Three detectives are dead in York County. On Sept. 17, they walked into a house in North Codorus Township to serve a warrant. They did not come back.

The men — Det. Sgt. Cody Becker, 39; Det. Mark Baker, 53, and Det. Isaiah Emenheiser, 43, were ambushed by a 24-year-old suspect wanted on stalking charges. Police say he waited with a rifle and opened fire as soon as the officers crossed the threshold. He was killed in the exchange.

For Pennsylvania, it was one of the deadliest days for law enforcement in decades. For Mifflin County, it was personal.

Mark Baker grew up here, graduating from Indian Valley High School in 1990 before serving in the U.S. Army and devoting over 20 years to the Northern York County Regional Police Department. He was a father of four, a colleague remembered for quiet strength and for doing anything for anybody. Now, his name is etched on the long roll of officers who gave their lives in the line of duty.

The funeral drew hundreds of mourners. The sanctuary in Red Lion filled with uniforms, salutes, and the kind of silence that only falls when words are not enough. Friends and family spoke of service, sacrifice, and the holes left in their lives. Baker’s name was spoken with pride and grief–by those who knew him in York County and those back home in Mifflin County who remember when he was just “Mark.”

This is not an isolated tragedy. It is part of a national crisis. According to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial Fund, 147 officers died in the line of duty in 2024–up 25% from the previous year. The FBI’s data show a rise in ambush attacks, now one of the leading causes of felonious officer deaths. These are not just numbers on a chart. They are names and stories–men and women who left families behind, as Baker did.

Domestic violence and stalking cases remain among the most dangerous calls for police. The York ambush underscores that reality. Matthew Ruth had allegedly set fire to the victim’s vehicle earlier in the summer. Court records show surveillance, intimidation, and threats. By the time officers went to serve the warrant, the danger was written in every detail. And still, they went.

That is the nature of the job we ask officers to do. They knock on the doors the rest of us fear. They confront the armed and the unstable. They step forward when instinct tells the rest of us to step back. We should not romanticize it, but we cannot ignore it either.

There is a temptation in moments like this to speak only in the language of mourning. But grief without resolve does little for the next officer who straps on a vest and heads out on patrol. The rising toll of officer deaths demands action–better intelligence, stronger warrant-service protocols, and equipment suited to the threats officers face.

These steps will not erase the danger. Nothing can. But they may give the next Baker, Becker, or Emenheiser a chance to come home.

This is not about politics. It is about safety–for the public and for the people sworn to protect it. When an officer is ambushed on duty, it’s not only a police department that suffers the loss. It is a community. It is a county. It is all of us.

Mark Baker’s life reminds us of what we ask of police. His death reminds us of what it costs when they answer. He was one of ours, shaped by this place, and remembered now in grief. To honor him is to recognize the sacrifice and the obligation–to make sure those who still serve have the tools and support to survive the dangers that took him.

We cannot bring him back. But we can learn from his death. If we mean what we say at funerals, that their sacrifice will not be forgotten, then we must prove it by protecting the living.