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The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comat about 0400, caught about two hours' sleep before reveille andbreakfasted, then there followed an hour or so of hard PT, known as`beasting'. A `warmup' run of about four kilometres in our boots, withbadly blistered and cut feet from the previous marches, half-killed usand and then a gruelling routine of press-ups and sit-ups finished usoff. At about 1100, the torment was over and we collapsed into thelorry for the five-hour drive back to London.Every weekend, the ratchet was tightened a bit more and the field ofremaining candidates got smaller. The marches increased in length anddifficulty of navigation and we had increasingly heavy loads to carryin our bergens. I was secretly pleased to see the marine who hadsneered at me drop out of one of the harder marches, moaning aboutbadly blistered feet.The final and most dreaded selection weekend was the infamous `longdrag'. We had navigated all over the Brecon Beacons and knew them toowell, so long drag was held in unfamiliar territory in the PeakDistrict of northern England. The goal was to cover a total of 65kilometres cross-country in under 20 hours, carrying full webbing, a501b bergen containing all our gear and rations, and an old FN riflefrom which the sling had been removed. At the end of that test only 19of the 125 who started the course remained of which I, proudly, wasone.Although the long drag endurance test was a major hurdle, there wasstill a long way to go before those of us who remained would be`badged' with SAS berets bearing the famous `Who Dares Wins' motto andaccepted into the regiment. Every second weekend for the next sixmonths was taken with `continuation' training, learning the basicmilitary skills required of an SAS soldier. We were still underscrutiny, however, and any recruit who was deemed by the DS not to havethe right attitude or aptitude was binned. Having had no previousexperience of the army, even the most basic infantry skills were new tome: field survival, escape and evasion, long-range reconnaissancepatrol techniques, dog evasion, abseiling from helicopters, foreignweapon familiarisation. The final two week selection took place atSennybridge camp in Wales where these skills were put to the test in along and arduous field exercise.At the end of the exercise we were `captured' by the enemy - roleplayedby paratroopers - blindfolded, roughed up a bit, then taken inthe back of a cattle truck to an old disused farm in the Welsh hills.There, still blindfolded, we were stripped and forced into `stress'positions - either hands spread against a wall, feet kicked back ametre or so and spread wide apart, or else squatting on the floor withback arched and fingers on our heads. After a few minutes eitherposition became uncomfortable, and after 20 minutes cramps and musclespasms set in. The discomfort was relieved every few hours when we weretaken to be `interrogated' by officers from the Joint ServicesInterrogation Wing. We were only allowed to give away the `big four'permitted by the Geneva Convention - name, rank, date of birth andservice number - and the interrogators used every ploy they knew totrick us into giving away more. Anybody who gave away the smallestextra detail, even merely admitting that they were thirsty, wasimmediately binned. After 20 minutes of that we were lead back to thepage- 17 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comcattle pen and put into a different stress position. Those who enduredwere finally released after 20 hours.Finally, because we would shortly learn to parachute, we had to pass P-company, a brutal fitness test taken by the Parachute Regiment as atest of suitability for parachute training. It required explosivestrength and power rather than the stamina of SAS selection and I wassorry to see that after going so far a couple of guys failed this lasthurdle. The handful of us who remained were `badged' in a simpleceremony by the CO (Commanding Officer), a colonel in 22 SAS, andaccepted into the regiment. It was a proud moment for me, but it neededto be kept in perspective. Our selection process was a stroll in thepark compared to the far more arduous and drawn out selection of theregular army's 22 SAS regiment, and our standards of soldiering weremuch lower. We were awarded an identical beret, but that was about theonly thing that was equal between the two regiments.Between TA weekends, my first priority was to get fit enough to passSAS selection. Most mornings I arrived at Booz Allen & Hamilton afterrunning twice around Hyde Park, then clock-watched until the eveningwhen I could escape to the nearby Lansdowne sports club for a couple ofkilometres of swimming. My lifestyle priorities were very differentfrom my colleagues', who dedicated their spare time to eating anddrinking, and I felt little sense of identity with them, exacerbated bythe sense of achievement in getting badged. Every morning at my desk Iwondered what motivated them in their daily struggle to climb thecorporate ladder. Ernst Goldstein was particularly inscrutable. He onlyhad a few more years to wait to receive a fortune that was held in atrust fund until his 30th birthday and although he earned a heftysalary as a management consultant, he lived as if he had alreadyinherited big money, borrowing heavily to support a lavish andextravagant lifestyle. He spent hours on the phone, mostly chatting tofriends organising expensive parties and occasionally to clients whomhe oleaginously addressed as `Sir'. Whenever his trimphone rang, hishand shot out like a striking cobra, reaching the receiver before thefirst `tring' had finished, and he answered `Goldstein speaking' withirritating eagerness. While the whole office was working late one nighton a `vitally important' project, I sneaked over to his cubicle whilehe was absent and glued down his trimphone receiver with a couple ofblobs of superglue. When he returned a few minutes later with themanaging director and started enthusiastically discussing a cashflowspreadsheet, I rang him on the internal line. As usual, his hand shotout like a frog's tongue for the receiver, but this time it came backwith the phone attached, clattering into the side of his head. Worse,because the cradle had not been tripped, the telephone would not stopringing. Goldstein went berserk, waving the still-ringing phone aroundas if he were trying to shake a mad dog off his arm. At last, with amanic desperate yank, he ripped the receiver away - only it came awaywith the top half of the telephone, spilling wires and bells on to thedesk. The office was in uproar by now, but Goldstein was oblivious. Heput the receiver to his ear and, oleaginous as ever, replied,`Goldstein speaking.' The managing director stalked off, trying not tolose his dignity by bursting into laughter.Shortly afterwards, I resigned. The writing was on the wall even beforethe trimphone incident. The managing director realised that I was notinterested in the job and started playing games to make lifepage- 18 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com
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