During the Battle of Bunker Hill, British troops charged up the steep embankments of Breed and Bunker hills to try and retake the crests that were controlled by American forces. After being repulsed two times, the British finally were able to take the summit of the hills on their third attempt, and declare a symbolic victory as they had suffered over a thousand casualties compared to the Americans’ 300. Unfortunately for me, my yellow team seemed to be playing the part of the British.
Due East of our team's insertion point 20 yards of open area turned into thick woods sloping upwards. The satellite map of the field I'd examined promised me that one of the five flags on the field was only a hundred more yards through the trees, but 20 members of the red team definitely did not want me to catch a glimpse of it. When the horn indicating it was time to reinsert blew, I rushed with 25 of my teammates and fought our way across the clearing and into the trees on the far side. We started pushing quickly up through the trees, encouraged by the occasional cry of “Hit!” coming down through the trees from the red team. Unfortunately, my own team was falling faster than the enemy and our decimated forces were slowly returning to our dead hut. After ten minutes and countless rounds of paint, we were down to four and from what I could gather, red still had six. The upward slope made it impossible to advance with such a small number and we were forced to retreat to the edge of the trees and wait for the next reinsertion. When the horn blew again, another group of our fearless teammates raced across the clearing and again we charged up the hill. This time, I led the charge and like the ill-fated Colonel Abercrombie rushing up Bunker Hill, I was soon shot down. The four kills I had notched up seemed like a fair trade for my one death, but red still had the hill, and every minute they held the flag they were earning more points.
My assault on Bunker Hill was just the beginning of a fantastic day of paintball. Retribution Field is located in the beautiful Utah foothills, and the April morning had the perfect weather for a perfect day of paintball. From the moment I arrived, a multitude of red clad helpers directed the crowd of woodsball enthusiasts through the process of signing waivers, chronoing guns, joining teams, and getting situated for an epic day of paintball. The actual game consisted of two teams, five flags, re-insertions every 15 minutes, and enough refs to guarantee that everyone played fairly and enjoyed their time. After two hours of play in the morning, we all stopped for a hotdog lunch provided by field and prepared to start again. After enduring a hearty beating during the morning, my team was intent on not repeating the process during the afternoon.
When the first afternoon horn blew, I rushed with a large group of yellows to the Northwest corner of the field and began the ascent of the other principal hill. At the end of the morning session we'd taken control of this hill, but with a neutral start after lunch, red had reclaimed the summit. Luckily for us, the afternoon played out more like the Battle of Brooklyn Heights, and after some fierce fighting in the trees we were able to rush towards the top of the hill. I was able to run along the boundary line with two of my teammates and get behind red’s lines at the highest swing base. Seeing the unprotected backs of the opposing team is a special feeling, and we swiftly dispatched of these remaining defenders and yellow gained control of this pivotal base. Over the course of the next hour, we were able to push our lines forward, and eventually take control of all five flags. We established a perimeter around the red dead hut and as red rushed out following the reinsertion horn, two out of three were immediately shot down. The game seemed to be in hand with yellow staging a come from behind victory, but a carefully aimed air-strike took out half our team, and a helicopter insertion of 15 reds behind yellow lines kept things interesting. Red was able to recapture several flags, and held onto them until the end of the game, but it wasn't quite enough and yellow pulled out the victory by a very small margin.
As we stood as a group following the end of the game, nobody could help but cheer for the way the day turned out. An announced 189 players participated in addition to many organizers, refs, volunteers, and a single white rabbit (a player in a bunny costume). Awards were given out for sportsmanship, leadership, and for the play of the day--an amazing grenade throw that dropped right in a heavily occupied bunker. My legs were tired, my shoulders ached, and I had a few more bruises than I had come with, but it was a day that I will not soon forget. Years from now when I reminisce about battles I've been in, kills I’ve earned, and deaths I’ve suffered, I'll always be able to remember my charges up Bunker Hill.
