The SAS had initially been formed during the Second World War, thanks to the efforts of a former commando by the name of David Stirling. In July 1941, while on duty in the Middle East, Stirling had grown tired of the repeated failure to take out Axis aircraft by conventional means. Rather than try to destroy them while they were airborne, he realised that a more effective strategy would be for a special forces unit to parachute behind enemy lines and hit them while they were still on the ground. But no one seemed willing to listen to his idea. Stirling therefore took matters into his own hands.
In the uniform of a junior Scots Guards officer, Stirling approached the checkpoint outside Middle East Command headquarters in Cairo. Stopped by a guard, he attempted to bluff his way inside, but without success. Yet, when the guard’s attention was momentarily distracted by the arrival of a staff car, Stirling slipped past him and into the building.
Once inside the building, he entered the office of a major on the adjutant general’s staff and identified himself. Stirling said he needed to speak urgently with the commander-in-chief, General Sir Claude Auchinleck. The major was unimpressed. He recognised Stirling as an officer who had fallen asleep during one of his lectures on tactics. In his eyes, Stirling was clearly not worthy of his time and he refused to listen to his request. When the telephone then rang, with the guard reporting the intruder, Stirling knew he was about to be turfed out. Quickly slipping out of the office, he emerged into the corridor and entered the next room he saw.
The room belonged to the deputy chief of staff, Major General Neil Ritchie. Stirling apologised for his unorthodox arrival and told the general he had matters of great operational importance to discuss. Impressed by the young man despite, or perhaps because of, his daring approach, the senior officer invited him to sit down, whereupon Stirling outlined his plan.
General Ritchie listened attentively and with growing interest. The concept appeared sound and the young officer seemed convinced he could carry it off. The general subsequently approved the scheme and gave permission for Stirling to raise his force. It would be known as L Detachment, Special Air Service Brigade, and Stirling was to be promoted to captain of this new unit, where he was to prove his worth.
By the end of 1941, the SAS had claimed nearly 100 enemy aircraft – all destroyed on the ground – plus a number of vehicles and petrol stores. They had also adopted a new motto: ‘Who Dares Wins’. However, Stirling was soon to be captured in Tunisia and, after several failed escape attempts, he spent the rest of the war in Colditz.
In Stirling’s absence, the SAS continued to undertake breathtaking deeds of audacity in the desert, and further afield. Following the war, the SAS remained a permanent unit and evolved to take on a counter-revolutionary function, operating both at home and abroad.
While often shrouded in secrecy, the ‘Land Operations Manual’, a publication of the Ministry of Defence, spelled out its principal functions in 1969:
SAS squadrons are particularly suited, trained and equipped for counter-revolutionary operations. Small parties may be infiltrated or dropped by parachute, including free fall, to avoid a long approach through enemy dominated areas, in order to carry out the following tasks:
a. The collection of information on the location and movement of insurgent forces.
b. The ambush and harassment of insurgents.
c. The infiltration of sabotage, assassination and demolition parties into insurgent held areas.
d. Border surveillance.
e. Limited community relations.
Liaison with, and organisation, training and control of friendly guerrilla forces operating against the common enemy.
Indeed, in the mid-1960s, I also applied to join the SAS following my stint commanding tanks in the Royal Scot Greys. Along with 124 other hopefuls, I arrived at SAS headquarters in Hereford for a series of selection tests. The first night let us know exactly what we were in for as, in temperatures below freezing, we had to swim across the River Wye. What followed was a number of timed tests involving map reading and fast cross-country movement, all with packs weighing over 30lbs. For the first few days, we had little sleep or rest. Just as we would settle into our beds, an officer would storm in and give us another ‘mission’. This saw us embark on 15-mile marches in the wet night, and then come back to face an interrogation involving a series of complex military problems. SAS staff with binoculars watched us like hawks so there was never any chance of cheating. Those who did try to take the easy way out were soon booted off the course.
