This guy’s fellow recruits quickly became pissed off with him, because his constant need to gob off was making life tougher for them. In the military, you don’t deal with things on an individual basis, because you haven’t got time to take people aside and give them one-on-one coaching. Instead you have to say, ‘Right, you’re all getting punished today, because of number ten.’
As DS, it was our job to pounce on the show ponies and chop their heads off if they were getting above their station, because those kinds of people can corrupt the group. They can also be dangerous. Being humble and grounded is a very important trait for a Special Forces soldier to have. On some missions, you have to be aggressive. But most of the time, Special Forces soldiers operate under the radar. It’s not about hitting a target, smashing the place up and posting it on Instagram. It’s a lot more serene than that. And if you do get taken hostage and start mouthing off, you’re quite likely to end up with a bullet in the head. It might also result in your mates being killed and your mission being blown.
The first two days, the group were like a herd of wild horses, some of them wilder than others. It was our job to tame the egotists, not allow anyone to do his own thing on the fringes, and create a tight-knit pack. You can’t have rogue elements in combat situations, you must be a solid unit, working as a team. Once you’ve created that solid unit, camaraderie follows. And a good team will either rally round any remaining egotists and help to change them or they will ostracise them. It’s almost like natural selection.
After escape and evasion, this guy threw in the towel. Him and another recruit got lost and we had to hunt them down the next day. The plan was to hood and reinsert them, but this guy was on his knees saying he didn’t want to go on. Not only that, he was trying to talk his mate into quitting. And when someone is that tired, it’s not hard to persuade them to chuck it all in. That made me so angry. If you want to throw in the towel, that’s fine. But trying to persuade someone else to throw in the towel, because it would make you feel better about your failure, is not on. It’s the equivalent of someone on the battlefield saying, ‘Stay with me and get shot’, rather than, ‘Go on without me.’
I got this guy out of the car and unloaded on him, told him what a piece of shit he was for trying to corrupt a fellow recruit. He handed me his number, which meant he had voluntarily withdrawn, and I took great satisfaction from taking it from him. But the production company got wind of it and wanted him back in, because he made for good TV. So the decision was overturned, this guy was put back in and nothing was mentioned about the episode when the programme was broadcast. That irritated me, although the thought of the horrors that still awaited him in the process placated me somewhat.
Anything that isn’t a bit of a struggle to make can’t possibly be any good, so me and the other DS are always rubbing up against the programme makers. There will be times when they try to push their ideas onto us and we simply won’t have it, but that’s simply part of the creative process. As it turned out, this guy made it to the final five, which actually gave me a lot of pleasure. In only eight days, we’d taught him that his ego was his biggest enemy and refined him as a person. I’m convinced that being on the programme changed him for the better, and he’s actually become a good friend.
Another important aspect of the show is the success of the underdog. It’s not always the fittest, strongest and fastest people who prevail, often it will be someone who has flown under the radar for most of the week and we’ve barely noticed. Ryan Roddy, from that first series, was that kind of character, the perfect grey man.
Ryan had had a tough upbringing in Northern Ireland, was phenomenally fit, a great team player and humble. While some people were telling everyone within earshot how great they were, Ryan was plodding along in the pack, saying nothing. And when you’re dealing with someone who is humble, you automatically have far more respect for them. I wasn’t surprised when Ryan was one of the last men standing at the end of the series.
Amuz Sandhu, who appeared in series three in Morocco, had only recently beaten cancer and a consequent alcohol addiction. He had this fire inside of him, and I think that came from believing he might die. After day one, all of the DS were doubting him, but he proved us wrong. Amuz would be in tears, seemingly in agony, but he’d keep putting one foot in front of the other. In the end, we were calling him ‘Cyclone’, because he was like a slow-moving depression. Amuz is the kind of person you want in a warzone, someone who will keep moving forward, even when the chips are down and they are at their lowest ebb. That means a lot more than someone grandstanding at the front of a march and finishing first in the sprints.
