To many of them, it felt like no one was in charge of the Capitol’s defense. All they could hear on the police radio were desperate cries for help.
At one point, the combat veteran was forced to stumble back from the line, his face so covered in bear spray he could barely see or breathe.
When he came to, a surge spilled over to his south. The crowd pushed over several bike racks. He realized the unfathomable had happened. His squad had lost the line; the mob could now enter the Capitol. There was no choice but to fall back. The officers stumbled over blood and debris until they were pressed against a limestone wall at the rear of the terrace. The mob had them cornered.
The officers, drained from their standoff, found a narrow staircase leading to an entrance of the building. But it could fit only one officer at a time. So they took turns climbing it as the crowd closed in, screaming obscenities and threatening murder.
“You fucking faggots!” one shouted. “You’re not even American!”
Waiting to climb the stairs, the combat veteran feared the worst. “This is where they’ll find my body,” he thought.