action, he knew full well that when he fired, his hands would be ripped off first before the force of the blast continued, taking his head from his shoulders. He felt the pressure of Johnson’s foot ease slightly from his chest. Dave hadn’t realised that he had closed his eyes waiting for the blast which hadn’t come so far. He looked up and saw the gunman look away from him out of the windscreen of the wagon. A sort of distant look as though he was thinking; weighing up his options. The situation had changed dramatically during the last few minutes and he looked around the cab surveying the damage.
Johnson was now fully aware that the police would have been tracking the lorry for some time. It suddenly dawned on him that what he thought were the innocuous comments of a frightened copper when he was making references to ‘Switch Island’ and ‘stopping at the Burtonwood services’ earlier in the journey were nothing of the kind. This clever bastard was actually giving directions to the listening ears as to where they were heading.
The pain in Dave’s chest intensified again as Johnson exerted more pressure with his foot. Plans would have to change he thought. If he killed his captive now, he would surely die as well. He had no doubt that somewhere close by would be a number of firearms officers and marksmen. They probably weren’t in a position yet to take him out as the situation had only just changed, but he knew it wouldn’t take long. They would quickly block off the Motorway, take out the tyres to prevent him moving and take great delight in killing him. Particularly if he had killed one of their own, there was no way, even if he tried to surrender, that they would let him live.
The inquest would surely be told by the firearms officer that I had made a sudden and threatening movement and, even though I had thrown out my shotgun, he believed I was armed with another gun and shot me because, ‘I thought he was about to shoot at me, another officer, or a member of the public and I shot him in order to prevent further loss of life.’
Still, whilst the situation had changed dramatically, he was now quite sure that they wouldn’t be listening any more as he eyed the shattered remnants of the police radio. He looked back at Dave.
‘ What d’ya mean you can drive?’
‘ I was in the army for six years before joining the police. Before you leave, you can do loads of things so you can get a job in civvy street. I did a resettlement course; they taught me to drive fork lift trucks and lorries. I can drive us out of here. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll get us there.’
The control rooms obviously weren’t aware of any of this conversation as a consequence of the smashed radio. They had watched the live pictures as the lorry driver had stumbled from the cab. They had heard the blast and seen the window explode. They had even seen the two cartridge shells flying through the air as a result of the helicopter’s powerful camera. Nobody knew whether or not he was alive or dead, for the last few minutes, there had been only silence. Only two people were aware that Dave had survived the blast and they were both in the cab of the wagon.
Johnson knew that he had to make himself as small a target as possible. He didn’t know whether or not any one could see into the cab. ‘When I climb onto the bunk, you slide over onto the driver’s seat. If you fuck about, you will die. Understood?’
‘ Yes, I understand what you’re saying’ said Dave having noticed the emphasis the gunman had placed on the word ‘will’.
Dave rubbed at his eyes. ‘I can’t see properly with the blood coming down my face. It’s running into my eyes. Can I have a few minutes to sort myself out before we move?’
‘ You’ve got five minutes’ said Johnson as he settled back in the bunk and Dave was only too aware that the twin barrels of the shotgun were only inches away, trained on his head. He looked in the driver’s
Johnson was now fully aware that the police would have been tracking the lorry for some time. It suddenly dawned on him that what he thought were the innocuous comments of a frightened copper when he was making references to ‘Switch Island’ and ‘stopping at the Burtonwood services’ earlier in the journey were nothing of the kind. This clever bastard was actually giving directions to the listening ears as to where they were heading.
The pain in Dave’s chest intensified again as Johnson exerted more pressure with his foot. Plans would have to change he thought. If he killed his captive now, he would surely die as well. He had no doubt that somewhere close by would be a number of firearms officers and marksmen. They probably weren’t in a position yet to take him out as the situation had only just changed, but he knew it wouldn’t take long. They would quickly block off the Motorway, take out the tyres to prevent him moving and take great delight in killing him. Particularly if he had killed one of their own, there was no way, even if he tried to surrender, that they would let him live.
The inquest would surely be told by the firearms officer that I had made a sudden and threatening movement and, even though I had thrown out my shotgun, he believed I was armed with another gun and shot me because, ‘I thought he was about to shoot at me, another officer, or a member of the public and I shot him in order to prevent further loss of life.’
Still, whilst the situation had changed dramatically, he was now quite sure that they wouldn’t be listening any more as he eyed the shattered remnants of the police radio. He looked back at Dave.
‘ What d’ya mean you can drive?’
‘ I was in the army for six years before joining the police. Before you leave, you can do loads of things so you can get a job in civvy street. I did a resettlement course; they taught me to drive fork lift trucks and lorries. I can drive us out of here. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll get us there.’
The control rooms obviously weren’t aware of any of this conversation as a consequence of the smashed radio. They had watched the live pictures as the lorry driver had stumbled from the cab. They had heard the blast and seen the window explode. They had even seen the two cartridge shells flying through the air as a result of the helicopter’s powerful camera. Nobody knew whether or not he was alive or dead, for the last few minutes, there had been only silence. Only two people were aware that Dave had survived the blast and they were both in the cab of the wagon.
Johnson knew that he had to make himself as small a target as possible. He didn’t know whether or not any one could see into the cab. ‘When I climb onto the bunk, you slide over onto the driver’s seat. If you fuck about, you will die. Understood?’
‘ Yes, I understand what you’re saying’ said Dave having noticed the emphasis the gunman had placed on the word ‘will’.
Dave rubbed at his eyes. ‘I can’t see properly with the blood coming down my face. It’s running into my eyes. Can I have a few minutes to sort myself out before we move?’
‘ You’ve got five minutes’ said Johnson as he settled back in the bunk and Dave was only too aware that the twin barrels of the shotgun were only inches away, trained on his head. He looked in the driver’s
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