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purplepuddlenut · 1 year

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Army Veteran Went Into ‘Combat Mode’ to Disarm the Club Q Gunman

Richard M. Fierro, who served for 15 years in the military, was at the nightclub in Colorado Springs with his family when the gunman opened fire. “I just knew I had to take him down,” he said.

COLORADO SPRINGS — Richard M. Fierro was at a table in Club Q with his wife, daughter and friends on Saturday, watching a drag show, when the sudden flash of gunfire ripped across the nightclub and instincts forged during four combat deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan instantly kicked in. Fight back, he told himself, protect your people.

In an interview at his house on Monday, where his wife and daughter were still recovering from injuries, Mr. Fierro, 45, who spent 15 years as an Army officer and left as a major in 2013, according to military records, described charging through the chaos at the club, tackling the gunman and beating him bloody with the gunman’s own gun.

“I don’t know exactly what I did, I just went into combat mode,” Mr. Fierro said, shaking his head as he stood in his driveway, an American flag hanging limp in the freezing air. “I just know I have to kill this guy before he kills us.”

The authorities are holding Anderson Lee Aldrich, 22, on charges of killing five people, and say that 18 more people were injured in a rampage at the club that lasted only a few minutes. The death toll could have been much higher, officials said on Sunday, if patrons of the bar had not stopped the gunman.

“He saved a lot of lives,” Mayor John Suthers said of Mr. Fierro. The mayor said he had spoken to Mr. Fierro and was struck by his humility. “I have never encountered a person who engaged in such heroic actions and was so humble about it.”

It was supposed to be a chill family night out — the combat veteran and his wife, Jess, joined their daughter, Kassandra, her longtime boyfriend Raymond Green Vance, and two family friends to watch one of his daughter’s friends perform a drag act.

It was Mr. Fierro’s first time at a drag show, and he was digging it. He had spent 15 years in the Army, and now relished his role as a civilian and a father, watching one of his daughter’s old high-school friends perform.

“These kids want to live that way, want to have a good time, have at it,” he said as he described the night. “I’m happy about it because that is what I fought for, so they can do whatever they hell they want.”

Mr. Fierro was trying to get better at going out. In Iraq and Afghanistan he’d been shot at, seen roadside bombs shred trucks in his platoon, and lost friends. He was twice awarded the Bronze Star.

The wars were both past and still present. There were things he would never forget. For a long time after coming home, crowds put him on edge. He couldn’t help to be vigilant. In restaurants he sat against the wall, facing the door. No matter how much he tried to relax, part of him was always ready for an attack, like an itch that could not be scratched.

He was too often distrustful, quick to anger. It had been hell on his wife and daughter. He was working on it. There was medication and sessions with a psychologist. He got rid of all the guns in the house. He grew his hair out long and grew a long, white goatee to distance himself from his days in uniform.

He and his wife ran a successful local brewery called Atrevida Beer Co. and he had a warm relationship with his daughter and her longtime boyfriend. But he also accepted that war would always be with him.

But that night at Club Q, he was not thinking of war at all. The women were dancing. He was joking with his friends. Then the shooting started.

It was a staccato of flashes by the front door, the familiar sound of small-arms fire. Mr. Fierro knew it too well. Without thinking, he hit the floor, pulling his friend down with him. Bullets sprayed across the bar, smashing bottles and glasses. People screamed. Mr. Fierro looked up and saw a figure as big as a bear, easily more than 300 pounds, wearing body armor and carrying a rifle a lot like the one he had carried in Iraq. The shooter was moving through the bar toward a door leading to a patio where dozens of people had fled.

The long-suppressed instincts of a platoon leader surged back to life. He raced across the room, grabbed the gunman by a handle on the back of his body armor, pulled him to the floor and jumped on top of him.

“Was he shooting at the time? Was he about to shoot? I don’t know,” Mr. Fierro said. “I just knew I had to take him down.

The two crashed to the floor. The gunman’s military-style rifle clattered just out of reach. Mr. Fierro started to go for it, but then saw the gunman come up with a pistol in his other hand.

“I grabbed the gun out of his hand and just started hitting him in the head, over and over,” Mr. Fierro said.

As he held the man down and slammed the pistol down on his skull, Mr. Fierro started barking orders. He yelled for another club patron, using a string of expletives, to grab the rifle then told the patron to start kicking the gunman in the face. A drag dancer was passing by, and Mr. Fierro said he ordered her to stomp the attacker with her high heels. The whole time, Mr. Fierro said, he kept pummeling the shooter with the pistol while screaming obscenities.

