by Steven Clark
‘Hang on in there Dave; we’re gonna give you as much help as we can mate,’ as he reached across to the array of telephones and monitors close by.
‘I need to speak to your Force Incident Manager, Priority One. Armed robber and hostage’s situation.’
The direct phone line from the police control room on the docks to the Merseyside Police Control Room had been a vital means of communication between the two forces for many years but never had it been more important than now.
‘FIM Inspector Jarvis here. Who am I speaking to please?’
‘Hello Larry, Bob Chambers here. One of my lads has been taken hostage at gun point and is in a lorry somewhere near to the Switch Island Junction at Netherton.’
There was a moments silence on the other end of the ‘phone.
‘Fuck you Bob. That’s not funny. No more of your poncy jokes. Last time you tried to fuck me over, I nearly had the force chopper taking off looking for Mr G. Raff. Remember him? One of the park rangers; supposed to have collapsed inside the Lion enclosure at Knowsley Safari Park; diabetic coma or some such shit. Remember that one do you Bob? Now, piss off. I’m too busy for playing games today.’
Bob and Larry had been mates for many years and, as bobbies do, sometimes to while away the long hours, more often than not to lighten the atmosphere following traumatic incidents, they often took the piss out of each other; see who could do the best joke on each other. As soon as Bob Chambers began to speak again, Larry Jarvis knew this was no wind up.
‘Larry, on my little girl’s life, this is a live incident that kicked off at one of our gates. It doesn’t get much more serious than this mate. As we speak, Dave Watkins has a sawn off shotgun pressed into his ribs. Somehow, he’s managed to get his radio onto an open microphone and he’s trying to tell us where he is. I don’t know how long he will be able to keep up any kind of a commentary. If the shooter becomes aware he’s transmitting, he will be in the shit big time; he might take him out then and there’
Again, there was a moments silence and Larry Jarvis spoke again.
‘We’re on it Bob. He’s a good lad mate. Keep this line open and connected while I get the chopper up in the air and mobilise the firearms teams.’
A few moments later, Inspector Jarvis was back on the ‘phone and Bob was doing his best to update him with the facts as known so far.
The telephone rang. ‘Sarge, its Mick Edwards at Bramley Gate.’
‘Mick, I can’t talk at the moment. As you probably know by now, Dave Watkins is involved in a serious incident.’
‘Yeah, I know Sarge, got the info from the lads that somethin’s on the go but, I’ve just been having a good look around both in the hut and outside, there was a gate pass for a wagon lying in the road. It’s a bit damp, but it’s got today’s date on and you can still make out the registration and box numbers.’
‘Is that bothering you bollocks?’ The radio crackled into life.
‘Well, you could ease off a bit, me right ribs gone numb.’
‘Good. Fuck me about, and this might go off. Not pretty mate. Do we understand each other?’
Both control rooms were listening intently for any information as to directions or numbers involved and whilst the Port control room could do nothing but sit and wait, things were moving rapidly in the Merseyside Police incident room.
‘Steady on Joe, he won’t need to shoot me; your driving will kill the three of us if you’re not careful. How about a cuppa at Burtonwood. Relax us all a bit eh?’
‘Keep it going Davey, you’re doing a brilliant job’ said Bob Chambers to himself. He’d never been a particularly religious man but he found himself praying silently. ‘If we can get you out of this one, I’ll make sure you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll buy you the biggest fucking curry you’ve ever had son now just keep doing what you’re doing.’
‘You probably got that Larry, it sounds like there is just the three of them in the wagon and they are heading towards’…,
The door to the control room opened suddenly. Inspector James entered. The legend in his own mind. ‘MIKE’, -Me I Know Everything-James.
Give him a project, paper exercise or any other non operational shit to contend with and he was brilliant, full of facts and trivia but, when it came to important issues such as backing up his men and being there at the sharp end and getting your hands dirty, he was about as much use as a chocolate teapot.
