Having a go: SDU
By 1985, I'm well established as an instructor at the Police Tactical Unit. I'm thinking about entering the selection for the Special Duties Unit. The SDU is a counter-terrorist assault team based on and set up by the British SAS. Since its inception, the unit has grown in the roles it could undertake. Although, to date, its work has been against armed criminals. SDU enjoys a robust reputation, both in Hong Kong and overseas
The SDU selection is a formidable undertaking. And that's an understatement. Even attempting it requires careful thought, coupled with much preparation. A whole generation of officers discussed 'having a go' at the two weeks of hell. Only a few opted in. Of those few, a small percentage lasted the first few days; even fewer made it to the end. A series of daunting exercises awaited. Fitness, pain threshold, the ability to handle fatigue and phobias are all evaluated. Nothing SDU threw at me was easy.
I started training six months before selection. I'd spoken to other former candidates, successful and unsuccessful. Seeking to gain as much knowledge as possible, I did my research. I reckoned my fitness was sound. I was doing physical training in the morning as part of the PTU day.
Nonetheless, it was also clear I had specific weaknesses. My distance running was poor because I did little, plus my bulk counted against me. I've always been a hefty chap. I knew SDU would use the distance runs to sort out the uncommitted. It's a simple way of getting the wobbly ones to give up. Also, my rope climbing skills needed some work.
Still unsure if I was going to do it, I started a regime of training. My friends reckoned I had no chance, with most suggesting I'd do well to survive two to three days. So, for once, I kept my mouth shut, putting my head down to get on with it.
PTU was the ideal environment to train. I'd join the morning PT session, then supplement this with my stuff at lunchtime or in the evenings. Thus, two PT sessions a day became the norm as the spring arrived with its sapping humidity. Pushing for at least a five-mile run three times a week, I sought to tackle longer sessions at the weekends.
Route marches over Lion Rock became a feature of my life. A rucksack weighted with bricks kept me company. A couple of times, the heat proved too much, as dizzy spells forewarned of dehydration. Soon my regime of hydration became robotic as I forced water into my system.
Little by little, I found I could push the distances out a bit as my stamina improved. At the same time, the weight was dropping off. Yet, I needed to keep some muscle for the strength exercises. So, without protein powders or the other modern options, I opted for eating half a chicken whenever I could.
When not running or fast marching over the hills, I hit the dumbbells and weights to tone up. I was beginning to overcome a sense of inferiority that my attempt to join SDU was bogus. I drew pleasure from pounding along the streets at night, zipping through the crawling traffic and then climbing the hill at Shek Kip Mei between the tenements as jets roared in, making their way to Kai Tak.
This training was not countryside running; it was relentless street slogging. Through Kowloon Tong, Shek Kip Mei and looping along Lung Cheung Road. All the time in the damp clinging heat with the occasional welcome shower, heralded by a dank blast of wind.
I heard the rope test was a killer as it involved climbing a gym rope without using your legs. Repeating the task several times was the challenge. Again, my size was a factor. One of the PTIs assured me it was all about technique.
As you climb, get the momentum going by swinging the body side to side, and don't stop because the arms tire. You can't hang on. It took some doing, but I mastered the method with another incremental boost to my confidence. I could do this.
The physical stuff was one aspect. Operational planning, formulating options and briefing would also be essential. I brushed up on all those skills, seeking to understand SDU's specific requirements.
The warm October day arrived. Selection starts. Fifty plus anxious young men gathered on the square at the Police Tactical Unit HQ. It was too late to withdraw, train a bit more, too late for anything. So, with my gawking peers watching from the balcony of the Officer's Mess, it started.
Circuit training; press-ups, squat thrusts, sit-ups. All at a relentless pace. Then of a sudden, I'm feeling queasy with unsteady legs.
"Don't be the first to drop out or collapse", an inner voice was screaming.
"Come on, hold this together."
We were only 10 minutes into it, and the adrenaline overload was playing havoc with me. I slowed a little to take in my surroundings, noticing that a couple of constables had already gone.
"Thank Christ for that."
Take it one stage at a time; focus on the immediate task - do it, then move on—one hour in. The initial rush of adrenaline has burnt off. A few guys had dropped out, including an inspector I reckoned was a potential winner. So I set my horizon on lunchtime. We started a long run. Relentless, the pace continued; runs, dumbbells, gym work, more running. Commitment, that's all it's about—seeing who will push on, set aside their pain to continue.
Darkness was now approaching. We'd had a couple of short breaks for food and water. Plus quick reapplication of vaseline to chafed inner thighs and nipples.