What allowed him to throw aside all fear and act? He said he has no idea. Probably those old instincts of war, that had burdened him for so long at home, suddenly had a place now that something like war had come to his hometown.

“In combat, most of the time nothing happens, but it’s that mad minute, that mad minute, and you are tested in that minute. It becomes habit,” he said. “I don’t know how I got the weapon away from that guy, no idea. I’m just a dude, I’m a fat old vet, but I knew I had to do something.”

When police arrived a few minutes later, the gunman was no longer struggling, Mr. Fierro said. Mr. Fierro said he feared that he had killed him.

Mr. Fierro was covered in blood. He got up and frantically lurched around in the dark, looking for his family. He spotted his friends on the floor. One had been shot several times in the chest and arm. Another had been shot in the leg.

As more police filed in, Mr. Fiero said he started yelling like he was back in combat. Casualties. Casualties. I need a medic here now. He yelled to the police that the scene was clear, the shooter was down, but people needed help. He said he took tourniquets from a young police officer and put them on his bleeding friends. He said he tried to speak calmly to them as he worked, telling them they would be OK.

He spied his wife and daughter on the edge of the room, and was about to go to them when he was tackled.

Officers rushing into the chaotic scene had spotted a blood-spattered man with a handgun, not knowing if he was a threat. They put him in handcuffs and locked him in the back of a police car for what seemed like more than an hour. He said he screamed and pleaded to be let go so that he could see his family.

Eventually, he was freed. He went to the hospital with his wife and daughter, who had only minor injuries. His friends were there, and are still there, in much more serious condition. They were all alive. But his daughter’s boyfriend was nowhere to be found. In the chaos they had lost him. They drove back to the club, searching for him, they circled familiar streets, hoping they would find him walking home. But there was nothing.

The family got a call late Sunday from his mother. He had died in the shooting.

When Mr. Fierro heard, he said, he held his daughter and cried.

In part he cried because he knew what lay ahead. The families of the dead, the people who were shot, had now been in war, like he had. They would struggle like he and so many of his combat buddies had. They would ache with misplaced vigilance, they would lash out in anger, never be able to scratch the itch of fear, be torn by the longing to forget and the urge to always remember.

“My little girl, she screamed and I was crying with her,” he said. “Driving home from the hospital I told them, ‘Look, I’ve gone through this before, and down range, when this happens, you just get out on the next patrol. You need to get it out of your mind.’ That is how you cured it. You cured it by doing more. Eventually you get home safe. But here I worry there is no next patrol. It is harder to cure. You are already home.”

#colorado #colorado nightclub shooting #lgbtq #combat veteran

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threeravenspublishing · 5 months

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Nevermind Cyber Monday Sales: Check Out These Great Books!

My whole household was down with some sort of illness this weekend, so we missed out on the chaos of Black Friday. Not that we would’ve gone, but we even missed out on some of the digital deals that were out there, and those are what we usually take advantage of. Fortunately, some sales continue on into this week like the Steam Autumn Sale, and there are a couple of games I’m looking to try out…

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#22 veterans a day #Action Thriller Fiction #american veteran #army air corps #army fantasy #army fiction #combat veteran #combat veterans #espionage thrillers #hot new release #JTF13 #marine #military fantasy #navy fiction

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mj101st-blog · 5 months

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#iowa #combat veteran #bikelife

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kajmasterclass · 6 months

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youtube

#Combat Veteran #Civilian Life and A Book with William Yeske | KAJ Masterclass LIVE Army Veteran #Civilian Life and A Book with William Yeske #combat veteran #serial entrepreneur William (Will) Yeske is a combat veteran who served 11 years in the United States Army. He is a serial entrepreneur #IT #and project management. He currently runs and operates a marketing company #No Limits Marketing Group (NLMG)#founded to help small businesses survive the COVID-19 pandemic. It uses a combination of modern marketing techniques coupled with a non-let #Rally for the Troops (now part of Racing for Heroes) and has worked on other veteran-based projects. He is currently attending Columbia #creating new possibilities for future endeavors #and parenting his two children with his wife #who is also a United States military veteran. combatveteran mentalhealth kajmasterclass Want to create live streams like this? Che #Youtube

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theveteranside · 7 months

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ROUND 1

Qualifying on the crew serve weapons out in "Midland" in Iraq is an all day affair. If you qualify on just one crew serve, still, it takes all fucking day. In my case, I trained on the .50 cal, but what did my platoon sergeant say after I zeroed? "S******! Zero on the 240!" I was about to get up and move to the 240. "WRONG! Roll over and zero on the 240!" So, I rolled over. Zeroed on the 240. "Good! Now roll over and zero the 249!" Fuck me. Rolled over and zeroed on the 249 SAW. "Beautiful, S******! Goddamn beautiful. We're gonna get you qualified on all three by the time we leave here!"

