CZ Charlie Zulu, my mate.

The Gazelle shown here was CZ XX413, my favourite cab. The loudspeaker system was called, “Sky-shout” or in our speak, “Curdler.” It had the ability to allow us to politely explain to the broiling masses that going home to Mum was a better option than hurling petrol bombs at our mates. We could also use it to curdle their remaining brain cells using high frequency noise. This was a double edged sword because the troops and Police also benefitted from the experience. It seems that the development teams had not really thought this through to the end.

The searchlight on the other side is Nite-sun, operated by an air-gunner or observer. The tool of choice when searching for kneecapped members of either team, stolen vehicles and having a quick nosey at the nurse’s home. (Each time we put the light on they would rush to the windows in their nighties, or not) I chased two vehicles from the Ardoyne one night, in the narrow streets they sped off at about 60mph, stupid speeds, bound to catch my eyes as this was atypical of a weapons move. At a T junction they split, one went into the Royal Victoria Hospital, the other we lost. The one I stayed on made numerous turns and was brought to a halt by a mobile patrol. The car contained a BBC camera crew and reporter; they refused to answer any questions and were later released. The weapons were presumably in the other car.

One fine evening I received a telephone call from the head shed in Lisburn, get airborne, then call the unit responsible for the Springfield Road. Once up and away we checked in with our new friends and were told that a job was being coordinated and would we just drive around at a range of a mile or so from Springfield Police Station and wait for an update. Cooo! Deep and mysterious. At 3,000 feet we were hiding in the base of a cloud layer, cruising quietly along. It was explained to us that a sniper was expected to be on the roof of a civic centre once it was fully dark. The CO of the unit wanted us ready to burn the bastard’s retina when his troops were in position. 

Oh the joy, the anticipation, we were going to put the boot on the other foot. John and I chatted about our strategy, popped down a few hundred feet and identified the target area, then hid again, no navigation lights, nada!. We were given a time to hit the roof of the building, started our descent and counted down to the ground patrols our ignition time for the light. I came to the hover at 200 feet, John hit the button and swung the lamp straight onto the North West corner of the building. There, crouched behind a wall was our target aiming at the road with an AK47. He was stunned, the light is immensely powerful, this had all happened in seconds. The sniper ran a few yards and jumped from the low roof; immediately all the bushes surrounding the building came to life. He was belted with weapons and boots, then led away for a quiet chat with the Police at Castlereigh Police Station, the interrogation centre. 

I have never been in a noisier cockpit. John and I were cheering, the lads on the ground were relieved and their morale had risen dramatically. For one night it was our turn to retaliate. Nobody died, although the numb nuts who jumped probably wished he had. Those soldiers were not going easy on him. Tough tit!