Sas Quotes

Gentlemen,” he said. “I give you The Eagle’s Covenant.

Breggie de Kok had now brought herself to a high state of adrenalin powered tension and was ready to kill.

.'If things get on top of you', my mum always used to say, 'have a good cry.'.

Soon, Joanna’s strength waned, and she was reduced to loose slaps on his shoulders and cries of: “Tell me where my baby is.” She sobbed and broke down, literally collapsing on top of him. “Please tell me where my baby is.

Dad always warned that it was misleading when one imagined people, when one sas them in the Mind's Eye, because one never remembered them as they really were, with as many inconsistencies as there were hairs on a human head (100,000 to 200,000). Instead, the mind used a lazy shorthand, smoothed the person over into their most dominating characteristic--their pessimism or insecurity (something really being lazy, turning them into either Nice or Mean)--and one made the mistake of judging them from this basis alone and risked, on a subsequent encounter, being dangerously surprised.

Above all, I feel a quiet pride that for the rest of my days I can look at myself in the mirror and know that once upon a time I was good enough. Good enough to call myself a member of the SAS. Some things don’t have a price tag.

A friend once asked me what qualities were needed for SAS. I would say to be self-motivated and resilient; to be calm, yet have the ability to smile when it is grim; to be unflappable, be able to react fast and to have an ‘improvise, adapt and overcome’ mentality.

The more we know the easier it is to survive. Knowledge dispels fear.

Sas soon as we label something as "natural", we attach to it the powerful implication that any change from its current state would degrade and damage the way it is "supposed" to be

The Army and the SAS had been his dream--his chance to be somebody, save lives, show his parents he was worth something. Being a soldier had been his escape, his flight from the demons that bound him. War is a cold, selfish bitch. It changes you. It makes you hard, and it makes you hurt, yet somehow, we keep going back for more.

Why is S-A-S pronounced S-A-W? It should be Ar-Kansas. Did Kansas object?

sa’s smell (the fragrance of a beautiful man) is what I miss the most. […] Like a virus his smell entered me and changed my cells, slowly, over years, until they craved only that smell, which was their oxygen.

But, that guy who quit also missed the real point. Good things come through grit and hard work, and all things worthwhile have a cost. In the case of the SAS, the cost was somewhere around a thousand barrels of sweat.

!!!!!!!!!!NO TRESPASSING!!!!!!!!!! All trespassers will be shot on sight. All survivors will be shot again.

He shuffled up to the stake and examined the impaled, naked, dead man. The stake entered his anus and protruded through his gaping mouth, his death mask frozen in a look of horror.

Once upon a time there was a Scottish SAS soldier in Kabul. He met a Soviet Spetsnaz soldier. They were enemies first, then shagged for nine years, fell in love at some stage. Dragons, battles, and damsels in distress in between, until an evil wizard took the Spetsnaz away. The Scot and the damsel battled the vile foes, until the Russian returned, but the evil spell still hat him in its claws. More dragons, battles, knights in not-so shiny armour later, the spell got broken, the Princes got reunited, and our Russian and Scotsman kind of lived happily ever after." (Dan)

The Piper's playing again, and there's a full orchestra.' There was a long silence as Andrew deciphered the cryptic statement. 'A FULL orchestra?

To overcome frailty is one definition of courage; to acknowledge it with honesty is another.

Throughout my career, I always had great respect for the British Special Air Service, the famed SAS. The SAS motto was “Who Dares Wins.” The motto was so widely admired that even moments before the bin Laden raid, my Command Sergeant Major, Chris Faris, quoted it to the SEALs preparing for the mission. To me the motto was more than about how the British special forces operated as a unit; it was about how each of us should approach our lives. Life is a struggle and the potential for failure is ever present, but those who live in fear of failure, or hardship, or embarrassment will never achieve their potential. Without pushing your limits, without occasionally sliding down the rope headfirst, without daring greatly, you will never know what is truly possible in your life.

If you’re gonna be a bear, be a grizzly.

Someone is sitting in the shade today because someone planted a tree a long time ago. —Warren Buffett

The Seven Ps’: Prior Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss-Poor Performance.

Never run away,” Jock Lewes instructed them. “Because once you start running, you’ve stopped thinking.

Sometimes it’s better to know who your enemy are and what they’re up to than to take them off the ground.

The coppery smell of blood filled his senses. It was so damn strong. He’d been surrounded by blood before, covered in it a few times when he’d been with the SAS, but this was different.

Strangulation. It was a fearful way to go, wrestling, kicking your way towards oblivion, panic, the fretful sucking for air, and the killer behind you most likely, so that you faced the fear of something totally anonymous, a death without knowledge of who or why. Rebus had been taught methods of killing in the SAS. He knew what it felt like to have the garotte tighten on your neck, trusting to the opponent’s prevailing sanity. A fearful way to go.

His fevered thoughts burrowed through the fog clouding his brain, taking him back to another time and another place, where, as a member of an elite SAS unit and despite a nasty combat wound, he had been forced into a gruelling retreat through

Purple emperor-watching with Matthew and Neil is not your average butterfly entertainment, ethereal and somewhat effete. Theirs is a raucous, adrenaline-fuelled spectator sport. The emperors themselves seem to play to the crowd. Pugnacious males dart around the crowns of oaks, staking out their territory, jetting about with muscular flicks of their wings, twirling on their own axes, elevating a hundred feet into the air. They are the SAS of butterflies, fit, fearless and chemically armed.

The great thing about the British SAS was that they viewed war the same way the American Special Operations community did. You didn’t win by thinking inside the box and following someone else’s rules. You turned the box upside down and made your own rules, no matter what the enemy threw at you.

Didn’t they know that the only unhackable computer is one that’s running a secure operating system, welded inside a steel safe, buried under a ton of concrete at the bottom of a coal mine guarded by the SAS and a couple of armoured divisions, and switched off? What did they think they were doing?

Once the screws left, most of the six or seven boys who had been overpowered by the SAS were not in any fit state to move, never mind talk. In May 1988 Malkie and Sammo and one other boy, whose name escapes me right now, got a total of twenty-seven years between them for mobbing and rioting and assault.

