by Jason Fox
MISSION PLANNING AND THE SMALLER DETAILS
Detail was everything in the Special Forces. Just the smallest snippet of information could sometimes be the difference between a mission going well and it descending into chaos. For instance, I would sometimes be tasked with meeting tribal elders or senior military figures from other countries. It was imperative that an elite operator was prepared for the environment because when two unfamiliar cultures came together in a meeting, a social faux pas or even the slightest mistake with a gesture might inflame tempers or cause upset. Prepping to avoid those potential errors helped to control emotions in events where tensions occasionally ran high.
So, I learned different languages and picked up valuable key phrases. It was important I conducted myself respectfully in both public and private spaces, so I’d take my shoes off when entering someone’s home and I’d always accept food and drink if it was offered – regardless of whether it looked appetising or not, because to refuse was often regarded as an insult. And when shaking someone’s hand I’d look that person in the eye, nodding and placing my free hand upon my heart.
Knowing I had the skills to control a potentially volatile atmosphere gave me extra confidence when going into sketchy environments later on in life, too. During the making of Meet the Drug Lords: Inside the Real Narcos, I always made sure to introduce myself in Spanish to some of the scary dudes I met. It wasn’t a lot, but the gesture showed respect. To stick to my own language was very risky.
Picking up on small details around me was also vital in the thick of the action. I was forever scoping out my physical environment, gathering information for immediate use and, maybe, for future missions. When we first entered the Colombian barrio, I checked the roads we’d need to take if we had to leave in a hurry. Everybody seemed to be very jumpy; the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. Once we’d been instructed to wait inside the shack, as the sun went down, I immediately figured out our best escape routes as a precaution. I’d decided that if a gang attacked our position while we were outside, the smart move was to dive past the shack and into the river below. If we were bumped while waiting inside, there was a window I knew we’d be able to leap from, leaving us to swim away under the cover of darkness. The water was grim, polluted and brown with sewage, which made it an excellent escape option: nobody was going to follow us through the stink. The downside was that we’d probably get really sick in the aftermath, but it was a better option than being taken hostage by a Colombian drug cartel and then tortured or murdered. Taking a second to assess the small details of my environment – and, in this case, the potential escape routes – brought a little reassurance.
MISSION-PLAN THE FINISH LINE
During mission-planning sessions, the intelligence we receive can sometimes be intimidating or troubling. Sometimes, the preparation we had to do in the run-up to a military tour or mission could be physically challenging or psychologically taxing. Instilling positive thought was an important facet of every planning process, and the military often concluded a meeting or training session with a ‘look forward’ so that the hard work ended on an uplifting note. We might have spent the day working on battle tactics or running as a squadron through the mud and pissing rain – screwing up and succeeding in equal measure. At the very end, a debriefing session impressed on us the important takeaway points. Once the inevitable bollockings and hard lessons were delivered, whichever senior figure was taking the course made sure to end on a positive note. For example: ‘As a look forward, you can expect to be working in this way on a forthcoming operation …’ Ending on a high was important, even if the work preceding it had been a bloody disaster.
The information gathered on the eve of my trip to Afghanistan for the filming of Foxy’s War made for grim reading. In the run-up to the job, Channel Four had brought in a company called Secret Compass, an organization that assessed safety issues for TV filming locations. On a scale of one to ten for danger, my trip was very much at the higher end. Kabul was chaos. Suicide bombers were striking every day and there were reports of armed attacks. A lot of people were getting killed. When I’d been in the Special Forces, our procedures and personnel had given me a fair level of reassurance; as a civilian, negotiating the unsettling picture of what was happening on the ground in Afghanistan felt a little trickier.
Luckily I’d found a new and effective technique for managing any troublesome intelligence in the mission-planning process. During my recovery from PTSD, I’d worked with Malcolm Williams, a therapist experienced in treating military veterans suffering from similar issues to mine. While chatting to Malcolm at Rock2Recovery, I picked up several processes for managing anxiety and stress during missions. One such technique involved the visualization of successful outcomes to challenging situations. Malcolm first mentioned this a week before a high-profile event where I was due to give a talk. At the time, appearing in public was a new thing for me. I wasn’t well versed in making speeches or delivering presentations to big crowds. Just the thought of doing so put me into a bit of a spin, so I turned to Malcolm for advice.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, having listened to my concerns. ‘Let me give you a three-step exercise.’
Malcolm then asked me to think about the talk and how I’d feel once it had been delivered perfectly.
‘Imagine those ten seconds after your talk has finished,’ he said. ‘Everything’s gone great and you’re feeling fantastic, elated. Now focus on that sensation, the emotions. Close your eyes and for fifteen minutes think about those ten seconds, the exhilarating sensation of success, and nothing else.’
The next phase of the exercise, explained Malcolm, would take place a couple of hours later. ‘Picture the scene at home on the day of the talk, after everything is done,’ he said. ‘You’re talking about the presentation to your wife, explaining to her how it went. Yeah, you might remember a few stutters, a couple of anecdotes that might have gone better, but overall you’re still excited about how it went. Imagine that sensation and how it makes you feel.’
