In front of the front line - Bruce Howat

I was surprised to learn that Bruce was an ex policeman and dog handler. When he decided to write a series of episodes about his experiences he immediately attracted a wide audience of readers with some really well written interesting stories about himself and he beloved dog - Cara. I loved this one and hope you do.

Submitted by Bruce Howat on Saturday 23 February 2013

The higher in an organisation a person is the more distant they are from the front line.

Don, the night shift Senior Sergeant was a neat guy, but like a number at that rank, they lived in fear of those above them.  Hence, they were prone to no-decision disease.  Don was in his late forties, a former country Policeman and a cricket fanatic.  I was the night shift dog handler and it was a quiet night.  Having a cuppa with Don and the Night shift Operations staff, I started to tease him about forgetting the realities of the street.  It was all in good fun and then the 111 light started to flash.  No chatting!  The operator needed to concentrate on the call.  The second operator was monitoring and hand signalled for me to get on the road.  I challenged Don to come with me for one job.  He ran into his office and got his cap and handcuffs.

Don could not keep up with me as I flew down the stairwell to the basement car park. Cara knew my footsteps and was standing up, tail thumping against the side of the dog van.  When the boss rushed like this, something exciting was ahead.  I gunned the engine and then remembered Don.

He eventually got in.

“You’re going to have to be faster than that at a job if we are to catch anyone.”

“Shut up and drive.”

Operations had the basement door open.  The radio cracked the silence.

A domestic dispute at Whatawhata with a well-known family.

Past incidents at this family had led to my colleagues being hospitalised – this family were dangerous.  A patrol car was already on the way and dogs the back up.

As we flew around Hamilton Lake, in my peripheral vision I could see Don clutching the door handrail.  His was extremely pale in colour.  The van went through the corners smoothly and balanced even at speed.  Down Killarney Road at a decent speed and the radio again, cracks the silence.

“Dogs, return to central.  Armed offenders’ incident - Whitianga.”

One second the van was doing about 100kph in one direction and the next; it was doing the same in the other.  The techniques from the Police Driving School were worth their weight in gold to make us feel safe.

I did not notice that Don was not talking.  I called ahead for someone to bring out my regulation firearm as I pulled up out front of the station.  When the pistol etc. passed through the window I, realised Don was sitting still.

“Senior, you need to get out.  I will be away all night – you can’t come.”

Don was physically shaking.  The young Constable rushed around to the passenger’s side and helped a pale Don, who appeared to be going slightly green, alight from the van.  I gunned the van straight onto the Bridge Street bridge.  The car coming the other way appeared cautious.  Later I was to find out it was the AOS (Armed Offenders Squad) Inspector responding to the call out.  I will not repeat what he said to me the next morning when it was all over; suffice it to say my delicate ears burnt.

Luckily I had refuelled the vehicle when I went in for my cuppa so I knew I had plenty of fuel for the long haul to Whitianga (normally 2 ½ hours).  I did not have to conserve fuel for the high-speed trip.

There had been a shooting at the local Whitianga Hotel and only the sole local Police dealing with the incident.  Knowing I would be the first Police to arrive meant no gentle trip.  Two guys, with more alcohol than they could handle had come into the bar with their hunting rifles.  They started to take pot shots at ornaments and drinks.  Public safety and a colleague’s life were at risk and the sooner the better.  Policing was often a numbers game.

Cara lay down in the back, coiled into a ball under my window.  She could brace herself without bouncing all over the van.  It was a self-taught mechanism for keeping herself safe in high-speed situations.  The jet-black German Shepherd was hard to spot in the corner when she was like this.  The journey was over a variety of roads, but the latter stages were through the hills of the Coromandel Peninsula.  Coromandel is extremely windy, up and down piece of road.  Through the hill country, radio reception was intermittent.

As I neared Whitianga I came back into radio contact.

“Dogs where are you?”

I stopped a short distance up the road from where I received the call.  The offenders had left the Hotel and believed to be on my road.  I was to take a static checkpoint until the rest of the AOS arrived.  Great – time for a leak.  Dog and man had more relaxed internal bladders.

While waiting, many possible scenarios are role played in the mind.  I did not role-play for the fun of it – it was all about mental preparation for the variety of scenarios that might unfold.  About twenty minutes later the rest of the squad arrived.  A report came in that the offenders’ car was at the end of a long straight, around the next corner from where I had stopped.  No one knew if the offenders were still in the vehicle.  The first thing to do was check out the vehicle.

