Turns out Red Dead Redemption’s “Friendly Free Roam” isn’t so friendly anymore. Like the loose cannons of the old west, griefers have found ways to circumvent what is essentially a normal Free Roam with collateral damage removed. Today I found out that while thrown dynamite from another player will not kill your character...lit dynamite still in their hands will. And once they start running at you with a sparkling fuse, your only option is to run and hope that four seconds is enough time to get sufficiently far away.
The second way griefers are...well, griefing...is by shooting your horse out from under you. Now, in most cases these dumb bastards are too poor of a shot to kill your horse before you make it over the horizon, but it’s still annoying. And the only way to get them back is to shoot their horse - if they ever even call it - and invite the local marshals to start shooting at you.
So I decided to find a Gang Shootout, hoping to return with a tale worthy of the Battlefield Report. To say that the battle was epic would be an understatement - something of a common occurrence in Red Dead. Position across the road from five cattle rustlers were myself and five other marshals. The familiar mahogany voice of the narrator informed us that we were about to fight over a crate of gold, one bag at a time.
The camera favored the rustler just across from me, but I decided to let my guard down and focus on the man to his right. This would mean that I was shooting across to my weak side; not a smart move for me, but if my aim was true it would take them by surprise. Sure enough, the showdown commenced and the poor rustler in my sights didn’t even have a chance to fire. He dropped like a bag of potatoes. I immediately diverted my aim to the man directly across from me, but he sidestepped. My Schofield .45 thundered four times - only two shots landed. His arm was bloodied but the wounds were far from mortal, and with no shots leftI was open for the kill. He sent me to Kingdom come just before my accomplices finished him off. It was a brutal way to start what would be a fight long remembered.
As I respawned a green twinkle caught my attention: a Dead Eye refill box. I’d forgotten all about Dead Eye! Armed with a lever-action Winchester and the aforementioned Schofield, a burst of Dead Eye would pack the punch I needed while giving my decidedly slow weapons a jump in speed.
The Schofield - "just meat and potatoes."
My teammates moved from cover to cover, taking advantage of stacked crates and flour sacks piled in the street. The cattle rustlers took to the balconies, trying to pick off the lawmen as they pushed forward to the gold stash. I decided to go around behind the town, figuring there would be at least one like-minded rustler to meet me. Surprisingly, I was in the clear, and I ran halfway across the map and ducked into an alley to get the drop on the rustlers. As expected, I found myself in the position to open fire on three enemies who were none the wiser. I got two of ‘em.
The third noticed me - whether by seeing the shot vectors or seeing me on the radar I don’t know (the Schofield revolver is not a very quiet gun) - and he started banging away in my direction with his carbine. I did the only thing I could: I took two running steps to my left and busted through the double doors of the General Store of Tumbleweed. The quick action saved my bacon, at least for the time being. I found the back door and hasted in full retreat.
About this time our team had captured two bags of gold; the rustlers began to advance more aggressively. One manned a gatling gun that was fixed in place around the back where I was snooping around. The chatter of gatling fire preceded my quick and rather dramatic death flop. Someone else must have fallen to it as well, because I heard them say, “Distract that gatling gun!”
At that point I felt like the entire game rested on my gray-duster-adorned shoulders; the team was counting on someone to take immediate and unwise action - my forté! I imagined my character huffing on his silver badge and polishing it with his sleeve as I turned the corner from the respawn area and opened fire on the gatling emplacement.
We lost.
Ha! Despite having a solid lead for over half the match, and despite our strength in numbers...we lost. And yet I felt like I had won the very west itself. There’s something about filling a role that makes team-based combat so cooperative feeling. If that role can include a rustic moustache, spurs, and a six-gun...well, let’s just say that sleep is overrated. And dinner. And everything.