It was supposed to be a simple missing person check for four young police officers, who had no idea that they were walking into a deadly ambush.

Constable Craig Loveland was the only officer working the day shift in the 2000-strong rural town of Tara on December 12, 2022.

Famous for its camel races, the township of Tara is 60km south of Wieambilla.

Rural subdivisions outside of the town, generously referred to as “lifestyle blocks” – but more commonly “the blocks” – drew a unique type of resident.

Signs warning people to keep out were not unusual. Neither were signs warning that trespassers would be shot.

WIEAMBILLA: NEVER AGAIN

CHAPTER I:ARCHITECT OF THE APOCALYPSE

CHAPTER II: TAKE ME TO CHURCH

CHAPTER III:CROSSING THE RUBICON

CHAPTER IV: THE EXTRACTION

CHAPTER V:INSANE TRIO’S LAST STAND

CHAPTER VI:NEVER AGAIN

The police QPRIME database would often have certain blocks “flagged” as having man traps – pits with spikes lining the bottom – or other forms of booby trap.

December 12 had been such a busy day, filled with domestic violence and sexual abuse reports, that he’d been forced to call the afternoon crew in. Both constables Matthew Arnold and Rachel McCrow would start their shifts early.

That afternoon, a request from New South Wales police came in. They wanted a crew to check one of the blocks for an outstanding missing person.

Nathaniel Train was a school principal who had been living off grid for some time. Could they speak to his brother Gareth and perhaps conduct a welfare check?

Matthew and Rachel logged onto the internal computer system and indicated they were on their way.

Soon after, Rachel’s phone rang. It was Constable Randall Kirk from Chinchilla police station. He’d been to the property before – looking for the same man – and he told her he and Constable Keely Brough would take the lead.

They planned to meet further down the street before approaching the front of the property.

Given it was another radio black spot – and there was an outstanding warrant for Nathaniel’s arrest – their sergeant thought it best for two crews to go.

They pulled up outside 251 Wains Rd at 4.30pm. It was an iron farm gate between two timber posts. A camera was attached to the letterbox and a coffee mug was glued to one of the posts. Inside was an old iPhone with a cracked screen. On the back of it, someone had written “f..kwit”.

A sign on the fence warned “no entry – authorised personnel only”.

“Did you see there’s an arrest warrant for this fella?” Randall asked the others. They had.

“Is it just for the COVID stuff?” Rachel asked?

The first shots came moments after this, fired from a high-powered 30-06 Springfield calibre Tikka T3 with a scope attached.

Nobody knows where Gareth was when his younger brother fired the first shots. Was he crouched in one of the two sniper hides further along the drive? Or back at the house, another 200m away?

Did he pick up his .308 and run from the house, ready to join his brother in arms?

It was their point of no return. The public state actors had crossed the Rubicon.

Randall and Keely ran to the left, where the bush was thicker. Keely crashed to the ground in a patch of long grass and tried her radio. It didn’t work.

Randall made it to a tree and got behind it. He tried his radio too. Nothing.

He heard Rachel fire off every round from her Glock and then another, much louder rifle shot that ended her life.

He took out his own Glock and fired it towards the gunman. It missed – and worse – gave away his hiding spot.

From behind the tree, Randall grabbed his mobile phone and called his sergeant back in Chinchilla.

“He’s shot Rachel, I believe,” he said into the phone, moments after a shot cracked through the air.

“I think she’s dead.”

And then: “He’s trying to walk around me.”

“There’s two of them. They’ve got Matthew’s gun now. F..k’s sake.”

He was terrified but his voice was steady.

“F..ken hell mate, hang in there,” Sergeant Justin Drier responded.

“What about the other two? You got eyes on Keely and Matt?”

Randall replied: “Matt’s not moving. Rachel’s not moving now. And Keely I haven’t seen.”

He told his sergeant there were two men with guns. They knew where he was. He asked what he should do.

Then, chillingly: “He’s coming over. Should I run?”

His Glock in one hand and mobile in the other, Randall burst out from behind the tree and ran back towards the gate where they’d parked the two police cars only minutes earlier.

He charged towards a clump of bushes, hoping for cover and tripped and fell as he crashed through them.

On his feet again he ran for the gate.

“They’re coming! They’re shooting!” he yelled as he ran.

He cleared the gate, stumbled, then stumbled again. He reached the car, wrenched the door open, still clutching his gun.

He turned the ignition and a shot hit the car, hit him. He screamed and put the car in drive.

A second shot hit the vehicle. Then another.

“F..k, I think I’ve been shot,” he told Sergeant Drier, still on the line.

The seatbelt alert beeped on repeat as he accelerated away along Wains Rd.

Laying in the long grass, Keely was on the phone too. She’d dialled triple-0 and was whispering to the operator. She told the woman she was scared, that she thought she might die. She told her they were coming for her, that they were lighting fires to flush her out.

She said the fire was 15m from her. The flames were two metres high and getting closer.

She told the woman the flames were eight metres away. Then five. Then three, two and one.

She could feel the flames on her feet. She couldn’t move. They were watching her.

Further along Wains Rd, Alan and Kerry Dare had been hearing gunshots. First there were a series of shots, then a burst of gunfire that had sounded like a semi automatic. Alan had turned to his wife and remarked: “That’s not allowed.”

Gunshots were normal. Semi automatic gunfire was not.

“Are you going to go and see them?” Kerry asked.

And then thick smoke started drifting towards them. Black smoke that didn’t smell like the bush when it burned. Some of their neighbours had lost their homes to bushfire.

They decided that Kerry would call triple-0 while Alan went for a closer look. He returned while she was still on the phone with a new plan.

He and their neighbour Victor Lewis would drive to 251 Wains Rd and find out what was on fire.

“I am going to absolutely advise against that,” the operator said when Kerry relayed the plan.

But they could hear explosions now. The smoke was getting closer. Bushfire was a real threat on the Western Downs.

Alan took his 4WD, filming through his windscreen as he approached his neighbour’s block. Victor met him on the quad bike.

“It’s a car!” he yelled at Victor as he got out.

“There’s things still exploding down there Vic, so I wouldn’t get too close.”

The Trains, by now, had set the remaining police car alight, making sure Keely didn’t escape the way her partner had.

“Oh f… – there’s f..ing police plates all over there,” Victor shouted from close to the gate.

“Oh shit!” Alan shouted back.

“Cops have already fucking been here mate!” Victor said.

Then a crack. Alan slumped to the ground.

“What happened?” he asked Victor.

Then he died.

WATCH CHAPTER IV: THE EXTRACTION