I used to think I understood what it meant to hide. We’d been trained in camouflage, taught to dig in, learn to hold position under fire. We knew the basics of concealment, the fundamentals of staying invisible. But that was before I saw what the Australian SDS did in the jungles of Vietnam. Before I watched five men disappear into terrain that should have been impossible to vanish into.
Before I learned that hiding wasn’t just about not being seen. It was about becoming part of the landscape itself. So completely that even the jungle forgot you were there. The year was 1967 and Vietnam was teaching hard lessons to everyone who fought there. The Vietkong owned the jungle, or so we thought. They moved through it like water, appearing from nowhere and vanishing just as fast.
They knew every trail, every shadow, every place to wait and watch. American forces brought firepower and technology. We brought radios and air support and the confidence that superior equipment would win the day. But the Australian SES brought something else entirely. They brought patience. They brought discipline and they brought a philosophy of concealment so advanced, so refined that it turned hiding into an art form.
The Australians arrived at NewIt in April of 1966 as part of the first Australian task force. Three squadron was first rotating with one and two squadrons on year-long deployments that would continue until October of 1971. From the beginning, their mission was clear. They were the eyes and ears of the task force conducting long range reconnaissance patrols deep into Fuoktui province and beyond into Bien Hoa Lan and Bintoui provinces.
But while their mission was straightforward, their methods were anything but ordinary. Most reconnaissance units of that era operated on a simple principle. Get in. Gather intelligence. Get out. Speed was survival. Contact with the enemy meant extraction. Heavy fire. Helicopters screaming in to pull you out before the situation got worse.
The Australians saw it differently. To them, contact meant failure. If the enemy knew you were there, you’d already lost. So they built their entire operational doctrine around a single concept. Don’t be found in the first place. It started with how they moved. American long range reconnaissance patrols covered ground efficiently, maintaining tactical spacing and regular radio contact with their base.
They were good, disciplined, professional. But the Australian SAS moved at a pace that seemed impossibly slow to anyone watching. Sometimes on particularly sensitive missions, they would advance only 500 meters in an entire day. Not because the terrain was difficult, though the Vietnamese jungle was among the most challenging in the world, but because every step, every movement, every rustle of vegetation was calculated to leave no trace.
Their patrols consisted of five men. A lead scout moving ahead with senses tuned to every sight and sound. A patrol leader making the critical decisions. a second in command ready to take over if things went wrong. A signaler carrying the radio, though he used it far less than his American counterparts, and a medic because deep in enemy territory, even minor injuries could become fatal.
These five men moved through the jungle like a single organism. Their spacing never more than 15 m apart. Close enough that each man could always see the one ahead and behind. Close enough to communicate without words because that was another key to their success. Silence. Not just the absence of speech, but the absence of all unnecessary sound. They didn’t whisper commands.
They didn’t call out positions. Instead, they used a system so simple it seemed almost primitive. Fishing line strung between them, allowing communication through a gentle tug. One pull meant stop. Two meant danger. Three meant prepare to move. It was silent, reliable, and required no technology that could fail or be intercepted.
When American forces heard about this method, many dismissed it as quaint, old-fashioned, but those who watched the Australians work understood. In the jungle, the quietest force had the advantage. The patrols moved during specific hours, avoiding what they called pock time, the period between 1100 and,500 hours when enemy activity peaked.
During these hours, the SAS would simply stop, not hide in the traditional sense, but become part of the environment. They would find positions within the thickest vegetation, settle into the undergrowth, and watch. For hours they would remain motionless, observing enemy movements, counting soldiers, noting equipment, and direction of travel.
They gathered intelligence not by skullking at the edges of enemy territory, but by placing themselves in the heart of it and becoming invisible. One documented incident captured the extremes of this philosophy. An SAS non-commissioned officer on patrol inadvertently crept into a Vietkong jungle firing range, its alley cut deep through dense undergrowth.
Rather than retreating immediately and risking detection, he remained in position for three full days, hidden so effectively that enemy soldiers practiced their shooting within meters of him, never knowing he was there. Another soldier found himself concealed in a bush when a Vietkong soldier stopped to relieve himself directly over his hiding spot.
The Australian didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. He simply waited until the enemy left, understanding that any reaction, any movement could compromise not just himself, but his entire patrol. These weren’t isolated incidents of extraordinary luck. They were the natural results of a system designed to make such concealment routine.
