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  No office job for him.

  He felt a sense of peace as he set off again, running down the hills and then half trotting, half running up the next. He was filled with a wild joy as he ran, like a deer running through the forest, at one with the Earth energy all around him. It was the same energy as Cernunnos, the green man-god, with antlers, walking the forest, the oak tree, the deer and forest animals—the energy of nature all around him. The green energy of the dragon ran through his veins, ancient and powerful, like an ancient warrior god. Nature sang to him as he ran, as did the trees, the grass, and the wild animals.

  He felt alive.

  The endurance march was completed by Peter in just three hours, a record. Vinnie just scraped through in just under twenty hours. Peter did have some aches and pains, the Bergen had chaffed the skin on his back, and it was red raw, but that was nothing compared to Vinnie. He was a physical wreck.

  Pen y Fan, at 2,907 feet above sea-level, is the highest peak in South Wales, situated in the Brecon Beacons National Park. Peter recalled the run at the top of Pen y Fan.

  It was 3 a.m.

  It was pitch black.

  There was freezing rain and a 60 mph wind. The conditions were atrocious. Everyone was struggling. Of the 20 that set out that night, 12 had given up and were wrapped up in their survival bags, shivering. Peter didn’t have much sympathy—they knew what they signed up for.

  Vinnie was bent double against the wind trying to catch Peter, who egged him on. ‘Don’t give up now Vinnie!’ Peter screamed. Vinnie collapsed, blown over by the wind, Peter went back and picked him up. ‘In one hour we will be off the mountain, having a brew!’ he screamed into his ear. Vinnie had lost all his toenails and was limping, but he carried on. ‘That’s the spirit,’ cried Peter to the mountain gods, who were throwing their worst at the pair.

  Then Vinnie tripped in the darkness and fell 20 feet down the mountain, into the blackness of space. Peter felt his way through the darkness, through the driving rain, and found him in a depression in the ground, just two feet away from a 1000 foot drop.

  A precipice.

  Death was only one footstep away. Vinnie was wild-eyed as he recovered back up the slope, and Peter’s excellent vision found a safe route down the mountain. Peter was silent as he walked, he had nearly lost Vinnie.

  His brother Vinnie.

  As he approached a lorry, he could make out Des and Artie, handing out cups of tea. Vinnie hobbled up beside him, looking like a ghost as Peter warmed his freezing wet hands on the steaming mug of tea that Des gave him.

  ‘You’re the first two back,’ said Des, handing him a cigarette.

  ‘It’s hell up there, DS,’ replied Peter, feeling the wonderful-tasting liquid warm his insides.

  ‘That’s the idea,’ said Artie handing Vinnie his tea.

  Peter took his boot off. He had lost two toenails on the previous march but amazingly grew them back within one day.

  ‘How come you got all your toenails, Morgan, nobody else has?’ said Des sipping a mug of tea.

  ‘Ain’t natural,’ added Artie, eyeing Peter with suspicion.

  Following the Hill phase in the Brecon Beacons Peter’s wish came true and he traveled to Belize for the jungle phase. Exotic places. He was taught jungle survival skills: patrol formation, movement and navigation. If anything, the jungle phase was the toughest of all the phases, with its hot, sticky, energy-drawing heat, dehydration, mosquitoes, fatigue, as well as the constant dampness—everything was damp.

  He marvelled at the wildlife: monkeys, snakes and spiders. He didn’t like the spiders. Another batch of candidates dropped out in the jungle phase. They were gradually being whittled down, but he would stay the course, for he was Bulletproof Pete, toughest of the tough. He returned to Stirling Lines (Hereford) to finish training in foreign weapons, battle plans and to take part in combat survival exercises.

  The final phase of selection is the weeklong escape and evasion. Peter and Vinnie were formed into a patrol, an SAS four-man unit, with two other candidates, dressed in old Second World War uniforms and carrying only a tin can filled with survival equipment. They were told to head for a point by first light. Peter was worried about Vinnie, he wasn’t keeping up, and for the last few miles Peter had supported him as Vinnie had sprained his ankle, but nobody talked about it.