Nor can I tell him—lest the SA’s command override cause my arterial blood vessels to burst and my eyeballs to catch fire—about Long-Term Continuity Operations and the Resistance.

My mind was on a silent hillside, in a land far away, and gods who should be left to sleep. *

Paratroopers are human Alsatians.

Supply chain leaders manage complex systems with complex processes with increasing complexity. Leaders

Time is money. If we could take one day of transit time out of the supply chain, we could free up $1 billion in cash. Unfortunately, we cannot.

supply chain was and still is the silent enabler behind great companies, world economies, and successful communities. It

Today, it is focused on not just building chains but also on the design of agile networks.

AK-47 – Kalashnikov gas-operated, 7.62 × 39mm assault rifle.

I’m not going to be pushed around by some Oswald Mosley wannabe with delusions of grandeur.

Who dares, wins

There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.

About as welcome as Adolf Hitler at a Goldman Sachs board meeting. Bru,

1999,

As bleak as it sounds, it’s entirely possible that more things will go wrong in your life than go right. But if you dwell on the negatives, you’ll end up in a state of mental paralysis.

5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has risen,  s as he said. Come, see the place where he [1] lay.

The term supply chain is not new. It is fundamental to military strategy. It was the difference between winning and losing in the Napoleonic wars and the Battle of the Bulge in World War II. The

Back in Cairo for dinner at the Embassy with the two SAS heroes David Stirling and Fitzroy Maclean, he challenged Smuts to see who could recite the most Shakespeare. After a quarter of an hour Smuts lost, as Churchill churned on. A few minutes later, Smuts realized that his opponent was once again producing cod-Shakespeare verses that owed nothing to the Bard and everything to the Prime Minister’s imagination.

Lirismul absolut As vrea sa izbucnesc intr-o explozie radicala cu tot ce am in mine cu toata energia si cu toate continuturile sa curg sa ma descompun si intr-o expresie nemijlocita distrugerea mea sa fie opera mea creatia inspiratia mea. Sa ma realizez in distrugere sa cresc in cea mai nebuna avantare pana dincolo de margini si moartea mea sa fie triumful meu. As vrea sas ma topesc in lume si lumea in mine sa nastem in nebunia noastra un vis apocaliptic straniu ca toate viziunile de sfarsit si magnific asemenea marilor crepuscule. Din tesatura visului nostru sa creasca splendori enigmatice si umbre cuceritoare forme ciudate si adancimi halucinante. Un joc de lumina si de intuneric sa imbrace sfarsitul intr-un decor fantastic si o transfigurare cosmica sa ridice totul pana dincolo de orice rezistenta cand avantul duce la nimic iar formele plesnesc intr-o exaltare de agonie si incantare. Un foc total sa inghita luea aceasta si flacarile lui mai insinuante decat zambetul de femeie si mai imateriale decat melancolia sa provoace voluptati crepusculare complicate ca moartea si fascinante ca neantul in clipele de tristete. Sunt necesare trairi nebune pentru ca lirismul sa atinga ultima lui expresie pentru ca incordarile lui sa treaca marginile subiectivismului normal.

A break point is a moment you decide nothing will stand between you and your goal; a moment you decide to step out of your comfort zone in order to move forward and grow as a person; a moment you refuse to accept your self-imposed limits and go beyond what you thought you were capable of. As such, break points are more mental than physical. It might seem strange to describe coming under attack in Fallujah as being in one’s comfort zone.

I tried to comfort him. I tried to tell him it might be chance, not destiny, that has put him here. Do you know what he said?” “That there is no chance, only destiny.” Her hands paused. “How did you know?” “It is one of the cornerstones of Sa’s teachings. That destiny is not reserved for a few chosen ones. Each man has a destiny. Recognizing it and fulfilling it are the purpose of a man’s life.” “It seems a burdensome teaching to me.” Kennit shook his head against the pillow. “If a man can believe it, then he can know he is as important as any other man. He can also know that he is no more important than any other is. It creates a vast equality of purpose.” p. 530: Etta to Kennit

But what do I remember and value most? For me, it is the camaraderie, and the friendships--and of course Trucker, who is still one of my best friends on the planet. Some bonds are unbreakable. I will never forget the long yomps, the specialist training, and of course a particular mountain in the Brecon Beacons. But above all, I feel a quiet pride that for the rest of my days I can look myself in the mirror and know that once upon a time I was good enough. Good enough to call myself a member of the SAS. Some things don’t have a price tag.

I was soon discharged from the rehab center and sent back to the SAS. But the doctor’s professional opinion was that I shouldn’t military parachute again. It was too risky. One dodgy landing, at night, in full kit, and my patched-up spine could crumple. He didn’t even mention the long route marches carrying huge weights on our backs. Every SF soldier knows that a weak back is not a good opener for life in an SAS squadron. It is also a cliché just how many SAS soldiers’ backs and knees are plated and pinned together, after years of marches and jumps.

If travelling through a malarial region take an adequate supply of anti-malaria tablets. You must start taking these two weeks before your journey, so that resistance is in the system before you arrive in the risk area, and should keep taking them for a month after your return.

Te caches-tu de tes enfants et d’Estelle pour me lire, aux toilettes, la nuit très tard, dès qu’ils ont le dos tourné ? Ou bien tiens-tu Monsieur comme on tient un SAS, négligemment, les doigts enduits d’huile solaire ? Suis-je déjà cornée, craquelante du sable que tes bambins m’ont envoyé entre les pages en jouant au beach-ball ? Ai-je enfin réussi, à ma manière, à pénétrer un peu de vos vacances en famille ? Est-ce que tu as peur ? Quelle est la part de haine dans toutes les émotions, contradictoires sans doute, que je t’inspire de manière – disons – posthume ? Est-ce que tu te souviens de tout ? Y compris de ce jour ?

In the end I concluded, nothing ventured, nothing gained. (A vital ethos to follow if life is to have flavor, I have since learned.) I knew I should at least attempt Selection. If I failed, well at least I would fail while trying. Facedown in the dirt. Knowing that I had given it my all. (Oh, and what’s more, I knew that the SAS required secrecy from anyone attempting Selection, which was perfect. If I failed, I concluded, at least no one would know!) So that was the plan; but in truth, if I could have had any idea of the pain and battering that my body would go through on Selection, I would have realized it was insane to continue with this mad dream. But luckily, we never really know what the future holds.

