Warrior Training

Keith Fennell was born in 1973. At the age of 21 he joined the elite Australian Special Air Service Regiment. He was deployed on many operations, including missions to Afghanistan, East Timor, the Solomon Islands and the southern Indian Ocean. Fennell also served on a medical deployment to East Africa, was a member of the boarding party in the controversial MV
Tampa
incident, and supported counter-terrorist operations for the 2002 Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting in Brisbane and the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games.

Fennell left the SAS in late 2002 and moved to the United Arab Emirates, where he was employed as a special operations adviser. In January 2004, Fennell accepted a position in Iraq, and he spent the next 30 months running operations there, in Afghanistan and in Banda Aceh. In June 2006 Fennell returned to Australia. He published his first book,
Warrior Brothers
, in 2008 and it quickly became a bestseller. He is now completing a double-degree in Creative Arts and Arts at the University of Wollongong. Fennell lives with his wife and three children on the South Coast of New South Wales.

Cover

About the author

By the same author

Title Page

Copyright

Imprint Page

Dedication

Prologue

1 Craving a Change of Life

2 The SAS: All or Nothing

3 Week One: Exposing What Lies Beneath

4 Week Two: Operating Alone

5 Week Three: Lucky Dip

6 Acceptance via Performance

7 RTI Training: A Test of Self-belief

8 POW Camp: Ostracising Those Who Resist

9 Hospitals and Africa: Humanitarian Operations

10 Physical Training

11 Dealing with Transition

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

In memory

Radom House

Not all SAS soldiers enjoy parachuting. While jammed in the back of a 22-seater bus on our way to RAAF Base Pearce for jump training, I noticed that one of the guys was white-faced, his hands gripping the seat in front of him in the same way that children sink their fingers into their parents' arms while on a rollercoaster for the first time. He looked like he was about to vomit.

‘Hey, mate,' I said. ‘You feeling crook?'

‘I hate this shit,' he answered, relaxing his grip and pushing his head into the seat.

‘What, driving to Pearce?'

He laughed. ‘Nah, parachuting, smartarse. This shit freaks me out.'

I sat confused for a moment, trying to comprehend why someone who hated parachuting would put himself through the rigours of life as an SAS soldier. ‘What about abseiling, climbing, diving – do you get off on any of them?'

‘Get off?' he said. ‘Definitely not. I get off on sex.'

‘Fair enough – but then why are you in the Regiment?'

‘Because I wanted to test myself, to prove I could cut it.'

This guy – a quiet, unassuming man – was a solid performer. He went on to scare the shit out of himself for another six years before deciding enough was enough. It requires a strong mind to continually embrace fear rather than run the other way. In my view, the toughest men in the Regiment weren't those who enjoyed what was thrown their way, but those who were uncomfortable and yet managed to keep their fears in check.

All SAS soldiers must overcome their fears.

In battle soldiers will experience a range of feelings, from fear to exhilaration, depending on the intensity of the engagement. So what separates the men who hold their nerve from those who don't? I believe that training and mental preparation are vital to performing well under adverse conditions. When things go wrong, you cannot simply succumb to your natural survival instincts; you have to make decisions based on sound judgement.

My aim in this book is to inspire readers to believe in themselves and to reflect upon how they deal with adversity. Regardless of whether you're a doctor in Afghanistan, a student in Great Britain, a miner in Australia or a tour guide in Tanzania, self-belief and thorough preparation are critical to success.

By the time most people reach old age – if they manage to hang around that long – they will have experienced the
best and worst of life, from love and the thrill of achieving their dreams, to failure, heartache and death. They are wise, for they have lived.

Many soldiers also gain a wide range of experiences, from forging life-long friendships and overcoming exciting and challenging tasks, to dealing with immense hardship and staring down death. This is particularly so for special-forces soldiers due to the rigor of their training and operational deployments. But rather than absorbing these golden highs and brutal lows over an entire lifetime, a soldier might experience them in a few weeks, months or years.

Men and women often return from war different people. Some struggle with what they have seen, while others are able to rationalise their experiences, contextualise events and use the lessons they have learnt to propel them through life. Many SAS soldiers fall into this latter category, which is a tribute to their self-belief, determination and mental strength, and to the incredible training they receive. But what happens to these soldiers when they leave the Regiment? This book offers an insight into the training and mindset of SAS soldiers, and how we negotiate the transition between two vastly different lives.

Ever since I was young, I have been intrigued by high-performing individuals and teams, especially those who excel in challenging or adverse conditions. How do they do it? What makes them tick?

Since the formation of the Australian Special Air Service Regiment in 1957, fewer than 1500 soldiers have earned
the right to wear the highly coveted ‘sandy beret'. Even during difficult times – after the devastating loss of 15 SAS soldiers in Townsville in 1996, for example, when two Blackhawk helicopters collided during counter-terrorism training – the Regiment won't lower its impeccable standards just to fill positions. Only those who show potential and pass the rigorous selection process are accepted.

SAS soldiers must not only display exceptional levels of physical fitness and endurance, they must also be team-oriented, able to think clearly during high-stress situations, and capable of processing a large amount of information in a relatively short period of time. Applicants don't have to be Olympic athletes and brain surgeons, but they must possess a particular mindset that enables them to prepare themselves physically and mentally for the challenges they will endure on SAS operational deployments. I love this about the Regiment – irrespective of how thin the ranks become, its standards never waver.

It wasn't until I left the SAS in December 2002 and spent several years as a private contractor running operations in Iraq and Afghanistan that I truly appreciated the extraordinary quality of the men who make it into the SAS. The Regiment, like any organisation, has an internal pecking order. Soldiers are continuously assessed, rated and counselled by their superiors; this guarantees that each soldier is aware of his own strengths and weaknesses. The men are also assessed informally by their peers. Due to the challenging nature of SAS training and operations, every man becomes highly conscious of his own ability,
and of the ability of the men around him. There is nowhere to hide.

Every SAS squadron has its ‘jets' (those who are a cut above), its ‘average Joes' (the majority), and its poorer performers (those who hover around the minimum standard required). But after 30 months contracting in Iraq and Afghanistan, where I attempted to mould a contingent of men from contrasting military backgrounds and nationalities into a formidable security force, I realised that
all
SAS soldiers – even those who are performing at the lower end of their experience levels – are exceptional.

Following the publication of
Warrior Brothers
in 2008, I received many messages of support from former and current soldiers, and from non-military people, including one email from a man who had been contemplating suicide. He was inspired by the actions of some of my friends and changed his mind. I received another note from an 83-year-old woman who had lived through decades of angst after her husband had returned from World War II a different man. He has since passed away, but she found something in
Warrior Brothers
that gave her a sense of why he was the way he was.

I never expected an elderly woman – besides my Nan – to read my book, let alone to take the time to drop me a line. Her letter moved me but, to be honest, it was not for that reason that I'd written
Warrior Brothers
. For me, writing was cathartic; it allowed me to document my thoughts and to interrogate my inner self. Initially, I had no intention of letting others read the material; I just wanted to get it out
of my system. In some respects, my computer's hard drive had a more honest account of who I was than most of my family and friends did.

As my email inbox began to swell with hundreds of messages, I was humbled – blown away, really – that others were drawing strength and inspiration from some of the people and experiences I had written about. I hope this book offers more of the same.