Warrior Training (25 page)

The airport at Sana'a reminded me of Kabul: primitive, chaotic and tense. We purchased visas, were stamped into the country and exited the terminal. We were unarmed so had to rely on our situational awareness to identify any threats.

‘Guys, we'll grab a taxi to the Sheraton,' I said.

We had already discussed what we would do if a vehicle with armed men forced us off the road and attempted to take us hostage. We would simply smile, wave and calmly walk away. If things became hostile we would all break together in the opposite direction – one in, all in. If we became separated we would meet at a designated
rendezvous point. If they started shooting, then they would have done it anyway, we thought. Copping a bullet in the back of the head would be more pleasant than having your head hacked off.

In Sana'a, Yemen, with Wynnie.

We remained alert. Those who hesitate or fail to react allow others to decide their fate. We were in charge of our lives and were determined to keep it that way. It felt good to be operating again.

We found a driver rather than letting one find us. His car wasn't a taxi – there was no meter or distinctive markings. In broken English, our driver told us there were two decent hotels in Sana'a. The Sheraton was, apparently, number two. Our driver, aged in his mid-fifties, wore glasses and carried a large traditional knife on his chest. We soon learned he had a family. He appeared genuine and I tried to keep him talking so we could assess him. I asked him to tell us where
the hotel was – how far and in what direction. If he became tense, began driving erratically, in a different direction or tried to make a phone call, we would increase our vigilance. While I questioned him, Wynnie and Sonny searched for additional triggers, such as suspect vehicles trailing us. These observational skills were engrained in us from years of close-quarter battle (CQB), close personal protection (CPP), surveillance and counter-surveillance training.

We checked in to the Sheraton, completed a visual security assessment of the hotel and nominated emergency rendezvous points – both internal and external. It was a large hotel with many rooms. If we were inside and there was a bomb blast or sounds of rifle fire, we would move to a pre-designated room on the fifth floor. Once we had all been accounted for, we would barricade the alcove leading to the door with pieces of heavy furniture, then establish communications with our operations people and wait it out. There was a large military presence in Sana'a. If there was an incident, soldiers would be at the hotel within minutes. Without weapons, our aim was to remain concealed and out of the way – curiosity can be a killer.

If the hotel caught fire and we were threatened, we would make a rope out of the curtains, sheets and blankets. It wouldn't be long enough to reach the ground, but jumping from the second floor was far more appealing than jumping from the fifth. There was also a large tree five metres from our window. Leaping into that would definitely be a last resort, but if we were forced to get out fast, we'd have to take it.

Except in Iraq, Afghanistan, parts of Africa or in international waters, security consultants are rarely armed.
Former SAS soldiers are often employed to complete security surveys and provide close personal protection for VIPs because of their ability to identify threats and implement effective security procedures. If there's a bomb blast, security consultants with the SAS skill-set won't just run with everyone else in the opposite direction, as they are aware that the exits could be channelling people towards a secondary device. The bombing of the Sari Club in Bali was a tragic example of how devastating a secondary explosion can be.

An SAS soldier who has been in the Regiment for six years would have cycled through the counter-terrorism squadron twice and spent at least 24 months ‘online'. During this time, he would have made tens of thousands of high-stress decisions, from target recognition and identifying booby traps to assessing doorways and how to react during a single- or double-weapon stoppage. To further develop their skills, it is common for several SAS soldiers to act as the enemy, especially during ‘handover training', where one squadron is passing responsibility to another.

In a bomb blast, the first reaction of someone who is well trained will be to assess the situation rapidly, scanning for secondary threats or anything unusual: a truck laden with gas cylinders parked on the sidewalk, a fruit cart with no one selling fruit, an unsecure bicycle with a basket, or even a person acting differently from those around them will stand out to the trained eye. One must think like a terrorist.
If I was going to plant a secondary device, where would it wreak the most carnage?

Once we had settled into the hotel, I arranged for us to meet a contact in the early afternoon to discuss purchasing weapons. The meeting went well, so I asked to inspect the weapons. Our contact appeared a little reluctant but agreed. We travelled through the city to an affluent neighbourhood. A large set of gates opened, granting us access to a private villa.

Our contact was clearly a busy man – his phone was running hot. We waited in his lounge room while he answered a call. The furniture was basic and practical. There were no decorations or ornaments, just a lounge, television, table and chairs. It was the residence of someone who was busy, someone who didn't have the time or inclination to add warmth or style. The place lacked emotion – it was a bachelor pad that was set up for business.