One night, around the campfire after a dinner of bully-beef stew, someone opened an extra bottle of rum. ‘As it grew darker, the men began to sing, at first slightly self-conscious and shy, but picking up confidence as the song spread.’ Their songs were not the martial chants of warriors, but the schmaltzy romantic popular tunes of the time: ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’, ‘My Melancholy Baby’, ‘I’m Dancing with Tears in My Eyes’. The bigger and burlier the singer, Pleydell noted, the more passionate and heartfelt the singing. Now the French contingent struck up, with a warbling rendition of ‘Madeleine’, the bittersweet song of a man whose lilacs for his lover have been left to wilt in the rain. Then it was the turn of the German prisoners who, after some debate, belted out ‘Lili Marleen’, the unofficial anthem of the Afrika Korps, complete with harmonies: ‘Vor der Kaserne / Vor dem grossen Tor / Stand eine Laterne / Und steht sie noch davor …’ (Usually rendered in English as: Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate, darling I remember, how you used to wait.) As the last verse died away, the audience broke into loud whistles and applause. To his own astonishment, Pleydell was profoundly moved. ‘There was something special about that night,’ he wrote years later. ‘We had formed a small solitary island of voices; voices which faded and were caught up in the wilderness. A little cluster of men singing in the desert. An expression of feeling that defied the vastness of its surroundings … a strange body of men thrown together for a few days by the fortunes of war.’ The doctor from Lewisham had come in search of authenticity, and he had found it deep in the desert, among hard soldiers singing sentimental songs to imaginary sweethearts in three languages.

Break points are about going the extra mile, clambering over obstacles – even while travelling in what seems like the wrong direction – and facing down negatives to achieve your ambitions. A break point is a moment you decide nothing will stand between you and your goal; a moment you decide to step out of your comfort zone in order to move forward and grow as a person; a moment you refuse to accept your self-imposed limits and go beyond what you thought you were capable of.

So that is how we came to be standing in a sparse room, in a nondescript building in the barracks at SAS HQ--just a handful out of all those who had started out so many months earlier. We shuffled around impatiently. We were ready. Ready, finally, to get badged as SAS soldiers. The colonel of the regiment walked in, dressed casually in lightweight camo trousers, shirt, beret, and blue SAS belt. He smiled at us. “Well done, lads. Hard work, isn’t it?” We smiled back. “You should be proud today. But remember: this is only the beginning. The real hard work starts now, when you return to your squadron. Many are called, few are chosen. Live up to that.” He paused. “And from now on for the rest of your life remember this: you are part of the SAS family. You’ve earned that. And it is the finest family in the world. But what makes our work here extraordinary is that everyone here goes that little bit extra. When everyone else gives up, we give more. That is what sets us apart.” It is a speech I have never forgotten.

I was soon discharged from the rehab center and sent back to the SAS. But the doctor’s professional opinion was that I shouldn’t military parachute again. It was too risky. One dodgy landing, at night, in full kit, and my patched-up spine could crumple. He didn’t even mention the long route marches carrying huge weights on our backs. Every SF soldier knows that a weak back is not a good opener for life in an SAS squadron. It is also a cliché just how many SAS soldiers’ backs and knees are plated and pinned together, after years of marches and jumps. Deep down I knew the odds weren’t looking great for me in the squadron, and that was a very hard pill to swallow. But it was a decision that, sooner or later, I would have to face up to. The doctors could give me their strong recommendations, but ultimately I had to make the call. A familiar story. Life is all about our decisions. And big decisions can often be hard to make. So I thought I would buy myself some time before I made it. In the meantime, at the squadron, I took on the role of teaching survival to other units. I also helped the intelligence guys while my old team were out on the ground training. But it was agony for me. Not physically, but mentally: watching the guys go out, fired up, tight, together, doing the job and getting back excited and exhausted. That was what I should have been doing. I hated sitting in an ops room making tea for intelligence officers. I tried to embrace it, but deep down I knew this was not what I had signed up for. I had spent an amazing few years with the SAS, I had trained with the best, and been trained by the best, but if I couldn’t do the job fully, I didn’t want to do it at all. The regiment is like that. To keep its edge, it has to keep focused on where it is strongest. Unable to parachute and carry the huge weights for long distances, I was dead weight. That hurt. That is not how I had vowed to live my life, after my accident. I had vowed to be bold and follow my dreams, wherever that road should lead. So I went to see the colonel of the regiment and told him my decision. He understood, and true to his word, he assured me that the SAS family would always be there when I needed it. My squadron gave me a great piss-up, and a little bronze statue of service. (It sits on my mantelpiece, and my boys play soldiers with it nowadays.) And I packed my kit and left 21 SAS forever. I fully admit to getting very drunk that night.

The meeting was set for between 0300 and 0500 hours. Matt and I reached the RV early and sat and waited. Deep in a thorny thicket, the wind and rain having returned now, I pulled my hood over my head to try and keep warm. We waited in alternate shifts to keep awake. But Matt, like me, was dead tired, and soon, unable to stay awake any longer, we both fell asleep on watch. Bad skills. I woke just as I heard the rustling of the other patrols approaching. One of the 23 DS was in the first patrol, and I quickly crawled forward, tapped him on the shoulder, and began to guide him back to where we had been waiting. The DS gave me a thumbs-up, as if to say “well done,” and by the time I had returned to where Matt was, he had shaken himself awake and looked like a coiled spring who had been covering all his fields of fire vigilantly all night long. Little did the DS know that five minutes earlier, Matt and I had both been fast asleep, hats pulled over our eyes, snoozing like babies in a pram. If we had been caught we would have been binned instantly. (I challenge you, though, to find any SAS soldier who didn’t have at least one such narrow escape at some point during his journey through Selection.) No one is perfect.