The logs appeared. Formed into squads, we set off into the night carrying the rotten logs until well past midnight. Our tour took in parts of the remote and painfully steep Pak Sin Leng ridgeline. How I summoned up the energy to keep going was beyond me. I was on autopilot.
We ran through the night. As the sun came up, we arrived in Luen Wo Hui. I raided the 7-11 shop for drinks, chocolate, anything with calories. Back at base, we showered. Bliss.
Next, to sleep. But no sooner had I drifted off than a flashbang burst under the bunks. We are summoned outside for a morning run. I reckon I'd slept for 20 minutes at most. It suddenly struck me that I'm in a much smaller group. Several had gone during the night's exertions. My competition for a place was now down to four. Of the constables, 15 remained.
We set off on the run. Eventually, the day evolved into command exercises. The emphasis is now on us inspectors demonstrating our leadership skills. We had to plan an operation, brief and execute it. All against a tight time frame, then repeat again and again. As selection continued, the task complexity increased with sickeners thrown in—everything designed to knock you off course.
Somewhere along the way, we got a session on the MP5 and Browning pistol. The instructor was first-rate, as, in no time, I could strip both weapons blindfold, clearing a jam.
A few classroom sessions were a welcome break. But don't relax. More physical stuff is coming—all the while tired and on edge. As darkness fell for the second day, we boarded helicopters. Then, dropped in a rural area, we set off on a night navigation test. Now going into a second night without sleep, my concentration was slipping. I found myself drifting off every time we stopped moving.
At last, we halted, dropped to the ground and slept. That night we got four hours shuteye in the open. Then it all started again. The day went on with various phobia tests. First, abseiling from high buildings, then working your way through smoke-filled tunnels. Then, diving, jumping from ships in a heavy swell, and constantly tired. Always tired.
Next came boxing. Fighting each other in the boxing ring, first in pairs and then as a group. A long dumbbell session beforehand meant our ability to land a blow with any power was gone. The risk of harm came from falling over or getting trampled in the melee.
On the fourth day, we went home for 12 hours. Battered and bruised from days of non-stop exercise, I arrived back to find my wife sitting on the couch in tears.
"I'm pregnant", she announced.
My frazzled mind immediately decided that this was another test. Those bastards at SDU. What sick mind had thought this up to challenge my resolve? They'd even got my wife involved.
"Are you serious? When did this happen?"
Not the best of questions, given the circumstances. Finally, convinced this was real, I decided to drop out of selection. Anne pressed me to stay in. I'd sleep on it.
The next day I headed back to Fanling for more punishment. With the numbers now whittled down, we each got more attention. The critical focus of the SDU instructors was on us. Although at no stage did they offer encouragement, advice or support. We operate in a vacuum, except for the help of each other.
There were lighter moments. In the darkness of the barracks, one candidate reached for a tube of gel to soothe his blistered rear area. The screams that resulted woke the dead in the nearby cemetery. Deep Heat cream is never a sensible option on broken skin.
Food took on particular importance. Getting any in your mouth was a delight as the tiredness enhanced the flavour. Sweets and chocolate tasted like heaven.
I knew mental robustness was going to be crucial. The ability to ignore the bullshit, discount the pain and keep going. In the end, it was the only thing that mattered. Get one task out of the way, don't look beyond that. Then the next job. And then another. You enter a Zen-like state. Soon you look back to see you've completed another day.
As the second week came to a close, I was more surprised than anyone that I was still there. Officers I'd rated as worthy candidates had gone. What was left behind was a close-knit group; single-minded, focused. I reckon we'd have done anything asked of us.
We expected to finish on either Friday or Saturday. Instead, as Friday lunchtime approached, we came in from another run and awaited the next task. Ordered to the drill square, on arrival, we found a table loaded with beers and food.
"That's it, guys, the selection is over", announced the instructor. "Grab a drink, and we will go to a debrief."
No one moved. Bullshit - another test. I'm not getting caught out at this late stage.
"Come on, guys. It's over", insisted the instructor.
It took a good ten minutes for them to convince us. Even then, I opted for a soft drink.
Then, about a week later, the news came through. I didn't get in. SDU gave me a glowing report, but I reckon that was them being nice. I'd failed to get in, which is the only thing that matters. At first, I was angry. I was then disappointed. After all the pain I'd suffered those two weeks, all the obstacles I'd overcome, both mental and physical. A month later, another rejected candidate resigned from the Force. He took it much harder than me. Such was the letdown of completing selection and not getting in.
Over time, I recognised they'd made the right decision. The lad selected was the best candidate. He had the right degree of controlled aggression needed for the role.
