The Midland Outlaws returned to the UK and the war in Scandinavia raged on with a series of tit-for-tat exchanges taking place across the region. In February 1995, the fighting spread to Norway with a mass shootout between members of the Bandidos and the HA which, miraculously, ended with no injuries. The next major incident, however, would hit the Brits and Boone in particular far harder.
In July 1995 Joe Ljunggren, by then promoted to national president of the Bandidos, was riding his Harley on the major E4 highway in Sweden, on his way back from a party in Finland, when he was shot by a sniper who had secreted himself along the roadside. Although Ljunggren was travelling at more than seventy miles an hour, the gunman’s single bullet hit him at the base of his neck in an area not covered by the bullet-proof jacket he had taken to wearing at all times. He died instantly.
Joe’s close friends from the Midland Outlaws travelled to Sweden for the funeral. It was an impressive occasion, with massive limousines booked to carry the mourners to a large cathedral just outside Helsingborg. The priest performed the service first in Swedish and then in English, for the benefit of the small British contingent. And at the end, they played Joe’s favourite song, ‘Wind of Change’ by the Scorpions.
Boone returned to England with two Danish Bandidos, including JJ, a close friend of Joe’s who had been riding with him just half an hour before the assassination. The plan was to attend the Rock and Blues show, but Joe’s absence put a real damper on the whole thing. The trio spent hours talking over their memories of the man and mourning their loss. A few days before the event opened up to the public, with the Midland Outlaws camped on the site in order to get it ready, half a dozen police officers turned up at the main gate.
‘We’re considering cancelling the event,’ the lead officer announced.
‘Why?’ asked Caz.
‘Because you’ve got Bandidos here and there’s just been another attack with an anti-tank rocket in Scandinavia. We don’t want to take the chance that it’s going to kick off here. We think the Hell’s Angels might try to hit back at you lot.’
Boone knew he had to inform his Bandido guests of what had happened. He made his way over to the portable cabin where the two men were sleeping and gently woke them up.
‘I’ve got some bad news I’m afraid,’ he said softly. ‘Something terrible has happened.’
The two Bandidos were already miserable after Joe’s funeral and by now they were used to a constant stream of bad news in connection with the ongoing war. They prepared themselves for the worst.
‘What is it now?’ asked JJ.
‘There’s been a rocket attack on the clubhouse in Copenhagen.’
‘Oh God. How bad is it?’
‘At least eleven wounded. Could be one, maybe two people dead.’
‘This is terrible.’
‘There is one bit of good news though,’ said Boone.
JJ’s brow furrowed – how could anything good come of this? ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was the Hell’s Angels clubhouse that was hit, and your lot that did it.’
JJ was only wearing his boxer shorts and his patches but he didn’t care. He leapt up and began running around the field outside his cabin, cheering, waving his arms in the air and turning cartwheels. By now the police had agreed to allow the festival to continue but the lead officer wanted to inspect the site. He saw JJ running around and asked Boone what on earth was going on.
‘I just told him what happened in Copenhagen.’
‘And this is how he reacts? This is just wrong. You lot are animals. People could be dead.’
‘I know,’ said Boone, ‘you’ve just made his day.’
As the police later found out, the Midland Outlaws had arranged their own security to counter any possible threat of an attack by the Hell’s Angels. As two officers patrolled the site, a man in full camouflage gear, wielding a British Army-issued SA80 assault rifle, suddenly confronted them. The stunned officers could only stand speechless as the man waved them on. ‘You lads better move on,’ he explained, ‘I’m trying to do security here.’
Once they had recovered from the shock, the officers reported the incident to the head of their unit, who in turn demanded to know who the man was, and where his weapon had come from. But the armed guard had mysteriously vanished without a trace.
‘It’s nothing to do with us,’ explained Caz. ‘We have some friends of the club who have offered to take care of security. We don’t have any control of them. I think the best thing you can do is to forget all about it.’
Despite Joe’s death, the Bandidos continued to expand across Europe, and in March 1996 members from a few different chapters travelled to Finland to celebrate the opening of their newest chapter in the capital Helsinki. The party was the usual raucous, high-spirited affair and the Bandidos looked as though they had been to hell and back by the time they headed to Vantaa Airport for the journey home.
All the high jinks of the previous days were swiftly forgotten when a group of Bandidos heading to Copenhagen, arrived at their departure gate only to realise that a large contingent of Danish Hell’s Angels were going to be on the exact same flight.
Fearing an outbreak of violence, Finnish police escorted both groups from the terminal to the plane, only to discover that, rather than being spread throughout economy, both sets of bikers had booked themselves into the business class section of flight SK715 (the drug trade had made all the clubs wealthy and they liked to flaunt their money whenever they could). Somehow, in the panic and confusion, no one from the authorities thought to warn their colleagues in Denmark about the volatile cargo that was heading their way.
Although separated by nothing more than a narrow isle, the two sides managed to keep themselves under control for the duration of the flight. There’s an unspoken agreement among biker gangs that forbids them from fighting on an aircraft because of the risks involved – it can lead to lifetime travel bans for all those involved, in addition to stiff prison sentences. That afternoon, all those in business class were, for once, wishing they had flown economy. They spent the whole journey in a stunned silence, expecting an outbreak of brutal carnage at any moment, having found themselves unwittingly in the centre of a potential war-zone.
