We awoke to a loud bang at about 6:30am.

A flare!

The Marines were coming!

Still half-asleep we seized our kit and raced out of the copse as fast as we could go. We were halfway up the hill when we saw about 20 silhouettes against the pre-dawn horizon. We ran faster and dived into the bushes, nearly flattening our own defenders (our own Veterans) in our panic to hide. And so, feeling secure behind ranks of rifles and blanks, we settled down and watched the sunrise, feeling very smug that we’d escaped the Marines and listening to their cries of “Where the heck are they?”, “Come out you little sneaks” and “Aw damn, they’ve done a runner!”

Nothing is more satisfying than listening to your enemies stomp about in the bushes looking for you, when you’re so clearly not there.

We had breakfast up there (dry biscuits, hot chocolate and whatever else we could dig out of our rat packs).

Then we all descended the hill, still buzzing happily. Then Scorer apologized for the “early flare” that had gone off by mistake. So we hadn’t outrun the Marines after all, it had been a mistake that sent us running like scared rabbits!

The Marines were also somewhat annoyed at being denied further target practice.

The End

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