X-NEWS: cobra.uni.edu rec.sport.paintball: 5303 Relay-Version: ANU News - V6.1 08/24/93 VAX/VMS V1.5; site cobra.uni.edu Path: cobra.uni.edu!newsrelay.iastate.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!europa.eng.gtefsd.com!uunet!psinntp!t27!kmunn Newsgroups: rec.sport.paintball Subject: Battle Recap: A Soft Defense Goes Soft Message-ID: <1993Oct29.161103.9527@tudor.com> From: kmunn@tudor.com (Kristofer Munn) Date: Fri, 29 Oct 1993 16:11:03 GMT Sender: news@tudor.com Organization: Tudor Investment Corporation Nntp-Posting-Host: t80 Lines: 164 A true story I thought someone might enjoy... A Soft Defense Goes Soft -------------------------- I was playing traditional Capture the Flag at the American Airgun Games fields in Coram, Long Island, NY a couple of years ago. It was late spring with plenty of lush green cover, my favorite time of year to play. The field we were playing this particular game on was proportioned similarly to a football field with the flags in each end-zone. The teams were walk-ons, about 30 to a side. I had been doing "Special Forces" work all day, either as a sniper or as leader of small five-man assault teams. This time, we decided to split our forces into two groups. One of 10 and one of 20. The larger group would go up the left side for the flag while the other group would do their best to delay/prevent the all-out assault which the enemy had been using with limited success throughout the day. I counted off two teams of five and staggered them (1-2-1-2-1...) in a skirmish line. The whistle blew and we advanced up the right side of the field as quickly/quietly as possible. The point man picked up the enemy and I gave the signal to dig in as planned. Things were going much better than usual since about 40% of my squad was newbies. Our team held their fire as the enemy advanced and I counted at least twenty. On my signal, my squad opened fire dropping four in the first 5 seconds and two more in the next 15 (nearly all pump guns on both sides). The enemy scambled for cover, demoralized over their walking into an ambush. I could hear their squad leader calling out commands to take cover (as if they needed to be told this?) and return fire. Our cover was excellent and the teamwork was even better. If anyone on my team got pinned, his adjacent gunners would fire at the offender(s) until they retreated behind cover. Just as the other team began to get organized (ie flanking manuevers), we began step two. I called out "one!". In a show of teamwork that I have yet seen matched by newbie squads, Group Two opened fire and provided cover as Group One crawled, walked and dodged their way to positions ten feet behind Group Two. We were going to try to execute a soft defense. The five men of Group Two were now up front but still not vulnerable to the enemy. Group One secured themselves cover and rejoined the firefight, laying suppression fire for Group Two who tried to take out one or two more enemy in the meantime. The enemy had two choices at this point. The first was to stay put at arm's length and hope that their superior numbers/supplies would whittle us down in a reasonable amount of time and the second, was to move up and engage us again. The first was a win-win situation for our squad who would be happy to occupy 20 men with our 10 all day if given the opportunity. They chose the second and began to move in. They did an OK job of providing cover fire but we still managed to nail two more players. Before the enemy got settled, I called out "two!". This time, Group Two ran behind Group One as Group One provided cover fire. This continued twice more before we had retreated to just inside a dirt road. We eliminated three more of their team and lost two of our men. The road had deep cover on both sides but provided an open interval of about 25 feet which had no cover at all. I spread the word and on the next defensive move (not really a retreat), Group Two crossed the road and dove into the cover. Group One followed a minute later. I set myself up behind a mound of dirt and waited for the killing to begin. All eight of my men were stationed on or near the road with good cover and a direct line of fire onto the roadway. When the enemy tried to fire across, they'd be stymied. The guns were silent as we awaited their advance. In the distance, we could hear the remainder of our team engaging their base. Then a lone voice rang out of the trees before us... "CHARGE!!!" The sound of a dozen or so enemy soldiers rushing through the brush nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes. These soldiers were going to be running straight into our kill zone, it would be slaughter. A few moments later I heard a noise behind me and glanced. My jaw dropped... There were eight soldiers behind me. No, not enemy soldiers my men! They were running away from what would have been the most decisive battle of the day. Cowards! But