The Australians didn’t stumble upon good hiding spots. They created them through meticulous preparation and absolute discipline. Every element of their kit was chosen for silence and minimal visual signature. They wore Americanmade ERDL camouflage uniforms when they could get them. The leaf pattern providing excellent concealment in the jungle environment.
Some preferred locally produced tiger stripe fatingsues, particularly suited to dark, wet conditions. But the uniform was only the beginning. Their faces were painted with lom colored camouflage paste broken into patterns that disrupted the human outline. not just smeared on, but applied with careful attention to shadow and light, transforming recognizable features into abstract shapes that blended with vegetation.
They removed anything that could reflect light, taping down metal surfaces covering exposed skin. One Aboriginal soldier rarely used face paint at all. His natural skin tone providing its own concealment in the shadows. The Vietkong never knew he was different from any other soldier on patrol.
When the patrols established their night leager positions, they employed a technique called sensory reconnaissance. After reaching their designated spot, they would fan out in a rough extended perimeter, each man moving slowly to his position, feeling the ground, testing the vegetation, ensuring no unusual sounds or disturbances. Then they would eat a cold meal, no fires, no cooking smells to drift through the night air.
After eating, they would conceal themselves in their hidden locations and settle in for the night, maintaining silence through darkness until first light. The logger position itself was chosen with extraordinary care. The Australians avoided obvious tactical positions, high ground, clear fields of fire, defensible positions, all the things conventional military doctrine valued.
They deliberately passed by. Instead, they sought the places no one would look. Dense thicket where movement seemed impossible. Low ground prone to flooding. tangles of weight a while vines that tore at clothing and skin. Places so uncomfortable, so difficult to access that even the Vietkong would avoid them.
And in those positions, the SAS would wait, invisible and patient. Their hiding spots shared common characteristics that military analysts would later study and attempt to replicate. First, they used natural features rather than trying to create artificial concealment. A rotted log became a position with a soldier burrowing underneath, lying perfectly still for hours, with only his eyes visible through a layer of wet leaves.
A mudbank along a stream became an observation post with a man blending into the earth itself, motionless while enemy soldiers passed within arms reach. The Australians understood that the best concealment used what was already there, enhanced rather than altered. Second, they thought in three dimensions.
Most forces thought about cover in terms of what was in front and behind. The SAS thought about what was above and below, what shadows existed at different times of day, how wind moved through vegetation, how water drained after rain. They would sometimes spend an entire hour just observing a potential position before settling in, watching how light played across it, how the jungle sounds changed around it, whether birds and animals moved naturally nearby.
If wildlife avoided an area, they avoided it, too, knowing that such avoidance might signal danger to experienced enemy soldiers. Third, they practiced what they called scent discipline. Human smell carries far in humid jungle conditions. Soap, cigarettes, gun oil, even freshly disturbed earth, all could alert a careful enemy.
The SAS used unscented everything when possible. They avoided smoking entirely on patrol. They cleaned their weapons with minimal oil, accepting slightly higher wear rather than creating a detectable signature. Some even went so far as to bury their spit rather than leaving it on the ground, understanding that even small things could betray their presence.
The attention to detail extended to their movement patterns when they had to move through an area they walked on roots and rocks rather than soft earth, leaving no footprints. They crawled over obstacles rather than pushing through them, avoiding the telltale signs of broken branches and crushed vegetation. Every resting point was cleaned before they left, every pressure mark in mud carefully covered.
American units sometimes watched in amazement as Australian patrols passed through an area, then returned hours later, unable to find any evidence they’d been there. It was as if the SAS could move through the jungle without touching it. This obsessive attention to concealment wasn’t born from paranoia or excessive caution.
It came from hard experience learned first in the jungles of Borneo during the Indonesian confrontation from 1965 to 1966. There operating against Indonesian forces in some of the most unforgiving terrain on Earth. The SAS developed and refined techniques that would become legendary in Vietnam. They learned to live in the jungle for weeks at a time, surviving on minimal supplies, moving slowly, observing patiently.
They learned that the side that could hide most effectively often won without ever firing a shot. The Borneo experience taught them something crucial. In jungle warfare, the advantage went to the side that controlled information, not the side with the biggest guns or the most soldiers, but the side that knew where the enemy was while remaining unknown themselves.
This understanding shaped everything the SAS did in Vietnam. Their mission wasn’t to kill, though they were devastatingly effective when combat became necessary. Their mission was to see without being seen, to know without being known. The technique that best exemplified their philosophy became known among American forces as the Australian method, though the SAS themselves had no special name for it.
