Ever had one of those days?

Sometimes I wonder why I do this job.

If you thought being a traffic cop was just about driving fast cars, getting a suntan on your right arm and issuing speeding tickets you'd be wrong. Apart from attending serious and fatal accidents, trying to keep an antiquanted road network going and issuing all those summonses and tickets traffic cops also attend and deal with every other policing situation you can imagine. Unexploded bombs, fires, chemical spills, drunks, drugged people, suicides, fights, robberies, muggings, burglaries and of course every officers favourite the "Domestic Dispute."

So it was that last night I found myself nearest patrol to the "Domestic Dispute." Not only nearest, but also the only available patrol. A male was reported trying to kick the door in at a property. Approaching the scene I passed a male on the street nearby, casually dressed in clothing which suited a nightclub nearby frequented by the student fraternity - a grey hoody, jeans, long hair, 7 stone wet through - typical mosha! Certainly not the type to be kicking a door in, you would have thought. He was smoking a fag, and only gave me a casual glance as I drove by.

Arriving at the address I found what appeared to be two young women in the house, with the windows trashed and both in a distressed state. They quickly calmed down as a result of my unique brusque approach and described the very lad I had seen as the offender. He was, as expected the boyfriend of one of the ladies, who despite my initial appraisal turned out not to be a lady after all but a young man! (although many a jury would be fooled!)

With the description obtained I set off to locate the villain of the piece, confident that he would be hanging about around the corner where I had last seen him. Sure enough, he was lurking in a ginnel, yards from whwere I had last seen him. Unfortunatley he chose to run.
Now any criminal will tell you he has a greater chance of escaping than being caught. There are many reasons for this. Firstly, he is generally 20 or so years the juniour of the person chasing him. He has the fear of being caught which spurs him on. He is dressed in a street clothing - trainers and a tracksuit, whilst the bloke chasing him has about a stone and a half of stab vest and belt equipment to carry and is wearing boots. Plus he is on his own turf and knows the area far better than the flat foot chasing him. He probably hasn't just eaten a 10" Meat Feast pizza either, although there is an odds on chance he has drunk a few cans of Stella.

He ran down the tenfoot behind the houses, and not being drawn in to a chase over uneven surfaces I ran on the pavement in front of the houses instead, hoping to cut him off at the next alley. Running into said alley there was no sign of him, but I knew there was another track that ran at right angles towards a large park and waste ground area and ran that way. Sure enough after a short while I could see him running ahead of me, and I was gaining.

Now comes the problem. In a motor pursuit you have streets and landmarks to give your location. Running across a disused railway line in the dark with nothing but trees and grassland you very quickly loose your bearings. The suspect darted into a wooded copse, and disappeared from view. Experience tells me that in this position the best thing to do is stand still at the place you last saw him, and try and melt intot the shadows. Chances are, the suspect is out of breath, not far off and trying to do exactly the same thing, whilst trying to hide. I asked for a dog unit - as always several minutes away, and air support - the helicopter was at base 20 miles away but would launch and assist.

Rummaging aropund the bushes and trees my brain suddenly kicked into gear - hadn't the original emergency call said he was armed with a knife? So, let me get this right. I didn't know where I was, I was in the dark, on my own, with no immediate air support, no ground support and I didn't know where the suspect was. He could have escaped, or he could be 4 feet away, deciding where exactly to skewer me. Why was I so keen to catch up with a man armed with knife? All I have is a blunt metal baton - which is probably shorter than his knife!

Things did not improve with the arrival of the helicopter. I had been able to direct it into the wasteland, with a vague idea of where I was - I could see a large chimney nearby and the live railway line that crossed the disused line, plus a housing estate that borders the area, so I could sort of orientate where I was. But how to describe where I was? Normally, in these circumstances I would flash a torch to show the helicopter my position, and give them a staring point to work from. A fine idea in principle, but my million candle power torch was safely stowed on the back seat of the patrol car - now about a mile away. All I had was small hand held LED torch, which at about an inch diameter gave off the same sort of glow as an exhausted glow worm. being LED t gave off almost no heat, so even thermal imaging cameras on the chopper couldn't pick me up easily. Incredibly, after three false starts the chopper crew picked up the faint glow, and began an air search of the area.

At the same time the canine unit arrived, and began a ground search of the shubbery the suspect had last been seen in.

It is perhaps a good time to mention that police dogs, although highly trained, are trained by police officers. They spend many hours attacking police officers - but it's training, and done safely. They do not understand the difference between training and reality. They also do not understand the difference between an officer wearing a heavy protective leather training sleeve and one who is wearing nothing more than a short sleeved polo shirt. They are trained to "hold" a suspect by barking at him, and will only attack and bite if the suspect runs or shows aggression. So, when a police officer, holding a defensive baton, locates the suspect and challenges him to come out of the bushes or be struck by the baton, the police dog sees a man acting aggressively and holding a weapon. It therefore follows it's training and attacks.
I can tell you now it takes a brave man to stand still and face several stone of German Shepherd, particularly one which seemingly has more teeth then Jaws had, when it launches itself at you, grabs an arm and decides to shake. The impulse is to hit it with your baton, or try and run away - but that is the last thing you want to do, as it will only get more aggressive. The best thing to do is stand still and maybe wimper a bit, possibly even cry. It's okay to cry when you have 6 stone of teeth hanging on your arm trying to rip it out of the socket.

Many anglo saxon words were spoken before the dog handler arrived on the scene and commanded the dog to release me. By now the suspect had fled again, and in the melee and confusion I have no idea where he went. I was busy being bitten by friendly fire at the time. I beleive I will heal without a scar.

To really cap the night off it turned out to be one of those domestics where, despite being threatened with a knife, and having his windows trashed the complainant did not want any police action - because he still loves him!

Like I said, sometimes I wonder why I do this job!