Anyone with more than a passing interest in the history of the SAS may well be familiar with the regiment’s genesis myth: in 1941, a tall Commando called David Stirling, in hospital after a nasty parachute training jump, came up with the idea of a small force of men who could be parachuted deep behind enemy lines in North Africa, attacking airfields, causing havoc, and spreading terror before melting away into the desert.
When sufficiently mobile on crutches, Stirling made his way to General Headquarters (GHQ) to present the plans to his superiors. Denied entry for not having his pass, he ditched the crutches, somehow dragged himself over the barbed wire and, with a sentry in hot pursuit, barged into the office of General Neil Ritchie and breathlessly handed over his memo. Permission quickly followed to form and lead the unit, christened L Detachment, Special Air Service.
It’s a great story. It sets the template for the image of the SAS as skilled, self-sufficient, highly motivated soldiers who overcome all obstacles, beat all the odds, to achieve their goals. But it never happened.
