The first time I saw an Airsoft gun was during a 2004 deployment to a speck of rock called Okinawa. I remember seeing a 1st Platoon Marine walk around the barracks fresh off “lib-oh” (freedom) with a clear 6mm spring action Beretta Airsoft pistol on his waistband. This is my first memory of an Airsoft pistol. I can remember a feeling of inadequacy throughout the platoon that 1st platoon was armed and my 2nd platoon was not. It did not take long for an arms race to start as the 1st and 2nd Platoons were natural enemies. All of the Marines in the two units began stockpiling see-through spring pistols in fear that a doomsday scenario would break out at any moment. A cold war had effectively begun.

Weeks passed and tensions were high. All the marines on the second deck of the barracks carried some sort of spring pistol; no shot had been fired, but everyone knew it was coming. This last pit, which separated the floor and the two platoons, became an ad hoc DMZ. Marines locked eyes on the stairs, to and from food, at work, but no one had the guts to pull the trigger and unleash 170 fps of 6mm plastic death. No one could go to the rec. room, vending machine or laundry room without feeling watched.

So it happened.

I was in my room playing Need for Speed ​​on Xbox when a roar erupted in the hallway. This wasn’t just your typical drunken concussion; this was sober, adrenaline packed, marines fighting with low FPS spring action weapons.

I was hesitant to open the door as my room was the first line of defense between 1st and 2nd. When I finally poked my head out, I saw that the two platoons had dug in and were ambushing anyone who crossed enemy lines. The 1st platoon blocked the rec. room, which had the pool table and vending machines, while the 2nd had a solid cellar in the latter well and laundry room. As a member of the 2nd, our goal became to liberate the rec room and re-establish our superiority over the platform.

2nd seized the initiative and began launching full-scale assaults on 1st Platoon’s wing. Both sides quickly adapted to the limits of weaponry and began to attack in Napoleonic style, firing consecutive volleys. To this day, I have not seen anyone load a spring pistol faster than marines on caffeine, adrenaline, anger, and PTSD.

The battle continued, the lines wavered and regrouped, no progress was made on either side. Suddenly, a Marine in a hooded trench coat stomped up the stairs in black jungle boots and joined the fight. Naturally, both platoons opened fire on the supposedly innocent bystander, but his figure remained cunning as the translucent pellets bounced off his thick jacket.

The unidentified target then pulled two silver, non-transparent, semi-automatic, springless DEAGLES from his coat and proceeded to lay waste to everyone around him. He was one of the communications guys from the HQ platoon who unleashed a POG-like wrath on anyone who got in his way. He seemed appropriate since he looked like one of those “trench coat mob” types.

Regardless, neither party moved forward and things were more or less back to “normal” over the next week or so. There were a few skirmishes here and there, but nothing like the first day, which took everyone out. After a while I began to feel comfortable playing pool or buying chips in the once hotly contested rec room. Another week allowed me to walk the halls somewhat confident that I would not be ambushed.

Over time I built a complacency fostered by the fact that it seemed like everyone had Airsoft out of their system. One Sunday I decided to do laundry without a weapon, and as soon as the door closed behind me, four Marines from the 1st Platoon burst into the room. Three of them had Airsoft spring pistols while the fourth was armed with a broom.

They came after me with a blood vengeance in their eyes. The three with Airsoft pistols provided suppressive fire while the fourth attacked with the broomstick. All I could think to myself was “complacency kills” as I dropped my load of laundry, dodged the man with the broom and through the three gunmen.

I ran to my room wondering where the rest of 2nd Platoon was when four Marines from 1st were deep in our territory. No help came as I rushed to my door, bb’s flew around me, I could hear their screams getting closer. I went into my room and tried to close the door behind me, but the man with the broom managed to fit his gun between the door frame. The gunmen fired blindly into the room. Airsoft bb’s bounced off the windows, glass and TV. I pushed against the door with all my weight while yelling at my hungover roommate to wake up and help.

Dazed, he shuffled to the door and helped me a little when I turned and leaned my weight against the broom, which snapped the handle in half. The door slammed shut, drowning out the taunts of the four assailants.

This wouldn’t work, he couldn’t misrepresent 2nd and allow 1st to think they could get away with an unprovoked assault.

Quickly, I opened my wall locker and removed my Kevlar, goggles, bulletproof vest, and Isomat; I handed over the gear, unrolled the Isomat as a shield, and prepared myself for battle. I bent down and picked up the broomstick to use as a walking stick, preparing to explode through the door toward my enemies.

My half-drunk roommate opened the door and I charged at the assailants with a yell. They immediately broke ranks and began to run towards the wing of 1st Platoon. A couple of gunmen tried to shoot as they ran, but the Airsoft BBs drifted harmlessly off the Isomat. They had nowhere to run in the cramped space of the corridor. I chased each one down with my homemade baton and employed newly learned riot control tactics. The four Marines of the 1st scattered like buckshot, leaving me in complete control of second deck.

High in life, I ran back to my room and immediately called home on my VoIP phone. I barely gave my parents time to say hello before I started filling their ears with stories of conquest and this thing called Airsoft. My parents cut me off in the middle of the sentence as soon as I mentioned Airsoft and informed me that they were going to make a small investment in Airsoft guns to resell.

I was shocked to learn that one of my dad’s glass shop employees was very into the sport and had convinced my parents to buy AEGs at a place called Redwolf and resell them to the local community; Pacific Airsoft.