Commando

by Chris Terrill

  'Yes,' I say. 'I've always been a sportsman. Running, rugby and boxing are my main sports but I'll try anything.'

  'Well, the commando tests are unique,' he says. 'Nothing like you'll have ever tried before but you'll find that out in due course. I'll help you as much as I can but in the end it is up to your own fitness and your determination. It is progressive training so we build up gradually to full battle fitness. If anybody fails at any stage they're out of the troop and given remedial training until they're up to standard, but then they will have to join a later troop. They can't get back to their original troop because it would have moved on. Obviously you'll have to stay with 924 Troop whatever happens, so if you fail at any point you will have to give up on the commando tests. We can't make any exceptions for you, I'm afraid. Fair enough?'

  'Yes, Jon,' I say. 'I'll certainly give it a go, at least to see how far I get.'

  'OK. Well, it starts now, so let's go!'

  We run in to join the recruits. Jon then explains that he is going to measure our current fitness levels just to get an idea of what he has to work with.

  'You will now go through a series of tests,' he tells us. 'And you must push yourself to exhaustion. If you are not ready to faint by the end of them I will want to know the reason why.'

  We are first lined up for what is called the 'bleep test'. This is a test I am familiar with and know that it is designed to wring every last ounce of energy from your legs at the same time as spurring both heart and lungs to their maximum effort. In short, we have to run back and forth between two lines twenty-five metres apart and aim to hit each line at the same time as the sound of a bleep played from a tape machine. The gap between the bleep sounds is at first quite long and allows you to almost walk between the lines but every couple of minutes the gap between the bleeps gets shorter. The overall effect is that you are forced to run faster and faster as you become increasingly tired. Inevitably you reach a point of absolute exhaustion when you can no longer hit the line in time to the bleep. The level you reach, indicated by how many lengths you have run, is a measure of your fitness. I have done this many times in the past and am well aware of the pain involved.

  We set off at a brisk walk but after a few minutes we pick up the pace as the gap between the bleeps starts to diminish. Before long we are having to jog fast to meet the bleep, a little later we have to build up to half our maximum speed, then, later still, three-quarters of our maximum speed and finally, of course, we have to start sprinting flat out to reach the lines in time. Gradually, recruits begin to drop out looking red-faced and exhausted. I manage to keep going pretty well but this test is never easy. Because I have done it before I know how to pace myself but I am also well used to dealing with the inherent agony of competitive running. This is, I reckon, going to be my main advantage while pitting myself against these recruits. They are bound to be naturally much more bouncy, agile and elastic than I am by virtue of youth but I have the experience of age and with it at least some ability to apply my mind to excruciating physical challenges and that can sometimes count for a great deal.

  I drop out at about the level I expected but I am pleased to see that it puts me in the top third of the troop. We then move on to doing press-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups, continuing each exercise to our own point of exhaustion. Again, I am well used to this sort of training as I do it all the time at my boxing club in London so, once more, I score pretty well.

  When we have finished everybody lines up and waits for Jon Stratford to dismiss us. He strides over to our ranks but he is not looking happy.

  'That was not very impressive, men,' he barks. 'Some of you are still looking as fresh as daisies which means you haven't put the effort in. You should have been asking my permission to go outside and throw up. I want more effort next time. Go away and think about it. Dismiss!'

  In a state of semi-shock after their first gym session, 924 Troop return to the block where, after a shower, they are ordered to wash their gym kit but not before they are given a lesson in how to hand-wash.

  'You need to know how to wash your own kit,' says Wenners to the recruits in the laundry room. 'You don't have a mum to look after you here and you certainly won't have her there when you're in Afghanistan in eight months' time, so watch carefully.'

  Soon, all the recruits are busy hand-washing their laundry. Nobody is allowed to use a washing machine. I notice Terry John at one of the sinks, so go over and ask him how he's feeling.

  'I don't know,' he says morosely. 'I have come so far to do this but I don't think it's for me. I am confused but my friend Theo is here with me so that helps.'

  Theo Browne, also from St Vincent, is a tall, bright-eyed young man standing next to Terry.

