What if Gareth Train and his extremist family, including wife Stacey Train, had not been lured down a terror hole on his Wieambilla bush block during the Covid pandemic, fed by conspiracy theories and building a hate for authority?

What if our Specialist Emergency Response Team had been sent to his property, not four young Queensland police officers, who were simply looking for Train’s missing brother, former school principal Nathaniel Train?

What if NSW police had passed on crucial information that might have suggested that a paranoid enemy, with their secret cache of weapons, was sitting in wait for those officers Rachel McCrow, Matthew Arnold, Randall Kirk and Keely Brough?

What if? What if? What if?

Lingering questions

The families of McCrow and Arnold would have their own heartbreakingly personal what ifs.

What if their son and daughter had been rostered on an earlier shift, and not 4pm that day?

What if they had been the officers who managed to escape?

The swag of officers who raced to help no doubt go to bed each night, with 1000 what ifs.

Randall Kirk and Keely Brough survived the nightmare physically but will battle scars that follow them for life. They will have their own shared what ifs, perhaps.

Just imagine what it was like for Keely, lying in short grass for two hours, willing a rescue, but fearing death.

Just imagine what it was like for Kirk to run for cover wondering whether the next sound would mute his own life.

Never forget

The inquest into this heartbreaking terrorist attack will answer many what ifs; no doubt recommending greater co-operation between states, increased training for officers, and hopefully a big swag of funds to improve communication in the bush.

But we shouldn’t let the what ifs dictate the headlines; that should be reserved for the almighty courage and service of every officer who attended the run-down bush block that day.

The four young officers. Their bosses back in town, dealing with a patchy radio network, and a strategy on the run. Their peers who had finished work but ran to the nearest car, ready to put their own lives in danger, to help those they called their friends.

They knew officers had been gunned down. They knew an unknown enemy lay in wait. And they did not pause.

Not alone

There were others too that deserve their names in lights.

Neighbour Alan Dare who was gunned down. The 000 caller who should wear our most decorated medal; she calmly talked to Keely Brough in what they both thought could be her last hour of life.

But ahead of next month’s National Police Remembrance Day, held each September 29, it is the dedicated service of all our men and women in blue that we need to acknowledge.

Every Australian should know Rachel McCrow recorded a final message for her family and continued to report what was happening as the shooter advanced towards her.

She pleaded with him and then – seven minutes after her friend Matthew Arnold was gunned down – was murdered in cold blood, with a shot to the head.

A thank you will never be enough to either of them, or the two officers who miraculously escaped.

Answering the call

Randall Kirk’s body camera records the shooters creeping closer, and the call he made for back-up. “Should I run?’’

The anonymous police officer he called asks if the shooters know his location. “Yes, they do,’’ Kirk replies, before the sprint of a lifetime to a nearby police car.

He thinks he’s been shot. He can no longer hear the person on the other end of the phone because of gunfire. He’s lost his shoe. His face is dripping in blood. Hours later, he was in surgery.

But this horrible day in our history didn’t stop there. The Trains had lit a fire to hunt down Keely Brough, who was hiding in short grass, talking to the triple-zero operator.

Fifteen metres away at first, the flames raced closer until they were just a metre away and two metres high. She could feel the fire on her feet, and thought she would burn to death, or be shot.

Keely was eventually saved by those officers who raced to help, risking their own lives. Imagine her what ifs, each day now.

Thank you

The average age of a police officer in Australia is about 40; many in the midst of parenting offspring and caring for ageing parents, with a pay packet that doesn’t always nudge $100,000.

The inquest should look at that too. But for the rest of us, we need to mute the what ifs, with an almighty thank you for every officer, who dons that uniform each day.

Some days, like all of ours, bring routine. But every job, for our police officers, brings the threat of life-changing danger.

Wieambilla, with a population in the last Census of only 78 people, showed us that on a dark, dark day that should never be repeated.