My time at Eton did develop in me a character trait that is essentially, I guess, very English: the notion that it is best to be the sort of person who messes about and plays the fool but who, when it really matters, is tough to the core. I think it goes back to the English Scarlet Pimpernel mentality: the nobility of aspiring to be the hidden hero. (In fact, I am sure it is no coincidence that over the years, so many senior SAS officers have also been Old Etonians. Now explain that one, when the SAS really is the ultimate meritocracy? No school tie can earn you a place there. That comes only with sweat and hard work. But the SAS also attracts a certain personality and attitude. It favors the individual, the maverick, and the quietly talented. That was Eton for you, too.) This is essentially a very English ethos: work hard, play hard; be modest; do your job to your utmost, laugh at yourself; and sometimes, if you have to, cuff it. I found that these qualities were ones that I loved in others, and they were qualities that subconsciously I was aspiring to in myself--whether I knew it or not. One truth never changed for me at Eton: however much I threw myself into life there, the bare fact was that I still really lived for the holidays--to be back at home with my mum and dad, and Lara, in the Isle of Wight. It was always where my heart really was.

Back in the barracks, those of us still left were white-faced and very shaky, but we were so relieved that the ordeal was finally over. Trucker looked particularly bad, but had this huge grin. I sat on his bed and chatted as he pottered around sorting his kit out. He kept shaking his head and chuckling to himself. It was his way of processing everything. It made me smile. Special man, I thought to myself. We all changed into some of the spare kit we had left over from the final exercise and sat on our beds, waiting nervously. We might have all finished--but--had we all passed? “Parade in five minutes, lads, for the good and the bad news. Good news is that some of you have passed. Bad news…you can guess.” With that the DS left. I had this utter dread that I would be one of the ones to fail at this final hurdle. I tried to fight the feeling. Not at this stage. Not this close. The DS reappeared--he rapidly called out a short list of names and told them to follow him. I wasn’t in that group. The few of us remaining, including Trucker, looked at one another nervously and waited. The minutes went by agonizingly slowly. No one spoke a word. Then the door opened and the other guys reappeared, heads down, stern-faced, and walked past us to their kit. They started packing. I knew that look and I knew that feeling. Matt was among them. The guy who had helped me so much on that final Endurance march. He had been failed for cracking under duress. Switch off for a minute, and it is all too easy to fall for one of the DS’s many tricks and tactics. Rule 1: SAS soldiers have to be able to remain sharp and focused under duress. Matt turned, looked at me, smiled, and walked out. I never saw him again.

He had worked damn hard and prospered. Now it was time to live. He even thought he might get it up tonight and surprise his gorgeous Maggie; then it was Israel and the Pharaohs. Stopping at his front door he took a deep intake of the free English air and smiled contentedly; England was home and so was he, this time for good. He went in the front door and called out for her as he had done so many times before, 'Maggie . . . I'm home sweetheart!' He closed the door and hesitated for a moment, she was usually in his arms by now, planting a sweet little kiss on his expectant, eager lips. She had not been her best lately, complaining of headaches and spending a lot of time down at the library; but today was different, it was retirement day. Aha! This could be a surprise, he thought hanging up his coat. Calling out again, he rubbed his hands together and started to climb the stairs to wash up before tea. This is definitely a surprise . . . no smell of any grub! His whistling stopped abruptly half way up when he saw a darkened figure appear on the landing, pointing a gun at him. A finger tightened and the weapon jolted, sending screeching Belarusian memories echoing across his subconscious. The blast lifted him off his feet sending him to the floor below. The last image of Cedric Boban's life on earth was the flash of a sawn-off shotgun; which fired from a few feet, took his life and most of his upper torso away. The slate was clean, the screeching culled. His assailant moved halfway down before jumping over the banister to avoid the bloody mess on the stairs. Maggie walked steadily into the hall from the living room. She gave a little smile and took the small sawn-off shotgun from the gloved hands of the assassin,

The journey up to battle camp started badly. “If you can’t even load a bloody truck with all your kit properly, then you’ve got no bloody chance of passing what’s ahead of you, I can assure you of that!” Taff, our squadron DS, barked at us in the barracks before leaving. I, for one, was more on edge than I had ever felt so far on Selection. I was carsick on the journey north, and I hadn’t felt that since I’d been a kid heading back to school. It was nerves. We also quizzed Taff for advice on what to expect and how to survive the “capture-initiation” phase. His advice to Trucker and me was simple: “You two toffs just keep your mouths shut--23 DS tend to hate recruits who’ve been to private school.” The 23 SAS were running the battle camp (it generally alternated between 21 and 23 SAS), and 23 were always regarded as tough, straight-talking, hard-drinking, fit-as-hell soldiers. We had last been with them at Test Week all those months earlier, and rumor was that “the 23 DS are going to make sure that any 21 recruits get it the worst.” Trucker and I hoped simply to try and stay “gray men” and not be noticed. To put our heads down and get on and quietly do the work. This didn’t exactly go according to plan. “Where are the lads who speak like Prince Charles?” The 23 DS shouted on the first parade when we arrived. “Would you both like newspapers with your morning tea, gents?” the DS sarcastically enquired. Part of me was tempted to answer how nice that would be, but I resisted. The DS continued: “I’ve got my eye on you two. Do I want to have to put my life one day in your posh, soft hands? Like fuck I do. If you are going to pass this course you are going to have to earn it and prove yourself the hard way. You both better be damned good.” Oh, great, I thought. I could tell the next fortnight was going to be a ball-buster.

