EOD - Don't touch anything
Another job.
It's 1986. I'm deep in a North Point construction pit with an unexploded shell between my legs. John Rolison, a veteran bomb disposal officer with Northern Ireland service under his belt, shouts down to me.
"What do you reckon?"
The unearthed shell has a dented nose with the corroded fuze visible. Plus, the workers confirmed they'd lifted it in an excavator, then dropped the round into the pit—a fall of some 15 feet. My assessment was it's likely a dud. So I shouted my evaluation up to John.
"OK", came the reply from above. "Carry it up here."
And with that, he's gone. I felt very alone. I recognised this was a test. I'd made my assessment, now was I prepared to back my judgment by carrying the shell up the ladder.
As I emerged from the pit with the shell on my shoulder, John stood there grinning. With care, we loaded it into our vehicle, resting on a cradle of sandbags, then set off to the Shek O Quarry. A traffic police escort cleared the route. I later had the pleasure of destroying the shell with plastic explosives, sending a resounding bang across the bay to Stanley. What a buzz.
In a moment of lunacy, I volunteered for the EOD Cadre in 1983. So, after a successful selection interview, I'm enrolled in the introductory course. To defuse an 'improvised explosive device' (IEDs), you need to understand how the blighters get put together. And what better way to learn than by spending your time bomb-making.
I soon found myself in a workshop with many others, busy making bombs and applying our ingenuity. The aim is simple, try to blow each other up. But, of course, no one trusts us with real explosives, but we get access to EOD sounds units. These produce a loud retort, without any damage - but do get your attention.
The toilet seat lid gets wired up; door handles, cupboards, teacups, and even the first aid box. I became accomplished with a technique that allowed any movable objects to explode when touched. It's a fast, simple method but had the unfortunate downside of being tricky once armed. One careless move after arming - own goal!
Others perfected timers. One of which went off in my sports bag on the bus heading home, much to the shock of everyone around me.
I was in heaven. I'd graduated from juvenile fire-starter to paid adult bomber. Having become accomplished bomb-makers, we then moved to the range to handle explosives.
Working with plastic explosives (PE4), we learnt how to mould cutting charges to open up objects. Techniques to empty a car of its contents and spring the boot by remote means kept us enthralled. And throughout, a healthy fear of explosives is rammed home.
To reinforce the message about safe distances, the instructors left us a little too close on occasions. Also, we realised that blast flows like water to works its way around corners and under obstacles. The shock wave will play hell with hearing, disorientating you in the process. I soon learnt to keep my distance and add a bit more.
We always worked in pairs as we trained, using the tried and tested 'buddy system'. That way, you have two heads thinking about a problem as we move onto disruption techniques. Then, suddenly, all the bomb-making made sense. It allowed us to appreciate how a device came together. Thus, we could think about how we may attack it, plus the outcomes of our actions.
A significant benefit of EOD training is the adoption of structured thought processes. An organised system with distinct phases pauses, and constant reassessment takes hold. The task is under continuous review, determining likely outcomes and options. On a job, every move is deliberate, with intent and purpose. You learn never to touch anything if an alternative means are available to move it. The fact that your next move could kill you brings clarity of thought and design to all actions.
The favourite image of the EOD operator cutting the wire, red or blue, is a creation of the movie industry. Why would you be there to cut a wire that may detonate a bomb when you could use a remote option at a safe distance. We applied various tools to achieve this, including robots. These tools got better later in my EOD career.
All the training came to a head in a week of exercises. We played real-time, with deployments from the base to locations around Hong Kong. We worked all hours, had our sleep disrupted and faced actors who took joy in making our lives miserable. It was demanding stuff, which left me physically and emotionally wasted at the end of the day.
And the instructors were not about to let us get off easy. During one task, I'd neutralised a device on a playing field. Gleefully clearing up after a two-hour job, I made a fatal mistake. On my hands and knees gathering evidence, I'm bagging the debris for the forensic team.
I notice a bullet case lying in the grass. It looked innocent enough. Could one of the culprits have dropped it, or was it something left over from a previous exercise? I picked it up. Boom! A classic come-on. A secondary device in the bushes wasted me.
Rule number one: never touch anything at the scene until you've examined it.
Despite my death, I passed the course accredited as an EOD IED operator. Each year I went back to refresher training. Over time the classes became more demanding. We also got our hands on the fancy kit reserved for the full-time operators.
In 1985 I was assigned a task that caused a kafuffle with the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank. The Queen was due to open their new headquarters in Central. In preparation, an army search team cleared the venue. The building was then put under guard and secured overnight. I was the site EOD operator to deal with anything the searchers found.
The search was uneventful. So we stood down, intending to return the next day for a final check before the royal party arrived. The next day on arrival, I could see the ground floor plaza occupied by a piece of street furniture. This giant ornament was complete with running water and a power supply. Someone installed it during the night. We soon established it was uncleared.
What aroused suspicion was the fact the ornament had arrived from the UK, especially for the event. Having informed Police headquarters, I and my partner set about dismantling it. We wanted to see it was free of anything that may be a threat. In no time, an executive was complaining that I was ruining his expensive display. He demanded we stop.
The advance party of security personnel was arriving, including UK officers. Still, the HSBC executive continued to protest and evoke all sorts of consequences if we damaged the thing.
Then a UK officer intervened. He made it clear that the Queen would not be attending the venue unless we declared the ornament safe. Now, I had the HSBC executive making demands that I get on with the job.
We soon cleared it as safe, then managed to patch up the damage. In the end, the royal party arrived, entering the building without so much as a glance at the ornament.
I remained with the cadre until 1994 when my promotion to superintendent ruled me out for EOD work. I'd gone into the EOD Cadre because I thought it would be fun blowing up stuff. But, instead, I came out with better analysis skills and profound respect for anyone who takes that long walk to a device.
