The cracking of super-heated air makes my head snap round. A flash of searing light lances across the landscape, followed by a second. In the distance, I see a body crumple.
“Down and out!” The excitable voice of Rich Lackhart bursts from the radio speaker. “Let’s keep it moving, Lancers.”
Another morning’s commute for a mid 21st Century haulage gang.
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It is 4am on a cold September morning. Patrol Sergeant Dave Chapman takes a deep draught of hot tea, standing at the service station in the shadow of the Severn Bridge. For the past two hours, he has driven from London at a sedate 55 mph, showing the flag and protecting his patch. Now he takes a well-earned break.

“Everyone seems to think that we have high-adrenaline lives; that the excitement never stops. We have our moments, but actually, most of what we do is just remind people that we are here; that there is a law; and that someone cares if they break it. That is often enough.”
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