Disclaimer: I don't own Kim or Ron, or enough paintball equipment to do this, but that'd be sweet if I did.
Chapter Quote: It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. - Theodore Roosevelt
…
Kane tossed his history book to the side and stabbed his worksheet with his pencil. "History sucks, who cares about WWI?"
…
The burning light of the golden sun warmed their backs, to the west near three. The tall grass waved lazily with a cool breeze all around them. Hills of dirt scattered the landscape, white clouds scattered the sky. Ron looked to his left, crouched behind a mound, where ten boys hid, gun in hand, awaiting his orders. To his right another line of boys in yellow, all shaking with excitement and anticipation. No one spoke, all was quiet on the Western front…
"Meow." The white ball of fluff rubbed against Ron's leg lovingly.
"Hey, kitty." He reached down and scratched under the kitten's chin with a gloved hand. "I don't think you're supposed to be an outside kitty." His hand moved from the kitten's tilted chin to its soft belly. He picked it up, cradling it close to his chest and petting it. "Besides, I don't want you to get shot, General Tormento. Timeout! Civilian on the field!" Ron stood up from behind his mound of dirt and walked the 100 yards to the sliding door of his ranch. He pulled it open and set the fluff inside, patting it on the head. "Good kitty." He sprinted back to his mound and gave a thumbs up. "Time in!"
Ron looked to Dusty, a few yards away, who nodded, goggles pulled tight, gun clasped to chest. He looked at Kane, near the end of the line of boys, who also nodded. Ron patted a boy next to him on the head before holding up his hand and counting down. "Five… four… three… two… GO!"
He leapt over the mound of dirt and began running across the wide span of no man's land, gun poised loosely in front of him. After 25 yards the line of yellow began to break as the opposite mounds grew closer, barrels popping up over the line of dirt, glistening in the sun.
Ron paused and fired two paintballs, starting a round of sporadic fire that the team followed in hopes that their enemies would be reluctant to show their faces. The boy running next to Ron got splattered in the chest by a blue paintball and reluctantly fell to his knees, pouting. "I never get to invade the trenches."
Ron slowed his pace and stopped firing when the lumps were twenty feet away, dropping onto his stomach and pretending to crawl under invisible barbed wire. What was left of his troops joined him, grunting and shouting "no fair" when someone was sniped off. After a few feet Ron got onto his hands and knees and crawled to the mound of dirt, crouching against it and shaking his paint gun. Dusty leaned beside him, shaking his gun with his left arm, his right splashed in blue and thus blown off. "How many men do you have left?"
Dusty licked his lips, eyes scanning the yellow for familiar faces. "Five." Before long half of the Stoppable regiment was sidled up against the dirt, the other ten still struggling dramatically against the wire or pretending to be dead. Ron motioned for them to keep their heads low. "Where's Kane?"
Ron pointed down the line where the other commander was counting men. Kane held up four fingers, frowning. "Alright, on my mark we jump over." Dusty nodded and motioned to Kane. Ron tilted his gun barrel over the top of the mound and pulled the trigger, swinging it lazily back and forth. An eruption of shrieks followed and the yellow troops leapt up, shooting red paintballs at anything that moved.
Behind the mound the Butterflies of Doom regiment was prepared. They had backed up five yards from the dirt piles and spread out on their stomachs, making for difficult quick targets. The Stoppable regiment, standing on the mounds of dirt, where completely vulnerable, however.
Ron saw the bright red hair of the enemy commander and their eyes met, both shining with an excitement that had not been there for months. Kim smirked and fired a single shot. Next to Ron Dusty fell clutching his stomach with his good hand and making terrible faces of pain. "Why! Why me! Commander… tell my mother… I say goodbye! The darkness! Closing in! Too young!"
"Retreat!" Ron leapt over the invisible barbed wire, much to the dismay of the troops who had just finished crawling out, and ran backwards, picking off green shirts as they chased his team back.
When the last of his men, a scrawny nine year old wearing goggles that covered his entire upper face, ran past, Ron turned around and sprinted for his trench, scooping up goggle face in his arms on the way. Paintballs flew left and right as his soldiers picked off Butterflies.
He slid behind a trench and sat down his little soldier before returning fire. The green soldiers were running in weaving and crisscrossing patterns across the field, returning fire heavily. Kane sidled his way over to his commander. "Eleven men are left, sir, including you and me! We're getting beat by girls, sir! They're really spitting out rounds, too!"
Ron picked off one of the smaller girls. "Better shot at than shot, besides, with the way they're spraying bullets they'll be out of ammo before they reach the wire!" Kane did not look convinced and the girls were starting on the barbed wire as they spoke. Ron winked, pulled out a wiffle ball filled with paintballs and pressed a button, tossing it between three girls crawling through. "Duck!" The two commanders dropped their heads as a shower of red paint flew over the makeshift wall.
"Eww! Gross!"
"Retreat!" Ron and Kane high fived.
…
Ron wiped his face with a towel as the kids watched, sipping lemonade. "So that's the basics of WWI trench warfare."
"Wicked!"
"Any questions?"
A hand shot up. "We're doing the Civil War! Can we do a Civil War battle?"
Ron nodded, shrugging. "Next Saturday, sure."