Free Warrior Training by Keith Fennell Page B

sir.’
    Generally, anyone who requests to be removed from the course is never permitted to try again. In saying this, however, I’m aware of a couple of exceptions. If a soldier is relatively young then he might be given a second chance due to his lack of maturity or mental toughness. At 20, one is definitely not a boy, but might still be a little underdone in regards to being a bona fide man. Everyone is different and, depending on what they’ve experienced in life, some young men are mature beyond their years.
    In Western society, life today is a little easier comparedto what previous generations lived through. My great-grandfather soldiered through both World Wars. His son, a teenage infanteer, fought at Tobruk, El Alamein, Kokoda and Borneo. My father left school and started full-time employment at 14. I’d had no intention of following in his footsteps, but I was 15 when I left school. For most people, though, those days are long gone.
    A soldier aged in his late twenties who voluntarily removes himself from the course, whether or not he has personal issues clouding his mind, will not be afforded another chance. His dream will remain unfulfilled.
    Some people are incapable of working alone. They require support, feedback, positive encouragement and camaraderie. The SAS requires team-oriented people who can also go it alone.
    A few soldiers thrive on working independently. Skip, a fit man who won both the cross-country and triathlon races in the Regiment, gave me his thoughts on the solo navigation exercise at Lancelin in 1995. ‘Mate, it was the best part of the course,’ he said. ‘Four days on your own with no one giving you shit – it was great!’
    Skip was posted to the sniper troop, a job that requires plenty of patience and an ability to operate in the smallest of teams – two men. Skip’s a solid operator and, despite having been dealt a few extra challenges in life, he’s one of the mentally strongest and most balanced soldiers I’ve known. He’s a tremendous asset to the Regiment.
    I also enjoyed being left alone, but I definitely wouldn’t go so far as to say stomping around Lancelin while being mauled by flies was great.

    Comfortable operating alone: Skip in Afghanistan.
    On Tuesday 4 April, I arrived at my final checkpoint. I had completed approximately 68 kilometres. Some of the more experienced soldiers who really pushed themselves walked in excess of 80, while others completed less than 50.
    I listened to a couple of guys from the 1st battalion explain how initially they’d tried to force their way through the dense three- to four-metre scrub. I was intrigued, because I’d spent the best part of four days burrowing through the shit. They’d done it once before using the ridgelines to skirt around the most inhospitableterrain. Other soldiers had used well-worn animal tracks. I was paranoid about using tracks and was conscious of my limitations, so I’d kept it simple and stuck to bearings and paces. Unlike some, I hadn’t got lost – a couple of guys ended up outside the training area – but I had expended far more energy than I should have.
    I could no longer feel the soles of my feet, and the tops of my shoulders were no better. I dug my nails into the skin on one shoulder but felt nothing. This numbness would remain for the next 10 or 12 weeks. My shins, knees, thighs and the backs of my hands were covered in hundreds of tiny thorns. I spent weeks squeezing little pieces of Lancelin out of my inflamed, tender skin.
    I had no idea what to expect during the final five or six days of the course. This might in fact have been a good thing, because my naivety kept me sheltered. I would soon be in the ugliest place I had ever seen.

Wednesday 5 April – day 15 – was another roping day. We received fresh rations for both lunch and dinner, a welcome change from the ration packs that only ever filled half the