Bruises and tactics all in a day’s Paintball combat

By Tony Pepe

One Sunday at 9.15am, I find myself lying in a swollen creek in the pelting rain, hiding behind the inadequate cover of a tree stump, desperately trying to avoid paint bullets whistling past my ear.

I quietly ask myself what I am doing here.

Earlier that morning a mixed band of Brothers and a Sister were introduced to paintball by the people at Ultimate Skirmish in Helensburgh. With a combination of good humour and professionalism, safety and fun were paramount in the pre-game briefings and they maintained this as a priority throughout the day. We were issued our arms and instructed in the use of the Co2 powered paintball guns.

The Stanwell Park contingent was then thrown in with another group and, before we had time for formal introductions, the first game began.

Skirmish is a fast-flowing game of strategy, tactics and communication; the first half of the first game could only be described as a bit of a bun fight.

As the morning progressed, the games improved as everyone got into the stride and conditions.

Charging through the bush, bullets flying from all directions, trying to complete a given task has a way of polarising individual player’s characteristics, which formed three broad groups:

1.      The Self-Preservation Societies playing as a unit of one with the sole aim of surviving and not getting hit.

2.      The Gung Hos playing the games at 110%, performing feats of heroic success and glorious failures.

3.      The Team Players of tactical types who formed alliances and groups working towards the common good.

Each group was as valid as the other.

Back in my ditch, it’s time to move. I leap forward keeping as low as it is humanly possible.

Splashing out of the creek, I head for the next piece of cover, a strategically placed pile of tyres. A shadow in the rain moves from behind a tree. I promptly receive two shots to the chest and one to the leg.

As I retire from the game, wiping paint off my overalls, I have only greater respect for those who train and are sent to do this for real, where the bullets are more than vegetable dye.

Hot, soaked, smarting from the welts on my chest and leg, I know why I’m here: it’s just great fun.