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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Dodson, Bill, 1959.
The sharp end.
ISBN 0 7329 1086 2.
1. Dodson, Bill, 1959. 2. Police New South Wales Special weapons and tactics units. 3. Police New South Wales Biography. I. Title. 363.32092
Copyright 2012 William Dodson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1456403753
ISBN-13: 9781456403751
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-018-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010917786
CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC
The Sharp End is dedicated to Dennise, Jessica, Tony Suhan and written in memory of Deputy Superintendent Mark Russo, Senior Constable Peter Tickle and Constable First-Class Juan Carlos Hernandez R.I.P.
Proceeds from sales of The Sharp End are donated to the Our House Cancer Accommodation Project, Lismore Base Hospital. NSW. Australia.
Visit the foundation @ www.ourhouse.org.au
Contact the author
www.thesharpend-williamdodson.com.au
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I t had to come sooner or later, it was inevitable. The event Id been gearing myself up for since joining the Malabar Emergency Unit (MEU) ten months ago had arrived. The 8th of September 1985 was a crisp, clear spring day and around midday the MEU was placed on stand-by following numerous reports that things were hotting up at Long Bays Central Industrial Prison. The gaol was at boiling point due to severe overcrowding and the fact that, during the past few months, five prison officers had been assaulted. During this time the MEU had been placed on stand-by several times only to be stood down without getting a start.
Katingals close proximity to the Central Industrial Prison made it the ideal location for the command post and holding area. Following the briefing, we were grouped into six-man squads and I was given the job as one of my squads gas men. This meant that as well as my normal riot equipment I would be carrying a shoulder bag containing ten types of tear-gas grenades. The other gas man was the squad leader and he was equipped with a Federal gas gun that was capable of firing various types of tear-gas projectiles.
Once the squads were sorted out, we continued going over the relevant gaol-riot plans until we knew them backwards. To eliminate any last-minute hiccups I double-checked my gear and adjusted the pins on my gas grenades so that I could deploy them quickly under stress. The squad leader was one of the most experienced operators in the MEU and he was the only member of the squad with any previous gaol-riot experience the rest of us were cleanskins. The units senior men continued to reassure the younger, inexperienced operators by telling us what to expect and insisting that everything would be fine as long as we worked together as a team and stuck to the gaol-riot plan.
Although we were first-timers, and petrified at the thought of what awaited us inside the Central Industrial Prison, none of us were about to let anyone down, least of all ourselves. Each of us had worked very hard over the past ten months and had earned the right to be there, and we were ready to do whatever we had to do to get the job done.
I looked around the holding area and took comfort from the composition of the other squads: there were plenty of seasoned veterans on deck to lead the way. The time passed slowly as I waited nervously for the prisons lunchtime lock-in, which came and went without incident. The next deadline was the evening lock-in, scheduled to take place at approximately 4 p.m.
The tension continued to mount as the deadline approached and the squads were ordered to stand to. You could sense the urgency of the men as they quickly geared up and completed one final comms (communications) check before declaring themselves ready to go; after five hours of waiting around on stand-by the squads were edgy and ready to roll. I could feel the adrenaline starting to kick in and took a series of long, deep breaths in an effort to try to steady myself. As I stood waiting, I could hear the filter diaphragms on my M17 gas mask as they flapped open and shut to the rhythm of my breathing pattern. I pushed everything out of my mind, and concentrated solely on the riot plans and the personal tasks Id been assigned during the briefing. After all, these were what would get me through in the end.
At around 4 p.m. the call wed been waiting for came through from the Central Industrial Prison. It was on. There were 400 maximum security crims standing out on the prison square, refusing to go back to their cells for the evening lock-in. As a precautionary measure, the prison guard had been stepped up in the towers and also above the gaol gatehouse. Issued with Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifles and extra ammunition, these officers brief was to bolster the security of the goal perimeter and provide overall containment. The stage was now set.
With the seriousness of the situation confirmed, things began to escalate rapidly as the squads were ordered to board the idling vehicles that were standing by in the compound. The drivers threw them into gear and red-lined them as we roared out of the compound and headed towards the Central Industrial Prison. Within three minutes we were de-bussed and formed up outside the gaols main gate, ready to go in. After a brief wait the squads were directed to move inside the gaol gatehouse, and as we entered we caught our first glimpses of the shit-fight that was unfolding. Every crim in the gaol stood assembled at the far end of the square, a number of them screaming out for us to come in and have a go. The superintendent of the Central Industrial Prison had formally acknowledged that the gaol was out of control and he had handed over responsibility to the superintendent of the special response units.
Emu, the officer-in-charge of the MEU, directed us to move from the gatehouse and form up inside the gaol proper. I felt the adrenaline kick in even harder, my heart was thumping like a bass drum. Once inside the gaol the squads formed up in an extended line formation across the front of the square, directly facing the defiant inmates standing at the opposite end. At this point my body was in overdrive and I continued to suck in the big ones in an effort to get as much air as possible into my lungs. My chest was heaving; sweat running freely down my face, a pool of water was forming in the bottom of my M17 gas mask.
The atmosphere was electric as the 400 maximum-security prisoners stood there yelling and screaming abuse at us, some wearing handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses in an effort to reduce the effects of the tear gas. This was it. You could sense it. There would be no standing down from this one without a fight.
The squads watched on while the superintendent of the special response units directed the rioters to move peacefully into the adjoining yards. The crims ignored the direction and with this the superintendent gave the final proclamation that physical force and chemical agents (tear gas) would be used to restore order to the gaol. All the talk in the world wasnt going to change a thing now. Negotiations had failed and the crims had made up their minds, leaving us with no other option than to use force.