When approaching an area of interest, whether an enemy trail, a suspected base camp, or a supply route, they wouldn’t establish an observation post at what seemed like an obvious distance. Instead, they would move in close, dangerously close. Close enough that they could sometimes hear enemy soldiers talking, close enough to count the buttons on uniforms, close enough to read markings on rice sacks and ammunition crates.
One patrol commander described getting so near to an enemy trail that he could smell the fish sauce on a passing soldier’s breath. Another team positioned itself inside a Vietkong camp’s defensive perimeter, observing from within the very place they were supposed to be watching from outside. The logic was counterintuitive, but sound.
The enemy expected observers to maintain a safe distance, so they watched the obvious positions. They didn’t expect anyone to be so close that a casual glance might reveal them. And that assumption created a blind spot the Australians exploited ruthlessly. Getting into such positions required extraordinary fieldcraft, but staying in them demanded even more.
Soldiers had to remain motionless for hours, sometimes days. They couldn’t adjust position to relieve cramped muscles. They couldn’t swat at insects or wipe away sweat running into their eyes. They had to control their breathing, slow their heart rate, and maintain absolute physical discipline regardless of discomfort.
And they had to do this while remaining alert, processing information, remembering details, all without the slightest external sign of their presence. The mental discipline required was perhaps even more demanding than the physical. Fear was natural, expected, but it couldn’t be allowed to manifest in movement or sound.
Boredom was dangerous, leading to carelessness and mistakes. The mind wanted to wander during long periods of inactivity, but full awareness had to be maintained at every moment. The SAS trained for this extensively, practicing stillness drills where soldiers would lie in concealment for hours, learning to ignore discomfort and maintain focus. Some would meditate.
Others developed mental exercises, counting breaths, cataloging sounds, anything to keep the mind engaged without allowing it to distract from the mission. When enemy activity justified the risk, the SAS would record what they observed in meticulous detail. Not just numbers and directions of travel, but the condition of equipment, the bearing of soldiers, whether they seemed alert or bored, confident or nervous.
These details, seemingly minor, often provided crucial intelligence about enemy morale, supply situations, and operational planning. A well-fed, welle equipped unit behaved differently from one that was running low on supplies. Alert sent centuries suggested an area of importance. Relaxed soldiers indicated a rear area or rest position.
The Australians learned to read these signs and report them accurately. Their reporting system was itself a study in efficiency. They carried minimal radio equipment and used it sparingly, knowing that transmissions could be detected and located. When they did report, messages were preformatted and could be sent in compressed bursts lasting just seconds.
Often they wouldn’t report at all during a patrol, instead waiting until extraction to deliver a full briefing. This required perfect memory and detailed notes, but it eliminated the risk of electronic detection. The intelligence they gathered was too valuable to compromise through careless communication. The extraction method the SAS preferred was as careful as their infiltration.
Helicopters necessary in the vast spaces of Vietnam’s operational areas created enormous noise and disturbance. So the Australians developed procedures to minimize exposure. They would move to extraction zones long before the scheduled pickup, establishing security and ensuring the area was clear. When the helicopter came, it would spend minimal time on the ground, sometimes hovering just long enough for men to scramble aboard.
Within seconds, they would be gone, leaving behind an area that showed little evidence of what had just occurred. On some missions, when helicopter insertion would have been too obvious, the SAS used alternative methods. They would infiltrate on foot from forward bases, a slow and exhausting process that could take days. They used M113 armored personnel carriers, developing deceptive techniques to mask their insertion point despite the noise the vehicles made moving through jungle.
On one documented occasion, they even conducted an operational parachute jump, though this remained rare. The method mattered less than the principle. Get in quietly. Work silently. Get out without anyone knowing you were there. The effectiveness of these techniques became apparent through the results they produced.
Over their five years in Vietnam. The Australian and New Zealand SAS conducted nearly 1,200 combat patrols. They reported on the movements of more than 5,600 enemy troops. They killed at least 492 enemy soldiers with possibly as many as 600, though exact numbers remain disputed. Their own losses were remarkably light.
One killed in action, one died of wounds, three accidentally killed, one missing and later found deceased, and one death from illness. 28 wounded. For a unit conducting high-risk operations in enemy controlled territory, these casualty figures were extraordinary. The kill ratio, the highest of any unit in the Vietnam War, told only part of the story.