‘Are you ready to see the weapons?' our contact asked after finishing his call.

‘Let's do it,' I replied.

We walked into a large room and saw a couple of black pistol cases sitting on a table.

‘May we check the weapons?' I asked.

‘Of course,' he replied.

The pistol I picked up was a 9-mm Taurus. They were old but well oiled and clean; the slides moved freely. As secondary weapons they would be fine. Leaning against the wall were four AKS-47 assault rifles. Anyone with comprehensive weapons training would never store weapons that way. We cocked the rifles and fired the actions. They weren't ideal, but if our contact couldn't source AK-47s then these would have to do.

‘Do you have access to normal AK-47s?' I asked.

‘What do you mean normal?'

‘These weapons have short barrels, which are good for fighting in confined spaces but they are only accurate to about 100 metres. We'd prefer normal AKs, which have a longer barrel and triple the maximum effective range.'

He wasn't a weapons guy but he understood our concerns. ‘Yes, I can get anything.'

He agreed to source AK-47s, but it was no surprise when his guys turned up with more AK-shorts. He also offered to source two RPKs, a long-barrelled derivative of the AK-47 with a bipod, and a couple of 100-round drum magazines, but these didn't eventuate either. Instead he delivered two PKM medium machine guns. Only one of these weapons was serviceable – the second was filthy and corroded. The boys gave them a decent clean and got them singing.

Sourcing weapons in Sana'a, Yemen.

A few days later we had coffee with a large Somali man in Djibouti, northern Africa. He had strong pirate connections and said he was able to source weapons and vessels for our subsequent tasks, but he wanted me to travel with him to Bombasso in Somalia to speak with his contacts as a sign of trust. I was fine with this, as he was business-oriented and appeared to be a man of integrity. He also told us that we wouldn't have any problems with Somali pirates over the next
two weeks – apparently, they would be on holidays. As ridiculous as this sounded, there were religious celebrations taking place.

On the evening of 15 December 2008, 18 of us set sail for the Red Sea in a dodgy dhow. I didn't take any sea-sickness tablets as the Gulf of Aden was like a lake. This, however, would soon change.

At the rendezvous, Tony, Mick and I were allocated to the second vessel, a new tugboat bound for Kuwait. We were all former SAS water operators and had been in the same team – the lead water counter-terrorism assault team – and Tony had commanded it from 2000 to 2002. We had spent many months living in each other's pockets during numerous operational and training deployments. It was refreshing to be hanging out again.

Our dhow in the Red Sea.

Like me, both Tony and Mick had struggled with their departure from the Regiment. Mick spent over a year in Iraq, and not even a near-death encounter with a roadside bomb could persuade him to give the lifestyle away. But with the breakdown of his marriage, Mick's priorities had
changed. Over the next 18 months he dedicated his life to his two young sons, Hunter and Carden. They were his cure and are now his everything.

Tony had been assigned to a training role just prior to the first SAS deployments to Afghanistan. When injury also kept him out of the later deployments, he snapped and got out. Tony stopped socialising with mates who were still in the Regiment. Listening to their experiences had become excruciating, so much so that even attending one mate's funeral was impossible. Tony was not alone in this – there were many others with identical feelings. I was one of them.

Tony is an intellectual man, often consumed by his thoughts. He was aware that his family, especially his five children, needed him. But he also knew they needed a dad who felt fulfilled and challenged. After two brief deployments to the Gulf of Aden, his craving for action settled.

Although there was a significant international naval force patrolling the area, the high-threat zone included some 2.5 million square miles, making it virtually impossible to secure. The Somali pirates were becoming increasingly bold because of their success and the large ransoms they were being paid. They generally operated with the support of a mother craft disguised as a fishing boat. When a target vessel was identified, one or more skiffs – pirate speed boats – would be sent to intercept it. On some of the more complex attacks, they used up to 70 pirates and 20 skiffs.

We weren't permitted to carry weapons aboard our vessel, so we were issued with an LRAD 500 – a non-lethal, directional acoustic hailing device. The hexagonal
LRAD was white and sat atop a tripod. If a rapidly approaching vessel did not heed warnings to change course, the LRAD could be used to send a continuous acoustic tone to deter the attackers. If the vessel closed to within 500 metres, the intensity of the soundwave could be turned up to extremely irritating levels. If a suspect continues to close in, the acoustic tone could reach excruciating levels, to the point where an attacker might receive permanent hearing loss.