Warrior Training by Keith Fennell Page B

stay by your side if the situation becomes dire.
    My first days in the Regiment were definitely interesting. But there was much more to come.

    The next night, the majority of the soldiers on our reinforcement cycle went to the Swanbourne Hotel for a few drinks. A couple of men tried to position themselves above others – an alcohol-induced, self-proclaimed order of seniority. Considering I had only joined the military theprevious year, they felt they had to let me know that I was a ‘jube’ – a new guy – and so relegated to the bottom of their pecking order. I was advised to keep my mouth shut and learn. I wasn’t the only guy who was spoken to that night. Initially, there was a dominant group within our cycle. It’s easy to govern as a pack, especially when you’re targeting lone guys who are yet to establish themselves.
    An officer also chimed in, having a crack at me for being a ‘Ready Reserve’ soldier. ‘I heard you were a Ready Red Rooster,’ he said at the top of his voice. He repeated this several times, laughing out loud and then he began to crow.
    I just nodded my head and smiled. I looked at the man and thought: You look more like a goose than a rooster . I remained reserved and eventually returned to the barracks. It’s not a long walk – 1.2 kilometres at most – along a road lined with pine trees. But it was long enough for me to reflect on what was said.
    At first I tried to recall if I had said something to antagonise these guys. Was I being a smartarse? But then I wondered to myself why guys like them waited so long before attempting selection. If they were so good, why did it take them so many years to make it into the Regiment? Was it a lack of confidence? Did they need to wait for a dozen of their mates to do it with them? Sure, some of them had big reputations in the Battalion, but we weren’t in the Battalion anymore. We would all have a steep learning curve, but mine would be a little steeper.
    I’d made it into the SAS but I felt like an outsider. The last time I felt this way was 18 years earlier, at pre-school. I still remember a red-headed girl and three boys banishing me from the tree-house because I was wearing a belt.
    For weeks the group followed me around and hounded me off every piece of equipment in the playground. I began to hate Tuesdays – pre-school day – so I conned Ma into letting me stay at home. As a four-year-old I was shy and lacked confidence, but this was no longer the case.

    Photo time at pre-school, aged four.
    Sitting on my bed, I mulled over a couple of options: I could confront those responsible and have it out, or I could double my efforts and earn their respect via performance. I was already highly motivated, but their comments did inspire me to work a little harder.
    The next day, while the others recovered from their hangovers, I spent hours working with a piece of rope, practising my knots. Our first course was a four-day roping course.
    I also began to familiarise myself with Morse code. We would later be expected to send and receive Morse at 10 words per minute. After memorising the characters, I began to practise on my Morse trainer – a device that beeped random characters, both letters and numbers. There were dials to control the sound and speed.
    I’d wake up early, throw on a set of headphones and practise while the others slept. This continued throughoutthe day. Whenever I had a few spare minutes, I’d turn on my Morse trainer and scribble the characters into a large notebook. When it was full, I bought another.
    Before our signals course even began, I could comfortably watch television and receive Morse at over 14 words per minute. I was tested at the end of the first week of the course and was the first to qualify.
    During our survival training we were given a lesson on lock-picking. That evening, with Chris, a diligent, intelligent soldier who had a keen interest in