I'd had a go, learning some stuff about myself, my strengths and weaknesses. So I'll leave it at that.
With my tour as a PTU instructor coming to an end, I went back to Police Headquarters.
The SDU selection is a formidable undertaking. And that's an understatement. Even attempting it requires careful thought, coupled with much preparation. A whole generation of officers discussed 'having a go' at the two weeks of hell. Only a few opted in. Of those few, a small percentage lasted the first few days; even fewer made it to the end. A series of daunting exercises awaited. Fitness, pain threshold, the ability to handle fatigue and phobias are all evaluated. Nothing SDU threw at me was easy.
I started training six months before selection. I'd spoken to other former candidates, successful and unsuccessful. Seeking to gain as much knowledge as possible, I did my research. I reckoned my fitness was sound. I was doing physical training in the morning as part of the PTU day.
Nonetheless, it was also clear I had specific weaknesses. My distance running was poor because I did little, plus my bulk counted against me. I've always been a hefty chap. I knew SDU would use the distance runs to sort out the uncommitted. It's a simple way of getting the wobbly ones to give up. Also, my rope climbing skills needed some work.
Still unsure if I was going to do it, I started a regime of training. My friends reckoned I had no chance, with most suggesting I'd do well to survive two to three days. So, for once, I kept my mouth shut, putting my head down to get on with it.
PTU was the ideal environment to train. I'd join the morning PT session, then supplement this with my stuff at lunchtime or in the evenings. Thus, two PT sessions a day became the norm as the spring arrived with its sapping humidity. Pushing for at least a five-mile run three times a week, I sought to tackle longer sessions at the weekends.
Route marches over Lion Rock became a feature of my life. A rucksack weighted with bricks kept me company. A couple of times, the heat proved too much, as dizzy spells forewarned of dehydration. Soon my regime of hydration became robotic as I forced water into my system.
Little by little, I found I could push the distances out a bit as my stamina improved. At the same time, the weight was dropping off. Yet, I needed to keep some muscle for the strength exercises. So, without protein powders or the other modern options, I opted for eating half a chicken whenever I could.
When not running or fast marching over the hills, I hit the dumbbells and weights to tone up. I was beginning to overcome a sense of inferiority that my attempt to join SDU was bogus. I drew pleasure from pounding along the streets at night, zipping through the crawling traffic and then climbing the hill at Shek Kip Mei between the tenements as jets roared in, making their way to Kai Tak.
This training was not countryside running; it was relentless street slogging. Through Kowloon Tong, Shek Kip Mei and looping along Lung Cheung Road. All the time in the damp clinging heat with the occasional welcome shower, heralded by a dank blast of wind.
I heard the rope test was a killer as it involved climbing a gym rope without using your legs. Repeating the task several times was the challenge. Again, my size was a factor. One of the PTIs assured me it was all about technique.
As you climb, get the momentum going by swinging the body side to side, and don't stop because the arms tire. You can't hang on. It took some doing, but I mastered the method with another incremental boost to my confidence. I could do this.
The physical stuff was one aspect. Operational planning, formulating options and briefing would also be essential. I brushed up on all those skills, seeking to understand SDU's specific requirements.
The warm October day arrived. Selection starts. Fifty plus anxious young men gathered on the square at the Police Tactical Unit HQ. It was too late to withdraw, train a bit more, too late for anything. So, with my gawking peers watching from the balcony of the Officer's Mess, it started.
Circuit training; press-ups, squat thrusts, sit-ups. All at a relentless pace. Then of a sudden, I'm feeling queasy with unsteady legs.
"Don't be the first to drop out or collapse", an inner voice was screaming.
"Come on, hold this together."
We were only 10 minutes into it, and the adrenaline overload was playing havoc with me. I slowed a little to take in my surroundings, noticing that a couple of constables had already gone.
"Thank Christ for that."
Take it one stage at a time; focus on the immediate task - do it, then move on—one hour in. The initial rush of adrenaline has burnt off. A few guys had dropped out, including an inspector I reckoned was a potential winner. So I set my horizon on lunchtime. We started a long run. Relentless, the pace continued; runs, dumbbells, gym work, more running. Commitment, that's all it's about—seeing who will push on, set aside their pain to continue.
Darkness was now approaching. We'd had a couple of short breaks for food and water. Plus quick reapplication of vaseline to chafed inner thighs and nipples.
The logs appeared. Formed into squads, we set off into the night carrying the rotten logs until well past midnight. Our tour took in parts of the remote and painfully steep Pak Sin Leng ridgeline. How I summoned up the energy to keep going was beyond me. I was on autopilot.
