Just then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a long line of 7 players move rapidly over a nearby crest and presumed to walk directly at me on the same path I was laid on. My heart sank and I could almost feel the peppering, I predicted would follow. I decided contact was unavoidable and resolved myself to take out the pointman. My plan was to let him walk on top of me before moving to fire; hopefully getting the drop on him. I gritted my teeth. Glancing at G-Man, I silently thanked him for owning a full automatic MP5.
They came on unaware of us only 10m in front. At the instant, I was about to react, the lead man turned 90 degrees off the trail and into the clearing. One after another, they all turned off, none of them taking a second glance.
A conversation started in camp an I couldn�t believe the amount of players R.F.G. had mustered. The had 8 players; John, Lurch, Ian, Howsen and some players from the Eastfield contingent. Compared to our 4. We were out numbered 2 to 1. I watched an F.N.G. shoot his pistol in our direction, to test his aim. Then he asked Howsen to lend him his spring MP5. Shouldering the SMG, he randomly lined up on Graham as a target. A perplexed look crossed his face, I fired, hitting him in the chest. All hell broke loose. The Ghosts were cut down in a wicked crossfire. Graham sprang to the safety
of the tree and from there had a God position into the camp and 2 Bivies. Numerous cries of hit rang out and the survivors fled firing blindly as they ran down the hill. Within 1 minute the firefight was over and our team stood alone in the Ghost�s camp. With no targets left, we decided to leave the Ghosts a clue as to our location. Upon finding the R.F.G�s map McBain drew on a line and an arrow pointing to which side of it our camp lay on. In red he wrote the words, �Chop, Chop!� to indicate the piles of logs evident all around our arbour. We departed and made good time back to base, by tabbing. We were all on an Airsoft high.
Only when we returned did we realise the truth. The patrol that we had witnessed returning had actually raided our camp and stolen both flags. Paul B. had also been shot out. Unknown to us the flags had been laid near the map that we had written on. The Ghosts had pulled one back and this had stirred up a fire in T.M.A. Nobody ever steals our flag, ever! We cooked tea but revenge was on the menu.
With renewed vigour we reloaded and set off. Crossing the Bull field again we saw dark clouds looming and rain moving along the valley. We pressed on. Moving in from a different angle, we crept close to the Ghost�s pine clearing. Yet we soon realised the camp was abandoned, the R.F.G. had quickly turned the tables by moving camp. We examined what little remained; a shelter made with plastic sheets. Venting our frustration on it, our guns spelled out a word on it. The gaping holes outlined the letters T.M.A. We fanned out and patrolled the rest of �Cock Hollow� but to no avail. Yet again, the other team were nothing but Forest Ghosts. We arrived back at camp, the team were frustrated and determined to gain the upper hand tomorrow. |
