TT1C

The patrol moved into position, all round defence. We waited 5 minutes, with G-Man covering the rear in case we were followed. All was still, I crawled forward 5 meters and was astonished to see a camouflaged structure in front of me, perhaps only some 25m away. Nervously I glanced back to Fungee and signalled to keep down and still. I froze, realising something was moving near the structure. My heart was in my mouth. After what seamed like an eternity, I looked back to Fungee, but he had gone and so had the rest of the patrol. I was unsure in which direction they had moved and decided to sit it out. Again turning my attention to the Ghosts camp, I realised that I was laid on a tiny track that ran past the main clearing. As I craned my neck to see, I spotted something moving again. It was Ian laid swinging slowly on a hammock, as I watched, he stopped swinging and then slowly scanned all around before resuming his relaxing swing.
After a further 5 minutes, I decided that Ian was probably alone and fearing that his team may come back and spot me, I chose to bug out unseen. I felt reporting the Ghost�s location undetected was more important than trying a one man camp raid. Using stealth, I slowly headed to the Wood cutter�s hut, avoiding the middle track. Paranoia kicked in and I was now sweating buckets.

McBain, Deno, G-Man and Fungee had slipped away without realising I had spotted anything. They moved 10m downhill and McBain heard something. He alerted the patrol and moved in. In front of him, he saw 2 bivy�s made from ponchos. An S10 resi hung from a tree and other military kit was laid around. �JACKPOT!� thought Mark, almost out loud. Taking his time, McBain moved in closely backed up by Deno. Creeping silently from tree to tree, they reached the first bivy. A figure stepped out, McBain�s cross hairs were on his chest, he held the trigger. The target was wearing combats with an NBC jacket. He wore no goggles and was unrecognised as a R.F.G. player. McBain�s finger moved away from the trigger and he called a stand down. Only then did the target see Mark, turning pale as he looked at the gun confronting him. As Deno stood up immediately behind Mark, the youths face turned white.
After a brief explanation and apology, the patrol learned that this was a camp belonging to a group of cadets. The cadets explained that they had seen another camp SW on about 50m. What a coincidence, a disaster had been averted. The patrol moved off to recce said camp. As they moved in, voices could be heard and the smell of a fire drifted through the forest. Observing R.F.G.�s camp the patrol stormed in with no resistance and all players shot while cooking their beans. The Ghosts watched powerless as Deno grabbed the flag right in front of them. Little was said and T.M.A. slipped away into the trees.

Arriving back at camp I discovered what went on and my spirits were raised again. We ate and rested listening to the sound of the woodland�s inhabitants (birds). The sun turned pink and cast long shadows through the branches. Expecting an attack, we all stayed frosty at our stand to positions. But the Ghosts remained simply that; forest ghosts. The sun went down and we settled down for the night. Still listening for movement while curled up in our maggots (sleeping bags). We all drifted off to sleep eventually (except for Graham).

DAY 3
Rising early, we lit a fire and snapped breakfast. The sky was grey with patches of blue. Knowing we were white washing the other team, our morale was high. Sticking near camp for the morning we encountered no-one. No real objectives presented themselves, but we agreed we would return to raid the Ghost�s camp again, in force. Just for the hell of it.
We greened our faces and necks, which proved to be a pre-match psyche up. All that could be seen was the whites of our eyes and teeth, that shone like marbles. We topped up our mags and cocked our faithful hand crafted M16�s. All of which had telescopic sights. As always, our trademark was to wear scrim nets as bandannas. Smoking our last cigarettes in the Wrigley tin bunker, we all knew what we were going to do.
Slipping into the gloom of the overcast forest, we vanished into a green and brown maze. We were part of the forest and we breathed it like any other predator. We patrolled with renewed vigour, our target was known to us. R.F.G�s hour of doom was at hand. As always, on point, I had called allot of the shots, especially when it came to navigation. This time we would avoid paths and tracks and approach purely cross country. Using my limited knowledge of the Ghost�s camp, I approached the same way, crossing the middle track and descending from above. After one hour, we were at the same location we had split up at yesterday.