman with an mp5 holding down the left mouse button and frollicing about the base with the proficiency of a McDonalds peon employee, and the grace of the special olympics. Nevertheless, it worked.
The taste of lead! The tase of justice!
Base one was wiped out, and the events at the other bases played out just the same. Me bunny hoping through the complex, shooting at shadows and reloading frantically until no one was left, then moving on to the next complex and repeating the process. Finally I arrived at the biggest and last building, which also contained the fragile equipment mentioned earlier. With such delicate machinery around I was forced to take a more cautious approach, also known as aiming. But taking the time to place my crosshairs over my enemy before smashing the left mouse button gave every enemy a wider, and wider opening to nail me with. And sooner or later one of them finally managed to shank poor old Turbo_Noob. The blow didn't kill me, but forced my character to limp around the area making an "Umph!" noise with every step. And just in time for the final confrontation, but instead of ending with a dramatic firefight followed by a one-liner and then the credits, I found this guy.
He obviously wasn't in the mood to fight, judging by the whimpering. But hey, what could I do?
And that concludes the epic two-part battlereport of: Delta Farce: Assault Squad Sierra.
And the motto of the story is...
Don't try to report on an FPS game, you would not believe the strife.
Terrorists all dress and sound the same.
An FPS is like a bicycle, you never forget how to ride it.