A police gun battle is nothing like a movie. I know from bitter experience

I was not in Porepunkah on Tuesday. I have not been a serving police officer since 1995. Yet the news shook me more deeply than I had expected and dragged back memories I thought I had contained. It never leaves you.

The officers who came under fire and were forced to take cover faced agonising minutes not knowing if their mates were alive or dead. They will relive those moments repeatedly, questioning themselves, wondering if they could have acted differently, and perhaps judging themselves harshly – though wrongly. The date of this tragedy will be etched in their memories for life, and for some it may be a day they wrestle with for the rest of their service.

I know, because I’ve been there.

In July 1987, I was the team leader of a Queensland police tactical assault group tasked with forcing entry to a house to arrest the state’s most wanted man, a violent armed robber and prison escapee. As we made entry to the house and moved towards the bedroom, he opened fire with a high-powered semi-automatic rifle, killing one of my team and seriously wounding another. The offender was shot dead in the subsequent exchange of fire. The entire gun battle lasted less than a minute, but its impact on my mental health endured for decades. As my colleague lay dying on the floor, I tried to comfort him while we waited helplessly for an ambulance. That was only the beginning.

In that era psychological support and counselling didn’t exist. That day marked the start of a lifelong struggle with PTSD for many of us who were there. The trauma didn’t just affect those of us inside the house. Team members, surveillance officers, and others outside listening to the gunfire have since told me how helpless they felt, not knowing what was happening and unable to do anything to change it. That is called vicarious trauma, and it is just as crippling as direct involvement.

The fatal shootings of Detective Leading Senior Constable Neal Thompson and Senior Constable Vadim De Waart, along with the serious wounding of their colleague this week, will have far-reaching and long-lasting impacts on every member of every police force in Australia. The surviving officer will be traumatised, as will the seven other police involved in the warrant operation. Those now searching the high country for the offender have not yet had the space to process what has happened or to grieve. That must come later, when the immediate job is done. That’s when it will hit them.

The families of the officers will be devastated, as will their friends and colleagues, but the shock and grief will extend much further.

Families across the country will question whether they want their loved ones to remain as police officers and some members may make the decision to leave.

Recovery and healing will take time. It’s a long, long road.

I carried what is termed survivor guilt for years, along with PTSD, anxiety and depression. Some of us still battle those demons nearly four decades later. Some cope better than others.

Life is not like the movies. Gun battles are violent, chaotic and bloody – even for highly trained and well-equipped tactical teams.

The full details of the killings are not yet known, but from what has been released, it appears the police were ambushed without warning. It is likely they had no chance to defend themselves or escape.

Policing is demanding, and its true nature is often misunderstood. The reality is that it is inherently unpredictable – and Tuesday made that unmistakably clear. Police are people – just as human as the rest of us. They live, love, and grieve like anyone. There is no shield that makes them immune to trauma, though many feel compelled to maintain a strong facade and pretend they are unaffected. That facade often shatters – especially on days like Porepunkah.

Trauma can lie dormant for years before it resurfaces. For me, it hit hard 11 years after leaving the job. There was no trigger, no backfiring car or sudden reminder – just an overwhelming anxiety attack that came out of nowhere and nearly crushed me.

Research into PTSD shows that early support and intervention can reduce the impact of trauma and speed recovery. Today, police organisations offer far better psychological support than in my era, but the support of friends, family and the community remains just as important as formal counselling. My fervent hope is that all police involved in this tragic event receive all this and more.

I know the blue family will rally around the surviving officers, and Victoria Police will provide every support possible. If you know any of them, simply be there. Don’t try to give solutions. Just listen.

So, what more can you do? When you see police officers on the street, go up to them and say hello. Thank them for what they do. A simple acknowledgment can mean the world and remind them that their work is valued. I guarantee it will make a difference to their day.

Each year on September 29, Australia marks National Police Remembrance Day. Since 1988, it has honoured those who made the ultimate sacrifice. This year, two more names will be added to the wall of the fallen at the National Police Memorial in Canberra. On that day, pause and remember them.

Keith Banks BM is a former member of the Queensland Police and the recipient of the Bravery Medal and two Police Valour Awards. He is the author of two autobiographical books – Drugs Guns and Lies; and Gun to The Head about his police career.