Warrior Training (24 page)

Negotiating an obstacle with George Gregan and Phil Waugh during a training camp in south-east Queensland.

As a member of our local surf club, I found it equally rewarding to challenge young children and help them gain confidence in the ocean. By the following year, a couple of us established a performance program that catered for the kids who were keen to compete. The initial group of half a dozen young people soon grew to more than 30. At times, watching these eight-year-old children take on three- or four-foot waves left me speechless. Some of these kids were fortunate to be rewarded for their commitment with state medals. But a far greater reward was the ability they gained to conquer their fears. For many, the ocean was once intimidating, but this strength will support them for the rest of their lives.

With Reyne, who's ready to receive a baton during a beach relay.

A few months later, a guy I was training several times a week, a mate by the name of Karl, asked if I would be keen to do some motivational or keynote speaking.

‘What do you have in mind?' I asked.

‘We might start off with a group of 10 people or so. Have a think about it. I'll try to set something up next year if you're keen.'

Considering that next year was a couple of months away, I confidently said: ‘Yeah, why not.' A few days later I received a phone call.

‘Hey, mate, I've got you a gig.'

Shit!
I thought. ‘Really?'

‘The guest speaker for an awards ceremony has just pulled out and they're after a replacement.'

‘When's it on?' I asked.

‘Next week. Can you talk about logistics?'

‘Logistics?' I repeated, feeling slightly rattled.

‘Yeah, logistics. You'll be addressing 150 people.'

So much for starting off nice and easy.
I wanted to say no, but I had a problem: I had recently run a session for Karl that was framed around mental strength.

‘Hey, mate,' I'd told him, ‘we're doing five sprints up that nasty hill.' The road in question was hideously steep and extended for 400 metres. It offered beautiful views but I knew that after two sprints, taking in the scenery would be the last thing on Karl's mind. ‘On one of the runs, I'll give you a head start – I want you to beat me to the top. If you fail, then we're heading straight to the pool and you'll swim 25 metres underwater.' This was something Karl was yet to achieve. ‘If you puss out and don't make it all the way, I'll give you one more shot. If you fail again, you can find a new training partner. Any dramas?'

‘Jesus, I'm nervous already,' he'd said, laughing.

Although he'd given it a good crack, there had been no way I would have allowed Karl to beat me to the top of that hill. The aim was to fatigue him and burn up his nervous energy. Really, I wanted him to overcome the underwater challenge, which he had struggled with. He was a tough man. I enjoyed training with him and I'd known he could do the underwater swim. Not only did he
nail it, but he was so pumped that he'd done it a second time for good measure.

But speaking to such a big audience made me think twice. ‘Mate, I don't know. Six days doesn't give me a lot of time to square myself away as a keynote speaker. I'll obviously need to write a speech and put a presentation together. Is there a format I need to follow?'

‘You just need to link your experiences back to business. I can give you a few tips.'

You bastard!
I thought. ‘What do you reckon?'

‘You can either take your opportunities or you can let them go.' The tone of his voice said something more:
If you turn this down, you're a freaking pussy.

I accepted the job and vowed to make him vomit on our next training session.

This led to numerous speaking opportunities. I was surprised by how fragmented a lot of companies were, so one of the themes I often addressed was teamwork. There seemed to be so much internal competition – state versus state, branch versus branch. Rather than working together as a team to outperform their real competitors, people were keeping new and innovative ideas to themselves so they would be recognised for outperforming their own workmates. I knew very little about business, but to me this didn't make sense. Rather than rewarding internal conflict, companies ought to develop a sense of team purpose. If members of a company find a better or more efficient way to do something, they should share the knowledge with their mates.

My new life was busy and I was definitely being challenged, but I still craved the excitement and adrenaline of
the SAS. I wondered whether this desire for my past life would ever abate. Was soldiering my destiny, or was I some sort of pretender who wanted to be a dad yet wasn't really capable of sticking it out?

Three weeks before Christmas in 2008, I received an offer to deploy on an anti-piracy task in the Gulf of Aden. Colleen was on holidays at the time and my tertiary commitments wouldn't resume until February.
Perfect timing
, I thought. But I was nervous, and it had nothing to do with the threat. I knew I was someone who struggled with moderation. Many soldiers who leave the Regiment return later. I didn't want to be one of them. Had I really accepted my new life or was I living a lie? There was only one way to find out. I sent off my CV and asked for further information.