The plane landed at Kastrup Airport without incident but as the Bandidos were queuing up at passport control, their colleagues outside who had come to pick them up in two Opel Kadetts came under sudden and vicious attack. Two vehicles drove towards them at speed, their occupants firing out of the windows. Screeching to a halt, two men – both brandishing 9mm automatics – approached Bandido Uffe Larsen in his car and began firing through the windscreen and door. Larsen was hit in the head, heart and legs, and died at the scene.
The Bandidos in the other car fared only a little better. Their vehicle had been strafed with bullets, shredding the tyres and smashing the windows. The driver escaped by heading the wrong way down a one-way street, narrowly avoiding an oncoming bus. The car jerked to a halt a little further on and the passengers stumbled out and staggered into the departure lounge where they collapsed, three of them bleeding from gunshot wounds to the chest and neck.
Nearly 300 miles away at Oslo Airport, Fornebu, an almost identical attack was taking place. A Norwegian Bandido – also returning from the Helsinki party – had been shot in the chest as he came out of the arrivals terminal.
The Midland Outlaws returned to Denmark for another Bandido funeral, only to find themselves directly in the firing line. As Boone and the others emerged from the terminal and filed into their pick-up car, another vehicle drove past and let off a volley from a sub-machine gun. Boone was standing beside two Bandidos and threw both men to the ground as soon as he heard the first shot, unsure of whether he was doing so to save them or to give himself a soft landing. Bullets crashed into the car and one ricochet struck him in the back. The bikers left the area before the police had time to question them.
Boone’s injury turned out to be minor (and was treated
in the clubhouse by a Bandido who had trained as an army medic) but the message from the Hell’s Angels was clear: any club that supported the Bandidos was considered a legitimate target.
The Bandidos took their revenge for the airport attack in October 1996 as 300 revellers celebrated the sixteenth anniversary of the Angels Viking chapter at the clubhouse in the Norrebro district of Copenhagen. Fliers advertising the event were posted all around the city and, eager to improve their public image, the bikers invited neighbours and members of the public to attend. A large marquee was erected in the garden and a lavish buffet was laid on. Around forty police officers put up a security cordon to prevent attacks from rivals, but it proved utterly useless.
At around one in the morning, an anti-tank missile slammed through the clubhouse wall and exploded inside the bar. The shot had come from the flat roof of a one-storey building some seventy metres away and another live missile was found at the same spot. It had passed directly over the heads of the police cordon. An Angel prospect died instantly along with twenty-nine-year-old single mother Janne Krohn. Nineteen others were injured. In the wake of the attack, TV pictures were beamed around the world showing banners hanging from the apartment blocks that surrounded the clubhouse. Written on them were the names of the children that would have been killed if the attackers had missed their target.
Shockwaves from the attack were felt throughout Europe and beyond, and as a result a bill was rushed through Danish parliament giving police sweeping new powers. The ‘Biker Law’ was used to prohibit gang members gathering in residential areas, and allowed police to close down many of the bikers’ clubhouses. At the same time, they introduced round-the-clock surveillance of the remaining biker strongholds, and kept a close watch on the key players in the conflict.
Despite the clampdown, more violence followed. In January 1997, a Hell’s Angel was shot dead in his car in Aalborg, Denmark and six months later a car bomb exploded outside the Bandidos clubhouse in Drammen, Norway. A female passer-by became the first civilian casualty in the conflict, when she was killed as she drove past. The blast flattened the heavily-fortified building, set nearby factories ablaze, and shattered windows three-quarters of a mile away. That attack was followed three days later by an even more shocking assault, in which one Bandido was killed and three wounded by a Hell’s Angels associate who opened fire outside a restaurant crowded with holidaymakers in the resort town of Liseleje, Denmark.
By this time, both gangs were increasingly aware that the feuding could not be allowed to continue. The massive amount of self-imposed security, as well as the high cost of arms and explosives, had put a major financial strain on both groups. Soon, feelers were being put out in an effort to restore peace.
Officially, the last violent confrontation occurred on 7th June 1997, when a Bandidos trainee was shot dead by a Hell’s Angel member in Northern Zealand. The final death toll stood at eleven dead and around ninety-six seriously injured. Police were investigating seventy-four cases of attempted murder.
Shortly afterwards, live television coverage captured the emotive image of high-ranking Hell’s Angel Blondie Nielsen shaking hands with Bandidos leader Jim Tinndahn. The pair announced that, following a summer of negotiations, a truce was now in place. ‘We have agreed to cooperate to stop what has been happening,’ said Tinndahn.
The truth was that the two former enemies had drawn up an agreement in which every town and every city in Scandinavia had been systematically split up, right down to specific pubs, discotheques and striptease clubs, in an effort to control their lucrative criminal activities.
18
DOWN UNDER
March 1997
Ever since the Midland Outlaws returned from their first trip to Florida, the newly appointed Australian chapter of the AOA had bombarded them with invitations to head down under and pay them a visit.
