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Road Trip
Full metal jacket
To prepare her for nerve-wracking nights proofreading articles, we sent our new editorial assistant to the battlefield. She lives to tell the tale...
Words by Sharleen Banzon; Photography by Chino Acosta
My watch read 1518 but it seemed much later than that. Firebase Delta was located deep in a tangle of undergrowth and trees; whatever light the sun had to offer needed to penetrate a thick canopy of leaves. That day, the sky had been taken over by dark clouds, and it was raining like hell. Lying flat on my stomach behind the sandbags protecting the bunker, I tried to look for the slightest hint of moving shapes, but my goggles kept fogging up in the rain. I'd long given up trying to clean the lenses.
It all seemed futile to me. The only crumb of comfort I could hold on to was that my rifle was fully loaded. Other than that, I thought the operation was a hopeless case. My feet were soaking in puddles that had collected inside my shoes and I was drenched to the marrow of my bones. I was sure I'd never done anything to deserve lying on muck in full battle attire, clutching a rifle and shivering in the cold.
Before I could further bemoan my fate, the rain poured down harder. Behind me, I heard our leader say something about abandoning the mission, but I didn't move—there were probably fifteen rifles aimed my way. "Ceasefire!" our leader shouted. "Back to base!"
One by one, my companions emerged from their hiding places, and I followed suit. Suddenly, the sound of shots pierced the air. Before I could duck behind the sandbags, I felt a stinging pain on my left arm. "Ceasefire!" our leader shouted again. Then, silence.
0730: Start of mission
Call me Sheng. I'm the new kid in Top Gear and I was actually enjoying it—until I realized they send their new recruits out to be shot.
Okay, I'm exaggerating. The TG staffers are as nice as they come. That whole thing in the beginning is just my shot at writing a war story, the basis of which is an airsoft game I've attended for this month's Road Trip. See, I've been privileged enough to do the feature three weeks into the job—that's how nice your TG staff is. Or maybe they were just desperate.
I'm not into war games but I'll try anything once, so early on a Saturday I met up with Jaykee, Chino and Raynand, who all had the misfortune of having to baby-sit me for my first Road Trip. Our ride was an Isuzu Alterra 4x4, a macho car befitting our mission. It sure beats your average military jeep, which I'm sure doesn't have an 11-speaker 5.1 Dolby Digital Surround Sound system—not to mention an in-dash CD/DVD/MP3/WMA player, an auxiliary input jack and iPod connector inside the glove compartment, and 7-inch headrest-mounted monitors. And that's just for starters.
Accompanying us were Neil Pagulayan of 99.5 Campus FM, and Brian (whose surname we are not at liberty to publish), a project manager for an IT company. Both are full-fledged airsoft players of Team SOE (Special Operations Executives). Their mission that day was to make sure we didn't look too stupid in the battlefield. To accommodate them in the Alterra after we picked them up at the Total Station on NLEX, Ray and I were booted to the third row, which was a bit cramped—but soldiers are expected to rough it, after all. And it wasn't like we were being jiggled around at the back—the suspension, with a double wishbone at the front and fitted with the Flex Ride system and semi-elliptical leaf springs at the rear, absorbed most of the bumps.
We reached our first stop, the Marina Arcade in Dau, Pampanga, ahead of schedule thanks to the sheer power of the Alterra's 3.0-liter I-TEQ 4JJ1 turbocharged diesel engine. With plenty of time to spare, we explored the place, where you could find every imaginable military item in the book—even army rations! We bought a bag of 0.2g BBs for ammo, while Chino, who either listens to weather forecasts or just has damn good instincts, got a poncho.
Lunch was next in our agenda. I was pleasantly surprised when Jaykee parked in front of A.C. Rumpa, celebrated for serving good food at very affordable prices. It was founded by retired army officers who'd been stationed at Clark, so the servings are as American as it gets (meaning really big). The house specialty is barbecued spareribs, which Jaykee couldn't stop raving about; I was afraid he was going to faint—either from utter happiness or indigestion—after finishing his meal.
During lunch, Neil and Brian gave a rundown of what we could expect. Airsoft, it turns out, is extremely expensive. Nowadays, your P15,000 can cover for an airsoft gun and battery, BBs, a full-set battle dress uniform (BDU), combat boots and basic accessories. Back when Neil started playing six years ago, you had to set aside P25,000 for all of that. And to airsoft players, looking the part is a priority—some search for secondhand BDUs online, while others, like Brian, ask relatives abroad to ship the material to them. Accessories, like Oakley M Frames, can cost up to P9,000.