‘Right Sergeant, Sit Rep.’ He’d obviously been watching a war movie or something the night before.
‘Sit Rep, sir?’ replied Bob.
‘Come come Sergeant, situation report; tell me what’s happening and what’s being done. If what young Griffiths here tells me is correct, time is of the essence.’
Sergeant Chambers went through the details as best he could while Mike read the incident log.
‘Is that right Sergeant?’
‘What’s that sir?’ said Bob, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
‘Here, on the Log. PC Watkins helmet. It was found in the gate house. Is that correct?’
‘Yes sir. On the shelf sir, behind the door.’
‘I knew it, I just knew it. What’s the matter with these bloody officers? How many times do I have to tell them? When outside the gate house, put your bloody helmet on. It’s not that difficult to understand is it?
Scruffy, Sergeant. That’s what it is, scruffy. Improperly dressed in public. Standards Sergeant, that’s what we need to impress upon these officers under our direction and control. Standards. When you wear the uniform Sergeant; well, your very much under scrutiny from the public; if you don’t have proper standards, you have nothing. Don’t you agree Sergeant?’
‘Yes sir.’ said Bob wearily. ‘Sir, given the circumstances that PC Watkins is in at the moment, I don’t think he will be particularly bothered that you consider him to have been improperly dressed at the immediate moment that he was abducted.’
‘That’s as maybe Sergeant. However, have him come and see me when this incident is over with. I think he needs a bit of a talking to. I think I need to impress upon him the finer points of being a British Police officer. Envy of the World, that sort of thing. Not forgetting also, your role in these matters. You have to keep on at these young officers. Instil upon them the proper values. Wouldn’t do for you to shirk your responsibilities regarding discipline. Don’t you agree Sergeant?’
Bob’s simmering hostility towards his useless, uncaring, incompetent twat of an excuse for a leader began bubbling to the surface. He had worked with this prick for long enough and after nearly thirty years in the force; he decided he didn’t care any more what would happen to him ‘when this incident is over with.’ He’d finally had enough of tossers like James.
Sergeant Chambers was well known in the force for being a steady pair of hands and was well respected by his officers and superiors alike. He’d earned that respect over a long period of time by being fair but firm and taking an interest in their welfare. He had a good mix of youth and experience amongst his section. Dave Watkins was one of his younger officers. Always smart and well turned out. Reliable, enthusiastic, caring and with bucket loads of common sense. All the elements that go into making a good, well rounded officer, Dave had in abundance.
Here he was, at this very moment probably scared shitless by a fucking nutter with a shotgun. Yet, he still had the presence of mind to alert us to his situation and keep us informed of what was going on and this fucking arsehole of an Inspector wants to bollock him for not wearing his helmet, well, not today sunshine.
At some point in the future, Bob Chambers would have a nickname as befits the liverpudlian humour as a direct result of what happened next.
Bob’s anger did not rise to the surface very often but PC Tony Griffiths had seen him once or twice before when they had dealt with violent and dangerous or difficult situations. He recognised the tell tale signs. He saw the veins in Bob’s neck begin to swell; the lines on his forehead became more prominent. His eyes na
rrowed and his fists and arms began to tense. Bob was looking at Inspector James very intently.
Had Sergeant Chambers been a bull, you would have undoubtedly heard him snorting and seen him clawing at the ground with his cloven hoof. Bob’s body language left no one, except Inspector James, in any doubt whatsoever of his demeanour.
Griff quickly moved forward and stood directly in front of his Sergeant. ‘Can I have a quick word sarge?’
‘Not now lad. I need to speak to the Inspector.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of boss.’ Said Griff as he was very politely, but very firmly, moved to the side by one of Bob Chambers shovel sized hands.
Griff looked at his mate, Steve Mullins who was still manning the radio. They both looked each other in the eye. Neither said a word, but each silently mouthed to each other those words that are often uttered when the situation is about to get volatile.
