WARFARE by BOOMERCAT RATED FRPT

John struggles to survive.

John Tracy slammed himself up against the downed tree. Crawling in between the branches, he cautiously peeked out, looking for any sign of the enemy. Seeing no signs of movement, John slid down to the ground and with shaking fingers worked to reload his gun.

John tried to focus on the bulky, awkward weapon rather than on the red dripping down his pant leg. He'd tried to convince himself that it didn't hurt, but the reality was that it did. Nowhere near as much as watching his youngest brother fall to a barrage of shots, but it did hurt. He wondered if he should take the time to try and attend the wound, but he knew that could be deadly.

He was on his own and being ruthlessly hunted. John had known from the beginning that he was outclassed. The enemy had taken out both of his younger brothers. There was some small satisfaction in knowing that Gordon had taken out one of the enemy before he had himself been taken out. John regretted his brother's sacrifice even as he rejoiced in the minor triumph over one of the bad guys. If he had been faster, he could have saved the younger man.

But saving Gordon had not happened. Saving Alan had not happened. John had no idea where his two older brothers were. He knew only that if even by some miracle he survived the next half-hour, he was in for a hellish time from his father.

Sighing, he cautiously stood up. His breath caught in his throat. There, not ten feet away stood the enemy. The man had his back turned and was scanning the surrounding scrub. John carefully lifted his gun and sighted. The shot came with just a poof of air, but that was enough sound to cause the enemy to dive frantically to the right, struggling to bring his own weapon to bear.

"Oh no, you don't!" John cried as he leapt to his feet and following his target, firing his weapon until the chamber was empty. Finally the man stopped moving. John stood panting in shock. He had actually done it! He won!

Grinning hugely, he walked over to his downed adversary and reached down a hand. "You okay, Scott?"

Accepting the help up, Scott grunted. "Yeah, I'm fine. Say, are those paintballs supposed to sting like that? They hit with a wallop, don't they?"

"I'm glad you said that. I thought maybe it was just me. I swear I'll have a bruise on my leg where Virgil nailed me."

Scott looked down at his shirtfront. "What a mess."

The shirt was covered in blue paint. The exercise had pitted Scott and Virgil against John, Gordon and Alan. Their father had unearthed the paintball guns and had decided on a 'family fun day.' Much to John's surprise, Brains had showed up at Thunderbird Five and relieved John, telling him upgrading the downlink computer was much more his idea of fun.

John had arrived just in time to board the family yacht as they headed out to a nearby unoccupied island. His father, Jeff, had decided on going off-island to insure none of his sons had the advantage of knowing the terrain.

Scott dragged his hand across his shirt, trying to scrape off as much of the paint as possible. "Did you have to empty your gun into me? This stuff will never come out."

"Sorry, Scott. I guess I was just so surprised at catching you off guard that I forgot to stop shooting."

Looking at his paint-covered hand, Scott reached over and wiped it off onto John's shirt. "Hey! Cut it out!"

Scott smiled and said mildly, "Okay."

John sighed. Thinking a moment, he said, "Let's head back. I'm getting hungry."

"Fine by me. Was that your idea to send Alan out in the open? It would have worked if Virg and I had been where you thought we were."

"No, it wasn't me. It was probably Gordon. I was cut off from them when Alan made that move. I thought it was pretty dumb myself."

"Well, yeah, but if Virgil and I had been in those rocks at the left of the field, Alan could have held our attention while you and Gordon snuck around. Alan was out of range of the guns, so he would have been safe. It's just too bad we were in the trees, not by the rocks."

"Yeah, too bad." John's note of sarcasm drew a chuckle from his older brother. The two tramped on through the jungle in companionable silence. They came through the last screen of bushes out onto the beach and found their family a few yards away. Their brothers were seated at the portable camping table munching away on chicken salad sandwiches.

As John and Scott headed to the table, Virgil looked up and, taking in their appearance, said, "I don't believe it!"

Alan turned and seeing Scott covered in blue, let out a victorious whoop. "You won? You won! Fantastic!"

Gordon grinned and surreptitiously snatched a brownie from his younger brother's plate. "Way to go, Johnny!"

John couldn't help strutting up to the table. "It was all skill, boys! All skill."

John looked at Virgil with one neat splatter of blue paint directly over his heart and Gordon with red paint on his shoulder and head. When he examined Alan, he couldn't help but laugh out loud. Alan was covered head to toe in red paint. In a couple of places, there were telltale splotches of blue paint. Pointing at one of them, John asked, "What's this?"

Gordon looked up from his sandwich and said dryly. "Mercy killing. He was suffering so I put an end to it."

Chuckling, John pulled the platter of sandwiches toward himself and Scott and sat down. "Where's Father?"

"I'm right here, son."

John swung around and felt his jaw drop. There before him, dressed in fatigues, looking like something out of Soldier of Fortune Magazine stood his father. On his face were high tech goggles and in his hands was a gun that reminded John of an old-time bazooka. His father racked the gun and, with an evil grin, said, "Did I mention the winner gets to go one on one with me?"

John swallowed hard and blinked. He had never seen a predatory gleam like that in his father's eyes. He took a moment to play the mouse to his father's cat then, with an evil grin of his own, nodded, saying, "Brothers, prepare to become orphans!"