In the most recent series, there was a guy called Milo Mackin who also fitted the bill of the grey man. He was a fit lad who had flirted with joining the military, but he was also quite subdued. His brother Travis was killed by an IED in Afghanistan when he was only 22. And because his other brother Corbin was also serving at the time, Milo didn’t pursue his military dreams for the sake of his family. But Milo was desperate to do Travis proud. And from that quiet, unassuming lad, he blossomed as the week went on. Milo’s development curve was very steep and he was one of only three recruits standing at the end.
We live in a society in which the extrovert, the boaster and anyone who makes the most noise is thought to be the most likely to succeed. But that’s not the Special Forces way. The bigger the ego, the bigger the insecurity. Most Special Forces soldiers don’t tell the world what they’ve done. It’s enough that they know what they’ve done, having taken themselves to their absolute limits.
19
JUST LIKE YOU
The programme makers were extremely clever in creating a show that wasn’t just about the military and the physical attributes of soldiers, but also about human psychology. That made it appeal to a far wider audience. It meant that people who didn’t have any interest in the military watched it and got caught up in the emotional turmoil of the recruits, and particularly their backstories, some of which were brutal. They could relate to those stories far more than the sight of a man yomping across a hill with a big pack on his back.
The recruits’ backstories include bereavement, personal illness, bullying, rape and murder, as well as more universal themes such as failure and redemption. These are stories that resonate with so many viewers. One of the show’s appeals is seeing people achieve amazing things despite adversity. That’s inspirational to everyone. Humans want to see fellow humans surpass expectations, unless you’re one of those bitter, jealous people who feels threatened by other people overcoming obstacles and succeeding in life.
It was really important to me that I demonstrated the various stunts, rather than gobbing off and asking the recruits to do stuff I can’t – or simply don’t want to do – myself. People sometimes say to me, ‘I see you got the short straw again, having to stand in that icy water or abseil down the cliff face.’ But that’s not the case at all; it’s far better to actually demonstrate to people the calibre of soldiers we were and still are. I also just love doing it, it makes me feel alive. Although my enthusiasm did almost kill me during the second series in Ecuador.
None of us had done helo drills for years, because it’s not the sort of thing you do on Civvy Street. Me and another DS on the show, Mark ‘Billy’ Billingham, were in this Huey helicopter and I really wanted to beat him down, because I was SBS and he was SAS, and that rivalry dies hard. However, the helicopter pilot was quite inexperienced and, a bigger problem, the ropes were wet. So when I dropped out of the helicopter, I might as well have not had a rope: I went screeching downwards from 60 feet up and literally bounced off the floor. The recruits were all watching and saying, ‘Fuck, how fast was that? Amazing!’ But I injured myself big time – my leg was strapped up and I could hardly walk – and was off filming for three days.
Other times during filming, danger finds us. During series four in Chile, me and the lads were wandering around this reservoir, doing a locations recce, when we heard t
his big crack, like a single sniper round. Me and my fellow DS Ant Middleton turned around to see this big piece of rock hurtling towards us, spinning so fast it sounded like the whop-whop-whop of a helicopter’s rotors. Luckily, it flew straight between us. Had it hit us, it would have taken our heads off. I guess that was some kind of message: you’d better make the most of life, because just around the corner there might be a piece of flying rock with your name on it.
In Morocco, the recruits were chucked from a helicopter and into some water, and I was assigned to keep an eye on those who weren’t strong swimmers. When I popped up, I saw one of the recruits struggling and starting to panic. When I reached him, I shouted at him to relax and he grabbed hold of me and pulled me under. He was inadvertently drowning me in order to save himself! In the end, I had to punch him in the stomach to make him let go. The safety boat fished this guy out and when I reached the shore, Foxy was there to meet me. I said to him, ‘Mate, he almost fucking killed me!’ And in a quiet voice, so the microphone couldn’t pick it up, Foxy said, ‘Don’t worry, dude, that will make for great TV…’ I later discovered that the recruit had mistaken my ‘just relax’ for ‘get on my back’. When in a state of panic, you’ll hear whatever you want if it means you might survive.
