My Christmas gift to myself was an out-of-the-box MP5 airsoft gun. My former officemates Ron Papag and Aya Santos actually convinced me, regaling me with their stories of how fun it is to play this increasingly popular game among testosterone-charged weekend warriors. They even bought the gun for me from some underground source (from a mall store, actually, but its most popular item is contraband) and gave me a bag-full of pellets to go with it. I’ve bought it home to the province twice already and that was where I did some practice shooting. Even the wife uses it and she actually hits more targets than I do.
Since then I waited for Ron and Aya to invite me to a game. Since they are both no longer with Kodao, and because of my many personal concerns and tasks of late, I always failed to join them. Meanwhile, the most use I had for the gun was to drive away cats in heat that wanted to do their dirty deed right by our window and rudely disrupting our rest.
At this last Labor Day rally, Ron invite me again. I said “Sure” but was not that optimistic it would happen. There and then at the rally, I bought padded cycling gloves (can’t afford those “Terminator” gloves) and was given a camouflaged baseball cap by Xavier “The Punk Rambo” Buncan. Last Thursday, Ron followed up on his earlier invitation and even brought me to the store where he bought my gun. We were beaten by a youngster to the store’s last full-faced mask and so I had to settle for a perforated metal goggles that is necessary if I am to be allowed into the game sites. I also bought an extra magazine that takes in 300 pellets to complement my stock one that only has space for 110 BBs.
That night, though, driving home from the store, I got a text message from Lui announcing Len Olea’s mom (see previous entry “Byaheng Langit”) needed blood donors. I rushed to the Veterans’ Memorial Medical Center to give blood. At the back of my mind I was afraid I’ll be weakened by my bloodletting I might not last long during the games. But, what the heck, a comrade in need is first and foremost. That was my sixth blood donation, all to comrades’ families. (Sadly, Len’s nanay died from cardio-vascular failure brought about by her cancer at 4:51 a.m.)
Back to my real story.
Reaching home that night, I brought out from the cabinet my Levi’s denim vest (a Christmas gift from Felix Latuna), my brown denim cargo pants, my blue camouflaged mesh scarf, and my Lacoste long-sleeved shirt. I put them all on with my cap and googles and managed to look like terrorist, according to the amused wife.
I also took out my gun and started cleaning it. First, I filled my magazines. Then I charged my battery. And I rolled a piece of 3M cloth at the end of my gun’s cleaning stick, stuck it inside and managed to jam my barrel. I tried all sorts of tricks in the manual to unclog it, to no avail. As many as four pellets were jammed inside the barrel. I tried firing the gun several times and all I succeeded to do was to annoy the then already sleepy missus. I gave up by one o’clock. By then, I have managed to piss off Pom so much she walked out on me. (Bumalik din naman later sa kwarto.)
I tried again in the morning. Nada. Patay, kako. Di talaga yata ako makakalaro. Good thing Ron texted he will bring an extra gun for me.
Then I remembered. I have 12 UP Diliman students to take to a community overlooking the Payatas dumpsite on Saturday. And at four o’clock of that day, I have to be at Pasig for my Auntie Mary’s 70th birth anniversary cum family reunion. Another case of my professional and personal commitments geting in the way of my having fun.
But I thought I never had a day for myself for such a long time. Sure there were occasional rest days but rests are just to prepare yourself for more work later, right? So I decided to play on Saturday, no matter what. I so needed a day to do what I wanted to do. A selfish thing. Something that’s not productive but for me.
So I called the community organizers and asked what other days they could accommodate us other than Saturday. They said Monday is actually better as they have a medical mission on the seventh. The students too were happy with the adjustment because they have their weekends to themselves. I just asked my sisters to cover for my expected tardiness to the reunion. (They did naman, so nobody nagged me when I arrived.)
Saturday morning I woke up earlier than usual. Excited siguro. After relieving my bladder, I forced myself to sleep again. After 30 minutes, I dozed off again and woke up at about 8:45. After a quick sandwich and an equally quick dump, I drove briskly to McDo Philcoa where Ron and Aya waited. We drove to Libis and found the game site without trouble. After signing a waiver and paying the entrance fee, we were in.
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I despaired when I saw how most other players were dressed up. Full battle gear, pare, with mean-sounding and looking guns to boot. They were so porma their get-ups and set-ups could easily have cost them tens of thousands of pesos each. Even Ron and Aya were among the best dressed in the crowd. They were covered so completely their mothers would not recognize them even if they bump into them in the closet. The only gear I think I had it best than the most of them is my new Fila cross trainer Pom bought for me a few weeks back—so light and cool I loved it the moment I put it on. Ron had a JG sniper’s rifle and Aya an all-black M14. Me, I had a borrowed AK47 that did not even hit 300 fps when I had it checked.
