They were everywhere, or at least that was how it seemed to  him. He was crouched in a space between two large bushes, peering between the leaves, watching the men, the enemy, who were searching for him. They appeared to be more organised than he thought they would be, so he assumed that someone had taken charge. That meant that they might not just wander around aimlessly poking bushes; they’d be split into groups and be assigned areas to search. If that happened it was going to be far more difficult, perhaps impossible, to escape. His team had been making their way to the objective when they’d been ambushed. The attackers had made a good job of it, half of them being hit in the first burst of fire. He and the rest had dived for cover and tried to get clear. He had returned fire and was sure that he had hit a couple before he decided that escape was preferable to being hit needlessly. That was when he began to crawl away to try and find a place to shelter and catch his breath. So here he was, alone, crouching in a bush on one knee, his gun resting the other, thinking. 

He was in his twenties, thin with fair hair and skin that was untanned by outdoor work. He was dressed in boots and camouflage pattern jacket and trousers. On his head he had an olive green bush hat into the band of which he had woven some grass and other plants. He had thought it looked good but now he wasn’t so sure that it would be very effective in making him invisible. He worked for an insurance company in his other life and now he wished he was back behind his desk away from all this mayhem. He looked again through the leaves of the bush and decided that he would have to move if he didn’t want to get caught. So, dropping onto all fours he started to crawl away from the concentration of searchers, his gun resting on his forearms as he did so. He moved through the undergrowth as quietly as he could, stopping every couple of minutes to check his surroundings. The area he was in provided good cover. The bushes were the kind that had big leaves but had growth that started a foot or so up the main stem. So they provided good cover but had space to move underneath. 

When they had entered the wood he had noted where the sun was so now he could tell roughly the direction that he needed to go to get away. He had gone about twenty metres when the foliage changed into brushwood and trees. When he reached the edge of the low cover he had to freeze because there was one of the opposition stationed there. As he lay waiting, the man, who had been facing away, idly scratching his backside, turned towards him. He was sure that he would be spotted but after a moment the man turned away and walked away up the path. When the man was out of sight he got to his feet and, crouching, ran across the path and into cover on the ither side. Catching his breath he took a swig of water from the bottle he carried, wishing as he did so that he was back in his local with a cold beer. But that would have to wait. Now he needed to get out of here or he’d end up like the rest of his group. He could hear enemy voices to his left so he started to move away from there. Off from the path he could get into the bushes again and crawl away. He took care to keep the movement of the foliage as little as he could as he didn’t want to attract the attention of those looking for him. He remembered that he had seen a small building with a low wall around it in the direction that he had to go and thought that he might that he could use it for cover for his movement. He made sure that he couldn’t be seen and lay on his back. He knew that he could just stand and give himself up, end it all. Then it would be be over. He wouldn’t be scrabbling about in the dirt like he was doing now. But he couldn’t do that. It would make what had happened up to now meaningless. He would escape. He had to. 

He had been listening and heard voices he thought were about fifteen metres away to his right. He raised his head carefully and looked around. He could see the outlines of three figures through the leaves. They seemed to be trying to decide what to do next. There was much pointing and talking and then they split up and went in different directions, fortunately not towards him. He noticed that one was going towards a point that would put him across the escape route. He lowered his head and thought through his options. He knew he couldn’t stay any longer doing nothing. It had to be finished one way or the other. Once he got out of this wood he’d be home and dry or at least nearly so. He thought that he could just make a run for it and take a chance but he knew that would be suicide. He wouldn’t get ten metres before he'd be down. No, he would keep going as he was now, slowly. But he knew time was running out. 

He crouched and started towards where he knew the building was. He used the cover to move quickly, occasionally pausing behind a tree to make sure the path was clear. About twenty five metres away he could see the rudimentary building and wall, both made out of grey blocks, the building with a corrugated iron roof. He could work his way around to put the building between him and those looking for him. Low, he moved as fast as he could to the edge of the trees. He waited there for a moment checking where he was in relation to the opposition. He could see no-one so he ran to the low wall. He was getting closer to where he could make his escape and for the first time felt a little optimistic. Making sure that he was below the level of the wall he moved along it and, at the end, looked around the corner. There was one of them who had been hidden by the building. He could take him out with one shot but he knew that if he did he’d have the rest of them on him in seconds. He also knew that he wouldn’t be able to get close enough to grapple with him. He looked down trying to think what to do. He saw the large stone on the ground and had an idea. He picked it up, hefting it in his hand. He saw that the man had his back to him and stood and threw the stone as far as he could into the bushes. The enemy turned at the noise and then started moving warily in that direction. He waited until the man was in among the bushes and then ran along the wall and around the corner of the building. Kneeling, he could now see his escape route clearly.

Now was the time, now or never. From the crouch he launched himself in to a run. As he sprinted towards safety he was aware of voices he could hear over the noise of his own desperate breathing. He was nearly there when he heard the firing start and felt the first hit in his lower back that made him stumble. He stayed on his feet but the second on his shoulder and the third on his left calf made him fall. When he rolled onto his back he found himself looking up at a ring of grinning faces and guns pointed at him. He took the hand that was offered and got to his feet. Around him they began to chant, “Accounts are the champions.” followed by, “and IT bite the dust.”

“We nearly made it,” he said to the man who had helped him up, “And nearly isn’t good enough.” the man replied. The spots where the paintballs had hit him were stinging like hell. “Let’s get this gear off and have a pint,” There was always next year he thought, next year it’ll be different.

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