The Diary of a Battlefield 1 Medic 1914–1915
Battlefield 1 has been out for just over a week now. We’ve raided the archives to bring you this exclusive account from brave soldier Private Ignacious Wellingbottom, who fought and syringed his way through The Great War. Here’s to all the fallen medics, we salute you…
December 11th 1914
I’m going to war! I put my name down as an early enlister and am ready to take on the invading Hun! I’m rushed through basic training and am told to collect my equipment from the barracks.
I’m given the role of combat Medic and quickly handed a handful of syringes, a small pouch of bandages, and a rifle clogged with sand belonging to some chap called Lawrence.
I begin to feel nervous and out of my depth. Surely this can’t be it? I did a first-aid course once and know how to do the recovery position, but no one said anything about bullet wounds. I also begin to wonder what these medical supplies will actually do for a person with anything larger than a cut knee and sprained arm, but am reassured by my superiors that the war will be over before I’ll even need to use them.
December 24th 1914
I’ve been posted to southern France. I’ve spent the last few days digging trenches and not much else.
I use this spare time to go through my Christmas post and notice that I’ve been sent some large crates from what looks like my grandmother. I hurriedly open them and hope for a fresh pair of boots or some chocolate.
To my disappointment, I find a rather garishly-decorated pistol that I have no idea how to use and a loose piece of jig-saw. I knew I should have put her in a home before I left…
July 8th 1915
I’ve been assigned a new squad and am using the lull in activity to get to know them. I’m joined by Derek76 (another Medic), NoobSlay3r (again, a Medic), XxNoScop3zzxX (a scout from the middle-eastern front), and a chap with a shotgun.
NoobSlay3r seems to break the ice between the group emitting a constant static noise and not much else. I fear it may be shellshock.
Derek76 clearly lied about his age to get to the front and his enthusiasm is palpable. He can’t be more than twelve, yet he constantly reminds me how he has slept with my mother.
I am told to ‘get rekt’ by XxNoScop3zzxX, whilst the guy with a shotgun appears to be a mute.
July 9th 1915
The day has come. I’m about to go over the top. I’m knee-deep in mud and I see the yellow haze of mustard gas creep towards my trench. My chances are not good. I rapidly check my equipment one last time. I grab a few more rifle grenades and wait for the whistle.
The whistle blows…
I look to my team-mates and begin the charge. My heart sinks. NoobSlay3r is busy teabagging a fallen ally. Derek76 is content on laying prone facing the opposite direction. XxNoScop3zzxX appears to be spinning wildly round and round shooting intermittently, whilst the chap with the shotgun appears to be a small speck on the horizon.
July 10th 1915
I wake up in the field hospital unable to remember much. There’s a large tyre print across my legs. I’m told that I’d been run over by a motorbike and side-car that had been using bomb craters as half pipes.
These Germans are fearless.
July 15th 1915
I’m quickly rushed back to the front. I find myself out of my depth rushing across no man’s land from casualty to casualty. My lack of skills begins to show as I am unable to save anyone. Each patient choosing suicide rather than watch me fumble for my Elastoplast.
http://giphy.com/gifs/playing-class-medic-12oFDEvtYKExQ4
July 16th 1915
I find myself rapidly promoted to squad leader and earn a cash in hand pay rise. Yet whilst stuck on the front I’m unable to spend it, so tuck it into the crates that my grandmother continues to send.
We hear talk of a German assault and of an armored train. I tell them not to worry, as we had destroyed the previous two and surely they couldn’t possibly have anymore.
July 17th 1915
I am reacquainted with the field hospital. Needless to say, they had more armoured trains than we expected. The doctors say I’m in a bad way. I can’t feel my legs and my arms seem to be clipping through my hospital bed.
July 18th 1915
Cannot connect to EA Servers.
R.I.P
