It’s one thing to sit back and arm chair quarterback stories like this. “If that were me, I would have done this…” or “Had that been my house, I would have rained down lead upon the criminal…”
I am sure that the comments section is going to be a myriad of support and trolls alike. Whatever. Didn’t happen to you. You weren’t there. I was. This happened to me. To my family. I’m posting this story, because it can happen to anybody. At any time. It is one thing to say what you would do in “that situation”. It’s a whole other ball game when it comes to the real thing.
“Sitting down in my office, our son asleep. My wife and I were watching Netflix and just hanging out. It was raining outside with thunder off in the distance.
Our windows were open, because our A. C. unit decided to take a hiatus. Screens in, a nice summer breeze caresses our cheeks as we watch our show. *CRASH* the sound makes both of us jump. Our dogs begin barking.
I jump up and grab my firearm from my gun locker, this was not a common neighborhood sound. I walk downstairs to investigate. Firearm in hand. My finger along side of the cylinder at register of my .38 caliber revolver. I clear the house. Room by room. Living room, dining room and kitchen are clear. All of my years in the military and law enforcement come back like second nature.
The front door and side doors are secure. I walk down the hallway and come to the bathroom. I slice the pie and start clearing the room. I see that the screen has been knocked in. I raise my firearm toward the now “OPEN” window.
A step towards it and I see his face. Our eyes meet. His directly into mine, mine down the sights of my firearm. He’s young. Late teens, early twenties. He jumps down and begins to rabbit. I make a “B-Line” for the side door. I stop him in the backyard. “I have a firearm, GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” I shout.
He turns for a moment, hands almost reaching for his waist line. Does he have a weapon? Do I fire? Is he armed? Do I squeeze the trigger?
A flash of lightning in the distance, and he runs off. He hurdles my back fence with the skill of an Olympian. He’s gone. I yell to my wife to call the Police. She makes the call. The perpetrator gone, I am handed the phone by my wife. I begin to tell the dispatcher everything. What happened. I am armed. He instructs me to clear the weapon and put it away. I do so.
Approximately 4-6 minutes later they arrive. Several AMAZING Officers, from multiple municipalities. I stand on my porch, hands on my head. As to show them I pose no threat. The first responding officer asked if I had my sidearm with me. I responded that I didn’t and that it was put away. He instructed me to put my hands down and began to take my report as the others searched the premises.
Nothing short of professional and amazing, the officers handled everything with perfection. The local on duty K-9 officer and his Officer handler in the area were called in. Sadly, with the rain, the K-9 couldn’t get a lock on the ‘would be burglar’. The officers took our information and left. Most of them knowing who I am because of my years writing for the Tactical Shit crew.
My wife and I decided to relax, and make sure everything was secure. The bathroom less than 5 feet from our sons room, we triple checked. Quadruple checked. Everything.
Here is the rub. The “moral” of the story. I could have. I could have ended him. Right there and then. Pennsylvania law allows me such. I chose not too. One simple squeeze, and *poof*, his light would have been extinguished, I was well within my rights.
I didn’t though. I had him. Dead to rights. The easiest shot I ever would have had to have made. Less than 5 feet. He was reaching for his waist band too. He could have had a weapon. He ran. I let him go.
But for that instant, that “nano-second” his life was mine. I controlled his entire universe. Squeeze or don’t. End his life or don’t. He began to jet, and I took my finger off the trigger.
To the mouth breather that thought it would be a good idea to break into my home,
I hope my 38 revolver in your face haunts your memories and dreams. Along with the feces that are undoubtedly in your pants as you ran away like a bitch. You’re so lucky, that I paused. I saw that you were a coward and let you flee.
I could have squeezed. I could have created headlines and been in the news. But I didn’t. You are breathing, because I allowed it. You are running for cover, because I allowed it. I had complete control over your life. For one moment, I owned your fate.
Use this, as a wake up call. Change your life. Become more than a statistic. Become, what I have ALLOWED you the opportunity to become. Be better.
My Wife, myself, my family; We are “Professional Volunteers”. Search and Rescue, EMS, Fire Department, Animal Rescue, PTO, charities, fund raisers… We have always focused on helping those in need. We are the type of people that will give you the shirts off our backs. All you have to do is ask.
However, you threaten our safety. Our home. Our sons life,… I will END YOU. You were less than 2 yards from my little boy. I don’t know your intentions. I don’t care.
You are breathing right now, because I allowed it to be so. You’re welcome. “
Fort Pitt Tactical is a subsidiary of Irregular Mischief Publications, LLC. All permissions and allowances have been granted to Tactical Shit for use of this material in it’s entirety.