Well, shit. I guess I'm qualifying on all three crew serves.

It was hot as shit, no shade, and I barely ate anything that morning. In that kind of heat, that's the wrong thing to do.

After zeroing on the crew serves I felt like complete shit. Dizzy, nauseous, tunnel vision. Then....I yakked. Fuck me, now I'm a heat casualy. Here's a bit of advice: Especially in excessive heat, be sure to hydrate. But also, don't overhydrate. It's just as dangerous as dehydration. Which means, fucking eat something so your body has sustenance.

ROUND 2

I gather myself and head on over to our next station, Stationary vehicles. The idea is to qualify on the crew serve machine guns from the Gunner's Turret. Two of my favorite Sergeant Majors were assisting that day. My platoon Sergeant nods me over to the five-ton truck. SMA 1 is already up there waving me over. I climb up that big sonofabitch and seat myself in the strap of the gunners turret, full battle rattle and all.

If ever you are going to convoy as a gunner in a five-ton or humvee, do yourself a favor and bring a fucking pillow. I don't care how big and bad you think you are, you ain't shit when you're whining midway through a two hour convoy (one way) about your ass hurting because you chose to go raw and sit on the three inch strap that IS your seat.

I digress.

SMA 1 says, "Today soldier, you're gonna be one of the very few to qualify on all three machine guns AND you're gonna do it better than everyone else. Hooah?" He looked me right in my eyes, "HOOAH, Sarn' Major." He looked through his binoculars across the wasteland desert and a broken down haji semi truck. I surmise it was maybe about three quarters of a mile away? Fuck, I don't know, FAR! SMA1 then tells me that I better not miss that big ass semi truck over yonder, otherwise it'll be my ass. Roger that.

The .50 cal was mounted with a spring, which makes it soooo much easier to maneuver that heavy batch. I take a min to get the target in my sights, my gloved thumbs on the butterfly trigger, I remember my breathing and how it will effect the trajectory of that big ass bullet. SMA1 says, "Fire when ready soldier. Don't miss." I fire once. SMA tells me to keep firing, so I do. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. SMA1 watched every round hit through those binoculars. "Thaaaaats right," he said. "Do it again." So, I did. Armor piercing rounds are pretty damaging in general, so imagine the hole it left in the side of the haji semi. Time was up, next station.

I climbed in the humvee and popped up in the gunners turret and manned the 249SAW. Now, I don't particularly like the SAW all that much because the barrel seems to heat up faster on these damn things. This means you gotta carry a spare and it means more malfunctions of the weapon. But my platoon sergeant told me to, so I did.

My platoon sergeant was always so calm that it was sickening. Me? Back then I was known for being hot headed, so calm was a feat. These days, I'm more calm than ever. But there are the occasional outbursts of anger and insanity, although with the help of anti psychotic meds, those outbursts are kept to a minimum.

Anyway, I sit in that gawd awful strap and fire away on the 249. I hit the target. Qualified. My platoon sergeant is happy as all hell. "S******, from here on out, I think you're gonna be my personal gunner. You have quite the shot. These crew serves have come natural to you. I'm proud of you." Not gonna lie, it made my heart swell, kinda like when your dad tells you he's proud of you. Next station.

Again, I climb in and up the humvee, and I get ready. This last weapon is the 240 Bravo. This. Shit. Right. Here. This is my jam. On a 240 you can feel the smoothness of the round fire out the barrel "like butter," as I always say. Bad mamma jamma. I love this weapon, all twenty-six pounds of it. Every 7.62mm round that accompanied it as well. The 240 would come to be my weapon of choice on all my future convoys, all except one.

SMA2 immediately peers through his binoculars and says, "Damn it S******, you see that gas can out there?" I stare down range, at first with my naked ass eyes, and blink real hard. You mean that fucking DOT out there!?

I say, "Yes Sarn' Major...." He follows with, "I want you to make that fucker jump." FUCK MY LIFE! Really? He expects me to make that DOT jump!?! There I am, sweating on top of sweat on top of sweat.

Mount. Position. Get sights. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Get in rythym with my heartbeat. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Hold. Squeeze.

Thooomp! Thoomp!

"Fuck yeah, soldier! Do it again!" I do. I made that fucker jump. He was proud of me, which made me feel pretty good.

