Their adrenalin flows, they move in fast cars and are envied by other policemen. But, reports Mduduzi ka Harvey, flying squad cops are ill-rewarded for their hazardous work
IT is 7pm in a small office at the Brixton police station. Two men in their twenties carry out a final inspection of their instruments of war; the metallic clicks of the pistols echo through the room.
In the nearby houses families settle down for the night after a day of work or school. But for flying squad constables Jean Visser and Jacque Rabie work is just beginning.
It is a badly paying job — just a “tip”, they say, considering the risks.
“This is a scary job. Police morale could be raised by better salaries,” says Visser.
With guns checked and loaded, it’s out to the courtyard where bullet-proof vests are donned. The car is given a final check before heading into the hive of violence in the city.
Within minutes, as we enter Hillbrow, a message is relayed from the control room. “There’s a housebreaking in Highlands North — be careful, the criminals are armed.”
Immediately, the Weekly Mail & Guardian photographer and I are briefed: “When we get to the scene don’t get out of the car; keep your heads down because there could be a shootout.” I remember Soweto when the gangsters had “skiet terugs” with the police, and I ask myself: “What am I doing here?”
The siren starts blaring; guns are cocked. Visser engages second gear and the blue and white Opel Kadett is put to the test. The special driving lessons he took as part of the flying squad training course come in handy as he reaches speeds of 200km an hour.
Cars give way as we cut one red light after another at high speed, with navigator Rabie telling his partner “Gaan — dit is skoon.”
By the time we reach our destination another car is at the scene. I feel a surge of relief when we discover that there is no burglary — only a family squabble. We drive on through Norwood with calls constantly coming in and being dispatched to other cars.
The policemen start explaining their fears: “This is a dangerous life, one can get shot at any time,” says Rabie.
The death of two colleagues a few weeks earlier have created an added fear for the police. They explain how during a routine car check the two were held hostage by four armed men and shot with their service revolvers.
“We have escaped death a few times. Imagine a housebreaking in progress; the house is dark. The thieves can see us, we can’t see them. They can fire at any time. We just don’t know what to expect when we get to the scene,” says Rabie.
The next stop is Alexandra township. The policemen are visibly nervous: “It’s still early — later stolen cars flow into Alex. Here you don’t take a chance; the guys shoot back. And as soon as we get here the message goes through the bush telephone that we’re around,” Rabie explains.
He adds that Alexandra residents take pot shots at the police, and that the maze of shacks makes it difficult for the police to track down criminals. “These people just disappear in seconds here and you don’t know where to start looking,” says Visser.
We move to Bramley, where four suspicious-looking youths moving in a brand-new microbus are spotted. They avoid looking at the police and their hats suggest they are trying to cover their faces.
Rabie is immediately on the two-way radio asking for a computer check on the car and in seconds the owner is identified.
Gun in hand, Rabie orders the occupants out of the car. “Staan julle net daar!” he screams. “Hands on the car and don’t move!” shouts Visser anxiously.
The youths are shivering with fear as Rabie searches them and forages in the vehicle for weapons and drugs, as his partner watches with hawk-like alertness. “Dont move!” he shouts again.
The search turns up nothing and the youths are allowed to go. Instead of moving the constables wait for the microbus to disappear from view. “You never turn your back against criminals because they can return and shoot you,” explains Rabie.
Control calls in again to say that an alarm has been triggered at a house in Kelvin, that a burglary is suspected and that the perpetrators may be armed. After a nerve- wracking U-turn and a high speed drive, we reach the house.
The constables tell us to take cover as they jump over the steel gates. Minutes later a security company is on the scene, followed by police from the local police station.
“False alarm,” says Visser. Wasted adrenalin is part of the job: in 1993 they received 12 900 false alarms.
The squad continues patrolling Sandton, Turffontein, Bryanston, Yeoville, Hillbrow, Berea, Randburg, then moves to the periphery of Diepkloof in Soweto and Eldorado Park.
Midnight action begins as the emotionless voice from the control room calls in: “There’s been a shooting and an attempted burglary in Orange Grove. Five youths have been spotted; they’re armed.” Three minutes later we arrive at the scene
Other units are there. A group of police surround the youths: “Put down your guns next to you slowly and lie on your stomachs!” one policeman shouts.
The youths obey, but there is suppressed panic, as the police don’t know how many guns they have. A search is conducted while other members watch intently. A 7.65 and a toy gun converted into a .22 pistol are found.
The youths are questioned: “How old are you?” They all shout at once “17, 26, 27, 16.”
“Where’s your friend who escaped?” asks an officer. No response. “Julle sal praat,” he says.
A policeman tries Zulu: “Uhlala kuphi?” (where do you stay). The youth answers in broken Zulu.
“Ek sien mos, die man is van Mozambique af,” says the officer. (Oh I see — the man’s from Mozambique), after identifying the youth with his immunisation mark.
As the youths are bundled into the car and taken to the local police station, Rabie explains the difficulties the squad faces with foreigners: “We can’t get their true identities because we can’t trace their fingerprints,” he says.
At 4am Visser knocks off to go home and sleep, but Rabie has to continue patrolling until seven the next morning. Both men look drained by nine hours of continuous tension.
It is a hazardous, vital and poorly rewarded job. Says Visser: “I take home about R1 100 a month. My rent is R800 and I’m paying off a car. I’m very lucky if I have R50 to spend on myself at the end of the month — if my girlfriend wasn’t supporting me, I don’t know how I’d cope.”