I proceeded to cause a minor scandal when, after being tasked with drawing up plans to raid a bank, I accidentally left mine behind at a restaurant in Hereford. Believing it to be the real deal, the police were soon called and before I knew it newspapers all around the country covered the story. Yet, as they dug deeper, they came to realise that the plans were just part of SAS training, which saw the service crucified. In a particularly scathing article, The Times wrote, ‘The services are letting their zeal outrun their discretion.’ However, after being found to be the culprit, rather than be thrown out, I was merely given a slap on the wrist. I believe my SAS adjutant thought I had left the plans behind on purpose and found the whole thing rather funny. If he had known I had actually dropped the plans by accident, I am sure my time with the SAS would have been cut short.
With more and more hopefuls dropping out, I was soon one of the last men standing. All that was left to complete was a test known as the ‘Long Drag’. This was a 45-mile cross-country bash carrying a 50lb pack, 12lb kit and 18lb rifle without a sling. I am ashamed to say that I proceeded to hire the services of a local farmer, who had a black Ford Anglia, to take me around a large part of the course and beat the clock. I did feel guilty afterwards, but I consoled myself with the thought that subterfuge was an SAS tactic and I had not been caught, so I probably deserved my place, becoming the youngest captain in the army at that time in the process. Sadly, as I have previously explained, it was not to last. Soon after my failed attempt to bomb the Dr Dolittle movie set, I was thrown out in disgrace.
However, I would go on to complete the Long Drag fairly and squarely a few years later. On my return from Dhofar, I discovered there was a curious anomaly known as Reserve Squadron, 22nd SAS Regiment, whose role was to provide reinforcements for the regular SAS in time of war. Applicants had to pass the regular SAS selection course and this, therefore, offered me the chance to banish the ghost. This time, I’m happy to say I passed the course without the help of my farmer friend.
However, the terrorist attack at the 1972 Munich Olympics soon changed everything. With security relatively lax, a group of eight Palestinian terrorists, members of the Black September Organisation, were able to seize the dormitory occupied by Israeli athletes, killing two and taking nine hostages. In return, the terrorists demanded the release of 200 Palestinians imprisoned in Israel. The Israelis flatly refused, but the West German government agreed to allow the gunmen, together with the hostages, safe passage out of the country. Matters quickly unravelled at the airport, where German security forces opened fire and, in the fighting that ensued, all nine remaining hostages, five terrorists and one policeman were killed.
Hundreds of millions of people watched the event on television, which not only embarrassed the West German government but also alerted other countries to the need to form counter-terrorist units to cope with similar episodes that might arise in the future. At the G7 summit the following year, western governments reached an agreement to establish forces specially trained in counter-terrorism – not least because most countries had no military personnel trained to cope with a scenario like that at Munich.
Britain was no different. While the Metropolitan Police could be employed for such a task, its skills in this realm were limited. As such, in 1973, the Counter Revolutionary Warfare (CRW) wing of the SAS was expanded, with its responsibility now including that of being the nation’s hostage-rescue unit.
The CRW soon proved its worth in a string of host
age situations, most notably in Mogadishu, Somalia, where Palestinian terrorists had hijacked a Lufthansa aircraft. Two members of the SAS, Major Alastair Morrison and Sergeant Barry Davies, joined a German assault team subsequently, and rescued the German hostages successfully. The Callaghan government was suitably impressed, and soon after authorised a substantial increase in the CRW force as well as additional funds for improved equipment, training and weapons and communications. A special projects (SP) team was also set up, which involved training its recruits to carry out siege-busting exercises at SAS headquarters in Hereford.
A key part of this was undergoing a close-quarters battle (CQB) course, part of which involved training in the six-room ‘Killing House’. Complete with furniture, the Killing House contained paper targets in the form of Russian soldiers representing terrorists, and others representing hostages, which were moved from place to place. The SP team was divided into two specialist groups: the assault group, which stormed the building; and the perimeter containment group, which played the role of snipers and circled the scene, preventing anyone from leaving (or entering), not only at ground level but by way of the sewers or over the roofs.