Round 3

The last part of qualifications were done on a moving vehicle. This is to simulate being part of a convoy. So, once again, I move through each crew serve weapon, through each vehicle. But once I came to what would be known as my Beloved 240, I was met with belt fed ammo and every fifth round were incinerator rounds.

SMA1 looked down range for a minute or so. He said, "Today we are gonna blow up that semi out there!" I looked up at him, he looked back at me. "Let's do it soldier." I took aim, concentrated on my breathing. Slow. Steady. Controlled. Wait for it. Inhale. Exhale. Hold. Squeeze.

I could feel each round slide through the barrel, smooth and nice. I fired short five round controlled bursts. The vibration of the weapon blurred my vision. Jeezus christ I hope to hell I'm hitting that semi. I stop. "You done?" I squeeze the trigger over and over, being very conscious not to hold it for too long. In the distance I can barely hear SMA1. "Hold fire! Hold fire!"

I sit up while he looked down range. "Hell yeah, soldier, good aim!" I squint my eyes to focus. That semi went up in flames.

Those goddamned 3M earplugs. Do you hear that ringing sound?? Huh? What?

#veteran #combat veteran #operation iraqi freedom #shit veterans go through #soldier #iraq war #iraq

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darkangelk007 · 7 months

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Sufficient In The Word

Sufficient In The Word It’s been 19 years. 19 years since my life changed. I’m not sure why young men are so anxious to go to war. Between personal experience, and how it’s portrayed in movies, young men are all too excited to go to war and fight for what they believe in. The idea of going to war is also one of fear, and we think nothing of what is to come. Psalm 144:1 144 Blessed be the…

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vetter0311 · 1 year

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Misconceptions of Substance Abuse Among Veterans

Substance abuse among veterans is a growing concern, with many misconceptions surrounding the issue. In this essay, we will explore some of the common misconceptions surrounding substance abuse among veterans and how these misconceptions can negatively impact veterans seeking help for their addiction.

Misconception #1: Substance abuse is a choice

It is a common misconception that substance abuse is a choice and that individuals who engage in substance abuse do so because they lack willpower or self-control. However, substance abuse is a complex issue, and there are often underlying factors that contribute to an individual's addiction. For veterans, substance abuse can be a coping mechanism for dealing with the emotional and physical trauma of their military experiences. Therefore, it is important to approach substance abuse with compassion and understanding, rather than judgment and blame.

Misconception #2: Only combat veterans struggle with substance abuse

Another common misconception is that only combat veterans struggle with substance abuse. However, substance abuse can affect any veteran, regardless of their military experience. Veterans who served during times of peace can also struggle with substance abuse, as they may have experienced other types of trauma, such as sexual assault or harassment. It is important to recognize that substance abuse can affect any veteran and to provide support and resources to all veterans in need.

Misconception #3: Veterans who seek help for substance abuse are weak

There is a stigma surrounding seeking help for substance abuse, with some people believing that those who seek help are weak or unable to handle their problems. This stigma is particularly prevalent among veterans, who may feel that seeking help for substance abuse is a sign of weakness or failure. However, seeking help for substance abuse takes courage, and it is important to recognize that it is a sign of strength, not weakness.

Misconception #4: Veterans can overcome substance abuse on their own

Some people believe that veterans can overcome substance abuse on their own, without the need for professional help. However, substance abuse is a complex issue, and overcoming addiction often requires professional support. Veterans who struggle with substance abuse may also have co-occurring disorders, such as PTSD or depression, which require specialized treatment. Therefore, it is important to provide veterans with access to professional treatment and support.

Misconception #5: Substance abuse is a personal problem that does not affect others

Substance abuse is often seen as a personal problem that only affects the individual who is struggling with addiction. However, substance abuse can have a significant impact on the individual's family, friends, and community. Veterans who struggle with substance abuse may experience strained relationships with loved ones and may struggle to maintain employment or housing. Therefore, it is important to recognize that substance abuse is not just a personal problem but a community issue that requires a collaborative approach to address.

In conclusion, substance abuse among veterans is a complex issue that is often surrounded by misconceptions. It is important to approach substance abuse with compassion and understanding, recognizing that addiction is not a choice but a complex issue that requires professional support. Furthermore, it is important to recognize that substance abuse can affect any veteran and that seeking help for addiction is a sign of strength, not weakness. By challenging these misconceptions and providing veterans with the support and resources they need, we can work towards addressing the issue of substance abuse among veterans and supporting those who have served our country.

#substance #substance abuse #veteran #combat veteran

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