Foot Chase

One of the laws of Policing is that whenever you get a group of coppers with any experience together, especially if there is alchohol present, the war stories will start coming out.

Some of them are even true and not embellished with layer upon layer of fabrication.

A tendency at times like this, is to approach these stories slightly cautiously, especially if you don't know the group as well as you could.
A lot of the stories start with "This copper I once knew..."

This reminded me of a similar one - about a copper I used to work with, a grizzled old sweat who had been there, seen that, and done it all. With an almost superhuman ability to drink tea and coffee.

Although I have talked about my experiences with both vehicle pursuits and foot chases here and here, I also had one of my first ever foot chases with this guy.

Mark had been tasked to sit in a road that had newly been made a one way street, and stop and "advise" people that were ignoring this and roaring through anyway. It had previously been used as a cut through and after a few near misses the residents had understandably complained.
Filled with the kind of glee that only a thirty year copper can feel when tasked with a job like this, he collared me and brought me along to join in the excitement.

It was actually a great job - a lovely sunny day, no paperwork as we were 'advising,' not sticking people on. Sitting there in shirt sleeves, no vests, and being brought cold drinks by the residents - grateful that for once the Police had listened to their requests.

After about two hours, a little Peugeot turned into the road ignoring the no entry sign and barrelled towards us. I shuffled out from the cul-de-sac where we were parked up, and raised my hand. No response. And I was even wearing my hat. The cheek.

The car continued on its merry way, leaving nothing but a trail of exhaust smoke and the smell of a car that hadn't had its oil checked for some time.
I of course used my literally weeks of experience to leap into action, and so stood there, arm still outraised with my mouth doing a very good impression of a goldfish.

The area car thrummed alongside me, and Mark said "are we going after it, or are you hoping he's going to change his mind and come back?"
I snapped out of my little moment, and clambered in to the passengers seat. Mark hit the blues and I felt the surge as the kick down pushed us back in our seats.
"Shall I call it in?"
Mark had a grim look on his face: "Nope, he'll stop. He's not going to get away from us in that."
Sure enough, the car turned a quick right out of the road, and as we caught up and did the same it came to a sudden stop.
The driver, obviously a local with knowledge of the area, leapt out at a run and headed down an alleyway that ran along the back gardens of the houses.
I jumped out as well, as did Mark. I was positively shaking with the adrenalin and excitement, and held the radio in my hand like a sword of justice and truth.

Running up the path, I shouted some unintelligable nonsense into the radio about the foot chase. Mark later told me that he kindly translated for the control room so that they could understand what I was trying to say.
Whatever, I could hear units answer up and start to make their way, and even heard two tones in the distance. Other than that, all I was interested in was the suspect ahead.
This was before my night duty diet consisted purely of kebabs, so I felt pretty good about catching the suspect. Now it will depend purely on whether it is before or after I've eaten - I keep myself relatively fit and can still do the shield run in sub two minutes, but after a kebab I need time to adjust...

On this occasion, I hadn't eaten and was desperate to get this fella.
As we ran along the alleyway, a man came wondering out of a side turning further along, with a dog on a lead. Bald, with the traditional string vest tucked in beneath an impressive stomach. He didn't even factor into my thinking.
Not so for Mark. He took this opportunity to utilise a skill he picked up as a Sergeant in the army: a bellow so loud and deep that even in my blue funk, I heard it clearly. "Stop him! He's a rapist!"

String Vest didn't hesitate for second. With surprising agility, he swung and kicked the suspect in the shins, knocking him straight to the ground. Me and Mark ran up, and leapt on him to apply the cuffs.
"Thanks" I managed to pant out. String Vest didn't even break his stride and stepped over us struggling to get the cuffs on, quietly saying as he did so "You're doing a splendid job lads."

The Dreaming

I was planning to write this post as a "true" post then explain at the end it was a dream... but that is such a cop out.

So, truth is, this is not something that has happened to me. It is a re-ocurring dream I have, one that is amazingly real. When I wake up I wake up thinking it has happened, and for hours I still think of it as a memory, not a dream.

In it I'm on patrol with an officer from my nick, a guy I've known for years who is one of my favourite coppers to work with, call him Howard. We close up behind a clapped out Peugeout 306, big bore exhaust and stuck on spoiler in full view. The two occupants ignore us at first as we drive down the hill. Then they start to twist round to look at us. The Pug speeds up and Howard hits the blues. The car doesn't stop and speeds up.

We hit a junction at the bottom of the hill, the Peugeot pulls a sharp left and comes to a stop, holding up traffic and almost causing a pile up. Howard pulls the car to a stop as well, slightly further ahead than the Pug as we weren't expecting this.