There were about 25 of us in the first game. We were given a briefing, the marshal making us painfully aware that a couple of weeks back a player managed to have one of his eyeballs shot from its socket in the same venue. (Gasp! Dun pala yun?!) You bet I hardly took my goggles off even in between games the entire day.
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My first game was expectedly short. We were divided into two and the objective was to annihilate the opposing team entirely. With my sorry get-up, I was included in the “chopsuey group” while the other side was composed of dressed-up warriors. We were taken to a spot where there were truck hoods, drain pipes, old tires and tall grasses we could use as cover. I managed to advance to two positions before I got hit right on my nose by a sniper. I was awarded with a small welt in my first ever airsoft game. Of course I did not “kill” anyone. We lost.
The second game was a CQB inside an abandoned three-storey building. We were the assault team while the “enemies” were positioned on the second and third floors. I ran to the side of the building where a spiral stairs was. I managed to reach the second floor. I positioned myself near the door and let a menacing volley into a room. No counterfire. I peeped and saw nobody. I thought it curios they left an entry point totally unguarded but I still advanced, slowly. With my gun barrel leading me, I managed to take three steps into the room before a burst came from a small opening on a closet door. Six pellets hit me on the face, head and right hand. The bastard hid himself in that very small space with a very small firing line. But no one could enter that room without being killed. With my gun on top of my head, I sheepishly descended the stairs with my hand and left cheek smarting from the shots.
My third game was a bit better. I survived it. But only because I positioned myself at the back of the building and just contented myself with providing cover fire. Since I fared miserably in my first two games I decided to play conservative this time. This game was memorable. This is when my first “kill” happened. I was crouched by a door when I saw a gun barrel rounding a corner. I waited a second and let out a burst. I got the bastard flush on his vest. But he turned out to be a teammate! Great! My first “kill” was a “friendly fire.” I only managed to eliminate one of us. Oh, brother! We won. But it was not really fun for me.
The fourth scenario was action packed. It was called “Defend the Barber Shop.” The venue is really an abandoned barber shop in the middle of an open area surrounded by shrubs and small rises. This was the first time I teamed up with Ron and Aya. I positioned myself at the back of the building where I had better view of the enemies as they approached our position. There was a healthy exchange of single shots and long bursts. Eventually though, the “enemies” started to close in because of their sheer number. There were 17 of them to our five. It rained pellets! Then I saw an enemy approaching from the side and he was coming fast. If he closed in and positioned himself behind the hedge, we’re done for. So I ran to meet him with my gun blazing. He too was letting me have it. It was a “mutual kill,” meaning we were both “dead.” He was actually my first legit “kill” and it was exciting. But because my teammates failed to notice I was already dead, they were stealthily approached from my previous position and were tapped out. “Knife kill” is the airsofting parlance for this, when the enemy has gotten so close he could already touch you and there is no need for him to shoot. To do so is considered unsportsmanlike and is frowned upon. For the loser, to be “knife-killed” is the worst “death.”
Emboldened by my first legit “kill,” I decided to play main man in our next game. This time, I was with the assault team and I led the charge. I managed to get to the hedge and was able to provide good cover fire for my teammates who charged after me. After one particular long burst, my pellets stopped firing! I forget to stroke the bottom of my magazine so more pellets could advance into the firing chamber. In that brief moment of hesitation, three pellets from a sniper landed on my head. Again, I had to raise my gun and call out “Hit! Hit!” Then the slow and embarrassing march to the sidelines.
In the next scenario, we were taken back to the CQB building. We were the defenders this time and were tasked to defend a third-floor room until either team is wiped out. I positioned myself right in the middle of the room but behind some piece of furniture. I was the first line, along with a teenager whose gun kept seizing up because he used a more powerful battery than his gun could take. At first I tried firing from a small hole with only my barrel sticking out. Unfortunately, I could not see where my pellets were going. So I stood up and just peered at the side. By this time, the assault team was already behind the door. Whenever a head tried to sneak a peek, a tremendous volley would come from us. We picked each one by one. Then two brave souls ran into the room with triggers fully depressed. A wall of white pellets greeted them. I would like to claim at least three kills in this episode because I was closest to the door and I was letting out the most number of pellets for those kills. But my teammates were firing at them as well so I am not really sure. But I ended the scenario rather ignonimously. Seeing that our rear is being overtaken, the teenager ordered me to change position and provide help to our embattled comrade guarding the back door. I did not want to but he suddenly shouted “Go!” and started cover fire. So I ran to the back of the room and heard a sickening “Takatakatakatak!” from an obviously very powerful gun. I was hit on my elbow. I have the welt until now and it still smarts. That’s what I get from listening to an obviously dim-witted teammate. This is also when I got to know the site’s most popular player. Everyone called him Papa Jun, an old airsoft player and a noted gunsmith. In this game, he did not use his mean-looking rifle and used his gas-powered pistol instead. He needed one hand free because he climbed out of the second floor windows with just an inch or two of foothold on the small ledges. Parang Spiderman. He eliminated our two remaining players, Ron included, with a “knife kill” when he got close without them noticing.