So that is how we came to be standing in a sparse room, in a nondescript building in the barracks at SAS HQ--just a handful out of all those who had started out so many months earlier. We shuffled around impatiently. We were ready. Ready, finally, to get badged as SAS soldiers. The colonel of the regiment walked in, dressed casually in lightweight camo trousers, shirt, beret, and blue SAS belt. He smiled at us. “Well done, lads. Hard work, isn’t it?” We smiled back. “You should be proud today. But remember: this is only the beginning. The real hard work starts now, when you return to your squadron. Many are called, few are chosen. Live up to that.” He paused. “And from now on for the rest of your life remember this: you are part of the SAS family. You’ve earned that. And it is the finest family in the world. But what makes our work here extraordinary is that everyone here goes that little bit extra. When everyone else gives up, we give more. That is what sets us apart.” It is a speech I have never forgotten. I stood there, my boots worn, cracked, and muddy, my trousers ripped, and wearing a sweaty black T-shirt. I felt prouder than I had ever felt in my life. We all came to attention--no pomp and ceremony. We each shook the colonel’s hand and were handed the coveted SAS sandy beret. Along the way, I had come to learn that it was never about the beret--it was about what it stood for: camaraderie, sweat, skill, humility, endurance, and character. I molded the beret carefully onto my head as he finished down the line. Then he turned and said: “Welcome to the SAS. My door is always open if you need anything--that’s how things work around here. Now go and have a beer or two on me.” Trucker and I had done it, together, against all the odds. So that was SAS Selection. And as the colonel had said, really it was just the beginning.

Since I did Selection all those years ago, not much has really changed. The MOD (Ministry of Defence) website still states that 21 SAS soldiers need the following character traits: “Physically and mentally robust. Self-confident. Self-disciplined. Able to work alone. Able to assimilate information and new skills.” It makes me smile now to read those words. As Selection had progressed, those traits had been stamped into my being, and then during the three years I served with my squadron they became molded into my psyche. They are the same qualities I still value today. The details of the jobs I did once I passed Selection aren’t for sharing publicly, but they included some of the most extraordinary training that any man can be lucky enough to receive. I went on to be trained in demolitions, air and maritime insertions, foreign weapons, jungle survival, trauma medicine, Arabic, signals, high-speed and evasive driving, winter warfare, as well as “escape and evasion” survival for behind enemy lines. I went through an even more in-depth capture initiation program as part of becoming a combat-survival instructor, which was much longer and more intense than the hell we endured on Selection. We became proficient in covert night parachuting and unarmed combat, among many other skills--and along the way we had a whole host of misadventures. But what do I remember and value most? For me, it is the camaraderie, and the friendships--and of course Trucker, who is still one of my best friends on the planet. Some bonds are unbreakable. I will never forget the long yomps, the specialist training, and of course a particular mountain in the Brecon Beacons. But above all, I feel a quiet pride that for the rest of my days I can look myself in the mirror and know that once upon a time I was good enough. Good enough to call myself a member of the SAS. Some things don’t have a price tag.

MATTHEW 28  m Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and  n the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And behold, there was a great earthquake, for  o an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 p His appearance was like lightning, and  q his clothing white as snow. 4And for fear of him the guards trembled and  r became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has risen,  s as he said. Come, see the place where he [1] lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold,  t he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” 8So they departed quickly from the tomb  u with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9And behold, Jesus  v met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and  w took hold of his feet and

The Resurrection MATTHEW 28  m Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and  n the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And behold, there was a great earthquake, for  o an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 p His appearance was like lightning, and  q his clothing white as snow. 4And for fear of him the guards trembled and  r became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has risen,  s as he said. Come, see the place where he [1] lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold,  t he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” 8So they departed quickly from the tomb  u with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9And behold, Jesus  v met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and  w took hold of his feet and  x worshiped him. 10Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid;  y go and tell  z my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.

I woke in bed, sweating and breathing heavily. It was the third time I’d had this nightmare: reliving that horrible feeling of falling, out of control, toward the ground. I was now on month two of just lying there prone, supposedly recovering. But I wasn’t getting any better. In fact, if anything, my back felt worse. I couldn’t move and was getting angrier and angrier inside. Angry at myself; angry at everything. I was angry because I was shit-scared. My plans, my dreams for the future hung in shreds. Nothing was certain any more. I didn’t know if I’d be able to stay with the SAS. I didn’t even know if I’d recover at all. Lying unable to move, sweating with frustration, my way of escaping was in my mind. I still had so much that I dreamt of doing. I looked around my bedroom, and the old picture I had of Mount Everest seemed to peer down. Dad’s and my crazy dream. It had become what so many dreams become--just that--nothing more, nothing less. Covered in dust. Never a reality. And Everest felt further beyond the realms of possibility than ever. Weeks later, and still in my brace, I struggled over to the picture and took it down. People often say to me that I must have been so positive to recover from a broken back, but that would be a lie. It was the darkest, most horrible time I can remember. I had lost my sparkle and spirit, and that is so much of who I am. And once you lost that spirit, it is hard to recover. And once you lose that spirit, it is hard to recover. I didn’t even know whether I would be strong enough to walk again--let alone climb or soldier again. And as to the big question of the rest of my life? That was looking messy from where I was. Instead, all my bottomless, young confidence was gone. I had no idea how much I was going to be able to do physically--and that was so hard. So much of my identity was in the physical. Now I just felt exposed and vulnerable. Not being able to bend down to tie your shoelaces or twist to clean your backside without acute and severe pain leaves you feeling hopeless. In the SAS I had both purpose and comrades. Alone in my room at home, I felt like I had neither. That can be the hardest battle we ever fight. It is more commonly called despair. That recovery was going to be just as big a mountain to climb as the physical one. What I didn’t realize was that it would be a mountain, the mountain, that would be at the heart of my recovery. Everest: the biggest, baddest mountain in the world.

Stewards of God’s Grace 1 PETER 4 Since therefore  z Christ suffered in the flesh, [1]  a arm yourselves with the same way of thinking, for  b whoever has suffered in the flesh  c has ceased from sin, 2 d so as to live for  e the rest of the time in the flesh  f no longer for human passions but  g for the will of God. 3For the time that is past  h suffices  i for doing what the Gentiles want to do, living in sensuality, passions, drunkenness, orgies, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry. 4With respect to this they are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of  j debauchery, and  k they malign you; 5but they will give account to him who is ready  l to judge the living and the dead. 6For this is why  m the gospel was preached even to those who are dead, that though judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the spirit the way God does. 7 n The end of all things is at hand; therefore  o be self-controlled and sober-minded  p for the sake of your prayers. 8Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since  q love covers a multitude of sins. 9 r Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. 10 s As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another,  t as good stewards of God’s varied grace: 11whoever speaks, as one who speaks  u oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves  v by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything  w God may be glorified through Jesus Christ.  x To him belong glory and  y dominion forever and ever. Amen.

