THE
SICKENER FACTOR
To reduce the number of candicates and to weed out time
wasters, a number of sickeners was introduced by the DS.
Disposing of 'passengers' was traditionally accomplished by at
least two exercises conducted during the first couple of days
of selection, coarsely
described as 'Sickener I' and 'Sickener II'. Sickener I, for
example, has been known to include the Mud Crawl, in which the
volunteer is invited to immerse himself in a gully containing
not only mud, but also a liberal quantity of rotting sheep's
entrails.
There were other, less colourful, disincentives. At the end of
a fifteen- or twenty-mile march, the tired volunteers would
arrive at a rendezvous only to see the lorries awaiting them
drive away empty. Candidates would be told that it was
necessary after all to march another ten miles. At that point,
several more people
would decide to drop out of the course. Those who stuck
with'it would find that the transport was waiting, after all,
only two miles away. Another ploy, introduced during combat
survival, was to order the candidate to carry the contents of
his Bergen pack from the penultimate rendezvous to the final
destination
without the aid of the rucksack itself. 'The sickener effect
could be quite dramatic,' one veteran recalls. 'On my course
we lost 40 volunteers out of 120 during the first weekend.'
During the 1970s, however, the emphasis of basic selection has
turned away from this approach towards a positive incentive
today.
One basic rule is that the SAS volunteer is never more than
an arm's reach from his rifle while in the field. One man
who walked twenty yards to a lake to wash, leaving his rifle
behind, received an instant sickener. 'Do twenty press-ups,'
an instructor shouted at him. The man was about to begin when
the instructor added: 'No, not there... in the lake.' After
the
victim had waded into the water and performed his task he was
ordered to get up again and rejoin the group. 'I can't,' he
replied
" desperately, 'I can't get up. I'm stuck in the mud.'
Among officers who volunteer for SAS selection, the sickener
factor, though no longer known by that name, is still apparent.
For a week before the beginning of the basic course, they are
taken on long and tiring marches round the hills, then brought
back to the Hereford base to be given Staff tasks -- for
example,
calculate the amount of fuel and ordnance required to move a
troop to a particular objective and demolish it, and produce a
plan for the operation. The officer must then present his plan
to a conference of veteran SAS troopers and NCOs, who will
treat it with derision. 'You must be joking!' 'Where were you
trained, the Boy Scouts?' are not responses young lieutenants
have been taught to expect from other ranks. For some it is a
punishing emotional experience. The officer's reaction to such
criticisms will be carefully noted. Of one who failed the
course it was recorded: 'He is a good officer and a wonderful
person, but he is not SAS material.' The most insidious
sickener is the inducement to give up the course without loss
of face. Even before a man arrives at Hereford he is
officially told that it is no disgrace not to be selected. The
SAS itself is also genuinely concerned not to destroy the
self-confidence of men it will reject, for they would be
valuable soldiers in more orthodox units.
This situation is one in which it is easy to brood upon the
unfairness of the world. After getting lost once or twice,
thereby adding to the distance to be covered, the volunteer
arrives at the first rendezvous wet from the knees down after
penetrating a bog, and soaked by his own sweat. The
instructors sit drinking
tea, apparently immersed in complacency. Until the seventies,
it was normal for an instructor, with feigned solicitude, to
say: 'You look all-in, mate. Hop in the back of the truck and
get your feet up.' The wise volunteer knew that even to pause
to consider the proposal was to invite rejection from the
regiment. To remove his pack at that moment was to ensure
failure, even if his resolve weakened only for a matter
of seconds. So, with a forced smile, he would reply: 'Piss off.
I've got better things to do', and continue his journey. Today,
the solicitude is probably genuine and the volunteer, far from
being seduced into abandoning the march, will be reminded: 'Only
another ten miles. You've come more than half way. Stick with
it.' Furthermore, the trucks waiting at the end of the march
will not mischievously disappear. Not all rendezvous are
simple check-points. At some of them the candidate will be
required to perform an unexpected task, such as stripping and
reassembling a weapon he has not seen before -- the physically
maladroit are
a liability in a section fighting its way out of an ambush --
or, perhaps, prove powers of observation by answering
questions concerning a dam or railway line he has passed en
route.