The Ozzie Outlaws were eager to play host: as far as they were concerned, it was entirely due to the efforts of the Brits that they had been awarded their charter in the first place. Had Boone and the others not intervened during Daytona Bike Week, they would undoubtedly still be prospecting. Their gratitude knew no bounds and all the chapters across the various states and territories were eager to thank their benefactors in person as soon as possible.
After being collected from Sydney Airport in a series of vehicles and given time to rest, the visit immediately took on a familiar pattern. The Midland Outlaws were taken from bar to bar, clubhouse to clubhouse and all-night party to all-night party. Everywhere they went, they were treated like celebrities and given unlimited access to all the beer, drugs and women they could handle.
Their time in the New South Wales capital included a sightseeing tour. Each member of the club had their picture taken against the backdrop of the Sydney Opera House. In typical one percenter style, the majority of the photographs were taken with the men facing away, showing their colours, not their faces. They were also taken on a visit to the outskirts of the city to visit a bar called the Viking Tavern, the site of one of the most infamous incidents in biker history: the 1984 Milperra Massacre.
Boone and the other Midland Outlaws remembered hearing a little about the incident at the time. Now, for the first time, they were able to hear the full story from some of those who had actually been there on the day.
In 1966, the same year the Bandidos were founded, Scotsman William ‘Jock’ Ross left his native Glasgow for a new life in Sydney. He was twenty-six but struggling desperately to find the right path in life, having already worked as an apprentice blacksmith, a truck driver and served in the army. He hoped a change of scenery would get him back on track.
A natural leader and true ‘man’s man’, Jock soon found everything he was looking for by starting up a motorcycle club which he named the Comancheros after the John Wayne western. Every member had to swear an oath of allegiance until death, and have the MC’s colours tattooed onto his arm. Recruits were not allowed to ride ‘rice burners’ and had to contribute to a ‘war fund’ – the proceeds of which went directly to Jock himself. They also had to agree to abide by the club’s own version of the Ten Commandments.
The President is the Supreme Commander of the Comanchero.
Any member found guilty of cowardice will be thrown out of the Club.
Any member found guilty of stealing from a member of the Club itself will be thrown out of the Club.
Any member found guilty of screwing another member’s real Ol’ Lady or taking advantage of a rift between them will be thrown out.
Any member found guilty of selling, distributing or using hard drugs will be thrown out.
Any member found guilty of breeding dissention in the Club (i.e. running down the President of the Club or club policies by discredit in any way, shape or form – or bad shit rumours) will be thrown out of the Club.
Any member found guilty of using their superior ability to con another member or nominated member out of their bikes, money or valuables will be severely dealt with.
Any member found guilty of not helping another member who is in genuine trouble (not bullshit trouble) will be severely dealt with.
Any member found guilty of divulging Club business or Club policies to anyone that is not a member, unless directed by the President, will be severely dealt with.
Any member found guilty of wearing his colours on or in anything other than a British or American motorcycle of 500cc or more will be severely dealt with.
Obsessed with the military (he lied and told friends he had served with the elite special forces) Jock insisted that club members took part in weekly combat training sessions and spent time marching in formation around a makeshift parade ground outside their clubhouse in a Sydney suburb. The Comancheros soon became his own private army.
Vicious fights with other biker clubs were commonplace and regularly made headlines in the local press, cuttings of which Jock lovingly kept in a special folder. In one notorious incident, the club butted heads with the Loners, a small
city-based MC. After one of the Loners threatened several Comancheros with a shotgun Jock launched a counter attack in which several Loners were beaten, and then suggested the two sides meet at a hotel to establish a truce.
The Loners were keen to comply and turned up at the appointed place unarmed, as promised. They were met by two carloads of Comancheros wielding baseball bats and, after receiving a sound beating, were forced to hand over their colours, putting the club out of existence. Police arrived on the scene but none of the Loners would press charges. Although their club had been destroyed, they remained loyal to the MC code of silence knowing that any breach would only add to their humiliation.
In the late seventies Anthony ‘Snoddy’ Spencer joined the club. A former Navy rating, he was an orphan who had witnessed his own mother’s suicide and spent his formative years in-and-out of care institutions. He was nineteen when he discovered the Comancheros and finally found the family and sense of acceptance he had been searching for. Jock, twelve years older at the time, became like a father to him.
Snoddy’s arrival coincided with growing dissent in the ranks: ‘If I’d wanted to march around all fucking day I’d of joined the army,’ was an increasingly common complaint. But things got far worse when Jock himself was found to have broken one of the club’s cardinal rules.
Comanchero sergeant-at arms Colin ‘Caesar’ Campbell and a friend were visiting a club member when they saw Jock’s vehicle parked at the front of the house. They looked in through an open window and saw Jock having sex with the member’s wife. The two men knocked on the door and when Jock answered, they stared at him and walked off without a word. The Supreme Commander had breached one of his own commandments. For Snoddy, it was the ultimate act of betrayal. The man he had looked up to and seen as his mentor had turned his back on everything Snoddy had been taught to believe in.
Outlaws: Inside the Violent World of Biker Gangs Page 21