I am no fool and had no wish to be the only one to feel the wrath of the enemy we had so recently frustrated. I jumped to my feet and ran through the cover in an attempt to catch up to my men. It was going to be too late, by the sounds of it the troops would come crashing through the treeline in moments. Hide! But where... That tree's too thin, damn, that one bends. That bush doesn't have enough leaves. There! I dove behind/into a fallen tree as a field judge looked on from the other side of the nearby out-of-bounds tape. He had enjoyed watching us work but now everything had fallen apart. The tree had had two trunks which separated about two feet above the base. Each trunk was about two feet in diameter and were lying parallel to the ground about 6 inches off the ground. The root system had torn itself out of the ground and would have provided excellent cover if it hadn't been pointed too far to the right (toward the out of bounds area). So there I was, huddled in the vee of these two trunks, scrunched down as small as I can get wondering, "Why didn't I just run out of bounds and call myself out?" when I heard them. The crashed through the cover near the road and then slowed, wondering where the hell all the guys who were shooting at them were. I turned my head and realized I could see them and they couldn't see me! I had a view of their feet up to their shins from beneath the trunk. It was time for... The Terminator. Some explanation is needed at this point. Every once in a while I have to do something so suicidal it requires unthinking cool. This cool, I call, The Terminator. When The Terminator visits, I get very deliberate and thankfully, very accurate. It might seem silly but it works, neither my fear or my raging adrenaline cause me to fail. I waited for just the right moment then I popped out of my hiding place, gun in hand facing my first victim. I could see his eyes bulge and he tried to back off but his feet began to slip out from under him on the forest canopy. I calmly marked him in the chest and swiveled left, cocking the gun as I moved. My second victim was hit in the left shoulder as he was turning toward the sound of my first shot. I re-cocked and turned, this time making a little robot swivel sound for my own amusement, and blew away another soldier as he ran to a tree for cover. They began to fire but at first it was just random shots by people more interested in getting to cover than getting me. I hit a fourth as he crawled away having dived for the forest floor. At this point, I sensed my time had run out and I ducked back into the log. A hail of gunfire ensued to the point where it was dripping down the logs into my hiding place. I watched from underneath as one of the enemy advanced on the log, intent on quietly silencing me. It was not to be. I raised my gun and aiming from beneath the logs fire three shots at him from 15 feet (I later discovered that two had hit) and he was out. Pinpointing enemy positions I did my best to fire on them, hoping in vain that my comrades would save me. Two more enemy soldiers went down before someone on their team finally called a paintcheck. The firing stopped as the referee stepped under the yellow out-of-bounds tape and walked over to me. "Kris, stand up." "Warn them," I replied looking up at him. He looked out and stated, "Anyone who fires during a paintcheck is immediately out for this game and I will recommend that they not be allowed to play the following game either." He looked down at me. "Good enough?" I shrugged and stood, slowly turning in a circle. I hadn't felt a hit but I figured it had probably happened sometime. There was plenty of splatter. After a careful inspection, the ref determined that I was clean and then I realized that I would get a five second head start! I was home free! "He's clean!" announced the judge. "He gets five seconds. You can't move or fire... wait!" The ref walked over to me. "Your gun Kris. They hit your gun." Looking, I noticed for the first time a "nick" on the front right side of the ammo loader. It was definitely a hit and those were the rules. "He's out, you hit his gun." I removed my bandana and stepped out of the log. Every gun was trained on me as I stepped out-of-bounds. I'm sure more than one of them was weighing the punishment with the crime but nobody fired. As soon as I was out, the judge restarted the game. Without a mark, I walked back to the parking lot to wait for the next game. And that, my friends, was my greatest battle. If you like this, perhaps I'll write up a few of my "Special Forces" encounters. Most were rather dull but a few were hot hot hot... - Kristofer (kmunn@tudor.com) -- ============================================================================== The opinions expressed within are solely those of the author and are subject to change when confronted with new information and logical, coherent arguments.