operation. If any man was too nice to be in the SAS, then it was Charlie. It was a pleasure to be working alongside him again. Charlie was one of the most morally astute men Iâve ever met, a man who nearly always looked for, or brought out, the good in people. His work ethic, self-discipline and integrity were inspirational. In a sense, Charlie epitomised many of the traits that SAS soldiers are selected for. But he was never in your face with any of it. You could talk to him for ages without suspecting that this man was bordering on the elite in fitness and other respects. He was a fantastic bush soldier, one of the best, and this was largely due to his self-discipline. He was the perfect choice for lead scout.
The patrol medic, G, was a fiery individual with a big heart. After growing up in Melbourne, he had led an interesting life â he was street-savvy but wild. G was close to 30 when he passed the SAS selection, but by the end of his first year in the troop he had been identified as a hard-charger, an energetic soldier with balls the size of basketballs. G prided himself on his medical skills, and rightly so: he topped his patrol medicâs course during his first year in the Regiment. He was fitter than most men, but the thing I loved about him was his steely determination. Not many things in life are certain, especially not when it comes to human beings, but Gâs mettle under fire was never in doubt. If we found trouble, he would not only stand up and deliver, but having done that, he would no doubt deliver some more.
The final member of the patrol was Jimmy, our signaller. This man had forearms that made Popeye look like he was suffering from a spinach shortage. His enormous reputation for moral and physical strength preceded him. Like many SAS soldiers, Jimmy was a paradox: at once a warrior but at the same time incredibly kind and gentle. Although Iâm sure he would never have admitted it, beneath his tough exteriorhe was a big softie, especially when it came to his wife and children. For me, that mix of compassion and physical power is what true strength is about, and it was there in all the best soldiers Iâve ever known.
Our team was stacked with men who were at the upper echelons of their experience levels. We were close-knit, high-performing and keen to see some action. We were so secure in each otherâs ability that we felt confident to storm the gates of hell. Once again, it was the waiting that was the problem! All six of us were acutely aware of how close we were to finally seeing some action. The more experienced members of the team had come close on other operations â weâd all had our own Heard Island-style dry runs â but we still hadnât tasted the real thing. It was almost like an ache, not a bloodlust, just a need to use all that training. And as we waited, our sense of camaraderie, of brotherhood, only grew.
Two weeks before the East Timor deployment, our troop, the water troop, went on a training trip south of Perth. I had been detached from the troop on my six-month language course and was rather anxious to return and work with the boys again. It was an excellent chance for us to get back to basics and rehearse our core insertion skills â which is a whole lot less dirty than it sounds! Our days were full of diving, boating and canoeing, topped off by physical training sessions that included beach runs and boxing circuits. Throw in a few nights on the piss and it was the perfect week â working, training and playing hard. Weeks like that are what I miss most since departing the Regiment.
We were accommodated in an army reserve barracks for the week, so naturally we were respectful of our surroundings. Unfortunately, there was one notable exception. The walls of most barracks are lined with military artefacts, pictures and plaques. This particular base even had a couple of Japaneseswords captured during World War II. It also had something
The patrol medic, G, was a fiery individual with a big heart. After growing up in Melbourne, he had led an interesting life â he was street-savvy but wild. G was close to 30 when he passed the SAS selection, but by the end of his first year in the troop he had been identified as a hard-charger, an energetic soldier with balls the size of basketballs. G prided himself on his medical skills, and rightly so: he topped his patrol medicâs course during his first year in the Regiment. He was fitter than most men, but the thing I loved about him was his steely determination. Not many things in life are certain, especially not when it comes to human beings, but Gâs mettle under fire was never in doubt. If we found trouble, he would not only stand up and deliver, but having done that, he would no doubt deliver some more.
The final member of the patrol was Jimmy, our signaller. This man had forearms that made Popeye look like he was suffering from a spinach shortage. His enormous reputation for moral and physical strength preceded him. Like many SAS soldiers, Jimmy was a paradox: at once a warrior but at the same time incredibly kind and gentle. Although Iâm sure he would never have admitted it, beneath his tough exteriorhe was a big softie, especially when it came to his wife and children. For me, that mix of compassion and physical power is what true strength is about, and it was there in all the best soldiers Iâve ever known.
Our team was stacked with men who were at the upper echelons of their experience levels. We were close-knit, high-performing and keen to see some action. We were so secure in each otherâs ability that we felt confident to storm the gates of hell. Once again, it was the waiting that was the problem! All six of us were acutely aware of how close we were to finally seeing some action. The more experienced members of the team had come close on other operations â weâd all had our own Heard Island-style dry runs â but we still hadnât tasted the real thing. It was almost like an ache, not a bloodlust, just a need to use all that training. And as we waited, our sense of camaraderie, of brotherhood, only grew.
Two weeks before the East Timor deployment, our troop, the water troop, went on a training trip south of Perth. I had been detached from the troop on my six-month language course and was rather anxious to return and work with the boys again. It was an excellent chance for us to get back to basics and rehearse our core insertion skills â which is a whole lot less dirty than it sounds! Our days were full of diving, boating and canoeing, topped off by physical training sessions that included beach runs and boxing circuits. Throw in a few nights on the piss and it was the perfect week â working, training and playing hard. Weeks like that are what I miss most since departing the Regiment.
We were accommodated in an army reserve barracks for the week, so naturally we were respectful of our surroundings. Unfortunately, there was one notable exception. The walls of most barracks are lined with military artefacts, pictures and plaques. This particular base even had a couple of Japaneseswords captured during World War II. It also had something
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