Under the cover of a blackberry thorn - CLUB 1500

The busiest time of the month in Policing is around the full moon. Full moon is the time when you get unpredictable behaviours.

As Police Dog handlers we worked with the Armed Offenders Squad (AOS) and when they had a call out, it required two dogs to attend. Based in Hamilton and there were only two dog handlers; Fred and myself.

The situation was in a small rural community near Morrinsville. The offender had escaped from Tokanui Psychiatric Hospital and returned to his family home. He was drunk, raving with his hunting rifle and threatening his parents. He was in hospital after committing violent crimes. I attended his escape, with Police Dog Cara, with no luck.

I was low on fuel so I called into the station to refuel and collect firearms. The Senior Sergeant on the squad decided he was going to travel with me. Graeme was a stickler for the book and an award winner for indecisiveness. He wanted the flashing lights on but no speeding. It was all very well for him; it was not his family held at gunpoint.

The base where squad members gathered was further away from the scene than usual. The area was flat farmland and there was a full moon. In rural areas at night, the radio noise travelled for miles. Phil was the Detective Inspector (DI) in charge of the squad. Phi divided the team into two squads. One led by the Senior Sergeant and other by one of the Sergeants. I got the short straw and was with the Senior.

It was not often we got 100% turn out. The reason was that if a squad member was off duty and had been drinking, they were not safe to handle a gun. This night we were very short staffed. Our squad consisted of the Senior, Neil as rifleman and myself. Our role was to cover the front of the house. Fred and the other squad were to cover the back of the house. Once surrounding the house, normal procedures would kick in. Try to make phone contact with the offender and talk him out.

Conversation was kept to a minimum and then we only whispered. Senior has to be the radioman for our squad, as Neil needed to be free with his rifle and a dog and firearm more than enough to occupy me. Using military tactics, we walked silently towards the house. Neil and I walked side by side with the Senior just a step behind us. The first thing to do was to reconnoitre for a safe spot. The house was a typical 1950’s farm bungalow. The house had a reasonable size veranda, corrugated iron roof, nothing fancy, just a plain functional house. Out front of the house was a large uncluttered lawn with a short driveway onto the road. The fence was a standard number eight wire fence, typical of rural New Zealand. There were no trees, shrubs or any other sort of cover for us to hide behind. Across the road was a bit of a mound, dropping into an empty drain. Thin blackberry grew across the top of the low embankment. What this all added up to was no cover for us.

The three of us had whispered conversations as to what was the safest spot. In the end, the decision is that we are best to lie over the embankment with our feet dangling in the drain. Not ideal but it would only give the offender a head shot.

In reality is most people are not as good a shot as they might think and at an incident like this with a drunk with psychiatric problems, he probably could not hit a barn wall ten feet away. Well, that was our logic anyway.

We crawled the last fifty feet and got into position. The house had lights on, but the heavy-duty curtains meant we could not tell where anyone was located. The good thing is there had been no shots fired since any of us arrived at the scene, suggesting things might have settled down in the house.

Senior radioed into base and asked them to turn the volume of their radio down as we could hear it from our position. The radio noise was the other squad saying they were in position at the back of the house and were concerned about the lack of cover.

Neil and I joked about our cover was a blackberry thorn, so if all hell broke loose at least we could not be seen. Now the long wait. In some of these situations, you can lie there for hours while all the negotiations occur. Lying on a bank on a cold night, not allowed to move or talk, the next best thing to do is breathing exercises to keep calm. The breathing exercises also helped improve the accuracy of a shot, should it be required.

The only thing you hear at night is the gently mooing of a cow or sometimes a local hoon racing their car. Tonight it was the latter. At least this was a distraction listening to this clown racing his car and then the penny dropped. The car was racing towards the scene. The yelling and screaming from base easily heard. Then silence. Next, we heard voices surfing across the airwaves of the paddocks. Then silence again.

“Squad one. A mate of the offender has just arrived. He wants to talk his friend into giving himself up but this guy is pissed. He has just run off across the paddocks and we couldn’t stop him. Keep an eye out as he will be coming in behind you.”

Brilliant. Just what was needed, a drunk village idiot.

The Senior made one of his rare decisions.

“Neil, take that guy out when he arrives.”

Both Neil and I started to watch behind us. Next thing we hear the house door bang shut. Our offender has chosen this exact moment to come out of the house. His mate in the paddock saw him and called out. The offender discharges the gun but not in our direction. Next thing there is swearing on the radio – the bullet had just missed one of the back squad members. It was a random shot – he wasn’t aiming at anyone just discharging his gun.

Cara gets animated at gunshots – she wants to take him out. The timing is not right to release her.

“Fuck”

The mate is in the drain directly behind us and Neil spotted him. Neil dropped into the drain and with all his force drives the rifle butt into the guy’s head. The mate did not go down instead he came up fighting. The two of them are swearing at each other. The offender has realised something is happening at the drain and starts striding towards us. I slip the lead of Cara and put her in a strangled hold so she is ready for a fast release. Neil can deal with the guy in the drain – he is unarmed. As the offender starts to cross the road, I ask permission to let Cara go and take out the offender. The Senior carefully choses this moment to be in his usual “no decision” state. The offender is now crossing the road and is only feet in front of us. To hell with orders, I am going to release Cara. The problem is a technical one. The mate in the drain had overpowered Neil and was going to come up the bank. The only thing he could find to pull himself up was my feet dangling in the drain. Suddenly I am sliding back down into the drain and Cara with me.

Neil had come back at the mate with punches flying. Cara who was now loose decided to take out the mate. I looked up from the bottom of the drain where I had ended and there was our offender lowering his gun at Neil. The Senior jumped up and grabbed him. The gun went off, missing Neil by millimetres and into the opposite side of the bank. The Senior and offender were struggling and my money was not on the Senior. Then screams!

“Drop the gun or I’ll shoot!”

The squad from the rear had come forward and helped overpower the offender. Cara and Neil were sorting the mate out. I pulled my handcuffs and between Neil and me, we cuffed the mate. It was all over.

Back at Hamilton Station, the boss Phil opened the Police Club. He put a bottle of rum in front of Neil and myself and instructed us we were not to go home until it was empty. Drivers were assigned to stop us drink driving. Political correctness did not exist in those times and Phil knew how to unwind us.

As a prelude, the Senior got a medal for bravery, when for the rest of us he should have been charged with recklessly endangering our lives.

Bruce Howat (NZ)