The officers around me were wry, and amused, and simply waited for the youths to get out the way. 

I used the time to think about how I’d got myself into this mess. What had seemed like a good idea while I was dreaming up the research was fast losing its charm.

We really were going out to face dangerous criminals with guns. Violent men who would be scared and determined to escape, and who, presumably, would have no compunction about shooting at me in my under-sized bullet-proof vest.

Was getting a story out of this really worth it?

I paid more attention to the police around me. How could they possibly be so calm driving into a battle zone?

What would it take to be that courageous, to act without question, with full knowledge of what you’d be facing?

Why would you choose to do this when you could be in a normal job and be thinking about football, women, or the pub?

What was it like to live knowing you could kill someone before the day was done?

The kids finally draggled past the car, and the driver hit the accelerator, and we were off. 

I looked at the teenagers’ faces as we passed, and saw the contempt they had for the car, and the officers.

As we raced through the backstreets, all I could to was consider what it must feel like to be part of SO19. To be part of a crew of people who were, truly the last resort. 

Who were only called when all normal methods of containing violence had failed. 

Who were, clearly and obviously, prepared to lay down their lives without murmur to protect members of the public they would mostly never meet, and who would often hate them while they did it… 

If it’s not too fanciful, that was a watershed in my life.

That was the moment I fell in love with the police.

That day I became convinced I needed to write their story.

All the other things I heard about the police later on, good and bad, only strengthened that determination…

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