  'Hi, Theo,' I say. 'You looking after Terry?'

  'I am. We've been friends for most of our lives so I'll stick by him here. But he is not very happy right now.'

  I leave them to talk and to get on with their washing. I am wondering how many of the recruits are beginning to think they might have made a mistake by coming here when Orlando Rogers comes in to see how everybody is getting on. 'Poor lambs,' he says to me with a smile. 'They all thought they were going to be abseiling off cliffs and jumping out of helicopters with daggers between their teeth from day one.'

  'Do you think any of them might be regretting being here?' I venture.

  'Yes, I expect so,' he says. 'We always get a few wobbles in the first few days. Some get over them but a few don't. The thing is everybody has to do a minimum of twenty-eight days before they get the opportunity to opt out and that usually gives us time to work on them a bit, teach them new skills and show them what training is all about. These first few days are a real shock to the system.'

  12.00

  Orlando Rogers starts his troop commander interviews. One by one he will meet all the recruits to find out about them and see how they are getting on. The first to come in is called James Lambley and he immediately expresses his desire to leave.

  'I came for the wrong reasons, sir,' he begins to explain. 'Personally, I feel like I'm in a prison. I came thinking I could further my sports interests – especially football – but now I realise the full implications.'

  'I see,' says Orlando quietly. 'Well, you have struck us all so far as a promising young man. You are getting on top of your personal administration and your performance in the gym was well above average.'

  'Yes, sir. I always try to do my best but I knew as soon as I got here it was not for me. Sorry, sir.'

  'All right, Recruit Lambley. I want you to give it another day or so. Then come back and see me, OK?'

  'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

  Next in is Terry John. He looks absolutely miserable, drained and veritably pallid even for a black man.

  'Sit down, Recruit John,' says Orlando. 'You are twenty years old, right?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'And you say your first name is Terry, but I see here your initials are C.T.J.'

  'Yes, sir,' says Terry. 'My full name is Coldric Terence John but everyone calls me Terry.'

  'I see,' says Orlando. 'A fine array of names. And you came here with a friend from St Vincent, didn't you? Recruit Browne?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Does he have any first names?'

  'Theopholus Julian Augustus Browne, but everyone calls him Theo, sir.'

  Orlando smiles. 'So what made you want to join the Royal Marines, Recruit Coldric Terence John?'

  'Well, sir,' Terry says very quietly, 'I was in the Scouts in St Vincent and got interested in the military. But then my mother was financially pressed so I had to leave school and get a job, which I did, stacking shelves in a supermarket. But then I saw some details of the Royal Marines when one of your recruiting teams came to the island. That is when I signed up. I came over to do my PRMC last Friday, passed it and then came here yesterday.'

  'Good, Recruit John,' says Orlando. 'How are you enjoying it so far?'

  'Well . . . sir,' he stutters. 'It is not anything
hard – I have done hand-washing all my life – but my mind is not in the right place, sir. I don't want to be in the military. At first I saw it as fun but now my focus has changed.'

  'Recruit John,' says Orlando firmly but sympathetically, 'you have not yet had a chance to get the best out of your time here. You know you have to do twenty-eight days before you can opt out. I suggest you do those twenty-eight days and then make your decision. Give it a chance or you will be cheating yourself.'

  'Yes, sir,' replies Terry in a whisper. 'I will do my twenty-eight days but then I think I will respectfully ask to go, sir.'

  'OK, Recruit John. Let's see, shall we? Off you go now and ask the next bloke to come in.'

  Terry salutes and walks slowly out of the room.

  'Oh dear,' says Orlando. 'That's two out of two wants to leave. Hope someone wants to bloody well stay!'

  The next man in is called Adam Collins, a confident-looking twenty-year-old with an unmistakable swagger to his step.

  'OK, Recruit Collins,' says Orlando, 'tell me why you want to be a Royal Marine.'

  'Well, sir, I just want to be part of an elite force. I want to be the best . . .'

  Orlando nods appreciatively.

