Trooper Down! by Marie Bartlett

turned to the telecommunicator beside me.
    â€œNow it’s on,” I said.
    There were all kinds of dirt roads and turnoffs in the area so the chase continued for quite a while. In the meantime, other patrol cars were listening to the radio transmissions. Even the troopers on the South Carolina line were heading up this way to see if they could help.
    Peterson came on the radio again.
    â€œCece! I’ve got him!”
    Those were his last words. He had spun around a curve and stopped in the road. Hutchins was standing there with a shotgun, and fired. Peterson never had a chance.
    I didn’t realize then what had happened so I radioed the other troopers.
    â€œG-239 just told me he got Hutchins, but I can’t get him back on the radio.”
    Trooper Spears arrived on the scene first. Hutchins was gone, but he found Peterson slumped over in the patrol car.
    Spears came on the radio and said, “Cece, I think he’s dea . . .”
    He was trying to say “dead,” but his voice kept breaking.
    I knew then we had a serious problem.
    We began to mobilize. It was suppertime and lots of off-duty troopers had their scanners going. They had heard the transmission and were already checking on.
    Meanwhile, Hutchins had gone down the road after shooting Peterson, parked his car, and run into the woods, where he stayed all night.
    Troopers from everywhere were calling in, asking, “Do you need some help? Can we come?”
    The officers surrounded Hutchins, but for hours it was a standoff. Even the radios were quiet. About 5:00 A.M. , two shots rang out.
    The troopers returned Hutchins’s fire but missed him.
    At nine-thirty that morning he gave himself up. It was just as well. He had more than 400 law enforcement officers around him—and a lot of them were Peterson’s friends.
    [James W. Hutchins was executed on March 14, 1984, for the 1979 slaying of two deputies and highway patrolman R. L. (“Pete”) Peterson in Rutherford County, North Carolina. Hutchins was the first person to die by lethal injection in North Carolina after the state’s death penalty was reinstated in 1977.]
    *
    I don’t like fights. I’ve been in law enforcement eight years and have been in only three or four physical skirmishes. I don’t hit a man unless it’s a last resort.
    But—and here’s what they don’t teach you in school—you stop a car and a man
this 
wide in the shoulders says he’s not gonna be arrested.
    Do you take him right then or let him make the first move? When do you react? When do you take control of the situation?
    It’s something you’ve got to learn on the job. And if you don’t act quickly enough, you stand a chance of getting hurt.
    The court wants you to wait until he resists. But if you do, especially with someone that size, how do you regain control? You can’t shoot him. So you’ve got to physically grab him and tell him he’s under arrest. By that time, it’s too late to go back to your radio for help.
    That’s why I try to talk people into coming with me peacefully. I also try to stay in shape—lift weights, run regularly—for the confrontations that may not end well.
    *
    I was stationed in Lincoln County, had been on rny own about two or three months, and was still green as I could be. There was a place I often patrolled called “Hog Hill,” all dirt roads, miles from nowhere, one of the roughest sections I’ve ever been in.
    We’d go up there, two or three troopers together, and arrest drunk drivers by the carload. One Saturday night I was workingby myself and had just gotten to Hog Hill when I hit a bump in the road. I looked down and realized the lights were off on my radio. It was no longer working.
    I thought, “Damn. I just got up here and I hate to leave. But a man’s a fool to be in Hog Hill without a radio.”
    I was debating whether to stay or go when I came