It was a brisk autumn evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
I was patrolling the outskirts of town, a routine part of my shift that I had done countless times before. The roads were quieter out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. That’s when I spotted the car.
It was an older model sedan, weaving slightly within its lane. Nothing too terrible, but enough to warrant a second look. I followed at a distance for a minute or two, observing. When the car crossed over the lane line again, I decided it was time to pull it over.
I activated my lights, and the sedan slowly came to a stop on the shoulder of the road. Standard procedure kicked in. I called it in, providing the vehicle’s license plate and location, then exited my cruiser and approached the vehicle with caution.
As I got closer, I noticed the driver seemed agitated, constantly glancing in the rearview mirror. I touched the back of the car marking it, a habit to ensure there was evidence I had been there if anything went south. I greeted the driver through the rolled-down window, asking for his license and registration. His hands shook just a bit though maybe something not easily noticeable to the casual observer, as he handed them over. Something didn’t feel right.
I returned to my cruiser to run his plates and check his ID. That’s when chaos erupted. Before I actually got in the vehicle to key in the information, I heard a car door slam shut. I looked up to see the man charging towards me, a gun in his hand. Instinct and training took over. I shouted for him to stop, reaching for my own weapon, but it was too late. He opened fire.
The first bullet hit me in the right chest. The force knocked the wind out of me, but my vest absorbed a lot of the impact. I fell back against my cruiser, gasping for air. As the gunman continued to shoot, I scrambled for cover, making it around my vehicle to the front tire. I drew my weapon, peeking out just enough to return fire.
The exchange was brief but felt like an eternity. Then, as quickly as it had started, the assailant ran back to his car and sped off. I lay there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I checked myself over; the vest had saved me, but I’d have a bruise to show for it at the very least.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I radioed for backup, giving them the suspect’s description and the direction he fled. I managed to get to my feet just as the first of my backup arrived.
The manhunt that followed was intense. Roadblocks were set up, and the neighboring towns were alerted. It wasn’t long before we got the call. The assailant had been spotted in the next town over, trying to ditch the car. Local officers apprehended him after a brief foot chase.
As I sat in the hospital, getting checked over, the reality of what had happened began to sink in. I had come face-to-face with my own mortality, saved by a combination of my training, my protective gear, and a good dose of luck. The relief that we caught the guy was palpable, not just for me, but for the entire department. It was a stark reminder of the risks myself and fellow officers face every day, there is always that fine line we walk between safety and danger.
That incident happened almost two decades ago and just recalling it to write this reminds me why we do what we do. We put on the badge and the vest not knowing what the day will bring, but ready to face it, to protect and to serve, no matter what comes our way.
