Fifteen minutes left of slow 2/10 shift.
We were parked at the top of Church Street, Preston, windows down, doing what we did best, watching the girls queue for Tokyo Joe’s.
There were two radio bands in the car, one operated by our local station, the other came direct from the big house. It was they that breathed the pure oxygen of HQ that sparked us into life at 2145 hrs on that balmy summer night.
When the operator ordered us to Burnley, and gave us authority to arm all in the same sentence, we figured we had a live one.
I was in the passenger seat, Big Al, who is almost kneeling in the picture by the way, was driving.
He was excellent behind the wheel, and I got on with prepping the weapons as he drove along the M65 at 140 mph.
My task was made more difficult, as HQ were busy both on the radio and the phone in an attempt to brief us before we arrived on the scene.
Apparently, three males, all of Afro-Caribbean appearance, had been stopped in a car by a local uniformed officer. The driver had pulled an SLP on the young unarmed Cop, all ran off on foot.
Bravely, the young officer gave chase, but lost the men in the warren of back streets.
When we arrived, we were deployed to the end of an alley that ran between two rows of terraces.
The officer in charge believed that the men, at least one of whom was armed, were hiding in the back yards of the terraces.
Al and I had an agreement about how a weapon would be handed to each other. The pistols were loaded and in a holster ready to clip to your belt, but the Mp5 was delivered with the mag inserted, racked back, safety on.
We took up our positions, knocked the action forward and settled in.
Over the next two hours, four ARV crew members and a dog handler, searched the rear yards, starting at the furthest point from us.
By the time they had reached the Yard that Al and I were standing next to, they had arrested two of the men, but not the man with the gun.
One yard left.
It was a typical northern back yard. High wall all around, solid gate.
We sent in a very hairy dog first.
He didn’t indicate the presence of anyone.
I took point, Al dropped in behind me. Nice clean tidy yard, all white walls.
Outside loo at the bottom, door closed.
I cleared it.
Then, as I stepped back, I noticed movement to my left. What I’d missed, was, the tidy occupant, had made a little screen for his dustbin, and hiding behind it, was our man.
It was what Fergie would call ‘squeaky bum time.’
All considered, we did our bit, and he was locked up.
The job was a success. Three arrests, a weapon and large amount of cash recovered.
There was a bit of back slapping afterwards, and when I finally got home at 0700hrs, I still couldn’t sleep.
This picture was taken very close to that event.
Good times.
Robert
Robert White 