It was war. 

That thing that burrowed deep inside them and ate away at their humanity. 

And amidst the best battle plans and strategic positions, only three words echoed inside their helmeted heads—don’t get hit.

Only a select few would refuse to surrender when the odds were stacked against them; those who could overcome the most hardened human instinct—self-preservation—and battle on. 

When the first shot was fired, chaos ensued. Bodies scrambled, running about, ducking behind trees, jumping over swollen creeks. By the time there was a break in the fighting, all had sweat painting circles on their armpits. For Finn, it was that silence afterward that affected him most, louder in his head than the weapons. Who’d been hit? How many were left? The numbers on both sides mattered, but he had to maintain morale, despite the numbers. 

And the environment always played a role. The forest, while providing adequate cover, resented being the chosen battlefield and disliked the noise disrupting its quiet serenity. Gnarled roots rose to trip the battling forces as they launched their hasty attacks. Whipping branches tore their flesh and slowed their retreats. 

Barely getting a breath, Finn and his comrades were called to action again. The thundering of feet hitting the dirt-packed forest floor drew nearer. The enemy was close. Finn couldn’t watch his friend Eddie go down and turned his head away. He’d told him to stay with the group. He was the slowest. Weakest. Not built for war. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. And so when Eddie saw the enemy closing in again—their war-painted, fearless faces—fear clawed at his insides, and he ran. 

Predators always chase the one who is separated from the pack. Eddie didn’t have a prayer. 

Eric was the next to crumble. “They’re so much bigger than us.” 

Finn grabbed his shirt and shook him, meeting his shaken eyes with his own eyes of steel that could make one quiver or buck up. “Size doesn't matter out here. We have the same weapons as they do. Let’s just be smarter with ours.” 

He raised his weapon in the air, and the rest did the same. Finn was their leader, and they always followed him, even into war. 

They regrouped and forged ahead, then spotted a ditch. Without hesitation, Finn jumped in, landing knee-deep in muddy water, but he didn’t care about the mud slushing over the top and inside his boot. He set the tone for the others, and they all huddled together in the smelly water, nostrils flared, ready for battle. They shallow breathed, listening for the sound of twigs snapping underfoot, but the scattering of birds alerted them to the encroaching enemy. Finn peeked his head up and saw them, about twenty feet away. 

He ducked his head and pointed his finger in the direction of the enemy, then whispered, “There are three. I’ll take the left. Evan, you take the middle. Chase, you take the right. After we take them out, get out, and head north because the rest of them will come running, alerted to our whereabouts.”

They readied their weapons, eyes locked on Finn for the count.

Finn mouthed, “One. Two. Three.”

They rose and fired, taking out their targets on their first shots. The shooters watched with no remorse as the enemy cried out in anguish, then dropped. 

Finn yelled to his comrades, “Move!”

They gripped the vines and scrambled out of the hole, then tore off to the north with mud squishing inside their boots. The enemy was soon on their heels. Fast. Driven. A shot hit a tree too close. 

“Get low,” screamed Finn. 

But the two flanking him got hit in the back and faceplanted. Chase slowed, glancing back at the fallen, and Finn yelled at him to keep running. They gained some ground and entered a clearing where the trees fell away, revealing the sun. 

“We’re exposed here, keep moving!” 

Chase spotted a dense thicket ahead and steered Finn to it. They dropped to the ground and waited. No one else came.

Chase panted, “Where’s the rest?”

“Hit, I think. We’re all that’s left.”

Shaking his head, Chase said, “I hit three, but they still outnumber us. Let me walk around and check if one of ours is close.”

“No, Chase, don’t.” 

Too late. Chase only walked a few yards away when he was hit. 

Finn cursed under his breath. Despite what just happened, his resolve didn’t waver. Peering through the tangled bushes, he saw nothing but the threat walking toward him.  

I can take all three. Don’t hesitate. Fire and keep firing until they’re all down.

He never got the chance. Hearing a rustle of leaves behind him, he snapped his body around, and was too slow on the trigger. 

Finn slumped against the thick trunk and tucked his chin to see the kill shot that left red spatter on his chest. Quiet sounds of defeat dribbled from his mouth. 

The enemy moved in, surrounding him with evil grins plastered upon their faces. 

“Good game… LOSERS!” The enemy laughed. “Pizza’s on y’all!”

Then the hand that shot Finn extended and helped him up. 

Finn was pulled to his feet, moaning, “Geez, those paintballs hurt. That one will leave a bruise.”