Dan Cross was another amazing recruit from series three. He was away on business when he got a call from his wife, saying there was someone sniffing around the house. The next thing he knew, this guy was in the house and Dan was listening to his wife being stabbed to death, while she tried to protect their children. I’d been in warzones and lost friends, but that’s what I signed up for. People dying is just part and parcel of being a soldier. But Dan’s wife and children were entirely innocent, they hadn’t signed up for anything.
I don’t know how Dan found the strength to get through the trauma and not seek revenge. His kids are probably the only reason he’s still here, otherwise he probably would have taken his own life. You’d expect someone like that to be broken 24 hours a day, seven days a week. But Dan has found a way to get on with his life and is getting remarried, which is just fantastic for him.
The story of Mark Peart, who appeared in series four, also hit me hard. Just months before we started filming, Mark arrived home to find his wife had taken her own life. Physically, he was the strongest on the course. But it was obvious that Mark still had a lot to deal with mentally. I just felt so much empathy for him, this bloke who had been left to pick up the pieces. Mark was one of only three recruits standing at the end, so at least he’d been able to channel all that negative injury into something positive.
Efrem Brynin was a recruit in series two, which took place in the jungle in Ecuador. Efrem was well into his forties and Ant actually said to him, ‘You shouldn’t be here, you should have your feet up in front of the fire.’ But during one of our chats, he revealed that he was there because he lost his son in Afghanistan. Efrem was suffering a lot and I felt for him. Appearing on the show was the only way he felt he could get close to his son, maintain the connection, even though he was dead. That was a significant moment for me, because it made me view things from the outside looking in.
When you’re in a warzone, you don’t think about how it affects people back home. I didn’t anyway. I cut myself off, because I thought connecting to any emotion at home would soften me and make me question why I was there. A warzone is a harsh environment and if you don’t stay sharp, you’re more likely to lose your life. As cruel as it might sound, the last thing you want to be doing is phoning home all the time and discovering that your loved ones are suffering. Or it might be something as innocuous as your son having the flu, the car breaking down, your wife’s plans to redecorate the bathroom or your dog dying. Before you know it, your mind is at home, where it shouldn’t be.
It relates to the idea of peace in war. A soldier will be sitting on the frontline with his mates, dealing with sporadic bits of danger, but their loved ones will be listening to stories on the radio and TV about bombs going off here, there and everywhere. They’ll be reading about casualties in the newspaper and seeing pictures of carnage and maimed and dead bodies on the news. And their minds will be in turmoil, thinking about what might have become of their husband, son, father or brother. Efrem made me reflect on my family and what they’d been through, while I was busy not thinking about them.
My mum recently reminded me of some of the letters I sent her while I was serving in Iraq. In one of them, I describe watching over one of Saddam Hussein’s palaces, before telling her we’d just shot two of Saddam’s guards. I made it sound so blasé, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And it must have shocked my mum, especially given that I was still so young. In the next sentence, I was asking her to send me some Wash & Go shampoo, some baby lotion – God knows what I wanted that for! – and some chocolates. Those letters summed up military life: most of it is very mundane, but suddenly you can be in a gunfight and dicing with death.
There was another letter that mum tells me made her cry. It read, ‘Mum, do you remember me? I am your son Matthew. I’ve written so many letters to you and you haven’t replied. I don’t know if you realise what it’s like out here. Please, please, please write to me.’ She had been replying, but her letters had been held up in Tunisia. So in the next letter I wrote: ‘Really sorry. Can you forgive me? What a shit bastard I’ve been.’