  '. . . I have done martial arts since I was a young boy and got to national standard. Then, one day I was approached and asked if I would like to get into films doing stunt work. I said yes and started training for the stunt register.'

  'Have you been in any films?' asks Orlando, his interest aroused.

  'Yes, sir. I have been in Batman Begins and another film called Flyboys about fighter pilots in the First World War which comes out next summer.'

  'So why did you not carry on with that?' says Orlando.

  'Perhaps I will go back to it one day, sir, but I wanted a different sort of challenge and one that, in the long run, may make me a better stuntman.'

  'I see,' says Orlando thoughtfully. 'You like your sport clearly. Is it just martial arts?'

  'No, sir. I like gymnastics. Tumbling mostly.'

  'Really? Can you do something for me now?'

  Adam Collins looks around the room to judge the space he has got.

  'Yes, sir, I could do a couple of things for you.'

  'Carry on, Recruit Collins,' says Orlando, sitting back in his chair.

  The young ex-stuntman walks over to the side of the room, turns and crouches. He holds the pose like a statue for a few seconds and then, like an uncoiling spring, leaps into the air, twists like a cat through 360 degrees, and then lands with perfect balance on two feet.

  'Hmm, not bad,' says Orlando, careful not to show he is too impressed. 'Anything else?'

  Collins says nothing but turns his back on the troop commander and then, in a flashing movement, performs a perfect backward somersault.

  'OK, Recruit Collins,' laughs Orlando. 'That'll do for now, but good show. Are you fitting in OK?'

  'Yes, sir, thank you.'

  'Girlfriend at home?'

  'Yes, sir. Been together eight months.'

  'OK. And if you being a Royal Marine meant you had to kick her into touch, what would you do?'

  Adam Collins does not flinch or hesitate. He knows there is only one answer, whether he means it or not.

  'Kick her into touch, sir.'

  'All right, Recruit Collins,' says Orlando, nodding his head. 'Crack on. Dismiss.'

  The acrobatic stuntman who, I suspect, is as canny and astute as he is agile and nimble salutes smartly and marches out of the room.

  Orlando carries on doing interviews through the afternoon and, while he identifies a few recruits who are suffering a bit of homesickness, he does not find anyone else at this stage who says he wants to leave. After the last recruit has left the room Corporal Weclawek comes in to see how his troop commander has fared.

  'Yes, there are some interesting chaps in among that lot,' says Orlando. 'A wide range of people. But there are a couple who say they want to leave.'

  'Who are they, sir?' says Wenners.

  'Recruit Lambley is one which is a pity because he is a high-calibre sort of bloke but I have a feeling he really has made a genuine mistake coming here. He will have to see the company commander.'

  'And the other one, sir?'

  'Recruit John, the lad from St Vincent. He looks very unhappy but I think he just needs time to settle in. Have a quiet word with him, will you, Corporal Weclawek?'

  'Yes, sir. I'll talk to him this evening.'

  Wenners leaves the room and Orlando gathers up his papers and prepares to leave.

  'I hate all this admin work,' he says. 'I prefer it out on the assault course or in the field but we have to go through all this first. Glad I've got Weclawek though – bloody good man. He's a drill leader and spends a lot of time on the parade ground teaching the men to march and salute and stuff but he's a hard man, a proper war hero. When he was out in Iraq as a mortar man he came into contact with the rebels so he ran out in the street, bullets flying all over the shop, and fired into an enemy house. That's what I love about the Royal Marines, you see. Whatever you do – drill leader, cook or medic – you are still a trained commando. In fact, you are a commando first and foremost. Anyway, that's me done for today.'

  'I'm going for a drink later in the officers' mess,' I say. 'You coming?'

  'No thanks. I live ashore so I'm going home to put on my glad rags and then I'm off to Torquay to do a bit of trapping. A bit of healthy wenching!'

  'Is that your main hobby, Orlando?' I ask with a chuckle.

  'Yes! I love chicks. Just love 'em. You know what they call us Bootnecks – "Lifetakers and heartbreakers"! You got a bird, Chris?'

  'No. Safely unattached at the moment.'

