Knife Edge: Life as a Special Forces Surgeon by Richard Villar Read Free Book Online Page B

five or six times.
    Interrogation is carried out by the JSIW — Joint Services Interrogation Wing. These people come in all shapes, sizes and sexes and are not the most loved individuals from an SAS viewpoint. They can be aggressive, they can be peaceful. They can be nasty, they can be nice. You never know what they are going to be like until you are left alone with them. Sometimes you are blindfolded, at others you are allowed to see the questioner. It is easier, from a soldier’s viewpoint, if you remain blindfolded. That way you can remain in your own little world and allow no one to drag you from it. As with all SAS techniques, the secret is concentration, persistence and bloody-mindedness. Your captors, by fair means or foul, will attempt to drag from you details beyond the vital four. You, as their prisoner, must thwart such attempts.
    ‘What is your name?’
    ‘Villar, sir.’
    ‘What is your number?’
    ‘2419843, sir.’
    ‘What is your rank?’
    ‘Trooper, sir.’
    ‘What is your unit?’
    ‘I cannot answer that question, sir.’
    ‘What is your date of birth?’
    ‘28 April 1958, sir.’
    ‘What is your unit?’
    ‘I cannot answer that question, sir.’
    ‘Come on man. What is your goddam unit?’
    ‘I cannot answer that question, sir.’
    So it goes on. To any question concerning anything other than the vital four, the reply is ‘I cannot answer that question, sir.’ It is important not to be drawn into long discussions with the interrogator. These people are highly trained for the job and can tie you in knots given half a chance. They are looking for that tiny chink in your armour to work on, so as to open it up into a huge chasm.
    That first weekend I nearly gave the interrogators their chance. It was entirely my fault. The interrogator had been going at me with rapid-fire questions for ten continuous minutes. All he asked was the vital four, nothing else. It felt as if I was entering the spirit of competition, trying to answer his questions as fast as he put them to me. I was verbally stumbling to keep up. Then, unexpectedly, he asked ‘What is your unit?, just as if it was one of the vital four. Immediately, I replied ‘Twenty…’ and then stopped instantly. I had been a fraction away from saying 21 SAS. My military career would have been over if I had.
    Overconfidence is your worst enemy. Years later it got me again, in yet another remote farm building, though this time in northern Scotland. Like a fool, I had allowed a guard dog to catch me trying to break into an ammunition storage depot. I should have killed it, but could not separate it from its handler. I thought I knew it all at that stage. I had already been through interrogation several times and felt I had seen anything JSIW could throw at me. I was wrong.
    It was a routine interrogation. The questioner was being moderately unfriendly, thumping the side of what I thought was a riding boot with his swagger stick. I could only judge by sound as I was wallstanding and blindfolded. I was sure we were alone. Just the two of us. You put up a wall around you during interrogation - an invisible skin that you make as impermeable as possible. Gradually, the interrogator’s thumping lessened and his voice quietened. He began to sound almost reasonable, his questions again on the vital four. He even started to joke.
    ‘You’re a hitman for the Brownies, Villar, aren’t you?’ he asked, whispering into my right ear.
    I laughed openly, hesitating before giving the standard, obstructive reply. I was totally relaxed, particularly as I was sure we were both alone. Then, suddenly, a loud voice shouted into my left ear ‘Answer!’ I jumped. It was an enormous shock. We had not been alone at all. Someone had broken my impermeable skin. I shut up immediately at that stage and put up the barriers. I had learned, however tempting it might appear, never to lower them again.
    Interrogation appears a one-sided affair. All advantage seems to be with