20/12/2025
Copied from a police community page.
Very impactful. 💙💙💙💙💙
COPS ARE TOPS
You arrive at work on a Sunday afternoon.
Not early. Not late. One of those shifts that blends into night.
Locker first. Past a couple of mates in the corridor.
Quick banter. “Did you see the surf this morning?”
Someone jokes about dinner plans. Someone else complains about the heat.
Uniform on. Kit bag ready.
Gun room. Keys out. Pistol unlocked.
Rack. Rack. Rack.
Magazine loaded. Field check. Holstered.
Twelve months in. Still new. Still learning how fast a day can change.
Out onto the station floor. You stop at the supervisor’s desk.
“What am I on today, Sarge?”
“You’re on 15.”
First response.
The truck.
You find your partner. Settle in. Seatbelt clicks.
You talk about nothing, the weather, the family BBQ you just left, the trip coming up. Ordinary life. Safe life.
The sun is still hanging low.
Then the radio crackles.
Two long beeps. A voice calm but urgent.
“Eastern suburbs vehicles, cars in the area. Reports of armed offenders at Bondi Beach. Multiple calls. Shots fired into crowds.”
The words hit like a blow.
You stop mid-sentence.
Gear grabbed. Door open. Engine started.
Lights on. Sirens pierce the afternoon calm.
The truck surges forward towards Bondi Beach.
The radio explodes, cars calling from every direction. Someone already on scene. Their voice tight, clipped, urgent.
Heart hammering. Mouth dry. Hands slick.
Slow your breathing.
Think. What do I do first?
As you close in, you see them.
People running, screaming, dropping bags, phones, shoes. Faces you don’t even recognise, but instantly know.
People scream at you with what can only be described as a Primal scream, begging you to help their daughter who has just been shot. You must move on. You must stop the killing.
Then you hear it.
A sharp crack.
Another.
And another.
Gunfire.
This is it.
You are it.
People need you.
Everything narrows. The world shrinks to what’s in front of you.
You’re out of the truck before you remember opening the door. Boots hit sand and concrete. Someone screams behind you. People scatter wildly across grass and beach.
Videos later showed two men firing down from a concrete pedestrian footbridge near Archer Park above the northern end of the beach, unleashed into a crowd gathered for the Chanukah by the Sea celebration that had begun hours earlier.
“Contact front.”
You don’t remember saying it, only hearing it.
The shots keep coming.
Crowds fling themselves for cover, friends clutching friends, strangers dragging strangers, the air thick with panic.
Your pistol feels heavier than it ever has.
Not comfort.
Responsibility.
You move anyway.
Hands steady, somehow, despite the tremor in your arms. Vision narrowing, then widening as you force air into your lungs. In. Out. In. Out.
“Police! Get down! Get out!”
You don’t know who hears you. You just keep shouting.
Your partner is beside you. Close enough to feel without looking. You don’t need to look.
Fear hasn’t vanished. It’s tucked itself behind focus.
There’s no hero moment. No speech in your head.
Just one brutal truth repeating:
If you stop moving, someone else doesn’t make it home.
So you keep moving.
Into noise.
Into chaos.
Into something that will stay with you long after the sun goes down.
By the time it was over, two gunmen, later confirmed to be a father and son had fired more than 100 rounds. One was killed at the scene; the other was taken into custody in critical condition.
At least 16 innocent people lost their lives, ranging in age from children to elders, and dozens more were wounded. Families, friends, strangers simply enjoying a Sunday evening.
And when it’s over when the adrenaline drains and the dust settles the world will talk. Analyse. Judge from living rooms, comment sections, armchairs.
But before anyone decides what an officer should have done, remember this:
Judgment from the outside is always easier than choice made in the heat of chaos.