Both occupants bail out, the passenger I'm not interested in, it's the driver I want, a white male in his twenties. I'm not on the radio, Howard is calling this in. The driver runs up a slope on a small road off the junction, he's about thirty feet ahead of me when he stops and pulls out a handgun.

It's black, it's a Glock, I recognise that much. I see him raise it and point it directly at me, and on autopilot I yank my asp out and rack it, knowing how futile that is, frozen to the spot.

His face is wrinkled in hatred, a face I've seen many times before. He fires, I hear the shot and see a flash, Jesus I'm scared. I turn and start to run, looking over my shoulder I see him standing still pointing the gun, I drop the asp realising that it's useless now, just extra weight I don't need.

I run behind a car with its windows shattered, hoping to make it to the police car. As I do I hear another shot, followed almost immediately by a thud as the bullet hits my back through the vest, almost directly between the shoulder blades and I fall to the floor.

I shout out, a swear word I'm sure, and my God it hurts... then of course I wake up, sweating and shouting. And my back still bloody hurts!

After this I get up, have some food, and watch TV until it's time to get up. Or go on the internet and look at blogs... Not much point in trying to get back to sleep, don't want to wake the neighbours up again.


My point (yes, there is one) is this: Would I keep having this dream, over and over again on a regular basis if my real life situation was different? What if instead of instinctively reaching for my asp I was reaching for my gun? What if I could get a shot off before he got another go? Would I be as terrified?

Answers on a postcard to the usual address.


I could just stop drinking Vodka before bed of course...

Fail to stop... Foot Pursuit

Previously, on The Bill…

Area had spotted likely lads in a car.

The car had not stopped for him.

Area had tried to keep his calm whilst the chase continued.

The likely lads had bailed out.

The story continues…


I leapt out of the car, adrenalin properly kicking in. I actually quite enjoy foot pursuits sometimes, as I’m relatively fit (compared to some coppers), and am reasonable at running.
It’s also one of the times I feel like a proper policeman, a running uniformed Police Officer actually gets noticed and people get out of the way for them.

Unfortunately I knew this could be a problem. It was night time and I was in an area I didn’t know. I started to run after the driver, and shouted up on the radio. Our poor borough controllers, who had not been aware of the chase as I was chasing on the mainset were treated to an overexcited PC shouting “Chasing suspects on foot, I think it’s Dowling Woods, I went shooting here once I think.” I’m never one to miss a chance to talk about inanities.

Our control came back, “Er… received. That’s not on our ground is it? …(long pause on an open carrier)… Er, the controller thinks it may not be even on Met ground.”

Great. Just what I didn’t want to hear. You can’t sigh when running at full pelt, but I made a valiant attempt at it and started coughing.

So… Scary chase? Check. No back up? Check. Out of our area? Check. Unsure of precise location? Check. Possibly out of my force area? Check. As long as my radio holds out, I should at least be able to keep containment until dogs or local units arrive.

You can see the punchline coming, can’t you?

The radio in my hand tailed out into a fuzz of static and silence – the old met radios weren’t designed to be used off borough. I had no way of stopping and changing channel, wasn’t even sure if I had the best channels in the set or what would be the closest met district. The suspect stopped and turned to look as he ducked under a tree. I threw my radio at him.

Possibly not the best move of the night, even I will admit.

The suspect ducked under the tree and I stumbled after him – I couldn’t work out how it had managed to be a dry day yet my boots and trousers were getting covered in mud. My arse, realising that it had been kept out of the action so far, decided to join in and went down to have a look at the mud as I clambered down an incline. Twice. At least I was vaguely camouflaged, being now semi covered in mud. I fumbled on my belt as I ran, and then the real humiliation started – I had to call 999 on my mobile phone. And explain that I was lost. With no radio. And yes, I am on duty, not off duty.

Dramatically, the suspect fell over an unseen obstacle in front of me, and as the woman on the end of the line was still talking I hung up and jumped on top of him. He didn’t even try and fight, and I cuffed him feeling pretty pleased with myself. I went to pick up my radio to inform them I had one detained, then realised I hadn’t got my radio. Sigh. Back to the mobile phone and the wonderful 999 system. I explained the situation, and they found the linked CADs (calls created), then came the killer. “Do you still need units to assist?” Er, no, not exactly. “Are there suspects outstanding?” No idea, I’ve got mine. “Why have you called back?” Er, I’m lost. I can’t find my car…

The final insult? Getting back to the vehicles, minus radio, phone out of battery, missing parts of ripped uniform covered in mud from head to toe after my chase, my frequent falls and the subsequent dramatic leap on to the suspect.

And being made to sit in the back of the cage with the prisoner in the station van as no one would let me in the car with them.

The things I do for this blog.