In Steve Crawford’s The SAS at Close Quarters, a member of the regiment described the kind of drills conducted around the time of the embassy siege:
Inside the ‘Killing House’, live ball ammunition is used all the time, though the walls have a special rubber coating which absorbs the impact of rounds as they hit. Before going into any hostage scene or other scenario, the team always goes through the potential risks they may face. The priority is always to eliminate the immediate threat. If you burst into a room and there are three terrorists – one with a knife, one holding a grenade and one pointing a machine gun – you always shoot the one with the gun, as he or she is the immediate threat.
The aim is to double tap the target until he drops. Only head-shots count – in a room that can sometimes be filled with smoke there is no room for mistakes. Hits to the arms, legs and body will be discounted, and constant drills are required to ensure shooting standards are high. If the front man of the team has a problem with his primary weapon, which is usually a Heckler and Koch MP5 sub-machine gun, he will hold it to his left, drop down on one knee and draw his handgun. The man behind him will then stand over him until the problem with the defective weapon has been rectified. Then the point man will tap his mate’s weapon or shout ‘close’, indicating that he is ready to continue with the assault. Two magazines are usually carried on the weapon, but magnetic clips are used as opposed to tape. Though most of the time only one mag is required, having two together is useful because the additional weight can stop the weapon pulling into the air when firing.
The aim is to slowly polish your skills as a team so that everyone is trained up to the same level, thinking on the same wave length and (being) aware of each other’s actions. The ‘House’ is full of corridors, small rooms and obstacles, and often the scenario demands that the rescue be carried out in darkness (a basic SOP [standard operating procedure] on a live mission is for the power to be cut before the team goes into a building). The rooms are pretty barren, but they can be laid out to resemble the size and layout of a potential target, and the hostages will often be mixed in among the gunmen. Confidence in using live ammunition is developed by using ‘live’ hostages, who are drawn from the teams (the men wear body armour but no helmets). They usually sit at a table or stand on a marked spot, waiting to be ‘rescued’. The CQB range also includes electronically operated figures that can be controlled by the training staff. At a basic level, for example, three figures will have their backs to you as you enter the room. Suddenly, all three will turn and one will be armed. In that split second, you must make the right assessment and target the correct ‘body’ – if you don’t you will ‘kill’ a hostage and the gunman will ‘kill’ you.
A variety of situations can be developed by the instructors. For example, they may tell the team leaders to stand down minutes before a rescue drill starts, forcing the team members to go through on their own. Other ‘funnies’ include smoke, gas, obstacles to separate team members from their colleagues, as well as loudspeakers to simulate crowd noises and shouting.
Apart from using sub-machine guns and automatic pistols, shotguns – such as the Remington 870 pump-action model – as well as explosives were used to blow off door hinges and locks. They also carried assault ladders, which allowed for the silent scaling of walls, as well as rapid access to buildings, vehicles, ships, aircraft, trains and buses. Once inside, they could then deploy a specially designed stun grenade, the G60 ‘flash-bang’, which was devised to blind and deafen an opponent before the SAS shot him dead.
The SP team was also equipped with specialised equipment that could be used to determine the location of hostages and gunmen inside a building. For instance, fibre-optic equipment could be threaded into a room to view events without the occupants’ knowledge. In addition, they could potentially overhear conversations on various types of listening devices and thus, possibly, fix the positions of the hostage-takers. With all of this, the SP team were one of the best hostage-rescue teams in the world, and they would soon be thrown into action.
The SAS had actually learnt of the embassy siege before official notification was even received. At 1144 hours, an ex-D Squadron SAS corporal named Dusty Gray, then serving in the Metropolitan Police as a dog-handler, rang SAS headquarters at Hereford to provide Lieutenant Colonel Mike Rose, commanding officer of 22 SAS, with the little information that he then had. Despite being sceptical, Rose did not wait for official confirmation. Blue Team and Red Team of the SP team were swiftly sent to London and arrived in the early hours of 1 May at Regent’s Park barracks.
