MCF's War Journal

0600: I question my father's sanity. Why would he be calling me so early on a Saturday morning? Then, as the fog of dreams slowly lift, I remember asking him to the night before. In an hour, a friend from work will be arriving to pick me up for The Big Game.

0650: After eating and showering I'm awake enough to do a gear check. The blue jumpsuit that had once belonged to my father has become my paintball uniform in the last few years, earning me the nickname “Blue Ninja” from regulars who own camouflage gear. I take a roll of paper towels and plastic bags, all essential materials for such a mission. I put the jumpsuit in a bag, hope I won't be too hot in the jeans and sweatshirt I'm wearing, and head outside to meet my ride.

0705: My friend Bob arrives, slightly late, and we head out East.

0745: We arrive in Coram and are directed to a parking spot by referees along a dirt road. Bob drives fast.

0800: As anticipated, the girl at the counter has no record of my having prepaid and registered online nearly a month ago. I'm learning to plan for my unlikely luck though, and present her with a copy of the e-mail confirmation I received. I'm directed to a different alphabetical line according to Bob's last name, where a second girl is also bewildered until her supervisor points out TWO registrations under his name. I hand over my driver's license as collateral as she presents me with my weapon and a wristband identifying me as part of the red team, Bravo company.

0815: Back at the car, I suit up. Bob has an extra camouflage shirt that I throw over my jumpsuit, and an extra mask which he tells me he spraypainted the night before. The camouflage pattern on the mask is excellent, though the residual fumes make me dizzy. After picking up a case of ammunition, we load the pods in our backpacks and the hoppers on our guns.

0830: Past the netting we have to stop briefly while anyone using his or her own gun has the speed checked by radar, to make sure no one has tweaked them to shoot faster than the regulation 290 fps. Our arms are fitted with red tape by the referees, to differentiate us from the opposing blue taped army.

0845: I grow weary of standing around, listening to the owner explain the objectives of the day. I want action. Disappointment over learning Ice T would be at the event TOMORROW only grew when the owner told us the tanks and helicopters we were expecting were for Sunday only as well.

0915: Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie companies are split up and given sectors to defend. As everyone immediately vacates our base with no organization whatsoever, Bob and I are initially hesitant to venture too far, but quickly grow bored. Note: From this point in the journal, all times are estimates based on what people around me have said, since I left my watch in the car given my penchant for losing things.

0930: I make my way off the trail, taking cover in the trees. In the distance, I hear the rapid exchange of fire and shouting, but have yet to see an actual battle. I try to get Bob on the two-way radio he's loaned me, and ascertain his position at the top of the hill.

0945: My legs are killing me. We've hiked uphill over very uneven ground, following the perimeter indicated by yellow tape on the trees, planning to flank the blue forces. Every time we come upon fellow soldiers there's a momentary lifting of arms before someone cries “RED! RED!” and prevents friendly fire. I can hike anywhere in Long Island for free, and often do. I've paid for a fight, and I'm looking for one.

1000:Finally, we catch up to our troops who have the blues pinned down in the “city”, a series of plywood facades resembling a western town. We seem to have the high ground advantage, until spheres whiz by from the right, revealing forces surrounding us. We fall back, our first mistake of the day.

1015: Bob is hit making a daring run down the side of the hill by unseen snipers. As he departs for the “safe zone”, a netted enclosure where we must wait 15 minutes before reinsertion, I creep down the hill, falling back myself when a sudden barrage is unleashed. Miraculously, I am unhit, and as I fall back to the dirt path behind me, some troops coming up the path ask if I'm hit. I tell them “no” and they quickly change that even as I notice their blue armbands. I raise my white towel and am given free passage to the safe zone.

1018: I take off my helmet and get a drink of water from a nearby cooler. My right ear hurts from the earpiece, and Bob suggests I just use the radio without the wire. I agree, and return his wire, double-checking that the radio is clasped to my belt.

1033: Reinsertion is dangerous, as the territory is now completely occupied by blues. A red steps out of the enclosure only to turn around and walk back in upon being shot. We make a run for it, and manage to regroup with our forces where they've taken the city.

1100: I've been guarding a structure, and it's been boring. Having made our way from one side of the grounds to the other, it seems the blues have done the same and we're once more away from the action. A group of us decide to make our way over a nearby ridge, and down into a valley held by the blues. They have excellent cover behind some barrels, but they also have the low ground.

1115: I wonder why I suddenly hear Slipknot's Duality blaring, and then see the source. The tank rolls around, blaring music and bearing a blue insignia! It's slow, and we still have the high ground, so as long as we keep our distance we're safe. When it turns, someone screams “CHAAAAAARGE!!!” and we run full force down the hill. The tank continues in another direction as I skid behind a tree, and I realize I was the one who screamed. I reload my gun for the first time.

1117: The game is finally getting good as our forces push forward into blue territory. I look around for Bob and reach for the radio on my belt, horrified not to find it. As my team vanishes ahead of me, I turn and look up at a hill covered in leaves, and retrace my steps.

