The following story is fiction in that the events that happen in it have never happened to me. I'm sure that they have happened to police officers, civilians, and everyday people however, perhaps on more than one occasion. I write this article only to highlight how dangerous everyday living can be and how ballistic resistive equipment can protect people from that danger.
The (true?)Story:
I watched as the bullet raced towards me and for a second I considered ducking. Then I wondered what part of my body I would expose to the hollow tip and I remained still. I was frozen in fear. Time stopped and the bullet whistled through the air drawing breath from the racing wind and drawing even closer to me. I gasped silently, my eyes squinted shut in anticipation of the bullet ripping through my pliant skin. He had fired so quickly. I never had time to react, to duck, to sprint away. Before I had time to blink the trigger had been pulled, metal shot away from metal, and now three seconds later, I was waiting for my body to be loaded with lead. I was waiting to be filled with fire and heat.
The bullet approached me, whirring through the night sky, it’s tip grimacing, hungry for flesh to devour. I shuddered as it propelled its ugly head closer. I was doomed. I felt its warm breath lick against my skin as a warning and then suddenly the bullet struck. It ripped through my T-shirt and dove its thick head into my chest. I gasped involuntarily. Would it be my last breath? The bullet was dissatisfied with the rough cotton of my undershirt. It wanted blood. It went deeper, forcing itself near my chest. Forcing itself near my heart.
A hollow thud rang out. The bullet stopped. I propelled backwards and landed on my backside. My chest screamed out in pain and I ran my hand down my chest, my fingers trembling in shock. I traced the hole inside of my favorite shirt. It was burnt a dull black and smelled faintly of smoke. I rubbed the hole where the bullet lodged in my bullet-proof vest. The Kevlar fibers had stopped the bullet magnificently. My chest throbbed and it was hard to breathe, but I wasn’t dead. I was thankful for that. I took in quick breaths as my eyes scanned the dark night. The perpetrator had fled, running away as soon as he had released the trigger. He did not wait to see my body fall. He did not wait to see me survive.
I rose shakily to my feet and the pain in my chest almost drove me to my knees. My eyes blinked back tears as I walked slowly back to my car. The car the man had jerked me painfully out of before demanding money. My door was still ajar. My chest still hurt. I slowed my pace and leaned heavily against the hood.
I wasn’t even on duty. Hadn’t been a cop for more than two months. Already I had been shot. Already my vest had been tested against deadly artillery. I closed my eyes and let my cheek rest on the cool surface of my hood. I breathed in deeply as I contemplated my line of work and my potential demise in a cop’s uniform, hell, in plain clothes. I was a target either way. I exhaled and staggered back to my front door. I crawled into my seat and let the softness of the seat comfort my hurt backside, my hurt pride, my hurt faith in everyday people. My captain had told me to wear the vest for one week. Get used to the feel he said. I had been hesitant because it made me feel bulky. Now I was grateful because it had saved my life. Tonight I had been bulletproof. Tomorrow? God I hoped so.
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