  He would do anything for Vinnie.

  They were being hunted by half a battalion of infantry and off-duty policemen with dogs and helicopters. They clambered over the rough and uneven ground, the damp and cold starting to chill their bones. They climbed over a wooden fence and found themselves in a field, but it was misty. They had gone 50 yards when out of the mist they could hear hooves approaching. Out of the darkness came a charging bull! Vinnie turned to run and fell over. He looked frightened as the charging mass of muscle came towards him.

  Peter stood his ground between Vinnie and the oncoming bull. As it came close, he dodged to the side like a bullfighter and grabbed the horns of the ferocious bull, which bellowed like a caged beast. The bull could not move as Peter held its horns. He twisted the head of the angry beast, its eyes blazing with anger, then flipped it onto its back, without harming it.

  ‘Run Vinnie!’ shouted Peter as they got out of the field. They both laughed as they climbed over the fence.

  Most soldiers would be captured within a couple of hours, but Peter and Vinnie managed to evade capture by hiding in a ditch and covering themselves in branches and grass. They could hear the voices of the hunters and the barks of dogs as they lay shivering and motionless daring not to breathe—then Vinnie gave a loud burp, and it was all over.

  ‘Come on sunshine,’ said the off-duty policeman, as he pulled back the branches, holding his dog on a leash. Then Des walked up, a half-smile on his face. ‘These are the last two.’ As they were put in the back of a truck with the other captured soldiers, filthy and exhausted, Peter had to laugh, Vinnie had the uncanny, and anti-social habit, of being able to burp and fart at the same time.

  Only Vinnie. Peter watched the dawn rise as he looked out of the truck and exchanged smiles with brother Vinnie.

  Nearly there.

  Back at the base, two Americans in military fatigues, wearing dark glasses were talking to Des and Artie. ‘Did endurance in three hours,’ said Des, addressing the Americans, who nodded.

  One of the Americans got on his satellite phone. ‘Yes sir, I will talk to his Colonel.’

  Chapter 4

  Mental Torture

  Up until this point, the phases tested physical fitness, which Peter excelled in. The imminent final selection test was possibly the most difficult: resistance to interrogation, RTI, which lasts for 36 hours, and tests a candidate’s mental toughness. Only if the candidate passes this test, do they pass for selection.

  Peter was pushed into a cold, featureless concrete room and put into a ‘stress position’, his hands on the wall, legs apart.

  Disorientating white noise was blasted at him as Peter focused his mind, going into a meditative state, losing sense of time and space. He didn’t know how much time had passed, it could have been hours or a whole day as he was bundled out of the cold, soulless room.

  He was in the interrogation room proper, sitting opposite the two interrogators, Des and Artie. Up until this point, Peter had played along with the interrogators, knowing he could walk away. He only gave four pieces of information: name, rank, army number, and date of birth.

  But now, they sat there in silence for a while looking at him, impassive, looking for an angle, a lever, to make him crack. Then the real interrogation began.

  ‘Artie told me your penis is so small it’s a wonder you can pee,’ smiled Des. Artie laughed. It was expected—the personal insults. Peter was silent, they were trying to bait him.

  ‘I bet you used to sleep with your mummy, didn’t you?’ Asked Artie, an evil smi
le on his face. Peter’s blood started to rise, the ancient warrior blood—an insult could only be repaid in blood. Should he kill them both?

  As Peter stared at Des and Artie, his countenance changed. Shadows flickered in the corner of the room, the atmosphere changed, becoming darker, denser, malevolent.

  Des and Artie hesitated as they looked at Peter, he seemed to grow larger, maybe it was the light playing tricks, but his appearance had changed. His eyes shone a fierce blue like ice fire. Artie looked at Des, then leaned forward.

  ‘Were you a mummy’s boy. Were you Morgan?’

  ‘I bet you wanted to fuck your mother didn’t you?’ The room seemed to grow even darker. The atmosphere seemed heavy, like a thunderstorm approaching. The room shook a little, as Peter gripped the solid steel table legs, his biceps flexed, and he bent the sturdy steel table in half, before their very eyes. Des and Artie stood up and backed away, genuinely frightened, but Peter was silent.