In the first series of SAS: Who Dares Wins, we gave the recruits the choice of phoning home or not. There weren’t many people left and those who remained were physically and mentally exhausted. We advertised the phone call as a reward for all their efforts. But it was another trick, a test of resolve. Anyone with the right amount of focus shouldn’t have made that phone call. For some people, hearing the voice of their girlfriend, mum or daughter was too much to bear. They came out of the room in tears. They were mentally and physically diminished and their determination was blunted. Suddenly they were riddled with self-doubt and asking themselves, ‘Why am I here?’ When asked why he declined to make a call, Ryan Roddy replied, ‘Because I was scared it would cause me to lose focus.’ That was a good answer.
In subsequent series, the recruits had to make a video call. Some came out of the room looking like they’d been hollowed out. Others emerged re-energised, determined to make it to the end for their loved ones. In series three, Jonny Davis closed his eyes all the way through his call. As well as being hard as nails, Jonny was very emotionally detached, much like Ryan. It didn’t surprise me that Jonny was one of the last two men standing and to this day is a personal friend and training partner.
In series four in Chile, we had to sit and listen to one traumatic story after another. It exhausted me mentally. Every time I walked into that Mirror Room I thought, ‘What’s it going to be this time?’
At the same time, the DS’s reaction to the stories is such an important part of the programme, because it humanises the Special Forces. When I was a kid, I thought Special Forces soldiers were superheroes, created on another planet and flown in on a spaceship, or cut from quarries. And people still say to me, ‘You guys are cut from a different cloth.’ We’re not!
As I hope the programme shows, we’re just normal blokes who happen to have done extraordinary things. We have a greater understanding of our own limitations than most people. We understand that boundaries are things we create ourselves, that they’re not imposed by some outside force. But we’re not these invulnerable alpha males or hard-nosed killers with no feelings.
We are aware of our emotions, but we know how to control them and use them to our advantage in conflict. That’s not to say we don’t struggle with our emotions in everyday life. I’ve been at the top of my game in the Special Forces to rock bottom in civilian life. I haven’t had it any worse than anyone else but, all the same, I’ve been in some bad places. It’s the same with the other lads on the show: Foxy, Ant and Billy. That makes us relatable and I hope it inspires people to do things they didn’t think they were capable of.
; Foxy went on national TV to talk about his PTSD, which was a brave and brilliant thing to do. The Special Forces turned their back on Foxy and asked him to leave, instead of offering to help, so him discussing his problems highlighted the lack of emotional support for veterans. Plus, there would have been people sitting at home, whose husbands, sons, fathers or brothers had served in war zones, thinking, ‘Oh shit, if this bloke who served in the Special Forces is struggling, then maybe my husband/son/father/brother is feeling the same.’
Soldiers have been struggling with various forms of trauma since the beginning of time. The guys who fought in the First and Second World Wars suffered terribly after coming home, but their emotions were often locked away. It’s bizarre that there were millions of men sitting in living rooms and pubs all over the country, not talking about the awful things they’d experienced. You’d often hear those old soldiers described as quiet men. My grandfather was like that, you didn’t hear a lot from him. It was seen as noble and dignified not to talk about their problems. Men had to show a strong front, pretend they weren’t affected by what they’d been through. But I look back now and realise there must have been so much going on inside my grandfather’s head.
Until recently, soldiers felt embarrassed to share their problems, because they thought it was only them who was affected. When you think you’re the only one, you become very alienated and insular. You lose your friends, because you don’t think they’ll understand. But one reason that soldiers are opening up now is because people have started to talk about their problems in public. People like Foxy. But there will still be plenty of soldiers out there, living with their secret struggles and not coping at all well. Another one of them was my old mate Goldie, a giant of a lad from South Africa – both physically and personality-wise – who was the daddy of 576 Troop during my Marines training. Goldie took his own life in 2017, which hit me hard. Goldie had lost his way and I was trying to find him work. But I had no idea how much he was suffering, and I wish I could have done more.
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