The final stage of the exercise was set to take place right before bedtime. Once again I had to visualize a moment of satisfaction, as I’d done for steps one and two. This time I was settling down to sleep feeling happy about the presentation, proud of my work.
‘You’re buzzing about the talk and probably wondering what you were worried about in the first place,’ explained Malcolm, before telling me to repeat the process every day until the event was over. Over the following week, I told myself to live in the afterglow of success, where any stresses about the highly pressurized presentation had been forgotten. As a result, I was able to see past my nervousness; by focusing on the buzz of a successful talk, the anxieties I’d been experiencing faded away. Eventually I felt so relaxed about what I had to do that the event became a breeze – I nailed every point I’d wanted to get across.
I’ve since applied that technique to many stressful situations, including my return to Afghanistan. Rather than dwelling on the scarier elements of my mission plan, I visualized myself relaxing on the long flight home, experiencing all the positive emotions after a successful work trip. You’re sitting in the plane, sipping on a beer, staring at the chaos of Afghanistan below. You’re feeling chuffed with the work you’ve finished. The crew have grabbed some great footage and a series of brilliant interviews. You know exactly how you want the documentary to look and feel, and everyone at Channel Four is going to be chuffed.
I wasn’t living in denial; I understood the risks of returning to Afghanistan and I knew that vigilance would be imperative once I was on the ground. (From the minute we landed, our car was trailed by a gang of armed men on scooters. Our driver was able to lose them with a series of smart manoeuvres.) But when the work began for real, it helped to imagine the time straight after the mission, when the hard yards were done and I was safely en route home. It kept my focus away from any fear so that I only had to concentrate upon the job in hand.
OPERATIONAL DEBRIEF
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❱❱ Mission planning is everything. Use all the intelligence at your disposal to build a picture of the tests ahead. With intel you can construct a 360-degree image of your challenge and prepare for the obstacles accordingly.
❱❱ For potentially emotionally charged situations, battle-prep the mind with intel on where you’re going, what you’re doing and what to expect when you get there. If you can, bring an experienced head with you to help.
❱❱ Picture yourself at the finishing line. Imagine you’ve nailed a high-pressure presentation; you’ve smashed your first 10K run; a month has passed since you’ve puffed on a ciggy. Feel the buzz of success and the sense of achievement. Now use those emotions to get you there for real.
SITUATIONAL AWARENESS
PAUSE FOR BREATH
In the immediate aftermath of an event or action where a reactionary strike might take place, a troop of soldiers often immersed themselves in a ‘Soak Period’ – a chunk of time where it seemed prudent to wait in order to see if their presence had been detected. I often did this during ambush situations when my unit crept through a series of rendezvous (RV) points under the cover of darkness before taking up a position where we could attack the enemy. After every RV the group fanned out into a defensive position and halted, often for half an hour.
The routine was often a little hairy. When moving through undergrowth, it was sometimes hard to work silently, especially as a body of men. Leaves rustled, branches snapped. Even just taking off a bergen rucksack could cause a disturbance. To ensure we hadn’t been spotted or heard while moving into a vulnerable position, it was vital to remain still in the minutes immediately after we’d settled; moving on to the next RV too quickly might see the enemy opening fire on us.
The assessment period wasn’t 100 per cent guaranteed – everything was delivered on instinct, and decisions were made based on how close we were to the enemy, what the terrain looked like ahead and where we were on the ground. However, a lot can be taken away from the military Soak Period, and each of us can apply it to our resilient lives, usually after a big decision or event has taken place. For example:
1) The athletic individual recovering from an illness or injury shouldn’t jump right back into their normal routine because the kickbacks could be debilitating. Instead, they should embark on a session of light training, before settling into a Soak Period to ensure they don’t have any negative reactions.
2) When buying equipment from a new, potentially regular supplier, a company should first purchase a smaller shipment to assess the process, quality and overall relationship before committing to a larger order.
Pressing on quickly with the next training session or contract without thought or care leaves us vulnerable to a nasty surprise. But the Soak Period enables us to deal with any negative responses to our actions, should they be waiting to strike.
PHASE NINE
Developing Emotional Control
Even the most resilient of us can become emotionally overwhelmed in situations where mental grit is required.
For example, much of our forward momentum can be undone by fear: the fear of failure; the fear of success; the fear of criticism; the fear of pain. Some of us are dominated by smaller but no less impactful phobias, such as flying or enclosed spaces. But if we’re to become resilient, it helps to overcome any psychological hurdles of this nature, or at least to manage them in such a way that they’re unable to halt our progress.
This is a truth I’ve learned the hard way. Once I’d started to engage in combat as part of the British military, my sense of my mortality was tested on a daily basis. Every day there was a chance I might die, and at times it was difficult to manage the anxiety. Handily, I quickly discovered several techniques that helped to compartmentalize my stresses – but only if I acknowledged them in the first place and then worked to manage their impact. With time, I was able to apply the same methods to all kinds of negative emotions.