  ‘Interrogation over!’ said Des as they hurriedly left the room. Peter sighed, they had tested him, but he had not killed them, as he had wanted to. He had kept his mouth shut, and he had passed the test. He sat there for a while, then walked out into the open air.

  He had passed the test, but he had come very close to killing them.

  Vinnie was there, looking like a sack of potatoes. Peter was glad it was all over as he joined Vinnie outside. Vinnie, coming from an East End crime family, had struggled with the insults.

  ‘I nearly nutted Artie,’ said Vinnie, ‘especially what he said about my mother.’

  ‘Good job you didn’t, I was tempted myself. Des and Artie didn’t know how close they came,’ replied Peter, then added, ‘it’s all over now, don’t get emotional, it’s just training. Relax mate. Why come all this way to fail at the last minute?’

  Then they saw Des approaching them, ‘No hard feelings eh?’ as he gave them a cigarette each. Peter nodded as Des lit his cigarette for him and he felt the nicotine kick as he sucked in the smoke—his first cigarette for two months.

  Peter looked around him, but they were the only two waiting in the cold drizzle, looking like tramps.

  Des let them finish their cigarettes, then instructed them to go to the Colonel’s office. Des managed a smile and had a look of admiration on his face. At that point Peter knew that he and Vinnie had done it.

  Chapter 5

  Getting Badged

  Vinnie and Peter wait outside the Colonel’s office in the SAS headquarters. Vinnie tucks his shirt in and tidies his hair. They are filthy and exhausted, both mentally and physically from the RTI, Peter much less so than Vinnie, who looks haggard. Peter feels calm and at peace as they are invited in and stand before Colonel Bradley, who is busy reading a document.

  They stand before the gray-haired, stony-faced Colonel, then he looks up. His hard eyes soften a little, and he manages a smile. He stands up and hands Peter and Vinnie the SAS badged cap—he has an inquisitive look in his eye as if not quite sure what to make of Peter. That morning he had taken a call from an old CIA contact, asking about this young man. What was he—a freak of nature?

  ‘Congratulations Gentlemen. Of the 102 who started, you and three others are the only ones to pass final selection. Welcome to the SAS. You will both join A Squadron, Mobility Troop. Dismissed.’

  Peter is happy, he knows how desperately difficult it is to get in. But he is in. The SAS has four squadrons: A, B, D and G. Each squadron has four troops: Air, Mountain, Boat and Mobility. Each troop has sixteen men when fully manned, (four 4-man teams), but as the SAS is so difficult to get into, it is generally fewer than this.

  Peter and Vinnie grin at each other as they salute and walk out, a feeling of exhilaration and accomplishment filling their souls as they look at their new caps, which sport a badge with a dagger, the sword of Excalibur—with wings on either side. Peter studies the sword on the badge—it seems to resonate with him for some obscure reason. The SAS motto is “Who Dares Wins,” and the emblem is a dagger with wings. Their philosophy is to train hard, fight easy. ‘I can live with that’, thought Peter.

  ‘We did it Vinnie—we did it!’ Peter claps Vinnie on the back.

  ‘My old man will be so proud,’ a tear wells in Vinnie’s eye.

  ‘So would my father, if he was alive’, thinks Peter. Now he is in, he can find out what happened to his father, even if he had to kick some butt to do so.

  He watches as he recognizes one of the soldiers on selection who has collapsed, being stretchered into an ambulance—he does not look good. He is shaking and moaning incoherently—as though he has had a breakdown. He is a fellow candidate from the Royal Regiment of Wales, Lefty—he does everything with his left hand. Lefty is a bit awkward and clumsy, and Peter used to stick up for him when the lads took the piss out of him. As he watches Lefty being put on the ambulance he reflects—Lefty knew what the risks were when he signed up for selection. That was the discipline, but he hopes he will be ok.

  As he stands there, reflecting on his achievement, he can see the SAS instructor team, Des and Artie, walking towards them. ‘That guy has supernatural powers, it ain’t natural,’ whispers Artie, thinking Peter cannot hear, but of course, he can.

