|
The scene: A cold, wet field in Surrey on the edge of a forest. In the field, a group of buildings covered in camouflage netting surrounding a central square, looking for all the world like something out of M*A*S*H. In the square, a wet, cold, bedraggled bunch, waiting for something to happen. What on earth were we doing there? Twelve friends, relatives and colleagues had got together to take part in a paintball day. After signing a disclaimer against anything happening during the day, we are fitted out with goggles, overalls and masks, and then shown how the gun works ("Load the paintballs in the top, pump the gun and pull the trigger" was the sum total of our training – I think the Mexican Army undergo a similar in-depth programme), we spied our enemies. There are people who take this sort of thing very seriously. We were up against one such bunch of Schwarzenegger doppelgangers. They must have spent a small fortune on their equipment, all sporting matching camouflage gear, with a variety of tin lids and their own guns. Faced by such a serious looking foe, we decided the best bet in the battlefield would be to split into small ‘commando’ units. My own tactical group was armed with varying levels of combat experience, sadly not all of it relevant: Andrew Wegg. Ex-RAF reservist has had firearms training. Andy Currie. Slim, fit, has been known to climb mountains in his spare time. Military experience unknown. James Livett. The ballistics expert of the squad. Interested in guns, he once showed a serving officer of HM Forces how to strip down and rebuild his weapon. Had been on nine or ten previous paintball days. Me? A ‘veteran’ of one previous day. Trained as a swordsman, which is about as much use as a chocolate teapot when armed with a gun capable of firing small plastic pellets at around 100mph. However, having been rammed off of my motorbike two days previously (the details are still sub judice), I was up for a fatwah with anything that came in range. Our designated allies against Arnie’s Finest were a Cypriot Youth Club on an outing. Their gung-ho attitude and total inability to heed any form of battle plan aside from frontal assault made them ideal cannon fodder! Having been introduced to both friend and foe, we were led into the forest ‘battleground’ and set up for the first game of the day. This would be a simple ‘capture the flag’ exercise, the winner being the one that captured the enemies flag and returned it to their own camp. Thanks to the Cypriot Suicide Squad, our side had the better of the early exchanges. Faced with a bunch of madmen running directly at their heavily fortified position, a bemused but delighted Arnie Fan Club were so busy blowing them away that they missed our group sneaking through to steal their flag. Unfortunately, this cynical ploy did leave our ‘allies’ (sic) covered in more emulsion than the Forth Bridge sees in a year. Their propensity towards indiscriminate killing frenzies also meant they were usually out of ammunition in two minutes flat, rendering them useless in the later, more tactical games. In the midst of the mounting slaughter, I discover that the gas canister attached to my gun is almost empty. To save gas, I slump behind a tree, just in time to see two of Arnie’s Finest making a bee-line straight towards my hidey-hole. This is my chance for glory. I leap out from behind the tree. They freeze, knowing there is no way they can fire before I blow them away. I set my feet, aim straight at the nearest adversary, pull the trigger and ……… Phut The gas finally runs out, the paintball rolls out of the end of the barrel and plops limply onto the floor by my feet. I am promptly splattered, but at least I get a new canister. As the day wore on, our tired army began to feel the strain. At the cost of £7.00 per 100 extra paintballs, our trigger-happy allies bankrupt themselves and went home, spoiling the realism somewhat! Left to take the field alone without our willing but tactically challenged footroops, things start to go wrong, big time. Paintballs jam in barrels, we are outmanned and outgunned by the Schwarzenegger Brigade and to add insult to injury we are fined for someone lifting their goggles during a game and lose precious points. Nevertheless, after six hours of manic combat, our muddy, bruised and paint spattered army finished just eight points behind Mr S’s Battalions. Mad to take part? Probably. But for £25.00 plus however much you wish to spend on extra ammunition and more sophisticated weaponry, a paintball day is huge fun and great value for money. Interested? Then contact the National Paintball Association for your nearest venue. Ideally you will be able to raise a team of around a dozen people, but if not this does not cause a problem Back to Bob's index... |