  'Never been married?'

  'Yes. I was once, briefly. Been engaged four times as well, but I keep running off to have adventures so they all give up on me as a bad job. Don't blame them actually.'

  'Engaged four times! Good effort. Were they long engagements?'

  'Three of them were. The other one was very short and sharp.'

  'Ah, they're always the interesting ones,' smirks Orlando. 'Who was she then?'

  'Hah! You wouldn't believe it if I told you.'

  'Oh, go on! Sounds messy!'

  'No. Maybe I'll tell you over a drink one day,' I say tauntingly. 'I need to be a bit pissed to talk about it.'

  'Bloody hell! Fantastic! The training team have already said we need to get you out on the town to get you trashed – part of your induction. Can't wait now. Was she famous or something?'

  'Go on, Orlando,' I laugh. 'On your bike to Torquay and get trapping!'

  We walk out to the front of the block together and Orlando heads off. I know it is only a matter of time before they all find out about my rather eccentric romantic past. But I'll keep them guessing for as long as I can.

  20.00

  I wander down to the officers' mess and meet up with Dave Nicholson at the bar. It is a far cry from the Foundation Block where the recruits are currently ironing their uniforms and polishing their boots for tomorrow.

  'What are you having, Chris?' asks Dave.

  'Just a pint of orange juice and lemonade thanks, Dave,' I reply.

  'Not a drinker?'

  'No, not really, but I've got to get back to see some of the recruits tonight so I'll keep it non-alcoholic, I think.'

  'Fair one,' laughs Dave. 'Anyway, the young officers should be down soon so we'll introduce ourselves.'

  I have become increasingly intrigued that Royal Marines officers train at Lympstone alongside the recruits. This is a unique set-up in the British military as, normally, officers train in separate establishments: army officers at Sandhurst; naval officers at Dartmouth; RAF officers at Cranwell. The fact that marines officers train in the same establishment as the men they will one day command is a fascinating peculiarity but one that makes a lot of sense as well. I have come across Royal Marines many times on operations when I have been filming on Royal Navy warships and I have invariably bee
n struck by the close relationship that exists between the Bootneck ranks. While a clear chain of command is always apparent, and with it a marked respect for rank, I have often suspected that the sometimes surprising informality that can exist between officers and men is because they are all united by their common training as commandos and, of course, because they all wear the coveted and hard-earned Green Beret.

  'Here you are, mate – one pint of orange and lemonade,' says Dave, handing me my drink.

  'Thanks, Dave,' I reply, taking my place at the bar. 'By the way, how long is the young officer training?'

  'Fifteen months. We take in about fifty young officer recruits at a time which we call a "batch" and they all start as second lieutenants.'

  'And they do the same commando tests as the recruits, right?'

  'Yes. Exactly the same, although three out of four of the tests they have to do in a quicker time. The idea is that the recruits see quite clearly that the men who will eventually lead them in the field have to endure even harder regimes than they do.'

  Before long the bar starts to fill up with a crowd of particularly hearty young men who I suspect must be the YOs in question. Dave confirms my suspicion so we move into their midst and I win their attention immediately by offering to get in a round of drinks. Dave and I introduce ourselves and then I start to mingle and chat. They are very friendly and fascinated by my project to follow recruits from day one of training all the way through to the front line in Afghanistan. I start chatting to one YO in particular – Bertie Kerr – who tells me he is desperate to get out to Afghanistan himself as soon as he passes out in December.

  'Actually, most of us want to get out to Afghanistan,' he tells me. 'It's an exciting prospect to pass out of training and get an immediate command where the action is.'

  'Can you choose to get such a command?' I ask.

  'You can put in your preference. But it's not up to us. The Appointer makes that decision so I will have to wait and see a bit nearer the time. Fingers crossed though.'

  'You've already done your commando tests?'

  'Yes. About three weeks ago, so we have our Green Berets but we still have a lot of training to get through. A riot-control exercise called Operation Swift Foot, a massive exercise with the US Marines Corps in the States called Operation Tempest and then a huge amphibious exercise called Operation Final Nail.'