Christ.
Two really good games on my Nashorn, one right after the other.
First was 14:14; me vs a Churchill. We were down by 3, and I managed to bag them Boom Boom Boom. Then...out of nowhere is was just me and this Church. I was well bushed Like Emma Watson, so I got the drop on him. No cover for miles around, so it turned into a brawl. I lost by12HP. We went from utter defeat to certain defeat to maybe defeat to defeat by 12HP. Never give up is a good motto in this game.
Next game, same thing. My team were masses of smoking ruin, and it was me vs a medium of some sort and a KV-85. The medium and I saw each other at the same time. I'm pretty sure our shells passed each other in the air. He went up in a ball of fire, and my loader's brains twinkled like glitter under the pale winter moonlight. No med kits left. The 85 popped around the corner just as I finished reloading (7+secs). We both fired, we both missed. It was another brawl, but then the battlefield settled into a numb, mist-like silence, save for the mournful wailings of the Soviet children I'd just orphaned when I drove over the car their parents were in. We stared at each other; an uneasy calm brokered by the distant howls of a pack of wolves, or perhaps just starving jews. Seconds passed, and I knew his loader was dead. As the clock was set to tick it's last tock, my click rate exceeded the polling rate of my mouse...0.5s left to fire. And that was that. Silence at last. More specifically, Silence's Nashorn was silent except for the bodies of my crew, whose flesh crackled like bacon in a hot pan in the dazzling orange pit of fire that used to carriage the hopes of a Nazi nation.
Both games resulted in a loss, but they were very good games.
