JODY MACGREGOR may be a lover not a fighter, but he ventures out to the NATIONAL PAINTBALL FIELDS in search of glory and bruises anyway. He’s seen combat. On the television.

It’s an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning and I’m dragging my carcass out of bed to go out bush and get shot at for a few hours. This is because ten of my closest combatants and I have booked our game of paintball – or skirmish for the terminally serious – for 8.30am, since the idea of running around the scrub in the afternoon heat doesn’t appeal. The British had the right idea, all battles should stop by lunchtime for tea and digestive biscuits. The other reason for the early wake-up is that Blacksoil, the location of the National Paintball Fields, is a good 45-minute drive away.

We show up early and begin sizing up our opponents as they arrive. Since most games are played by about 30 at once, it’s unlikely you’ll get to play with just your mates, so the day begins with figuring out who you think you can take. The professionals who bring along body armour and belts of spare ammo will be good shots, but hang around at the back of the field. The weekend warriors from the office will be the ones to watch, they’re likely to go gung-ho and take no prisoners. Teenagers could go either way – you have to be at least 15 to play due to Queensland’s weapon licensing laws, so don’t worry about shooting anyone too young to have done anything to deserve it.

Before we get shooting though, we learn the rules. A helpful trainer explains why we shouldn’t take off our facemasks during play and that surrendering is better than getting shot up close. The guns shoot gelatine capsules containing vividly orange vegetable-based paint, which is non-toxic and washes off skin easily, though if it gets on your clothes you might have an issue. They leave marks and, especially at close range, will often bruise. This is all very useful, but there’s part of me that would prefer an aggressively pig-faced sergeant with a crewcut shouting about how he loves the smell of vegetable dye in the morning.

We’re given our guns, camo overalls and face masks – girls are given additional chest padding – and handed over to the referee for our first game. The National Paintball Fields have 23 acres of bushland at their disposal of which we use four fields, playing each one twice from opposite ends. Each field has different objectives; one involves capturing a fort, another forcing the other side off the field. Consensus is that the second field is the best. The objective is to get a pretend bomb inside the enemy’s vehicle while preventing them from doing the same. One side has an ambulance, the other a crashed plane, and in between is a sprawl of shacks and corrugated iron. Flat ground and a lack of foliage add to its appeal, it looks like a scene from a Vietnam movie and it’s tough not to feel like you’re in one while running around it, even though the reality is probably closer to that episode of Spaced.

I take a hit in the ear early on, fortunately covered by the mask, and for a moment all I can hear is ringing. I’m disoriented and off-balance and everything goes very Saving Private Ryan. After that I’m less adventurous about sticking my head out, but at least I know the protective gear works. I test it again by getting shot in the head twice more before the day is over, because I’m nothing if not thorough. Several of our games end in draws as others learn the same lesson and keep their heads down rather than running for the objective.

Revenge comes later when I actually start hitting people, including someone’s gun as it pokes around the corner. For a second I am The Phantom, but the similarities between me and The Ghost Who Walks end there. There’s nothing to remind you how unfit you are like sprinting ten metres to reach cover and being puffed out when you arrive. We’re all covered in sweat and some of us in paint and bruises in short order. No one in our games seems to understand how surrendering works and every call to give up is followed by someone getting shot from about a meter away, which is the source of our worst ‘war wounds’. War may be hell, but paintball ends at noon with a cold towel, a hamburger and a chance to show off those bruises. I’ll be pointing out the livid mark of honour on my arm for the next week at least.

Several packages are available and the cost is dependent on how many times you pay for refills during games, so you can expect to pay $40 to $80 depending on whether you’re good at conserving ammo. Full details can be found at the website: www.npf.com.au

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