You can’t go back,” she told him bluntly. Her voice was neither kind nor unkind. “That part of your life is over. Set it aside as something you have finished. Complete or no, it is done with you. No being gets to decide what his life is ‘supposed to be.’” She lifted her eyes and her gaze stabbed him. “Be a man. Discover who you are now, and go on from there, making the best of things. Accept your life, and you might survive it. If you hold back from it, insisting that this is not your life, not where you are meant to be, life will pass you by. You may not die from such foolishness, but you might as well be dead for all the good your life will do you or anyone else.” Wintrow was stunned. Heartless as her words were, they brimmed with wisdom. Almost reflexively, he sank into meditation breathing, as if this were a teaching direct from Sa’s scrolls. He explored her idea, following it to its logical conclusions. Yes, these thoughts were of Sa, and worthy. Accept. Begin anew. Find humility again. Pre-judging his life, that was what he had been doing. Always his greatest flaw, Berandol had warned him. There was opportunity for good here, if he just reached out toward it. … He suddenly grasped how the slaves must have felt when the shackles were loosed from their ankles and wrists. Her words had freed him. He could let go of his self-imposed goals. He would lift up his eyes and look around him and see where Sa’s way beckoned him most clearly. … “accepting life and making the best of it . . .” Spoken aloud, it seemed such a simple concept. Moments ago, those words had rung for him like great bells of truth. It was right what they said: enlightenment was merely the truth at the correct time." p. 114 Etta to Wintrow

When you think about it, being trained by a Gladiator is almost as good as being trained by the SAS.

If possible, always let the first members of an enemy patrol pass you by, then shoot the third or fourth man. Here again, laid down drills will dictate which member of your patrol will spring the ambush. Remember that in the heat of battle, particularly with today’s automatic weapons, the tendency is to fire high, often missing the target altogether. Aim low and shoot to kill.

Tout le monde a l'air de savoir qui sont ces Autres ; tout le monde parle d'eux, mais eux ne parlent jamais. En effet, dans quels discours apparaître l'Autre, sous sas forme singulière ou plurielle ? Sous la forme d'un discours adressé à des gens qui ne sont pas les Autres. Mais d'où viennent ces Autres ? Y a-t-il des Autres, et si oui, pourquoi ? Il faut, pour éclaircir ce mystère, en revenir à l'invite. Qui est invité à accepter les Autres ? Pas les Autres, évidemment. Et qui fait cette demande ? De son énonciateur, qui ne dit pas son nom, tout ce qu'on sait, c'est qu'il n'est pas un Autre. Ce n'est pas lui-même qu'il nous invite à accepter. Mais pas plus qu'il ne dit qui il est, il n'énonce qui est ce « Nous » à qui il s'adresse. Derrière l'Autre dont on entend parler sans arrêt, sans qu'il parle, se cache donc une autre personne, qui parle tout le temps sans qu'on n'en entende jamais parler : l'« Un », qui parle à « Nous ». C'est-à-dire à l'ensemble de la société de la part de l'ensemble de la société. De la société normale. De la société légitime. De celle qui est l'égale du locuteur qui nous invite à tolérer les Autres. Les Autres ne sont pas, par définition, des gens ordinaires, puisqu'ils ne sont pas « Nous ». Qui est ce « Un » parlant ? Avant toute autre chose, on sait, parce qu'il le fait, qu'il est celui qui peut définir l'Autre. Ensuite, il prendra une position de tolérance ou d'intolérance. Mais cette prise de position est seconde par rapport à sa capacité à définir l'Autre : à ce pouvoir. Les Autres sont donc ceux qui sont dans la situation d'être définis comme acceptables ou rejetables, et d'abord d'être nommés. Au principe, à l'origine de l'existence des Uns et des Autres, il y adonc le pouvoir, simple, brut, tout nu, qui n'a pas à se faire ou à advenir, qui est. (p. 18-19)

The running joke was that at the graduation ceremony following their nine months of training, SAS graduates received the coveted tan beret in one hand and a broom in the other.

​The Financial Action Task Force (FATF) has declared that there are three broad categories for the purpose of hiding illicit funds and introducing them into the formal economy. The first is via the use of financial institutions; the second is to physically smuggle bulk cash from one country or jurisdiction to another; and the third is the transfer of goods via trade.

HE WHO DARES NOTHING NEED HOPE FOR NOTHING. BUT HE WHO DARES WINS

I will never forget the day I finally passed SAS selection. At the end of the long, grueling process of elimination, where 140 recruits had steadily been whittled down to only four of us, I finally found myself preparing to get ‘badged.’ Yet it was the most low-key event you could ever imagine. No fanfare, no bugler, no parade. Just the four of us that remained, standing in a small, nondescript outbuilding on the edge of the Hereford training camp; we were battered, exhausted, bruised and spent, yet our hearts were bursting with pride. The commanding officer of the regiment walked in, stood in front of us and said these words - I have never forgotten them: From this day on, you are part of a family. I know what you have had to give to earn the right to be here. The difference between the four of you and the rest of those who have failed is very simple: it is the ability to give that little bit extra when it hurts. You see, the difference between ordinary and extraordinary is often just that little word extra.’ He then added: ‘The work I am going to ask you to do now will continue to be arduous, even more so, in fact, but what makes our work here special is your ability to give that little bit extra when most simply give up. ‘You gave more when others gave up. That’s the difference.’ That short speech made a huge impact on me, and I never forgot it. The words were simple, yet for a young soldier, and one without a huge amount of confidence, they gave me something to hold on to. And I have done that ever since, through so many hard times in jungles, deserts, mountains and life. That little bit extra. Reaching our summits only requires us to hold on that little bit longer than most people are prepared to endure. Just that little bit extra, just that nose-length more.