1136: I've asked anyone I've seen if they've found a radio, with little luck. I've been back and forth over the battlefield, completely unsure if I'm retracing my steps. Every tree looks familiar to me and I try to use a lake at the bottom of the hill to gauge where I was on the hill at various points in the tank battle. Ultimately, I'm forced to give up my search when three reds come running up past me, pursued by innumerable blues. I turn and make it to cover with them, falling back as we see how massively outnumbered we are. The morning is not going well. Overhead, I see the helicopter for the first time.

1145: Walking along an unfamiliar road in our retreat, a paintball hits me dead center in the side of my head. I'm impressed at the durability of the helmet as I feel no pain, only the impact that knocks me to the side. I raise my gun and towel, and make for the nearest safe zone, occupied by only refs at this point. As I walk in one hysterically yells at me to put my barrel plug in, and as I fish for it inside my glove, he continues to yell and tell me to get out of there. I walk back to the road putting my plug in, fully determined to find a more hospitable tent when he calls to me to come back and explains that he was worried about losing an eye. I tell him I fully understand and ask about a radio, as he assures me that stuff like that “walks” and he's sure some of their equipment is already in someone's car. I call Bob on my cell phone and leave a message, but I have no idea if he even has it on him. I reload, put my mask on, and head out alone into the woods.

1205: I'm waiting by the registration booths when Bob appears. I apologize about the radio and he tells me not to worry about it, but that someone was either on the same frequency or picked it up, since he called to me and someone told him he'd “meet [him] by the car.” He sends another message asking who took his radio but gets no reply. We ditch our gear and get some amazing (albeit overpriced) cheeseburgers and hot dogs.

1300: After having our CO2 cartridges reloaded, we're ready for round 2. This time, Red is starting from the side of the woods Blue started with in the morning, and vice versa.

1315: Our Red Bravos push forward from the city, holding the blues down until their tank leaves and pressing forward. We're all running on adrenaline and forgetting weary limbs, and when younger players want to fall back we shout at them to hold the line. We're a different group than we were in the morning. We're organized, and working together, slowly but efficiently advancing. Any time Blues try to flank us, we're prepared, constantly yelling to “watch the right!” or “watch the left!” The first Blue facility is in sight and as we lay down suppressive fire, Bob makes a daring run to the Blue flag, yanking the rope that changes it to Red. The area is ours, and we continue our campaign.

1400: The afternoon has gone well. Our strategy continues and we successfully keep spreading out and advancing even as Blue keeps retreating. As the bulk of our forces take the area designated as “The Capitol”, a group of six or seven of us move along the perimeter, coming upon a steep downgrade. I catch hold of a tree to slow my descent as we run down over leaves and branches, and swing around as paintballs explode near my fingers. I drop and roll behind a log and am up and returning fire in seconds. There aren't many of us in this zone, but we're GOOD and have support from on high. I've been hit several times but the balls aren't exploding, which by the rules mean they don't count. The first time I played this game maybe 3 or 4 years ago, I wanted out the second I got hit. Now each sting just drives me onward.

1430: There are Reds everywhere. Other players with radios confirm that we now hold every major installation, and the Blues are scattered throughout the surrounding woods. Bob has three paintballs left in his gun, and I give him my last pod to reload. We plan to play until empty.

1445: Somehow we end up back in the barrel zone where I lost the radio, but approaching from the low ground. I continue looking at the ground and, realizing what I'm doing, Bob tells me for the seventh or eighth time to “not worry about it” and adds that he got it cheap off eBay. I still feel bad, but the trees around us explode as the Blues attack! I dive behind a tree, and unload, taking out a Blue or two before my gun rattles out the last of my CO2. As I step back, I'm hit from both sides by paintballs even as my team cries out in shock at the presence of blues behind us. I make my way to the road as Reds turn to guard our rear.

1500: There's no sign of Bob. He had little ammo left, and I have no idea whether he's alive or dead at this point. My legs hurt. I've sat only once at lunch, knowing it would be a mistake, and indeed it took forever to get back up. I've stayed on my feet and run up and down hills, diving and rolling all the while carrying a gun and a backpack full of ammunition pods. I find my way to the parking lot and Bob joins me by the car not long afterward.

1525: I've returned my gun and recovered my license, and my jumpsuit is now safely in a plastic bag. I'm pleased to see that I'll make a 5PM mass and not have to go to a 7:30 AM tomorrow. I'll get some sleep before I have to drive to Staten Island tomorrow and play music.

1725: I decide my faith has entirely too much sitting, standing, and kneeling. After the day I've had, each change of position has me groaning and leaning on the pew like the elderly ushers a few rows back. As I hope they don't think I'm mocking them, I conceive of tonight's “War Journal” format and try to remember how Army Time works.

2120: I finish tonight's post and prepare to run a spell check and publish. Every joint still hurts. It hurts to type. My face feels sunburned but was behind a mask for the majority of the day, so it may be that the mask was too tight. My head is somewhat larger than my friend's. I keep discovering welts that I never felt in the heat of battle. I'm certain in the last campaign that the Blues may have been fighting a dead soldier. I feel GREAT, and I can't wait to do this again next year.

End War Journal.