I lost my arm in a firefight and my colleagues died. I told the police what happened. This is my confession.

I know what I told the police was a lie. I know I lied to my colleagues' families. I know I lied to my wife. <br><br>I've written this out in one go - I don't think I can stop if I pause. It was such a normal day. I'd done it a hundred times. We'd done it a hundred times. Me and my colleagues, we'd gone through training together. We'd done this particular stakeout dozens of times. Nothing ever happened.<br><br>The suspect was called Mark Welles. He was the primary suspect for two murders, both involving guns. He was only 26. The police told us what they told the press - that Welles had a history of firearms and was not to be approached. We'd kept an eye on him for months and he'd never been closer than 10 feet away from a gun.<br><br>We were told to watch and wait. There was a bigger team behind us, a SWAT team that was supposed to burst in and arrest him the moment he was deemed dangerous. I'd worked with this SWAT team before. They were very good. I trusted them. I was allowed to trust them. We knew that as long as we watched and waited, they'd get in when they needed to.<br><br>We received a radio message around 10 in the evening. Welles was in a bar, alone, and miles away from the nearest gun. This wasn't part of our stakeout, but me and my colleagues were in the area. We decided to watch. We knew the bar; we'd been there a few times. It was a quiet place with friendly staff and no issues. We knew there were no guns in the bar.<br><br>I remember wondering why Welles was going out. He'd always struck me as a loner. He didn't seem to have any friends, and it was long past his birthday. Tonight was unusual for him. He had a lot of beers for the first half of the night, then slowed down. He'd been there for a few hours when he received a phone call. I don't know who from. It was a landline, so I guess it was someone in the bar working up the courage to talk to him. Welles was friendly. He smiled and laughed with whoever it was. <br><br>Around 2am, he left. Me and my colleagues followed at a distance. There was no way he'd recognise us - we'd never been close enough. We'd made a bet on how far he'd get before he got tired and went home, but he didn't seem that drunk. He'd had a lot to drink, but he was walking steadily. <br><br>He took a left down a side alley. We followed. It was a narrow alley, long and thin, and we'd lost sight of him by the time we turned the corner. It was dark, too, and I was immediately sorry I'd taken the bet. I slowed. I didn't want to miss him leaving. <br><br>That was when I heard the gunshots. I recognised the sound. It was Welles. I heard him shout, then a scream. It wasn't too far away. I knew he'd been taken by surprise. When I heard the gunshots, I knew I had to act immediately.<br><br>I knew what I had to do. I reached for my radio. I called out what I'd been trained to do in this situation, what I'd practised a hundred times. SWAT were on their way.<br><br>I called my colleagues over the radio. We regrouped, laying out a perimeter. SWAT were on their way, but we had to be sure. We kept out of sight and listened. There were more gunshots. I heard movement, rustling, shouting. I heard more shouting. It sounded like a group. I knew it was Welles. <br><br>SWAT were still a few minutes out. Me and my colleagues moved forward. We didn't want to lose him. We moved down the alley in formation. <br><br>I don't really know what happened. It felt like only a few seconds had passed. It was so dark. I couldn't see anything. I moved forward, gun drawn, listening for movement. I slowed. Something was wrong. It felt wrong. <br><br>I heard the gunshots. One. Two. Three. It was fast, so fast. I felt a pain in my arm, a burning pain. I screamed. I'd been shot. <br><br>I heard more gunshots. I heard my colleagues screaming. I fell to the ground, holding my arm. I felt blood gushing out, warm and thick. My vision began to blur. I heard more shouting, more movement. <br><br>The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. My wife was there. SWAT was there. The police were there, asking questions. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to explain. I told them what they wanted to hear. I told them I saw Welles. He had a gun. He was dangerous. We tried to apprehend him. He shot us. We fired back. We lost him.<br><br>They believed it. They believed me. I didn't know what else to say. I told my wife the same thing. She didn't ask any questions. I told my colleagues' families the same thing. They didn't ask any questions. <br><br>SWAT didn't say anything. They just looked at me. They knew I lied. <br><br>I've been allowed home. They think I'm getting better. I am. I've slowed down. I've given myself time to think. It kills me. I can't sleep. <br><br>I knew something was wrong. It was dark. I couldn't see anything. I slowed. I told my colleagues to wait. Then I heard the gunshots. <br><br>I think it was SWAT. I think they mistook us for Welles. I think they shot me. I think they shot my colleagues.<br><br>I can't say anything. It was an honest mistake, I'm sure. They're very good. I trust them. And if I say anything, my career is over. If I say anything, I'll be in danger.<br><br>This is my confession. I lied about what happened. I lied about what I saw. I know the truth.