Copied from my Xanga:
Like Fight Club, with toy guns, minus Project Mayhem
Saturday, 25 July 2009 14:25
An air conditioned staging room.
I
lay my gear out, prepping carefully. Lots of the dormant military
training pops familiarly back into focus. Nothing rattles, nothing
shines.
Boots, Trousers, Shirt, Jacket check.
Vest and ammo pouches check.
Spare Ammo check.
Gloves check. (mental note, need new ones)
Knee and elbow pads check. Not too tight for comfort in movement.
Weapon check. Not loaded.
Turn the cap over and clip the mask on.
Mask check.
Ready - Up!
Into
the game room. The test range is hot, people are test firing, so I pull
my mask down and get in line. Slap a magazine reassuringly into the
gun, and wait my turn. The 3 guys ahead of me snap off 3 or 4 shots or
a burst or two, and get off the line. My turn. Thumbing the safety to
Auto, I snug the stock familiarly against my shoulder. The unfamiliar
facemask smacks the stock and prevents me from getting a good sight
picture right away - so I snug in tight and peer forward. Rear sight a
blurry circle, and the front sight post in clear contrast - and the
target, middle hay bale, 25 feet downrange.
Knees bent slightly,
lead foot forward, trail foot back. Squeezing the trigger, listening
for the piston cycle. 3-cycle-stop. 3-cycle-stop. 3-cycle-stop. I see
the white BB's fly downrange in a vage blur, and the center of the hay
bale fluff up in puffs of blown out shredded hay. Good sights.
Off
the line, sitting with other folks not wearing color bands. The heat
hit me all of a sudden. No A/C here. The sweat starts immediately. I
let my weapon dangle on the sling, stock up. Hands on stock, chin on
hands, eyes closed. The actions starts soon enough, just gotta relax
and wait for the count. Two kids off to the side are whispering. "That
guy in the uniform looks like he's GOOD at this." I keep my eyes closed
and grin. What little the kids know. Probably first timers. They'll
learn - or not.
Game Proctor steps in. "GAME CLOSED. MASKS ON!"
I
hear footsteps and whispered counts as he walks by. A minute or so
passes as he evens the teams' numbers up and removes or hands out more
colored bands. I saw at least 30-40 folks in the room before the doors
shut.
"Full field! No Bands, Take a walk!"
On my feet,
down the center. Left hand on fore-grip, right hand on trigger. Index
finger out straight. Safety off, deep even breaths. The balsa wood,
particle board, and hay bales are set up in a rat-maze like
arrangement, with two ersatz huts off-center but symmetrical, 1 at each
side of the warehouse.
We finish the walk, and line up on-line
against the rear of the warehouse. Ventilation holes are open - I
welcome the wisp of fresh air under the mask. Face is already wet with
sweat dripping off my chin, and we have not even started yet. Nobody
stops me as I take the extreme right position. I get down into assault
crouch. Hands tight on the weapon, knees bent, lead foot back, trail
forward, ready to jump.
"Bands ready! No bands ready! 3... 2... 1... GO!"
I
jump into a sprint down the right ride passageway, already sighted down
the lane and at the particleboard right where the snipers usually...
head pops up, black blur over wood particleboard. Gun up, sighted down,
snap shot. I hear BB's whiz by me, some snapping into the cinder-block
walls, concrete floor, and balsa wood next to me. The warehouse is
alive with chaotic noises. Pistons cycling, gears whirring, the
smack-crack-thumps of impacts against wood and concrete.
The
head in the sniper roost disappears. Probably not a hit, but I keep
going, snapping a few shots off left - towards center. I see figures in
black, bands and no bands, darting from cover to cover in spurts.
Lots of yelling. "GO GO GO!" "I SEE ONE!" "FLANKER ON THE LEFT!"
I
turn from center and rush forward, weapon on continuous cycle.
Reassuring thuds on the wood ahead of me assure me I'm not out of ammo
yet. I reach cover, send a quick burst around to the right, then fade
back and look down towards center. 2 with their back to me, one
crouched and one running. Gun up, snap shot. Miss the mover and tag
the crouched guy in the back. My snapshot skills SUCK. Crouched guy
puts his gun up. Called it, tagged him.
Back to cover forward - suddenly from the sniper roost: "He's here, right there, around the corner!"
I'm
spotted, out forward, and zeroed in cold. Looking behind me for this
round, I see the closest friendly is hunkered down shooting towards
center-line at least 30 - 40 feet back.
"Brave m*********ers." I
mutter to myself. Sarcasm is alive and well as I contemplate my
options. BB's strike the particleboard I am hiding behind, but in
irregular bursts and not in a constant stream. Well, there's that
option...
I will myself to take deep, regular breaths of hot, humid air as I listen for the regular impacts against the cover I've got.
Thap-thap-thap... thap-thap-thap-thap... thap-thap-thap - and GO!
I
dive around the corner at a flat run, weapon up and cycling. My right
kneepad had shifted down slightly (too loose!) and I hit the floor and
slide on both knees, a jolt of pain hitting the slightly exposed right
knee. Twist around and work the stream of BB's into 2 guys hiding
around the corner 5 feet back from the edge that had been my shelter...
And my shoulder explodes in a sharp slap of pain from a cluster
of high-cycle BB impacts from close range. Farther out shots smack
into my facemask, thighs and vest, dinging and slapping against
uniform and accessory alike. I see the two close in guys with hands and
weapons up. I hold my left fist up and point my weapon up wards with my
right, yelling out "HIT!" right as some BB's come in and smack into the
knuckles on my right hand, sending fresh bruise-leaving jolts of pain
up my arm.
"Oh well, that's Airsoft."
I leave that night at 20:30, exhausted, sweaty-drenched, and utterly invigorated by the adrenalin afterglow.
$20 for an all day pass, and $10 for a bag of BB's. HELL YES.
It's my second Saturday here, and I'm starting to see familiar faces. I'll be back this coming Saturday.
Looking for other players. Ping me for info. Airsoft in El Monte, Calif.