  This time, instead of shouting at him, they are smiling and shake his hand, congratulating him and Vinnie, a look of pure admiration on their faces.

  Des and Artie—hard, experienced SAS soldiers, battle hardened, with the scars to prove it, look at Peter as if they have a question that needs answering. No one has finished the selection process more easily than this man. No one has completed the soul-destroying marches quicker or survived the mind-numbing torture in the interrogation sessions more easily, than this man. Their experience in the interrogation room with Peter had shaken them.

  Des looks at Peter. A look of disbelief, was this man human? Maybe they would find their answers later. It’s impossible to cheat selection, so how did he do it? He would certainly be fast-tracked for promotion. Des feels a bit jealous—it took him ten years to become a staff sergeant in the SAS.

  Peter looks at each of them in turn, knowing they have been through the same experience and come out the other side. They are made of the right stuff. He feels humbled.

  ‘I see the truth of it,’ he smiles.

  ‘How did you do it?’ asks Des. Peter just smiles again, his blue eyes shining.

  He shakes their hands again, then they walk off none the wiser. Vinnie claps him on the back. ‘I’m taking some leave to see my old man and Gill. You?’

  ‘I’m going home to see Jennifer and the kids, before the action starts again. She’s probably forgotten what I look like’. Peter hugs Vinnie and claps him on the back.

  ‘See you soon brother, don’t get into any trouble!’ shouts Vinnie as he walks off.

  Peter collects his gear and gets a lift to the train station from two Americans who have studied him. Silently. As he gets out of the car, they give him a card with a telephone number on it.

  ‘If you ever need a change of scenery let us know, we could use a man of your talents,’ the taller American drawls in a Southern accent.

  As he stands on the platform, he reflects. He has passed selection, but who are the two Americans who gave him a lift? He has seen them hanging around the Colonel’s office. They looked, and felt like spooks.

  As he sits on the train he looks at the card. It has a Virginia code, he knows because Jennifer’s parents live there. As he watches the countryside go by he looks back on his life and how he met his wife, Jennifer. In his late teens he had a hollow feeling in his soul that he needed to finish his education, so decided to study, part-time, and did an Open University degree course in Geography and Languages, which is where he met Jennifer on one of the study days at the campus. It was love at first sight over tea and sandwiches in the canteen. It had taken all his warrior courage to ask her for a first date—a picnic and walk
in the Brecon Beacons. He had strolled over to her, his heart beating fast. ‘You’re American, aren’t you?’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I am,’ her brown eyes sparkling at this handsome, rugged, Welshman with ice blue eyes, and bulging muscles.

  ‘You’re new here.’ smiled Peter. ‘Let me take you on a picnic, the countryside is beautiful in Wales.’ She nodded, admiring the charismatic bald man with blue eyes. They ate their food in a wood, in a hidden valley surrounded by bluebells and lush green grass, the sun shining through the trees. It had been Peter’s favourite place since childhood. They were married soon after. Life seemed to be working out for him at last.

  Chapter 6

  Home Sweet Home

  Peter thought about how long it had been since he last saw his family, as he walked up the country lane past his local pub, up onto the moor. It had been nearly a year—too long. Would his children recognize him? He stood there a while breathing in the air and admiring the view of the surrounding hills; wild, rugged and ancient. He walked down into the small wooded, hidden valley in the Brecon Beacons where his home was. Home, where he would find peace from his memories of the selection course.

  The air was fresh and full of the smells of spring as he trod through the dewy morning grass. All he could hear were the birds singing as he made his way along an old worn path through the woods. As well as the flowers he could smell horses; up ahead was a wild pony chewing the grass. As he passed it on the woodland path, he stroked its back, it turned his head and looked at him, then continued chewing the grass

  He would be home soon. The sun shone through the oak and pine trees, then he could see bluebells, and he stopped for a moment to admire the beauty. A squirrel stopped and looked at him, then scurried up an oak tree carrying an acorn. He loved this place, it was so peaceful.