The early morning mist hung heavy over the battlefield; clinging to the earth like a shroud. Visibility was poor, but that only heightened the tension. For the tank commanders, this was familiar terrain; War Thunder’s Realistic Ground Battles had always been about patience, strategy, and skill. Steel behemoths moved across rugged ground, their engines growling as crews inside coordinated their every move. Each hill, each copse of trees, could mean the difference between survival and destruction.
The rhythm of the battle was slow but deliberate, as if time itself respected the gravity of the struggle. It was war at its most visceral: tactical, grounded, and immersive.
And then came the hum.
At first, it blended with the distant artillery, a low, steady vibration that most dismissed as background noise. But it grew louder, sharper, more distinct. Tank gunners paused, heads tilting as they strained to identify the sound. Then the silhouette appeared; sleek, predatory, cutting through the mist like a phantom. The rotor blades of an enemy helicopter sliced the air, its menace undeniable.
Close Air Support was nothing new to War Thunder. For years, CAS had been a pivotal part of battles, providing players with the ability to call in airstrikes and dominate from the skies. In earlier battles, CAS had its counters; anti-aircraft guns, strategic positioning, and the relative fragility of early aircraft. But in high-tier battles, CAS had evolved into an unstoppable force. Helicopters bristling with guided missiles and jets armed with advanced bombs and rockets turned the skies into an overwhelming threat that few ground forces could counter.
Commander Olve, leading his Stridsvagn, had fought through many battles where CAS was a factor. He knew the importance of keeping an eye on the skies, always scanning for threats above. But this was different.
The helicopter loomed above, armed with laser-guided missiles capable of striking targets from miles away. The first missile hit a friendly tank just ahead, the explosion so sudden and precise that Olve barely had time to process it. He barked orders to his crew, urging them toward the cover of a ridge.
But even as they moved, another missile streaked down, obliterating a second tank in their formation. Panic rippled through the column. It wasn’t just the presence of CAS; it was the sheer power and persistence of it. At this tier, helicopters and jets could dominate entire battles, operating with near impunity.
“This isn’t combat,” Olve muttered under his breath. “It’s a massacre.”
The ground forces had been robbed of their autonomy. Every decision was reactive, every maneuver dictated by the omnipresent threat above. Tanks that had once dominated the battlefield with their power and precision were now reduced to prey, scrambling for cover like rats in a maze.
The helicopters struck with impunity, their guided missiles picking off targets with deadly accuracy. Gone were the days of methodical tank warfare, where positioning, teamwork, and terrain were the keys to victory. The battlefield had become a survival game, and the tanks were losing.
As if the helicopters weren’t enough, the roar of engines signaled another threat. Jets streaked across the sky, their payloads devastating. Bombs fell with pinpoint precision, wiping out clusters of tanks in seconds.
Olve clenched his fists as a dive bomber roared past, its payload obliterating a convoy of anti-air vehicles. The supposed counter to the aerial threat had been neutralized in moments.
“The SP system,” Olve grumbled. “It’s a joke.”
At high tiers, the low cost of spawning CAS meant the skies were never empty. Players cycled through jets and helicopters with relentless efficiency, turning the battlefield into a chaotic storm of missiles, bombs, and dogfights. For the tanks below, there was no reprieve.
Olve remembered why he’d first fallen in love with War Thunder. The realism, the historical accuracy; it felt like stepping into the pages of history. Every battle was a puzzle, every move a calculated risk. CAS had always been a part of that equation, a potent threat that demanded respect and planning. But now, in high-tier battles, CAS had become a juggernaut. Helicopters armed with advanced targeting systems and jets capable of striking in seconds left ground forces with little to no chance of survival.
The once-grounded rhythm of Realistic Ground Battles had been replaced by an air-dominated frenzy. Strategy gave way to frustration, as players abandoned careful planning in favor of desperate survival.
As the smoke cleared, Olve sat in the wreckage of his Stridsvagn, staring at the sky. The balance of ground combat had been shattered. The dominance of high-tier CAS had turned the game into something unrecognizable.
For Olve and countless others, the frustration was undeniable. They longed for the battles of old, where tanks ruled the battlefield and strategy reigned supreme. CAS had its place in warfare, but its unchecked power at high tiers had disrupted the balance entirely.
The wings of chaos had changed everything.
P.S. Just wanted to vent a bit. This game still holds a special place, but man, high-tier CAS can really suck the fun out of it sometimes.