Knife Edge: Life as a Special Forces Surgeon Read Online Free PDF Page A

totally organized, any physical tests you are given appear harder, if not impossible. A simple ten-kilometre stroll can become a marathon if you are wet and hungry, or have lost your compass in the bottom of your rucksack. All the instructors wanted to establish was if I could withstand the physical tests in store for me that day. How I went about it was my affair. The fact I was soaked and starving was irrelevant to them. From their perfectly correct viewpoint my discomfiture was self-inflicted. If I had thought through the problem beforehand I, too, would have been like them. Warm as toast, sizzling sausages in my basha . I had only myself to blame for any troubles.
    How I got through that first weekend I shall never know. The SAS spat me out once more, exhausted and humbled, late on the Sunday evening at its London barracks. I had learned a lot in a short time and had also seen others fall by the wayside. Of the forty trainees setting off up Pen-y-Fan mountain that Saturday morning, only twenty-eight finished the walk in the time allowed. None of those who failed was actively thrown out by the SAS. Each gave up of his own volition. Whoever you are, the idea of giving up goes through your mind permanently. The whole course is a matter of ignoring the very sensible desire to withdraw. You need to develop a strong streak of bloody-mindedness to succeed.
    Selection weekends took place at fortnightly intervals over a three-month period, leading to the two-week camp by the end. Each weekend became increasingly difficult. Distances longer, loads heavier, loneliness greater. The intervening fortnight was a valuable time. Once I realized that military-issue equipment, designed for the standard British soldier, was not up to the rigours of SAS Selection, I went down to the local climbing shop. I bought the place out. Sleeping mats, tiny gas cookers, survival bags, map cases. You name it and I obtained it. I learned to report for duty early so as to be at the front of the queue, not the end. I learned that everything should be covered in plastic to keep dry. In short, I became highly self-organized. I was damned if the buggers were going to beat me.
    Exposure or hypothermia, a slow decrease in body temperature, often over several hours, eventually causes the heart to stop beating. Exposure is similar to becoming drunk. In the early stages it can be quite pleasant. The sufferer is frequently unaware of the problem. I have retrieved three dead bodies from the Welsh mountains. All of them had been intelligent men in life - all of them had also been very strong. For whatever reason, they had decided to push themselves beyond their limit of endurance. The message is clear. No one is immune to exposure. Keeping dry, and away from the wind, is vital to survival. Exposure can kill. If in doubt, there is no harm in finding shelter and brewing some tea. You are no use dead to the SAS.
    SAS Selection is a time of deep and intense friendships. People you would never normally meet suddenly become bosom pals. Mutual suffering throws you together, creating a bond that is essentially indestructible. I would do anything for my SAS friends now. Selection also encourages a healthy spirit of competition. Peter B was my target. A physical education instructor by trade, he was the quiet, silent, independent type. He could keep going for ever, appearing to be incapable of feeling pain. I know now that he was just very self-controlled. Predictably, he passed his course with flying colours. On each walk I tried desperately to beat him. Most of the time I failed, but on occasion I triumphed. He was older and more experienced than I, tolerating my competitive ways with great patience.
    Keeping, or getting, fit was another challenge. To cope with Selection you must be able to climb hills steadily, without stopping. To stop walking, for whatever reason, is to invite failure. Captain T, hero of the Falklands, said to me years later when we took Regular SAS