David Blakeley - Maverick One: The True Story of a Para, Pathfinder, Renegade

MAVERICK ONE

PARA. PATHFINDER. RENEGADE.
THE MAKING OF A WARRIOR

One way to live.
A thousand ways to die.

DAVID BLAKELEY

For all Pathfinders, past, present and future

And for Matt Bacon, rest in peace.

We will remember them.

Never give in never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.

Winston Churchill, Speech, 1941

Very special thanks to three people in particular who saved my life on different occasions behind enemy lines on high-risk missions Tricky, Reuben Boswell and Andy Jackson. A debt that I cannot repay.

Very special thanks to my mother and father and sisters Anna and Lisa, for all your support over the years and especially when I was away on operations with the military.

I would like to thank Damien Lewis for his hard work and support, publishers Lucinda McNeile and Alan Samson, for their inspiration, vision and guidance from the very earliest stages, and all at Orion who did so much to make this book a success. Thanks also to Annabel Merullo, literary agent, and her assistant Laura Williams, for their support and Digby Halsby and team at Flint PR for their great work.

Thank you to: my steadfast friends Gareth Arnold, David Green, Azim Majid, Dan Jarvis, Liam Cradden, Greg Cox, Oliver Peckham, Richard Allen, Charles Towning, Joshua Rayner, Alex Beer, Remco Vanderlinden, Luke Hardy and Big Phil Campion. Also thank you to Michelle Macerlean, Laura Hill, Francesca Root, Claire Morgan, Frederick Forsyth, Adriel Lack, Julie Lowery, Sabina Skala, Mark Kennedy, Jake Steiner, Laura Pradelska, Josh Varney, Luke Speed, Ben Pugh, Patrick Hambleton, Charlie Birch, Kate Riley and Mike Illes.

Thank you to the incredible soldiers who supported me enormously on military operations around the world Joe Murray, Douggie Muirhead, Frank Gosling to name just a few; and all the rest of you I cannot name individually here.

FIRST IN

Pathfinder Platoon Motto

David Blakeley

February 2013

Find out more about David Blakeley at www.davidblakeley.co.uk

I have changed some of the names of the soldiers depicted in this book, and a handful of geographical locations and call signs, for operational and personal security reasons, and to protect the identities of members of the British and Allied elite forces.

My story as told in this book concerns my selection into the Parachute Regiment and The Pathfinders and my tours of Northern Ireland, the Balkans, Sierra Leone, Iraq and Afghanistan as I fought them. This book is written from my own personal memory and recollections of the events portrayed, and from the memories of others I have spoken to from those missions who were able to assist, and from my notes of the tours depicted. I have done my best to portray accurately and realistically the events as they happened. However my memory is no doubt fallible, and any mistakes herein are entirely of my own making. I will be happy to address them in future editions.

I am one of the first to arrive.

Ive heard all the rumours. Its best to get here early and claim a decent billet ideally one tucked away in a corner, and definitely on a lower bunk. Its only a thin, khaki green sheet of foam that Im laying claim to here, but this is where Ill lay my battered and tortured body every night for the weeks to come, racked with pain and exhaustion and craving sleep.

If youre a late arrival youll be left with a place by the door, and that could make all the difference between passing or failing whatever hell lies ahead of us. Every time someone opens the door youll get a blast of bitter, icy, January weather down your neck. And for sure people will be banging in and out for a piss all night long, as well need to drink bucket-loads in an effort to rehydrate.

I throw my Bergen onto my chosen billet the one thats the furthest from the door and tuck a rough green Army dog blanket into the bottom of the bunk above. That way, the blanket hangs down like a curtain, providing just a touch of privacy and separation from the doss-pits next to mine.

Enshrouded in my dog blanket curtain itll be total darkness, almost like a makeshift basha in the jungle. After each of the tortuous days that lie ahead Ill need that sanctuary, and some proper sleep, if Im to stand any chance of making it through.

Theres one other crucial advantage to getting a bottom bunk. You avoid the risk of jumping down from one above on sore and battered legs, and the impact further straining or breaking already torn and shredded limbs.

My makeshift dog blanket shelter done, I settle down to wait for the next arrivals.

Im six foot four, and the steel and corrugated iron bed feels like its been built for a dwarf. My heads jammed against the wall, and my feet dangle way over the end. Ill have to sleep curled up like a foetus. But at least with a lower bunk, if I do roll out I dont have so far to fall onto the bare concrete below.

I glance around at the inhospitable, spartan billet. Its an old Nissen hut a thin, corrugated steel construction not a great deal more substantial than a chicken shed. There are ten bunks ranged like skeletal ribs down either side of the room, their paint chipped and fading, the frames sagging in places. Its enough for forty blokes in all, which makes up a full complement for whats coming.

The thin mattress beneath me is encased in a horrible, wipe-clean, sweaty plastic covering the kind of thing you wouldnt wish on a young kid who pees the bed. Its there so that those who bleed, or puke or piss themselves through exhaustion dont leave a permanent legacy for the next batch whore mad enough to volunteer for this self-inflicted torment.

Welcome to Sennybridge Camp, I tell myself wryly, the base for all British Special Forces selection including that of the Special Air Service (SAS), the Special Boat Service (SBS) and the tiny, elite unit that I burn to be a part of: The Pathfinders.

British Special Forces selection is widely regarded as being the toughest in the world. The American military model their own selection on what we do here, at this run-down, grotty, rain-lashed dump of a place. Those who founded Delta Force came here to attempt UKSF selection, so as to ascertain just how hard they could afford to abuse and torture their own soldiers.

In a way Ive been lucky in my training, for Ive been briefed in detail about what to expect. Jack Quinn, a fellow PARA Regiment bloke, had made it into the SAS, but was returned to unit (RTUd) due to a bit of lightweight skulduggery. Hed switched the wheels from a hire car they were using on SAS business onto his own vehicle.

Unfortunately, hed been rumbled and RTUd at which point I offered him a deal. If he helped me train for selection and briefed me on what to look out for, Id buy him a new set of alloy wheels for his motor. Pathfinder (PF ) selection is basically the same as that for the SAS, only its shorter being five weeks of initial torture, as opposed to six months. Jack Quinn would make an ideal mentor.