a civilian’s woodchipper purred in the distance.
the air was thin and sharp. i couldn’t feel my toes. the ground crackled and split beneath my feet.
fisher had decided to approach back, from my left, as i crouched behind a neatly organized stack of empty ammo boxes. i looked up the hill, and back at my comrade, dressed completely in black, who stood still awaiting action beside an arrangement of emptied oil barrels.
ahead of us, a mere forty feet away, was a camouflaged young man, maybe 20 years old. he stood behind a tree, breathing white, as he waited for his enemy. his back was turned to us.
the ak-47 dangling from my neck strap, resting against my chest, was warm as i brought it to my right eye. i breathed in, and i breathed out. i held my breath and then a stream of fire left the gun barrel as i pressed the trigger, each bullet visible as it cut through the brisk afternoon air. the first couple of bullets missed the young man who quickly turned in response – just in time to catch four or five of them directly in his chest. immediately, his gun fell from his hands.
to my left, one of the fallen soldier’s own sprinted through a short clearing. i tracked him with the gun barrel while shouting for fisher’s attention. i fired through the trees, trying to anticipate his steps, but he evaded the bullets. not until then had i noticed my heart rate had jumped. my best hope was that fisher would make the kill, as my position left me compromised should i attempt to emerge and spot the target amidst the thicker trees.
my patience snapped under the strain of nerves and a poor night’s sleep, and i glanced around the corner to try and visualize the enemy. immediately, eight bullets flew directly at my face – i could count them, one by one, bearing towards my eyes. i could see them but i could not move out of their way.
clack clack clack clack clack clack clack clack.
in the distance, i heard fisher scream. he was dead. i was dead.
****
and so went my first air soft experience. ken has not one or two but three different guns, all to specifications – weight and dimensions, all of metal – matching their namesakes. i had used an ak-47 this past sunday; ken had used an mp-5 with a grenade launcher and silencer; and in the trunk was a virgin thompson submachine gun, still yet to witness combat.
we’d arrived at the property around 1300 and made our way to the field. some guy named [mike, joe, john, or something] owns this acreage with two fields on it for paintball and/or airsoft [the two do not play together]. after paying five bucks as an entry fee, we waited in their “dead zone” for the airsoft players to finish their match so we could join. ken was wearing all black, including a vest to hold extra clips, and i was wearing some shitty jeans and an old jacket. i was not aware of what to expect, and if i had formed any expectations about the seriousness of these competitors they would have been blown out of the water by the real thing.
the first person i met went by “nurse betty” but his real name was travis. maybe 19 years old, or a boyish 20, he was completely outfitted in matching fatigues, combat boots, a camouflage scarf, goggles, and a camouflage vest onto which he had attached an authentic-looking name strip imprinted with “nurse betty”. he was holding what appeared to be an m-16. travis introduced himself to us and was quite friendly – all of these guys were, in fact – and soon after he had done this others started to file in.
the pace of the game quickly stocked the dead zone with these pseudo-soldiers, each in his own brand of american combat gear. the guns varied greatly, as did the names: zephyr, redneck, xavius… i felt foolish introducing myself as plain old vanilla bryan but i sure as hell don’t have a gamer name to pull out in such situations. it was obvious that ken and i would have our asses handed to us simply based on the lack of camo – these men were dead fucking serious.
we quickly organized into teams for the next match, and i was abruptly killed lying prone behind a solitary oil barrel. i knew i should have dropped back but, god dammit, it’s hard to think while you’re under fire. once again, the dead zone filled quickly and soon we were on to another game. that’s when i lit up zephyr, as above – my first and only kill, and a prize at that, as he appeared to be the field’s “king shit”, having arrived earlier in his beamer, proclaiming himself as the organizer of the sunday meets since “way back when all they had were spring-loaders.” he appeared to be about 19 years old but claimed he’d been playing for 6 years.
the other players’ dedication to the realism of airsoft was at first intimidating but afterwards quite intriguing. no doubt these were much different folk than me, but in the same way i have my own eccentricities and strange interests that would no doubt cause them to wonder what exactly the fuck is wrong with me. i suppose we’re all a bit fucked up.
i must say that since leaving that sunday afternoon, i feel the call of battle, and the need to kill.
and i will. soon.
As I have completely given up on trying to make my own category tags, I have decided I will only write things that can be related to the existing tags. Thus I have started this entry which is related to trees. And urine.