We ran through the night. As the sun came up, we arrived in Luen Wo Hui. I raided the 7-11 shop for drinks, chocolate, anything with calories. Back at base, we showered. Bliss.
Next, to sleep. But no sooner had I drifted off than a flashbang burst under the bunks. We are summoned outside for a morning run. I reckon I'd slept for 20 minutes at most. It suddenly struck me that I'm in a much smaller group. Several had gone during the night's exertions. My competition for a place was now down to four. Of the constables, 15 remained.
We set off on the run. Eventually, the day evolved into command exercises. The emphasis is now on us inspectors demonstrating our leadership skills. We had to plan an operation, brief and execute it. All against a tight time frame, then repeat again and again. As selection continued, the task complexity increased with sickeners thrown in—everything designed to knock you off course.
Somewhere along the way, we got a session on the MP5 and Browning pistol. The instructor was first-rate, as, in no time, I could strip both weapons blindfold, clearing a jam.
A few classroom sessions were a welcome break. But don't relax. More physical stuff is coming—all the while tired and on edge. As darkness fell for the second day, we boarded helicopters. Then, dropped in a rural area, we set off on a night navigation test. Now going into a second night without sleep, my concentration was slipping. I found myself drifting off every time we stopped moving.
At last, we halted, dropped to the ground and slept. That night we got four hours shuteye in the open. Then it all started again. The day went on with various phobia tests. First, abseiling from high buildings, then working your way through smoke-filled tunnels. Then, diving, jumping from ships in a heavy swell, and constantly tired. Always tired.
Next came boxing. Fighting each other in the boxing ring, first in pairs and then as a group. A long dumbbell session beforehand meant our ability to land a blow with any power was gone. The risk of harm came from falling over or getting trampled in the melee.
On the fourth day, we went home for 12 hours. Battered and bruised from days of non-stop exercise, I arrived back to find my wife sitting on the couch in tears.
"I'm pregnant", she announced.
My frazzled mind immediately decided that this was another test. Those bastards at SDU. What sick mind had thought this up to challenge my resolve? They'd even got my wife involved.
"Are you serious? When did this happen?"
Not the best of questions, given the circumstances. Finally, convinced this was real, I decided to drop out of selection. Anne pressed me to stay in. I'd sleep on it.
The next day I headed back to Fanling for more punishment. With the numbers now whittled down, we each got more attention. The critical focus of the SDU instructors was on us. Although at no stage did they offer encouragement, advice or support. We operate in a vacuum, except for the help of each other.
There were lighter moments. In the darkness of the barracks, one candidate reached for a tube of gel to soothe his blistered rear area. The screams that resulted woke the dead in the nearby cemetery. Deep Heat cream is never a sensible option on broken skin.
Food took on particular importance. Getting any in your mouth was a delight as the tiredness enhanced the flavour. Sweets and chocolate tasted like heaven.
I knew mental robustness was going to be crucial. The ability to ignore the bullshit, discount the pain and keep going. In the end, it was the only thing that mattered. Get one task out of the way, don't look beyond that. Then the next job. And then another. You enter a Zen-like state. Soon you look back to see you've completed another day.
As the second week came to a close, I was more surprised than anyone that I was still there. Officers I'd rated as worthy candidates had gone. What was left behind was a close-knit group; single-minded, focused. I reckon we'd have done anything asked of us.
We expected to finish on either Friday or Saturday. Instead, as Friday lunchtime approached, we came in from another run and awaited the next task. Ordered to the drill square, on arrival, we found a table loaded with beers and food.
"That's it, guys, the selection is over", announced the instructor. "Grab a drink, and we will go to a debrief."
No one moved. Bullshit - another test. I'm not getting caught out at this late stage.
"Come on, guys. It's over", insisted the instructor.
It took a good ten minutes for them to convince us. Even then, I opted for a soft drink.
Then, about a week later, the news came through. I didn't get in. SDU gave me a glowing report, but I reckon that was them being nice. I'd failed to get in, which is the only thing that matters. At first, I was angry. I was then disappointed. After all the pain I'd suffered those two weeks, all the obstacles I'd overcome, both mental and physical. A month later, another rejected candidate resigned from the Force. He took it much harder than me. Such was the letdown of completing selection and not getting in.
Over time, I recognised they'd made the right decision. The lad selected was the best candidate. He had the right degree of controlled aggression needed for the role.
I'd had a go, learning some stuff about myself, my strengths and weaknesses. So I'll leave it at that.
With my tour as a PTU instructor coming to an end, I went back to Police Headquarters.
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