‘Oh Fuck.’
‘Sir,’
‘What is it Sergeant?’
‘Can I have a word in your office?’
‘If you’ve got something to say Sergeant, get on with it. Don’t prevaricate man. Time is of the essence if we want to conclude this drama. Speak up.’
The lava was rising and about to erupt.
‘Sir, you are without doubt, the biggest fucking arsehole that’s it’s ever been my misfortune to work with.’
Inspector James began to splutter. ‘Be careful what you say Sergeant, I’ll have you on paper for this impertinence.’
‘Sir, you can take that paper, roll it very tightly and shove it where the sun don’t shine. I couldn’t give a toss. Dave Watkins might get shot at any moment and the only thing I have heard you express concern about is the fact that he was not wearing his fucking helmet at the time that he was forced into a wagon by some psychopath with a sawn off shotgun. What fucking planet are you on?
You Mister, who has never seen an angry man; you who has spent your entire career shuffling bits of paper; are not fit to lace that lads boots.
Now, fuck off out of my control room and, if Dave comes out of this ok, we’ll both come and see you and you can advise us in whatever manner seems appropriate regarding proper standards.’
As Inspector James beat a hasty retreat from the control room muttering repercussions about career prospects, Bob Chambers became aware of the other officers in the control room and began to apologise.
‘I’m sorry lads. That should have been a private conversation. I am extremely sorry if I have caused embarrassment to any of you.’
He could hear a cheering and clapping in the background and at first was confused as to where it was coming from. There was a considerable amount of smirking and smiling from his lads, but no one was speaking. He suddenly realised. The direct line to the Merseyside Police incident room was still open. They had been listening to the limited commentary Dave Watkins was able to convey through the Port Police radio system and had been monitoring the unfolding hostage situation. As a consequence, they had heard every word of Bob’s ‘interesting’ conversation with the Inspector.
Bob picked up the handset, ‘Hello, Sergeant Chambers here.’
‘Hi Bob, it’s your friendly Force Incident manager here.’
‘I’m sorry Larry. That was supposed to have been a private chat between Inspector James and me. Please give my apologies to the officers in your control room.’
‘Apologies; you must be joking mate. We’re having a whip round here to buy you a bottle of scotch. Everyone here thought you were brilliant. He’s always been a tosser. Everyone knows that. Oh, and by the way, Chief Superintendent Mackay sends his regards. He has assumed overall command of the incident and says he would love to be a supporting character witness if James wants to push any disciplinary action in your direction.
Right Bob, now here’s what we’ve got so far. The chopper has been up for about fifteen minutes and thinks he’s got an eyeball on the wagon. He’s going in for a closer look but making sure he’s far enough back not to be spotted. The best chance we’ve got at the moment of ending this peacefully and with as few casualties as possible; are if our target isn’t aware he’s being tracked.’
‘Thanks Larry. We all feel a bit useless at this end.’
‘No problem Bob. We’ll keep this line open so you lads can follow the plan. We’ve got the details of the wagon and the container numbers from your lad at the gate so the chopper should be able to confirm the details soon enough. Oh, just one more thing Bob, before I go. I think Mr James will need plenty of sugar in his brew. Might just need it for shock. And if you’re making the tea, make sure it’s sugar you put in and not rat poison. Speak to you soon Bob.’
Bob laughed weakly and thanked his long time friend for his help and the line went quiet. He was aware that his officers were looking at him in the control room and looked up.
‘OK lads, get the kettle on. Not a lot we can do now except listen and wait. They’ve got good lads out there who are well used to dealing with hostage situations. Dave will be all right. I can feel it in me water.’
He sounded far more confident than he felt.
Chapter 5
‘Hotel Charlie One to control’
Steve Wilson had been a member of the Air Support Group and a regular Police Air Observer in the force helicopter for about three years. He, his two fellow Observers and the Pilot, were well experienced in spotting and tracking stolen cars and the crew had an excellent record of being able to direct the ground patrols to the right location to ensure the villains were locked up. This was a bit different. This was one of their own who was in serious danger. His stomach churned a little more than usual as he said to himself, ‘let’s do this one right boys.’
