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Friday, October 19, 2007

Facing a Moment

This is Steven Petrick writing.

Most of us in our lives, if we are lucky, will never face a moment when we get to actually find out what we would do if critical situation.

Back in the late 1980s, myself and two gaming buddies were the object of an attempt by nine gentlemen to redress the economic imbalance of the world by transferring the contents of our wallets to theirs. To bolster the justness of their argument that said contents were rightfully theirs they had an assortment of baseball bats and tire irons. Further, they did not intend for us to come to any permanent harm, they simply did not mind if, in the course of the transaction, permanent harm came to us. This they demonstrated by opening the discussion with a baseball bat, used in a full overhead swing with maximum acceleration, against the head of one of my buddies without any prior warning, such as a simple "stand and deliver" as often attributed to such individuals in the days of yore.

What do you do in such a situation?

When the festivities opened I was actually in a position such that I could take off, running full out, and escape all harm. An obviously perfectly sensible and rational thing to do. I mean, the odds were already worse than three-to-one (given the "argument enhancers" possessed by the other side), and clearly the telling points already being delivered to my comrade's unprotected brain-housing group only served to further worsen those odds. After all, what was he to me? At that juncture, other than the fact that he was one of the guys I gamed with, I honestly did not even know his name much less anything else about him.

In that instant of time, with no opportunity to plan, being perfectly knowledgeable of the odds, with a clear escape path before me, and no strong connection or obligation to either of the other two involved in this "discussion", I chose to attack the man attempting to pulverize the skull of someone I did not even know by name, but knew was on "my side".

I cannot, to this day, claim that I really thought it through, or that the decision was rational, or that I had any belief in our chances to win. I reacted. And even at that there was a finite interval of delay as that baseball bat landed several times before my own entry into the discussion distracted the wielder from the object of his attention, and focused it on me.

Having entered the fray, as it were, my primary focus then became to avoid being damaged as much as possible while looking for an opportunity to make my own "telling comment" and avoiding being trapped. Sadly, this led to a mis-step.

The "field of discussion" was a parking lot, and one of its features were speed bumps, and one of these tripped me.

My going down at that juncture gave the baseball bat wielder the opportunity to move in for a telling exchange, which he took full advantage of as one of his cohorts also closed in.

At this juncture my situation was both completely defensive and completely hopeless. The thought occurred to me that perhaps if I offered them my wallet they might desist from further discussion. The thought occurred, but it was immediately rejected in my own mind. No offer on my part was made, rather a calmness and acceptance came. I was going to die that night, but I was not going to surrender. Even so I tried to find some opportunity to strike back.

The opportunity came.

Suddenly both of the aggressors currently focused on me backed up, just a few steps. The cause was that the other man in our little group had seen my predicament, and managed to break clear briefly of those around him and move to my aid. This gave me the opportunity to regain my feet, and I seized it, and immediately, despite the pounding I had just taken (adrenaline is a powerful thing), attempted once more to swing over to the offensive. I was, however, again held at bay by the other side's tools.

At this juncture the third member of our little group staggered back to his feet. The nine gentlemen now saw the three of us on our feet, and gathered in a group.

I considered the odds still bad, reviewed the situation, and decided that if two of us were to escape, one of us was going to have to act as a "rear guard". Our first man was a civilian and thus someone I was duty bound to protect, and in any case had been the subject of several blows to the skull by a baseball bat. The other man, I outranked as he was also a soldier, but unlike me he had a wife. I made my decision, and further decided that since the rear guard was likely to be severely beaten, if not killed outright, that I needed for them to not be burdened with guilt. So I instructed them to "go for help". The young soldier, on hearing this, stared at me, so I repeated the instruction, but this time in "command voice". I did not say "that's an order", but I put it into my tone and inflection, and he reacted.

We would later learn that the civilian remembered literally nothing from the point the first blow landed on his head. He was operating entirely on auto-pilot, and when the soldier went for help, he went with him. He would eventually wake up in a hospital.

I then turned to make what I believed was going to be my "last stand", in a God-forsaken parking lot in Columbus, Georgia.

For whatever reason, as I stood there, the nine gentlemen decided that they had done enough, and chose to fade into the dark, leaving me holding an empty field.

John Nellums, the man I chose to come to the aid of, recovered from the incident. Maybe if I had done nothing he would have recovered, maybe the fact that I attacked the bat wielder, stopping the rain of blows he was delivering, was a decisive element in saving his life. I do not know, and do not want to know. I was, and am, just glad he was okay, and glad that I finally learned his name that night. Despite my own injuries, which were admittedly less severe, I would not report for medical treatment until I knew he was going to be okay. Joe Oliver, the other soldier in the event, came out of the incident unharmed, but told me that he had stayed to fight because of my personal example, a statement that simultaneously filled me with quiet pride, and quiet horror that any man would risk his own life based on my actions. It was, and is, not a level of trust I think anyone should have in me.

After the civilian doctors told me John Nellums was going to be okay, I reported to my Brigade's Staff Duty Officer on the incident so that the Brigade Commander would not be surprised if the Post Commander called him when my name showed up on the morning Police Report. (I do not know if that call was ever made, but it is not uncommon for police reports to elicit such phone calls even though I was a victim and not a protagonist.) Only then did I go to the Army Hospital to have my own injuries checked out, which had become increasingly apparent while I was awaiting the report on John Nellums in the civilian hospital as the Adrenaline surge was purged from my system.