Thread's a little dusty, but I can't resist.
Was playing a round as a Soviet Rifleman on Fallen Heroes a few weeks ago where absolutely nothing was going right for the Russians. The Germans were shredding our KV every time it rolled forward; they had captured the Central Square first, and were contesting us tooth and nail for East. The Panzer IV had positioned itself at the sewer entrance closest to the Technical school, from which it was enfilading our entire team as we rushed to save East Square.
Everybody was yelling for the tank to be taken out. When our KV was knocked out yet again, we called for AT rifles, then for our Combat Engineer. Nobody could scratch the Panzer. Our squad leader's incompetence meant we couldn't even mask its fire with smoke. Then, Germans began attacking the Technical School itself along the south side of the square.
Running out of the Technical School from spawn, I found myself face to face with an MP40-armed German. Bringing my Moisin up from the hip, I shot him just as his spray of 9mm bullets caught my leg. Limping forward, I suddenly noticed what the German had dropped.
Two satchel charges.
Stumbling forward, I picked them up. Golden tracers were still criscrossing the street, riddling our troops. Turning left, ignoring the pain in my leg, I dove behind a ruined automobile just as the tank spotted me. An HE shell uselessly blasted the other side of the ridge. MG34 rounds richocheted off the car's twisted metal. Taking one satchel, I lit the fuse and swung it over the ridge without exposing myself.
The explosion damaged the Panzer, but did not destroy it. Smoke belched from its engine grate as it began to reverse. In seconds, it would be out of throwing range.
Standing up, I mounted the ridge, simultaneously lighting the second satchel. The Panzer's bow machine gun opened fire, shooting high. Just as I mustered the last ounce of my strength, throwing the explosives high into the air, the lethal hail caught me across the chest.
As I lay dying, the roar of ten pounds of high explosive and the screech of rent metal met my ears.
My comrades won that round, wresting control of East, then Center Square just as the timer expired. A KV tank, an engineer, and four anti-tank riflemen had failed to do what a single, determined Strelok had accomplished with two stolen Wehrmacht satchel charges.
By far my most satisfying RO moment yet, especially when a teammate asked "Who killed the tank?" and I replied, "Me--had to borrow some German satchels to do it."