Not everybody’s the same, especially in civilian life. I’ve noticed that people can act irrationally when experiencing psychological pressure. In scary situations, some individuals become angry or overwhelmed, and their fear results in their downfall, whatever that might be. Others feel embarrassed when experiencing grief, and lash out or became withdrawn. With a little know-how, however, it’s possible that such individuals could manage their negative emotions and turn them into a positive force.
I want to start this chapter by detailing an emotional low point, a moment when stress threatened to overwhelm me.
The hard arrest was in chaos. One of our lads had been horrifically wounded and the image of his shooting stuck in my mind for hours after we’d cleared the building, taken down his killer and swept the rooms for intel and weapons. For the first time in my military career, I’d actually feared for my life. PTSD was setting in. This might sound stupid, but up until that moment I’d never considered the fact that I might die while operating for the British Armed Forces. I’d trusted my training to keep me safe. For years I’d been swaddled in a bubble of ignorance, unaware of the mortal risks facing me, or perhaps subconsciously unwilling to accept them. Talk about stupid. It had taken me twenty years to realize I was working in a bloody dangerous job.
Night was falling. I crouched behind a wall, surveying the wreckage from our operation. There were several dead people around us, all enemy fighters, but the area wasn’t secured and we were holding our position in a maze-like compound, awaiting our next instructions. From my location I could see a courtyard and several doors, each one leading into alleyways that felt more like rabbit warrens – whenever I’d been forced into one it had been impossible not to feel disorientated, there were so many blind corners and dead ends. I looked up. From a ladder above me, one of our lads, a trained sniper, was watching out for incoming hostiles. All of us sensed that we might get bumped at any moment. I dreaded the idea. I was worried.
I don’t want to get up from behind this wall, I thought.
Up until that moment I’d been fairly fearless on operations, but pragmatic, too. I wasn’t one to run around like a headless chicken, but I threw myself into the work, 100 per cent. Suddenly, my role as an operator felt like an effort. It was emotional. And when the call eventually came for me to clear another series of rooms, my heart raced when ordinarily it would have been calm and steady. I stood up and ran towards the target, my body hunched over as if I’d been punched in the gut, in what was a desperate attempt to make myself smaller.
I was terrified. Functional, but terrified all the same. I racked my brains for any excuse not to go into the next building. Can’t someone else do it? Maybe I could twist my ankle on the run over and send another lad in my place? But an opportunity to pass on the responsibility wasn’t going to present itself. The door was kicked in and we moved through the building, our weapons up, only to find ourselves in a family home, abandoned apart from some old furniture. I puffed out a sigh of relief, but my mind still raced. I wanted to get out of harm’s way. And then the comms in my ear crackled. It was my Officer Commanding.
‘Right, we want you to walk on to a location that’s around a kilometre-and-a-half away from here,’ he said. ‘It’s another compound we’d like you to check over.’
My heart sank. For fuck’s sake. I’d hoped to get out of there sharpish, back to base for a wet and some downtime, but instead we had to creep through a field of head-high poppies, my senses alert to any people who may or may not have been moving around us, waiting to open fire. I found myself visualizing the moment where I came face to face with a gunman. As far as I was concerned, work was bound to get noisy again at any moment …
Or maybe not. Having finally arrived at our target, we kicked through the place in double-quick time. Beyond the first door was a herd of goats. Panicked by our entrance, they crowded around us, bleating and jumping this way and that in a right tizz. The second door led us into an old barn with a population of two: one shitting cow and a farmer who looked fairly annoyed, having realized
his goats were now running wild outside.
I was just as moody. Night had come and it was freezing cold. My unit was now faced with a three-kilometre trek back to our landing zone, a man down. It was hard not to feel demoralized after spending an hour nervously anticipating my impending death, only to assault a barn of livestock. What was the point in that? I couldn’t control my thinking. My emotions seemed to be running away with me during an operation, which I knew to be a dangerous sign for someone in my line of work. My mental health had become frazzled and, as a result, some of the techniques I’d learned for controlling my negative thoughts had been forgotten. I needed to reset.
MANAGING OUR FEARS
Superhumanity. It’s a term I’ve sometimes used to describe the feeling of operating in the British military elite, but it’s a little tongue-in-cheek. During my time in combat, all of us involved carried a weakness or two, small cracks in our armour that caused us to worry or to overthink a situation. What elevated us above other wings of the British Armed Forces was that we made a point of honing in on those weaknesses, ruthlessly and effectively, managing them in such a way that they wouldn’t distract us from our mission, no matter what type of job we were on or how hairy it got.
For example, I didn’t particularly like swimming in the sea. I still don’t, and that might be considered pretty weird given that I served with the Royal Marines and Special Forces for twenty years. During military service I simply shut out that particular anxiety by telling myself that it would only stand in the way of my doing the job I loved. But if ever I get in the water now I’m fine-tuned to the dangers. I get a little uncomfortable and imagine sharks darting about beneath me, sizing up their next feed. Whenever I go on holiday and someone says, ‘Fancy a dip?’ I’ll always get in, but I’m very aware of the risks.