A couple of rifleman snuck along the side of the road to check the straight.  It was a beautiful night and if a young man was with a woman, he fancied it was the perfect night for romance.  A full moon danced its light rays across the roadside flax creating a daylight effect.  Perfect for the dangerous operation we had ahead.

The riflemen were back very quickly and reported the car on the side of the road at the other end of the straight.  The Inspector decided it was too dangerous for the squad to proceed.

I was to use the dog to check out the car.  I asked for a covering rifleman and we crept up to the corner.  The car was easily visible in the bright full moon, but it was close to 800 metres away.  To use Cara I would have to use hand signals to control her and that required getting considerably closer than we were.  There was only one choice.  We would have to crawl our way along the road until I got close enough to be able to use Cara with hand signals only.  The other dilemma was the rifleman had a radio and he had to report to AOS base what was going on.  On a still night, the radio noise travels for miles.  We calculated how drunk we thought the offenders probably were, they were in a closed vehicle (we hoped) and behind closed car doors.  The rifleman could come about half the distance and then Cara and I were on our own.

To survive in these moments I had to block out all risks and rely on sharp wits and instinct.  Darkness, my friend was absent, a silent still night for noise travel, my enemy.

I took the lead of Cara and tied it around myself.  I could not afford the risk of the chain hitting the road or her giving problems getting it off when we got close.  Cara loved armed incidents.  The adrenaline tension in our demeanours kept her extra alert.  Her performance was always top notch but on an armed incident, it rose a few notches.

The crawl is a command Cara knew, but it bored her if it took too long to get anywhere.  Tonight was to test her patience and obedience to new levels.  Eight hundred metres in daylight, under normal circumstances is not very far.  A rifle bullet travels reasonably fast and for long distances, so all the risky scenarios made it a painful, slow journey to get close to the vehicle.  The mind and body are on high alert.  Cara is twitchy.  She is not keen on crawling and I cannot afford to use voice commands to make her behave.  After about 10 metres with me stopping ever couple to force her back to the crawl position, she settles down.  The motion is of seals on land heading for the water to traverse the distance.

The whole time I am trying to calculate how close I can get to the vehicle.  Once near the vehicle Cara sent forward to indicate if there is someone inside.  My problem is the only command I have for such a situation is “find and speak”.  Translated into human that means she is supposed to bark if she smells humans.  When Cara gets close to the car, I realise I am too far away to control the situation.  I stop her and seal crawl towards her.  This must be close enough.  This does not feel good.  The adrenaline is fair pumping.  My mind cannot afford to race, but there are so many possible scenarios ahead.  Coolness wins the day or in this case the night.

Cara goes forward.  She half crawls, half runs up to the car.  She springs to her feet and is about to bark when I give her the “drop” signal.  The split second it takes her to register what is going on felt like half an hour.  She dropped by the vehicle.  No barking!  Huge sigh of relief!

I signal her to come to me.  She just up and runs.  I had forgotten to tell her to crawl.  I signal the rifleman to come up to us.  We wait.  We wait and he arrives.  The radio turned off.

I whisper in his ears, sorry this is not a love scene.  We decide to crawl to the vehicle ourselves; he will take the left side and me the right.  From Cara’s reaction, I am sure the person(s) are in the back seat.  An eternity later, we are at the vehicle.  Looking towards each other under the vehicle we signal the one two three.  In other words, on three we leap into action.  Cara, still off her lead is beside me, even keeping her tail still at this critical time.

Three!  I leap up, pistol in hand and wrench open the back right door.  In pure reflect reaction timing my pistol drives into his right nostril, why I explain the weakness of his parenting and anatomy.  Between his legs is the loaded rifle, safety off.

Cara comes alive, barking her head madly.  I yank the rifle from between his legs and place it onto the road.  The offender, with pistol still assisting nostril breathing, removed from the car.  I pull the pistol back and tell him to lay face first on the ground.  Cara must not bite, but she is enjoying herself rearranging his clothes without a mark on his flesh.  Handcuffs are applied.  The rifleman has used the same technique, minus dog.  He calls up for the rest of the squad.

Six hours after leaving Hamilton I arrive back to pack up for the night.  I hear Senior Sergeant Don had gone home sick.  He lasted until the Whitianga apprehension of the offenders and then told one of the Sergeants to take over from him.  He left muttering something about he would never travel with that nutter “Howat” again.