The ‘Chopper’ was a Eurocopter EC 135 capable of a top cruising speed of 170 mph and its powerful twin turbine engines could propel it from its base at Woodvale Aerodrome to most places in the force area in a fairly short time.
‘Receiving you loud and clear Hotel Charlie One. Pass your message.’
‘Target vehicle confirmed. Eastbound in nearside lane on M62 just passing services at Burtonwood. Believe target vehicle not aware of our presence.’
The two black unmarked Range Rover Armed Response Vehicles had been rolling for several minutes and heard the message loud and clear. The normal ARV’s were highly visible and easily identified with their high visibility markings and external blue lights and were usually crewed by two uniformed officers. They would normally be the first firearms officers to attend any incident.
The officers in the blacked out range rovers were quite a bit different. As Specialist Firearms Officers from the Force Dynamic Intervention Team, their specific role within the broader firearms unit was hostage rescue.
They joined the M62 at the Rocket junction at high speed. ‘Blues and Twos’ ensuring their progress was swift. They knew it would be a race against time as the longer the situation prevailed, the longer their colleague was in danger.
Two teams consisting of four men in each vehicle was a standard response to a hostage situation. The teams trained constantly for just such an event. This job was something out of the ordinary. To rescue hostages from a building was one thing. To attempt a rescue from a vehicle travelling at sixty miles an hour on a motorway was something altogether different!
A Sergeant and three cons made up each unit. Each was an expert marksman and a Class One driver. Each vehicle was exceptionally powerful, armour plated and fitted out with an awesome amount of weapons and specialist kit.
For all their equipment and training, Sergeant Lee Evans knew they would need at least an equal amount of luck and good fortune. Even the most comprehensive training, and training was what they did for most of their duty time, would count for nothing if it wasn’t accompanied by a little good fortune along the way.
‘Romeo Victor One to Romeo Victor Two receiving?’
‘RV 2 receiving. Go ahead.’
‘Be advised we’re ten miles behind the target vehicle. Hotel
Charlie One will further advise when we are within two miles at which time we will go to silent approach. Received?’
‘That’s a Roger RV 1, message received.’
Jos Lewis was the skipper of RV 2 and had worked with Lee on the ARV’s for four years. They had been through quite a few scrapes together during their time with the unit. The eight officers who made up the two ARV’s had the utmost respect for each other and had developed deep friendships and respect in a way that only officers who have placed their lives in each others hands could understand.
Psychologists had likened it to battle zone situations where combat troops would risk their own lives to save a comrade. Whilst it was often thought of as fighting for Queen and Country, patriotism or whatever, it was just as likely to be fighting for your mate to save his life in exactly the same way as if the boot was on the other foot. You knew without question that when the bullets were flying, your ‘oppo’ would put his life in danger to save you. Quite extraordinary bonds developed between them as they had to trust each other implicitly and without hesitation. Hesitation meant that someone could be hurt or killed. Hesitation was simply not acceptable.
The training for the unit was incredibly stressful and the failure rate for prospective candidates was inevitably high. Whilst individual acts of bravery and heroism were often needed, the most important aspect was that of the team. If you weren’t a team player, you wouldn’t make the grade, plain and simple.
Extremely fit, mentally very strong, ready to deploy at a minutes notice, sometimes in the middle of the night, unable to discuss situations with your nearest and dearest. Being able to adapt and alter the plan as it developed. Most importantly, being able to pull that trigger either as a consequence of what you see yourself through your telescopic sight or, perhaps even more difficult, being told by someone that you may not even have met before, an Assistant Chief Constable or Commander, when that message arrives in your covert earpiece, ‘green for go, repeat, green for go.’
