[mikecs18]

Try in the ass with a 45.auto. That'd hurt the most. Just a thought.

[This message has been edited by mikecs18 (edited July 30, 2001).]

[WW2_Buff]

lol...

[blade]

Does a B-B Gun count?

Heh

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[mikecs18]

I've been shot more times with a bb gun than there are blades of grass on earth.

[WW2_Buff]

LOL!!!! ME TOO!

[BallisticWookie]

I've been hit by a ricocheting 9mm round. Got hit in the arm, it bleed and scared but it's all gone now. Cant say I'll be wanting that again.

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Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to War and my fingers to fight.

[WW2_Buff]

ouch. whats it feel like? everyone say (for some reason) that when yer shot it nubs and u dont feel pain??? are they idiots?

[mikecs18]

It nums up from blood loss.

[SoLiDUS]

Time for a story kiddies ! Gather around !

It was a beautiful sunny day. For 6 weeks now, intense planning for our day of simulated warfare had culminated to this point : we were all ready, packed and focused, for the upcoming day that would change us forever... we would become men !

We slapped on our jackstraps (not I, for I was part of a family of hardnutz) and pooped before leaving for "camp".
As we arrived, the man explained to us we were entering a warzone, a place none of us would EVER forget (note: I still have trouble remembering the toilet emplacements).
We were issued a standard rifle and 100 rounds to use at our leisure : I thought "100 rounds, that's not much!", so I became a sniper.

The members were split, teams made. Friends would be in opposing groups and scared faces were now rampant. I looked up at the sky to see a bird fly about : he flew over gracefully with a certain sense of serenity, that is, until he got shot by someone calibrating his gun. All signs pointed to a required calibration : he didn't even come close to hitting our flying fellow.


NEXT, my 1st 4 hours !
AFTER, my afternoon / how I got smoked !

[SoLiDUS]

The first 4 hours of warfare went by rather quickly. Nothing much to say, except for the following story :

Our first game was capture the flag. We had to follow a route to get their flag and come back. Simple enough.
I engineered the battle plan : most would follow the standard route. The enemy would think we were all coming that way. How wrong.
While most of the team made valiant attempts at pushing forward up the hill, heavily defended by enemies, a companion and myself took the backroute : we would flank them, hit the poor bastards where hit would hurt the most.

Our march towards their flag went relatively well : we were seen only once. Of course, he didn't stand a chance.
We made our way to their flag, shooting 2 of their members. I ran for the flag, grabbed it with a sign of relief, frowned with sweat running down on my forehead and ran back the way I came.
We had less than 2 minutes to get back. Heart pumping at full capacity, I ran with all of my strength to make it back the 200 meters of uneven forest road we had travelled so easily before. We finally made it : we won. Only 3 of us were left. A lucky guy who took the frontal assault job, my companion and myself.

I felt proud and realized.

[SoLiDUS]

The afternoon, as previously noted, was rather dull and uneventful : nothing worth wasting time writing on, except for how I got wounded bad.

We ate our dinner : boy was it good. Some guys left their guns in the warmth of the sun. Pressure would build up in the tank and shooting would prove to be quite accurate, but also quite dangerous. Up on the hill, I made my way slowly down with a friend : we would scan right and left, seeing and hearing nothing. Something was wrong.. terribly wrong !
I heard 2 shots. Something wizzed by my right ear. POW! A shot hit me right in the arm. I felt a burning pain and fell to the ground, not so much for the pain, but out of cowardice and fright of another bullet hitting me somewhere a little more vital.
The guy next to me was not so lucky : 3 shots hit him in the chest area, 1 in the groin and arm and finally, 2 in the face.
He fell flat on the ground. No movement. No sound. I pleaded for mercy. A lone soldier came out and checked us out.

He came to help me with the guy next to me: he was totally dazed, his mobility being that of a drunk and his reactions that of a semi-conscious person. Our attacker had left his gun in the comfort of the bright, hot sun. The pressure was so high they had to remove the tank and replace it with a fresh one free of contact with the sun.

I finally looked at my own wound : I had a 7 millimeter deep wound about a quarter big on the side of my right arm. It showed signs of bleeding profusely a little while ago, seeing how much blood was on my arm.

I left to go home.

I was now a man.

[BallisticWookie]

LOL, great story...I must play Paintball again someday, was fun the last time I played it. Getting shot in the fingers wasnt though

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Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to War and my fingers to fight.

[SoLiDUS]

Werd.

[mikecs18]

Lets just say I got a story to tell alright?
Well it all starts on a sunny day at the local gun range when I was about three years old. My dad was shooting an old shotgun. A winchester 1897 riot model loaded with buckshot. The gun was in not worth a shit condition. What would happen is he'd pull the trigger and you'd hear a click then a second later it'd go off. On the last shot he thought it went off but it really didn't. So me(being a typical energetic kid) ran up to check the target with dad. When I got up to the target BOOOOM. the gun went off and all nine 32. caliber balls hit me in the back. I got real fucking lucky. They all missed my vital organs by inches. It still hurt like a bitch. I still got all nine scars on my back. I was fully recovered in a while. I still like guns though.

[WW2_Buff]

KICK ASS! i shot my Grandpa when i was 4 and blew his thumb off with a .38 pistol! he was ok otherwise. oops.

sorry gramps

[This message has been edited by WW2_Buff (edited July 30, 2001).]