16. Worry Worries One of my oldest buddies from Everest and the SAS, Mick Crosthwaite, once gave me this sound advice: ‘Don’t worry about anything that’s outside your sphere of influence.’ Or in other words: if you can’t change it, don’t fret it. Think about it. What do you worry most about? Is it inside or outside your sphere of influence? You see, most of us fret and panic about stuff we have no control over - things we can’t change. Mick’s advice made me realize that if I can’t change it, I just won’t worry about it. Instead, spend the time and mental energy effecting positive change where you can, not where you can’t. It is sound advice, but it isn’t how most people live. Mark Twain famously said that he had spent most of his life worrying about things that never happened. I think people probably do this a lot. It is partly why so few get to where they dream of. They dare not…just in case. Fears and worries - about things that are long passed, or that may never materialize in our future - all weigh us down and slow us up. So where you can, drop the worries.

Another time, while on patrol with a small four-man team from my SAS squadron, out in the deserts of North Africa, we were waiting for a delayed helicopter pick-up. A 48-hour delay when you are almost out of water, in the roasting desert, can be life-threatening. We were all severely dehydrated and getting weaker fast. Every hour we would sip another small capful from the one remaining water bottle we each carried. Rationed carefully, methodically. To make matters worse, I had diarrhea, which was causing me to dehydrate even faster. We finally got the call-up that our extraction would be at dawn the next day, some 20 miles away. We saddled up during the night and started to move across the desert, weighed down by kit and fatigue. I was soon struggling. Every footstep was a monumental effort of will as we shuffled across the mountains. My sergeant, an incredible bear of a man called Chris Carter (who was tragically killed in Afghanistan; a hero to all who had served with him), could see this. He stopped the patrol, came to me, and insisted I drink the last remaining capful from his own bottle. No fuss, no show, he just made me drink it. It was the kindness, not the actual water itself, that gave me the strength to keep going when I had nothing left inside me. Kindness inspires us, it motivates us, and creates a strong, tight team: honest, supporting, empowering. No ego. No bravado or show. Simple goodness. It is the very heart of a great man, and I have never forgotten that single act that night in the desert. The thing about kindness is that it costs the giver very little but can mean the world to the receiver. So don’t underestimate the power you have to change lives and encourage others to be better. It doesn’t take much but it requires us to value kindness as a quality to aspire to above almost everything else. You want to be a great adventurer and expedition member in life and in the mountains? It is simple: be kind.

59. Creature Comforts Are Only Temporary It was one of the most painful lessons of my life. It was during the first time I attempted SAS selection. I was totally lost in a vast boggy wetland, torrential rain was driving down, and I was utterly spent. I was also way behind time, and I knew it. When I finally made it to the penultimate checkpoint, the corporals kept me there doing endless press-ups in the wet marsh with my heavy pack still on my back. I knew this was costing me even more valuable time and energy. I was feeling fainter and fainter; I knew things were bad. I was soon off again, wading across a fast-flowing, waist-deep stream, before climbing up through knee-deep mud towards the next 2,000-foot (600-metre) mountain ridge-line. I just had to keep going. Ten miles. Twenty miles. ‘Nothing good comes from quitting,’ I told myself, over and over again. ‘If I keep going, I will pass.’ But I was getting more and more delirious with fatigue. I didn’t know why this was happening, and I couldn’t control it. Maybe I hadn’t eaten or drunk enough, or perhaps it was just that the months of this relentless pace were finally taking their toll and I was at my limit. Every couple of paces, my knees would buckle. If I stumbled, I couldn’t stop myself from falling. Eventually I saw the trucks in the distance below me, symbolizing the end point. Wisps of smoke from army Hexi stoves curled upwards from the woods. Soon I would be warm, soon I would have a cup of hot tea. It was all I wanted. But when I reached the end checkpoint I was told I had been failed - I had been too slow. My world fell inwards. I was sent off to make camp in the woods and rest for the night. The remaining recruits would be heading out for the night march in a few hours. The next morning I would be returned to camp with the others who hadn’t made the grade. I was totally dejected. That night in those woods, warm and dry under my shelter, blisters attended to, dry socks on, and out of the wind and rain, I learnt an enduring lesson: warm and dry doesn’t mean fulfilled and happy.

The next morning I would be returned to camp with the others who hadn’t made the grade. I was totally dejected. That night in those woods, warm and dry under my shelter, blisters attended to, dry socks on, and out of the wind and rain, I learnt an enduring lesson: warm and dry doesn’t mean fulfilled and happy. Only a few hours earlier I had been longing to be warm and dry and safe. Yet lying there, knowing that my buddies were starting out on a grueling night march without me, was pure agony. Never has anyone wanted to be cold, wet and tired as much as I did right then. And never have the comforts of shelter and food meant so little to me. You see, being dry and warm in life, but with no purpose, is no consolation for being in the heat of the arena in pursuit of your goals. Don’t get me wrong, warm and dry is great as a reward ‘afterwards’, and we should all regularly enjoy some time chilling, doing ‘nothing’ - but if all you do is ‘nothing’, you will find it a very hollow existence. (So yes, I went back on the next Selection course and went through those 11 months of SAS hell again - and I passed. I was cold, wet and exhausted throughout, so that now, when I relax, I feel that huge sense of pride for having endured.) Once you commit to your goal, don’t get swayed by the temporary lure of creature comforts and easy feelings - instead, keep focused, and remember the pain never lasts for ever, but the pride in having followed your calling will.

It’s a fish eagle, Jock.’ ‘It sounds so sad.’ He nodded. ‘It is. They mate for life and if their mate dies they never take another. That’s the sound they make when they’ve lost their mate.’ It was something I will never forget. Even now, years later, when I watch the sun go down, I still hear it, an echo from my past.

A shot was fired, the mob jumped back for a second then set about the car with renewed fury. In the end, two men were taken out and shot dead. They were Corporals Derek Wood and Robert Howes.

On the ground the reaction was one of revulsion. One old lady stopped me in the Ardoyne. ‘Son, I thought we couldn’t sink any lower until I saw what they did to those two wee boys yesterday.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘It’s terrible, simply terrible.

up the engines of all of them and began

In today’s world, clicks are sexier than bricks. There

The bricks of the supply chain are analogous to the children’s story The Three Little Pigs. When

In the early days of supply chain management, manufacturing and distribution processes were insourced. Companies owned their bricks and mortar, and products were made and sold within the same region. Today’s supply chain is largely outsourced. Manufacturing

The Vice President’s Residence is at the Naval Observatory on Massachusetts Avenue, a few blocks from the White House. Technicians at the Control Center of the Technical Service were surprised to see alarms going off at the house. First carbon monoxide, then heat alarms, then other alarms. Even the radiation alarm! Something was seriously amiss. SAs and UD officers immediately responded, letting themselves in. They found Vice President Al Gore standing on a chair, pulling an alarm out of the ceiling, looking for hidden cameras and listening devices.

