30 years ago there was the Russell Street Police Station Bombing in Melbourne.
Here's a bit, fiction but true, from Peter Temple's novel 'Truth':
'That long-ago day, he came out of the old stone magistrates' court, he was there to give evidence, it wasn't going to happen until after lunch, half a day wasted, the woman was genetically programmed to steal stuff, you might as well imprison dolphins for leaping out of the sea.
The next day was Good Friday, he was off, thinking about going surfing, hungry, he was waiting to cross to the Russell Street station, standing on the La Trobe corner.
You could get a decent ham and cheese sandwich from the canteen, there was a woman cop crossing the road.
The world went orange, a massive impact knocked him over, his head hit the tarmac, something landed on his chest, he grasped it in both hands, mind blank, registered more explosions, people screaming.
He got up, vision blurred, no idea of what had happened, his nasal passages were full of burnt rubber and hot dust. He focused on what he was holding. A hub cap, folded, like a pastie.
He sat down, feet in the gutter, head on his knees, feeling tired, unsure of mind, have a little rest.
Then the thought rose in him:
You're a policeman. Get up. Do something.
He got up, not at all steady, he brushed himself off, there were dark marks on his shirt, he nodded at them and stepped into the street.
The policewoman he saw crossing the road died of burns. She was about his age, he knew her by sight.
Much later, he worked with cops who knew the men sentenced to life for killing her, for injuring all the others, they were armed robbers, they hated cops, turning a lifted Holden into a gelignite bomb was a very funny thing to do, an outlaw thing.'