However, there was initially nothing the SAS team could do other than to sit and wait. The situation was in the hands of the government, the Metropolitan Police and the hostage negotiators, who all endeavoured to find a peaceful solution, without giving in to the terrorists’ demands. Meanwhile, as the siege went into its second day, the Blue Team and the Red Team discussed their options for every scenario. Intelligence officers also examined all that they knew about the layout of the embassy building, and where the hostages and terrorists were situated. The embassy caretaker, who had intimate knowledge of the building’s layout, was to prove particularly useful and further help was also soon forthcoming.
After substantial deliberations, Oan had no option but to release one of the hostages, who had become ill. This was a huge strategic error. On his release, the hostage was subsequently debriefed about the number of gunmen, their weapons, the layout of the embassy and the location of the hostages. Meanwhile, MI5 had managed to drill holes into the walls of the embassy so that they could install microphones, with the sound deliberately obscured by the use of low-flying aircraft. With all this intelligence, the SAS rapidly built scale models of the embassy, and its rooms, from plywood.
By day three of the siege, as the Blue Team and Red Team were taking it in turns to practise inside the makeshift rooms of the model embassy, things in the real embassy were growing increasingly tense. Oan was now threatening to kill the hostages, demanding to speak to the assembled media and making a series of new demands.
Negotiators continued to buy more time, when on day four two hostages were eventually released in exchange for the BBC broadcasting a statement. Despite this, Oan was beginning to realise that none of his demands would be met. It was clear that the situation could not continue for much longer.
Meanwhile, SAS plans continued apace. At 2300 hours, the team made its way across the rooftops and reached the embassy, where, careful not to make a noise, they proceeded to break the lock on the skylight. Now there was an easy way in, should it be needed. They also secured abseil ropes to several chimneys, so rapid ascent could be made down the rear of the building to the lower floors for entry through the windows. All the while, they continued to practise in the scale model at Regent’s Park barracks.
As th
e siege rumbled into day six, and with no progress being made, Oan grew increasingly suspicious that the embassy had been infiltrated and began to accuse the police of double-crossing him. He told the police negotiator, ‘You have run out of time. There will be no more talking.’ This was a real concern, particularly when the sound of gunshots was soon heard, followed by a body being dumped outside. It was now or never. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher subsequently gave the go-ahead for the SAS to proceed.
At 1923 hours, the codeword ‘Hyde Park’ came over the assault teams’ radios. This was the signal for the abseilers on the roof to hitch themselves to their ropes. A few moments later ‘London Bridge’ – the signal to descend – echoed in Red Team’s ears, followed by, ‘Go! Go! Go!’ Operation Nimrod, the code-name for the SAS rescue, was now operational.
As Red Team 2 descended towards the second-floor balcony, Red Team 1 blew in the glass dome in the stairwell leading to the second floor, from which they entered the building and ran upstairs to clear the third and fourth floors. Meanwhile, Blue Team, working simultaneously, executed an entry through the library at the rear of the ground floor.
However, disaster struck Red Team 2 when its leader got snagged in his harness. As others tried to help free him, someone’s foot smashed a window, which alerted Oan. As Oan went to investigate, taking PC Lock with him, Red Team 2 was still dangling to the side of the building, with their plan fast unravelling. Next door to the embassy, Blue Teams 4 and 5 watched on in horror. They were poised to use explosive charges to blow in the rear French doors but this situation made that impossible, as detailed in The SAS at Close Quarters:
We took up a position behind a low wall as a demolition call sign ran forward and placed the explosive charge on the embassy French windows. It was then that we saw the abseiler swinging in flames on the first floor [sic: second]. It was all noise, confusion, bursts of sub-machine gun fire. I could hear women screaming. Christ! It’s all going wrong, I thought. There’s no way we can blow that charge without injuring the abseiler. Instant change of plans. The sledge-man ran forward and lifted the sledge-hammer. One blow, just above the lock, was sufficient to open the door. They say luck shines on the brave. We were certainly lucky. If that door had been bolted or barricaded, we would have had big problems.
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