Visiting this decade-old MMO made me realise that being a hero is overrated

It isn’t very often that I feel like a stranger in videogames. Strange lands are ten a penny, sure, with fantastical flora and fauna that enjoy showing their teeth, but being in a place that feels familiar yet still I don’t belong is a totally different ballgame. Foxhole is that place for me; it’s people, doing people things that I’ve seen a thousand times over in movies and whatnot, but much like ants on a hill, I have no idea what’s going on.

With the Airbourne update coming in hot, I decided to jump in and see if I could make sense of the MMO, and more importantly, be useful. From what I know, not being a liability is perhaps the most important part of the war effort, and you’ll be told in no uncertain terms if you don’t meet this seemingly low bar.

This new addition to Foxhole adds player-controlled planes into the mix. Which is exciting in theory, but since I don’t know my ass from my elbow as I spawn into the starting area, I figure that it’s probably best I learn the basics first. Baby steps, and all that.

Fun fact, before I talk about being shot repeatedly: Foxhole had an in-game player strike a few years ago because a bunch of the logistics-obsessed players were under too much stress supplying the frontline troops. These were actual people whose entire session was dedicated to making sure their boys on the front had enough rounds to see off the enemy.

The group, known as Logistics Organisation for General Improvement, or LOGI, sent the developer of Foxhole, Siege Camp, an open letter explaining the issues they were having with the resupply process, about how tedious and time-consuming it was to create and transport various armaments. The letter did not receive a response within the allotted time, so LOGI went on strike. Players refused to restock the frontline until their demands were met.

The strike went on for 49 days, until Siege Camp responded and promised to tackle many of the issues put forward in LOGI’s letter. Then it was back to work. This is Foxhole, these are the people who play it, and now I’m here too.

Taking my first steps in the eerily peaceful home base, I’m instructed to take a look at the basic training area, where I’m put through my paces. I run, I crawl, I learn to shoot (this isn’t as easy as you would think). Foxhole is top-down, kind of like a World War 2 Hotline Miami if part of your time was spent filling a truck with diesel.

The global chat scrolls constantly, with players, both in character and out, talking about how the war is going, how they despise the enemy, and how to put coal in a train (?). It’s a lot, but they all seem to be having a nice time of it. The base is too quiet, so it’s off to the front with me.

This is it, I think, this is where I’ll earn my stripes. After fiddling with the menus for a minute, I have a rifle, I have ammo, and I haven’t the foggiest idea where I’m going. A cursory look at the map tells me the bad guys are south. Off I go, slowing once the sound of gunfire fills my ears.

A soldier very politely asks me to move out of the way so he can carry supplies – he’s very calm, despite his comrades being mowed down a few feet away. I oblige, obviously, and dip into a nearby trench. Grenade goes off, I’m dead. I can hear another soldier nearby, shouting through voice comms for a medic, and surprisingly, one appears.

I was obsessed with this medic. They didn’t fire a single shot the entire time I was there. This wasn’t a game about killing for them; it was a game about saving. They waited in cover until the cries from the wounded crossed their path, then they burst into action, carrying the bodies on their shoulders to safety before patching them up and sending them back into the grind.

Across the street, two players were casually building a pillbox despite being peppered by stray rounds. These two didn’t have anything but a hammer equipped, and if someone with a dim view of our side wandered into their path, they wouldn’t last long. But still they build. I think these two, despite the rather pacifist nature of their mission, offered more than I did, even if I did manage to take down an enemy or two.

It became obvious very quickly that Foxhole isn’t about being a hero. I’m not even sure you can be a hero here. It’s about doing your job, and doing it well enough that the next person can do theirs. It’s about loading a train with coal so that it can bring supplies to the people that need them, and it’s about not getting shot so you can save the person next to you who does.

I’m not going to say that I understand Foxhole; my brief jaunt to the front has added layers to an already complicated experience. I don’t quite get why someone would commit hours upon hours crafting bullets they’re never going to fire, but goddamnit, do I respect it.