During 2008, the year of the economic meltdown, there had been over 100 reported pirate attacks in the waters surrounding Yemen, Oman and Somalia. The hijacking of the Saudi Arabian oil tanker, the MV
Sirius Star
, on its way to the United States with two million barrels of oil was one of the more daring and successful raids of 2008. For Somali pirates, business was booming. In order to safeguard their crews, vessels and cargo, scores of merchant shipping companies sought maritime security.

After receiving further details, I asked Colleen what she thought about it.

‘Is it dangerous?'

‘Nah … It'll be like a cruise, except we get to carry weapons,' I said.

‘You're full of it,' she replied, smiling. ‘Why do you want to do it?'

‘Mick's going … It will be great to catch up. And I think there are 15 ex-Regiment guys on the task. It will be a mini SAS reunion.'

‘Is that it?'

Negotiations are always fun
, I thought. ‘It's somewhere different, a new adventure … I'm feeling a little restless and I'll get to earn some cash so I can stop bludging off you,' I laughed. ‘Seriously, though, it's been almost two and a half years. I want to prove to myself that I'm over going away.' I felt like a little kid begging to go to the shop to buy some lollies.

‘How long's it for?'

‘Seventeen days, max. I'll be back before Christmas.'

Colleen agreed, I said yes to the offer, and I left for Singapore without even confirming the pay and conditions. The alcoholic licked his lips. I had promised Colleen and the kids that I'd be home before Christmas. This was a test – to see if I could drink in moderation.

I arrived in Singapore on the evening of 6 December 2008 and caught a cab to the hotel. I love the aroma of tropical rain. The air's so thick you can taste it. I got out of the cab and sucked in a couple of deep breaths. I felt alive.

‘Good evening, Mr Fennell,' said the receptionist. ‘You're sharing a room with Mr Wynne. He has already arrived.'

I was stoked. I probably hadn't seen Wynnie for seven years. I first met him in the Battalion before we both joined the Regiment. We got along well.

I opened the door to my room and saw a massive set of feet hanging over the edge of the bed. They definitely belonged to Wynnie. He's a big man – six-foot-three and 108 kilograms. Not many guys of Wynnie's size pass the selection course, as they usually struggle with endurance. Wynnie was different. He could run, swim and stomp as well as anyone. But the gym was his domain, and when he threw on a set of gloves, the punching bags got nervous.

Wynnie is the perfect guy to share a room with. There's always a steady stream of food flowing through the door, the conversation is interesting and he loves to sleep. I thought Kane was strong in this area, but Wynnie makes Kane look like he's a dieting insomniac. Those two worked together in Bali, running resort security during the high season. I'm sure they came home well rested.

Wynnie is also a deeply reflective and philosophical man. He isn't a fan of city life and prefers the tranquillity of the country, where he lives with his wife. When Wynnie talks about his property – the stream that never runs dry, the old-growth trees that reach upwards forever and the native wildlife that abounds – his large shoulders relax and his face softens. It is his sanctuary.

The next morning I caught up with several of the boys for breakfast. The main reason I accepted the task was to see the guys. For that alone, it was worth it. There were no pauses in the conversation. After breakfast we were taken to the operations room and briefed on the task.

The company's director, a dynamic ex-Regiment soldier who loves to surf, asked what we knew about the task. The answer was: not much.

‘Good,' he said, before telling us that we'd be sailing into
the Red Sea, where we would rendezvous with several vessels. An armed security team would then be assigned to each vessel before they would move through the Gulf of Aden to Oman, our final destination. It sounded a simple mission, but there were many moving parts. We were all keen to get going.

Wynnie and I, together with a large switched-on Kiwi named Sonny, were sent to Yemen for a meeting with a contact to secure weapons. I initially thought the travel advisory for Yemen was a little ridiculous, giving the impression that any Westerners entering the country would immediately be whisked away by terrorists and never seen again. I had never been to Yemen and was excited to see the place.

But the 2009 slaying and mutilation of a group of aid workers – a British man and his South Korean wife, two German nurses, a German doctor, his wife and three children – reinforced that the threat to Westerners in Yemen was very real.