Real heroes, every one of them.
"What do you reckon?"
The unearthed shell has a dented nose with the corroded fuze visible. Plus, the workers confirmed they'd lifted it in an excavator, then dropped the round into the pit—a fall of some 15 feet. My assessment was it's likely a dud. So I shouted my evaluation up to John.
"OK", came the reply from above. "Carry it up here."
And with that, he's gone. I felt very alone. I recognised this was a test. I'd made my assessment, now was I prepared to back my judgment by carrying the shell up the ladder.
As I emerged from the pit with the shell on my shoulder, John stood there grinning. With care, we loaded it into our vehicle, resting on a cradle of sandbags, then set off to the Shek O Quarry. A traffic police escort cleared the route. I later had the pleasure of destroying the shell with plastic explosives, sending a resounding bang across the bay to Stanley. What a buzz.
In a moment of lunacy, I volunteered for the EOD Cadre in 1983. So, after a successful selection interview, I'm enrolled in the introductory course. To defuse an 'improvised explosive device' (IEDs), you need to understand how the blighters get put together. And what better way to learn than by spending your time bomb-making.
I soon found myself in a workshop with many others, busy making bombs and applying our ingenuity. The aim is simple, try to blow each other up. But, of course, no one trusts us with real explosives, but we get access to EOD sounds units. These produce a loud retort, without any damage - but do get your attention.
The toilet seat lid gets wired up; door handles, cupboards, teacups, and even the first aid box. I became accomplished with a technique that allowed any movable objects to explode when touched. It's a fast, simple method but had the unfortunate downside of being tricky once armed. One careless move after arming - own goal!
Others perfected timers. One of which went off in my sports bag on the bus heading home, much to the shock of everyone around me.
I was in heaven. I'd graduated from juvenile fire-starter to paid adult bomber. Having become accomplished bomb-makers, we then moved to the range to handle explosives.
Working with plastic explosives (PE4), we learnt how to mould cutting charges to open up objects. Techniques to empty a car of its contents and spring the boot by remote means kept us enthralled. And throughout, a healthy fear of explosives is rammed home.
To reinforce the message about safe distances, the instructors left us a little too close on occasions. Also, we realised that blast flows like water to works its way around corners and under obstacles. The shock wave will play hell with hearing, disorientating you in the process. I soon learnt to keep my distance and add a bit more.
We always worked in pairs as we trained, using the tried and tested 'buddy system'. That way, you have two heads thinking about a problem as we move onto disruption techniques. Then, suddenly, all the bomb-making made sense. It allowed us to appreciate how a device came together. Thus, we could think about how we may attack it, plus the outcomes of our actions.
A significant benefit of EOD training is the adoption of structured thought processes. An organised system with distinct phases pauses, and constant reassessment takes hold. The task is under continuous review, determining likely outcomes and options. On a job, every move is deliberate, with intent and purpose. You learn never to touch anything if an alternative means are available to move it. The fact that your next move could kill you brings clarity of thought and design to all actions.
The favourite image of the EOD operator cutting the wire, red or blue, is a creation of the movie industry. Why would you be there to cut a wire that may detonate a bomb when you could use a remote option at a safe distance. We applied various tools to achieve this, including robots. These tools got better later in my EOD career.
All the training came to a head in a week of exercises. We played real-time, with deployments from the base to locations around Hong Kong. We worked all hours, had our sleep disrupted and faced actors who took joy in making our lives miserable. It was demanding stuff, which left me physically and emotionally wasted at the end of the day.
And the instructors were not about to let us get off easy. During one task, I'd neutralised a device on a playing field. Gleefully clearing up after a two-hour job, I made a fatal mistake. On my hands and knees gathering evidence, I'm bagging the debris for the forensic team.
I notice a bullet case lying in the grass. It looked innocent enough. Could one of the culprits have dropped it, or was it something left over from a previous exercise? I picked it up. Boom! A classic come-on. A secondary device in the bushes wasted me.
Rule number one: never touch anything at the scene until you've examined it.
Despite my death, I passed the course accredited as an EOD IED operator. Each year I went back to refresher training. Over time the classes became more demanding. We also got our hands on the fancy kit reserved for the full-time operators.
In 1985 I was assigned a task that caused a kafuffle with the Hong Kong & Shanghai Bank. The Queen was due to open their new headquarters in Central. In preparation, an army search team cleared the venue. The building was then put under guard and secured overnight. I was the site EOD operator to deal with anything the searchers found.
The search was uneventful. So we stood down, intending to return the next day for a final check before the royal party arrived. The next day on arrival, I could see the ground floor plaza occupied by a piece of street furniture. This giant ornament was complete with running water and a power supply. Someone installed it during the night. We soon established it was uncleared.
What aroused suspicion was the fact the ornament had arrived from the UK, especially for the event. Having informed Police headquarters, I and my partner set about dismantling it. We wanted to see it was free of anything that may be a threat. In no time, an executive was complaining that I was ruining his expensive display. He demanded we stop.
The advance party of security personnel was arriving, including UK officers. Still, the HSBC executive continued to protest and evoke all sorts of consequences if we damaged the thing.
Then a UK officer intervened. He made it clear that the Queen would not be attending the venue unless we declared the ornament safe. Now, I had the HSBC executive making demands that I get on with the job.
We soon cleared it as safe, then managed to patch up the damage. In the end, the royal party arrived, entering the building without so much as a glance at the ornament.
I remained with the cadre until 1994 when my promotion to superintendent ruled me out for EOD work. I'd gone into the EOD Cadre because I thought it would be fun blowing up stuff. But, instead, I came out with better analysis skills and profound respect for anyone who takes that long walk to a device.
Real heroes, every one of them.
