Tuesday, March 31, 2009

War Stories IV; Nat-Wu: First Blood Part II

Is that a confusing enough title for you? Here's a couple of stories I was remembering to my buddies. Note: the "she" referenced is a lady friend of a school chum who came along with us (Xanthippas, Drake21 and me) to paintball one time.

You know, she was alright. She looked like she could grow into it, which is more than I can say for most of the girls who I ever saw play. And she would just do what I told her to do, which is a hell of a lot better than most of the newbies I attempt to play with. Unfortunately I doubt we inculcated any lasting love of the game in her. I will partially take the blame for this. She saw me get shot in the most spectacular way once; I was running for cover from enemy fire from behind a berm to a log. The log was about 40 feet away from the end of the berm, but it was on a diagaonal away from the berm. I thought I could use it as cover from the enemies who were directly opposite us behind a mound and trees of their own. What I didn't realize is that their side had wrapped around and there were enemies with a clear view of the other side of the log too. What this resulted in was me frantically running to a log, miraculously being missed by 5 or 6 guys who were 50 feet away, only to jump behind the log into plain sight of about 6 guys who were 15 feet away. Needless to say, I got soaked from the amount of paint used on me and failed to impress anybody.

Oh yeah! Ok, I have a story neither of you guys can match, and of this I am so sure I'd lay money down. It was the end of a long day of playing. We were at Roanoke, whichever field that is. It was the last game of the day, but I was out of both air and paint. Instead of borrowing any from what meager supplies there were left to my friends, I decided to put down my gun (which was bastardly heavy at that point anyway) and carry a stick as a weapon. I made sure it was cool with the ref, which it was, took the colors off my gun and put it on my stick. The game began, and I ran like hell towards the front line. I guess people were confused by the fact that I had no weapon at all (I mean, I had my stick, but they didn't figure it was my weapon). I ran through the paint flying in the air straight into enemy lines and started tagging the enemy out. Of course there were a bunch of noobs all bunched up and so when I got one I got five. I was amazed that after this first feat I was still alive, so I ran into the enemy again. But by now, just a two or three minutes after the game had started, the players were starting to get thinned out, so I had to run again. I sprinted along their back line and took out 15 more players. Yes, that's right, it's not an exaggeration. I took out 20 players with my stick. By the end, I was so damned tired from running that I decided to commit suicide. I couldn't breathe inside my mask anymore so I wanted off the field. I walked slowly at a kid and he looked scared. I told him, with what little breath I could muster "Shoot me or I'm going to tag you out." He just stared as I got closer, so I stopped and said it again. He finally said, "Oh, ok" and shot me. I said thanks and left the field. I wish that this stuff could be videorecorded and played back, because if there was any record of this anywhere there would be a legend of the guy with the stick. Oh well.

3 comments:

Xanthippas said...

I witnessed the stick incident. Unfortunately, it occurred solely in Nat-Wu's mind as he lay in bed ravaged by fever. I recall the tears of joy streaking down his face in the candlelight, muttering "noob" and generally panting and sounding out of breath. He spoke those last words shortly before the sedative took effect.

Nat-Wu said...

I'll thank you not to tell people about my problems.

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