¿Es que no saben que el único ordenador inhackeable es el que tiene instalado un sistema operativo seguro y está encerrado en una caja fuerte de acero enterrada bajo una tonelada de hormigón en el fondo de una mina de carbón protegida por los SAS y un par de divisiones armadas, y además está apagado?

since the draw-down in forces triggered by the 2010 defense review, the units the Laundry can draw upon have been depleted. There are now just two SAS squadrons, 120 men in total, to cover all contingencies: and only half of them are available at any given time. If the shit really hits the fan they can draw on the regular Army and the Air Force for support, but there will be delays in getting everyone up to speed.

38. No One Cares How Much You Know Until They Know How Much You Care My SAS patrol sergeant Chris Carter was the living embodiment of this advice, and if you are ever in a position of leading a team or managing people, following his selfless example will help you become a better leader and enable your team to achieve more. Can you imagine how I felt after Chris had let me drink his last drops of water? Gratitude doesn’t come close. One of the regiment’s toughest, most hardened of soldiers was showing that he was looking out for me way beyond the call of duty. And once I had been shown how much he cared, I knew that, in return, I would never let him, or the regiment, down. That simple act of kindness, of caring, is always at the heart of great brotherhoods. Call it what you will: camaraderie, shared purpose. The end product was that here was a man I would work my guts out for. And that made us all stronger. Ditto, on a mountain: the most important bit of kit or resource on any expedition is always the human asset. When valued and empowered, humans have proved they can truly overcome the impossible and scale the unconquerable. But first we have to be valued and empowered. The real value of a team is never in the flash hi-tech equipment or branded sponsors. It’s the people and the relationships between them. As a leader, in whatever field, it is one thing for your team to see how much you know, but that knowledge isn’t what will make your team great. What makes the critical difference is how you use that knowledge. Do you use it to empower and support those around you? Do you value others above yourself? Is your ego small enough, and your backbone strong enough, to raise others up high on your shoulders? If you let people know, through your words and actions, that they really matter, that their work matters, that their wellbeing matters to you, then they will go to the ends of the Earth for you. Why? Because they know they can trust you to use all your knowledge, skills and power to support and encourage them. You see, no one cares how much you know until they know how much you care.

57. Every Time You Surprise Yourself…You Inspire Yourself SAS selection is designed to test you. Any mental flaw, any physical failing will be exposed by the relentless series of challenges aimed at finding your breaking point. Lung-bursting cross-mountain marches through the snow, uphill sprints, carrying another recruit in a fireman’s lift up and down steep hills, often in driving rain, sometimes in sub-zero temperatures. As selection goes on, these ‘beasting’ sessions get harder and harder. And yet I also found that the more of them I came through in one piece (albeit exhausted and battered), the more easily I could cope with them. It was the SAS way of testing our mental resolve through physical battering. Selection is all about realizing that the pain never lasts for ever. And every time I was tested and I hung on in there, the better I understood that it was just a question of doing it again - one more time - until someone eventually said it was the end, and I had passed. I now know that unless you really, truly test yourself, you’ll never have any idea just how capable you can be. And with each small achievement, your confidence will grow. Most people never reach their limit because they are never sufficiently tested. This means I’ve got two good pieces of news for you. The first is that whenever you do something beyond your ‘comfort zone’ and realize you are still standing, the more you will believe that the impossible is actually possible. And on the road to success, belief is everything. And the second piece of news is that we all have much further to push ourselves than we might initially imagine. Inside us all, just waiting to be tested, is a better, bolder, braver version of who we think we are. All you have to do is give it an opportunity to be unleashed. So pick big targets and surprise yourself with how capable you really are deep down. Remember David and Goliath? Rather than David, the young shepherd boy, looking at this giant of a warrior and thinking, ‘Yikes, he’s huge, I’m beat’ - he thought, ‘With a target that big, how can I possibly miss!’ Success, in life and adventure, is dependent on the retraining of our mind.

Mindenki egyforma, kedves kiváló barátom. Valamennyien egyformák vagyunk, függetlenül attól, hogy gyilkolunk-e, vagy minket gyilkolnak. Ami Vitnyédynek az elfojtott röhögés, Kóbornak a földöntúli miatt való bőgés, Sas Bélának a magányos sírdogálás, Sidó Zolinak a bénulás, az énnekem a siker hajszolása és a napi kétszeri kötelező szeretkezés, mint nyilván értesültél róla. Neked a sikertelenség jutott, a sikertelenség hajszolása, kedvesem, hogy teljes legyen a paletta. Én téged nagyon jól megértelek. Mártír akarsz lenni. Úgyis ez a szerep jutott neked ebben a világban, tehát akarod is ezt a szerepet. Az ember mindig azt akarja, ami elrendeltetett neki. Aztán megfordítja a dolgot, és azt hiszi, hogy azért lett az, ami, mert azzá akart válni. Megbocsátható, csacska öncsalásocska. Te szabadon és szándékosan választod a mártírságot, holott más utad nincs is. Értsd meg: te a becsületességeddel nem vagy különb ember nálam, a becstelennél.

SAS was MP code for “stupid asshole sometimes,

But he knew the support of the local populace was essential and wanted to have the resistance establish their credentials with the local people before lashing out at the enemy. Mao’s dictum was clear in his mind: the insurgent is like the fish, the people are the sea. Once local support was established, he would switch to a more aggressive role and take his fledgling army onto the offensive.

Walls, like most generals, quite correctly relied on junior officers to do all his staff work for him,” recalls an officer who worked with him. “Not having a personal staff officer at his side was certainly seen as very unusual.

He was extremely calm under pressure and could out-think the enemy even when the odds were stacked against him and his fighters.