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In the next scenario, I elected to be on the team on the third floor. The objective was to get a marked item on the second floor and bring it the ground floor. The opposing side also has to get the item and bring it to our floor. I partnered with Aya defending the stairwell from assaults. We waited and waited until I saw two feet ever so slowly climbing the stairs. I let out a burst. The man should have been crippled by now if I used real guns. A few minutes later, I suffered a “gun hit” (my guns got hit) and so I had to take myself out of the game. I was shocked when I saw who owned the feet I shot—a teammate! Another “friendly fire!” It turned out he succeeded in reaching the ground floor and went back up to get the bad guys from the rear. I frustrated his valiant efforts. That game ended in a deadlock. Nobody saw where the item was until all of us got killed.
My eighth game was my best. We switched positions and this time, we were coming from the ground floor. I positioned myself at the bottom of the spiral staircase. The landings and steps were solid and nobody from above could see me if I stayed quiet and patient. Eight minutes into the game, I again saw two feet, this time slowly coming down the stairs. When I had a clear shot, I fired a burst at the guy’s ankles. He had that shocked look on his face because he had no idea someone was crouching there quiet as a mouse. Another three minutes came by and I got another victim from exactly the same spot. I did not know at the time but there were only three players left. I was the lone survivor in my team and they already knew where I was. But I had a good defensive position and they could not get me from above. Papa Jun, who was an enemy, with the item between his legs, his left hand holding on to the window sill for dear life and craning out just to be able to fire a crazy shot, ended my heroics with a “double tap” on my legs. I wanted to protest that it should have been a “Time Out” because my second victim was just walking out. But I let it go. There was no referee nearby and he might not have known there’s a “Dead Man Walking.” Whatever, he had to work hard and be creative just to take me out. He could have been seriously injured if he slipped from there—there were only rocks and broken concrete 15 feet below him. When I came out, both teammates and enemies told me I was the last holdout and I was against Papa Jun, the best player there, no less. I earned some respect back there. When I come back, I wouldn’t be totally without currency. One marshal even expressed surprise I was a “newbie.”
The only game I was able to complete was my ninth. We had the advantage of better positioning. The enemies were taken out in quick succession until there were only two of them left. Papa Jun was one and he put up a great fight. He took out three of my teammates by himself with his long-shooting rifle. But there were more of us. When he was about to be pinned down he tried to scamper behind some old tires. But six of us fired on him simultaneously. A teammate of mine even used a gas-powered pistol on him (the most powerful guns there) and got him on the small of his back. He yelped and made us happy. We got the flag, killed his last teammate and won the game. That was the only time I saw him got hit.
In the next game, our positions were reversed. Again, I positioned myself dead center. To my horror, I saw Papa Jun bearing down on me. My pellets were just falling a few feet in front of him while his bullets were peppering my drum cover. After four minutes, he got me on my nape.
I should have known my batteries were about to conk out. But flushed with excitement, I still joined the next game. This time, we were to make an assault against a bunker and a couple of trenches. I rounded the back of a building to surprise the defenders from their blind side. I sidled up along the back wall until I had a clear shot of two hooded heads peering out from a trench. I squinted over the sight and squeezed the trigger hard. A tired gurgle. No pellets! I squeezed again. No more gurgle and definitely no pellets. The surprised defenders then saw me. They ducked but hearing no shots after a few seconds, they peered out again. They were more surprised to see me holding my gun high and backing out. They shouted, “Bakit, sir?” I shouted back, “Dead batt.”
Thus ended my first airsofting day.
I was “killed” more times than I “killed.” I was guilty of two “friendly kills.” I was “gun-hit” once. I only finished one game out of 11. But I was never “knife-killed” and was never a zombie (a player who does not acknowledge he’s been hit). In all, not really bad for an overweight, gout-stricken smoker with a bad eyesight, “weak” gun and sorry-looking uniform.
Next week, I plan on having my gun repaired and upgraded. I already talked to a gunsmith at the site. I will also be buying a uniform, a new face mask and a vest. But I will not be overdressed like some clowns there. When I come back from Mindanao after the national polls, I will hit the sites regularly. While I lose some beer money over this, I in turn hope to lose some pounds and bust some stress after each game.
Si Gary Granada ang pinakapaborito kong kompositor. Siya na rin ang paborito kong singer. Kapag pinakanta mo sa iba ang mga obrang Gary
G, kahit pa mas magaling na mang-aawit ang kumanta, parang may kulang. Kahit pangit ang boses ni Gary, at kahit mas
pangit pa siya sa akin, siya pa rin ang tingin kong dapat na sumikat, imbes na
si Bamboo o si Sarah Geronimo. Dapat si Gary ang sumunod na National Artist for Music.
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