The guns, which are battery- or gas-powered, BB-loaded replicas of original military issues, are even costlier. Decent China-made ones will set you back by P3,500, and Japan-made models will make your bank account suffer. Most playing fields only allow guns that shoot BBs at 380 to 400 feet per second (fps), but a lot of players upgrade to 550 and even 600fps.
Up to this point, I'd been looking forward to the game, but upon hearing the figures, I grew apprehensive. A plastic pellet shot at you at 400fps isn't lethal, but it would hurt.
1330: Doom
When we arrived at the playing field in Angeles, the members of Team Semper Fi (short for semper fidelis, meaning ‘always faithful') were ready for action. They must've numbered at least fifty, and the sight of them in full BDU and carrying airsoft rifles was both awe-inspiring and downright terrifying.
Before I could think of slinking away, we were fitted with BDUs courtesy of Dexter Valerio and given an orientation by Obet Zulueta, both Semper Fi members. I quickly understood why we were given a briefing before being handed guns. The replicas, while being just that, are still dangerous; handled carelessly, they can cause serious harm. There are internationally recognized guidelines for the handling of airsoft guns. For example, a gun should always be treated like it was loaded; you're not supposed to point it at other people or keep your finger poised at the trigger. Also, you can call a ‘point-blank' on another player if you have him within a range of five feet. A knife-kill, which involves sneaking up to an opponent and tagging him, is also an option.
Entering the playing field caused a shock. I was expecting an obstacle course laid out on a field, but the actual one was an enclosed lot, the inside of which looked like a real jungle. Fortunately enough, there weren't any snakes. It began pouring soon after we started hiking to Firebase Delta, and in no time we—with the exception of Chino—were soaked.
ROTC was nothing compared to this. The M4 lent to me was heavier than expected, and soon I was cursing myself for not working out more often. After reaching the bunker, I took cover behind the sandbags, while Jaykee, Chino and Ray disappeared behind some trees. It was a matter of waiting to shoot someone or waiting to get shot—upon which you have to raise your gun and walk back to the neutral zone, saying, "Dead man coming out," along the way.
You already know what happened here. And yes, getting shot hurts.
1745: Reprieve
After the rain let up, we went back inside the field, and I learned that posing for the camera involves more than looking straight at it and grinning stupidly. Still, my grief was nothing compared to Ray's, who had to pose carrying an M60E3 nearly as big—and heavy—as he was.
Our Alterra—thank God for its spacious cabin—ended up doubling as a dressing room. I moved it to a secluded area and, after making sure Jaykee wasn't looking, backed it up this way and that, thoroughly amused with the feeds from the camera mounted on the rear bumper.
After we'd changed our clothes, we proceeded to Northern Brew Coffee Shop owned by Obet, who also happens to be an operations vice president for a chemical firm. The place was small and cozy, and the food was light years away from army rations—Northern Brew's chef and co-owner, Christy Patawaran, graduated from the Center for Culinary Arts. I chugged down a glass of Northern Frappe, downed a bowl of potato cheese soup, polished off a plate of chicken basil pasta, sampled everybody else's dishes, and found room for a mango-pandan crepe. This made me look like a pig sitting next to Ray, who had trouble finishing his plate of classic spaghetti with meatballs.
Our last stop was Footsies Thai Foot Salon, owned by Semper Fi member JC Soliman (a car enthusiast who happens to know Botchi). You can bribe me with a foot spa any day, and that day my feet were screaming for one. I wish I could describe in detail how good the foot spa felt but I was asleep for most of the hour—it was that relaxing. Jaykee couldn't give me an account of how his full-body massage went either; he'd regaled the masseuse with his snoring for the duration of the massage.
We called it a day afterwards. Chino took care of driving back home, and along the way we laughed about our (mis)adventures. We were tired but sleep wouldn't kick in—not just yet. The mission was over, but each of us was replaying a memorable part of the day's events.
As for me, this was one Road Trip down, with hopefully many more to go. As long as it won't get me killed, I'll be perfectly happy to oblige. Sir, yessir!
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Top Gear Philippines - July 2008
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