Ppppppppffffffftttttttt.

There it was. The most unmistakable sound possible on this wooded New Hampshire paintball field.  
I was pretty quiet.  Maybe they didn't hear it?, I thought to myself. But the shouting 
then ensued.  Go, go go! Get him! Quick he's changing his CO2!.

There I was, basically caught with my pants down. Fumbling with a new 12 Gram CO2 
cartridge in my hand, I knew that if I didn't hurry, I'd be walking back to the staging 
area in a matter of seconds.

Long before semi-automatic paintball markers, constant air, and even 200 round 
hoppers, I had a pump action PMI-1. The PMI-1, in its simplest form, could be 
described as 3 tubes with a pump and trigger.  The top tube held a total of 10 rounds, 
and was powered by a single 12 gram CO2 cartridge. There was no quick changer either. 
Changing the 12 gram cartridges on this stockgun and just about every other stockgun 
took time. This, the opponent knew, and this is why two of them were now charging up 
the hill after me.  

To change the CO2 cartridge, I needed to unscrew the cap on the front of the gun, 
located just in front of the pump handle. The front cap was only large enough to get 
your thumb and forefinger on it, making the process of removing the cap painfully slow.  

Taking the cap off as fast as I could, I let the spent 12 gram slide out the front of 
the stockgun, and slid the new one in. I could hear twigs snap as my aggressors ran 
towards my location. I leaned to look around my fallen maple tree cover, they were 
close. I hear a paintball hit the side of the tree. With the 12 gram now in place, I 
begin the process of screwing the cap back in. I hear the stockgun charge as the 
cartridge is pierced. There's no time to see how much paint is left in my top tube, so 
I take my chances.

I get up and just jump out to my right. They had their eyes on the other side, where I 
peaked out. The two of them were right there. One quick shot, and I've got myself an 
elimination. As I tip the gun up and pump it at the same time to load another 
paintball, I hear a shot. The other player missed. He now has to pump his stockgun too, 
but I'm already one step ahead. I pull the trigger and see the splat on his chest.

I let out a sigh of relief, and probably breathed in for the first time since my ordeal 
started. As I get my composure and refill my paint, I notice that my top tube is 
completely void of paint. I think to myself, "There's got to be another word for 
lucky". The game went on. Only a few minutes later, the refs sound the end of the game 
with an air horn. Our team won with a flag grab. 

Back at the staging area, we all had similar stories to tell. You could see and feel 
the excitement in everyone's face as we each told our story of the last game, and 
waited for the next one to start.

Through all the changes and improvements in paintball, nothing gets my blood and 
adrenaline pumping faster, then playing stock class. Even as I sit here, waiting for 
that next game to start.



Carter “Painthappy” Brown
.