Call of Duty 2

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It's not just this, though. The levels of COD2 that I played were permeated by wonderful little touches of profound texture that lie far deeper than its predecessor - women fighting for the Russian resistance, German commandants letting off feeble blasts with a pistol in their dying breaths, propaganda leeching out of Nazi loudspeakers. Most notably, though, in the earlier stages of the D-Day level, I noticed that a victim of one of my grenades was a little pudgy around the edges - fat even. Why was this Nazi overweight? Why did he have a beard? Because the year is 1944, and the Nazis - experiencing heavy, heavy losses on the Eastern front - are conscripting anyone regardless of shape, experience or ability. As I crouched there, the reality of the situation danced across my thoughts - asking myself exactly why an overweight and unwilling conscript was positioned so near the front-line, and thinking about the processes that had led this middle-aged butcher/baker/ candlestick maker from some unspecified small town in Germany to meet an undignified end in a muddy trench in Normandy.


And then I stood up, was hit by mortar fire fired from a faraway place, and collapsed in a pile next to him. And that's pretty much why I love Call Of Duty 2.

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