The very fact that three veterans of wars gone by decided to walk back onto the battlefield was bad enough, what did we do? We went off and started a paintball team, that's what!
Anyone who has ever played paintball, having paint flying at you at 300fps will truly understand the fear, the adrenalin and the total gun ho attitude rush we experience. To put into words the emotions we are constantly going through during a game is almost impossible, if at all. As The Pariah mentioned, I too remember that first bitterly cold morning I walked out on to the battlefield in the UK and oh my God, did it hurt getting hit.
Damn marshall, run he said, take as much ground as possible he said, you'll have the upper hand. Like hell!!! He forgot to mention the enemy were the doing the same thing, how dumb can one get!
That first shot caught me bang centre on my head and I went down like a sack of potatoes shouting obscenities in good old Hollywood style theatrics. This only brought more attention onto me bringing me under a hail of paint. I shot back to where I thought the fire was coming from and shouted for back up, all whilst trying to dig myself into the ground in a mindless panic. God knows why, but it seemed the safest bet at the time. My salvation was the marshall in his bright police style yellow jacket who walked over to me. "first time?" he asked. "Yep", was the reply, and not the 'F******* last!' added as if my life depended on it.
It was then the urge for revenge surfaced along with the determination and fear all rolled into one. I had never experienced anything like it before. Damn, I was hooked.
That same marshall called out I was back in the game as no paint had actually exploded on me, and gave me a 30 second 'no kill count'. This was enough time to get back, re-group and send other mortals to the frontline. I continued to play, more tactical though, never wanting the game to end.
Fourteen years on and there I was on a foreign field, lungs gasping for air, screaming at my team mates to move forward as I hurled paint down as cover, ducking between incoming paint to take out the opposition as painfully as possible. Pariah and Heretic had never played together and yet knew I had their backs and moved forward taking ground with each burst of fire. This sense of familiarity comes only on the battlefield as if your life depended on it.
That bright Saturday morning got me so hooked again that even the next day I regretted every second of it. Just like a reformed junkie smoking crack for the first time, I needed more. The pain of unexercised muscle was no deterrent and I was already planning the next game in my mind. The following Monday everyone was so hyped up as if they had been on some energy drink all weekend long (won't mention any brands as some exec. may read this and wish to sponsor) talking about doing it all over again. Pariah came up with the name LAW as we are expat Brits and Portuguese (the idea of him not having put squirrels in the name worries me), and the commitment is such, that we are all gearing ourselves up with markers and with the next confrontation on November 20 we'll be taking no prisoners. Yippee ai ey mother....!!!!
Where's the rest of the sentence???!!
ReplyDeleteThat's not where John Mclane would have left it!