What made the SAS truly effective wasn’t the number of enemies they killed, but the number they never had to fight. By remaining undetected, they gathered intelligence that allowed other units to conduct operations with better information, reducing friendly casualties and increasing mission success.
They identified enemy supply routes that were then interdicted. They located base camps that were subsequently destroyed. They provided early warning of enemy buildups that allowed friendly forces to prepare proper defenses. The Vietkong knew the Australians were operating in their territory. They knew that patrols were watching them, gathering information, occasionally striking from ambush.
What terrified them was that they could never find these watchers. They called the SS Maang, phantoms of the jungle, ghosts who could be anywhere and nowhere. The psychological impact of this uncertainty was profound. Enemy units became cautious, suspicious, paranoid. They devoted resources to counter reconnaissance efforts that might have been used elsewhere.
They moved more slowly, checked their surroundings more carefully, suffered from the constant stress of never knowing when they were being observed. One former Vietkong soldier interviewed years after the war described the effect in stark terms. We were not afraid of the American GIS, Australian infantry, or even B-52 bombing.
We hated the Australian SAS Rangers because they make comrades disappear. The fear wasn’t of open combat, which the Vietkong expected, and had developed tactics to counter. The fear was of an enemy they couldn’t see, couldn’t predict, couldn’t defend against. An enemy that seemed to know their every move while remaining completely invisible.
American forces took notice of the Australian methods and sought to learn from them. SAS personnel provided instructors to the Mayv recondo school at Nha Trang beginning in September of 1966, teaching their techniques to American longrange reconnaissance patrols. The Americans were eager students, recognizing that the Australians had refined jungle warfare to an extraordinary degree.
But implementing these methods proved difficult. American military culture emphasized different values. Speed, firepower, aggressive action. The patience and restraint the Australians practiced seemed almost passive by comparison. The concept of spending an entire day moving 500 meters felt wrong to units trained to seize initiative and maintain momentum.
The idea of lying motionless for hours when you could be calling in air strikes and artillery seemed like wasted opportunity. And the notion of avoiding contact whenever possible contradicted the aggressive ethos that defined American special operations. These weren’t deficiencies in American training or courage, just different operational philosophies shaped by different military traditions and strategic objectives.
But some American units adapted Australian techniques with great success. Mayv SG operating in Laos, Cambodia, and North Vietnam on highly classified missions adopted many SAS methods. They learned to move more slowly, communicate more quietly, hide more effectively. They developed their own versions of the Australian logger system and sensory reconnaissance.
And they found that these techniques, while demanding and sometimes frustrating, significantly improved their survival rates and mission success. The techniques the SAS perfected in Vietnam didn’t emerge fully formed. They evolved through constant refinement, learning from both successes and near disasters. Early patrols made mistakes and learned from them.
Too much radio traffic in one area led to a patrol being compromised and having to be extracted under fire. The lesson was immediately incorporated into future operations. A team that moved too quickly through vegetation created enough disturbance to alert nearby enemy forces. They survived, but just barely, and the experience taught the value of patient movement.
The squadron commanders understood that maintaining these standards required constant training and reinforcement. Back at Newat, when units rotated off patrol, they would conduct afteraction reviews, examining every aspect of the mission. What worked? What could be improved? Were there any close calls? Any moments when concealment nearly failed? These sessions were brutally honest, with even successful missions subjected to critical analysis.
The goal wasn’t to find fault, but to continually refine techniques, to learn from every patrol, to inch closer to perfect invisibility. Major Regginald Beasley, commander of three squadron during its second tour in 1969, embodied this philosophy. When he arrived, some earlier squadrons had erected kill boards tracking enemy casualties like sports scores.
Beasley kicked them down. “We were not there to kill people, but to gain information,” he later explained. “This wasn’t squeamishness or lack of commitment. It was a clear understanding of the mission. The SAS role was reconnaissance first and anything that distracted from that role was counterproductive. This focus on the primary mission showed in the operations conducted during Beasley’s tour.
Emphasis shifted almost entirely to reconnaissance with ambushes and direct action taking a backseat to intelligence gathering. patrols were tasked with finding and monitoring enemy supply routes in the Mtown Mountains, enemy strongholds that couldn’t be isolated or effectively engaged with conventional forces. The intelligence they gathered enabled a month-long operation by six RAR and New Zealand forces in December that successfully cleared the area.
The operation’s success was a direct result of the detailed information SAS patrols had patiently collected, often from hiding spots within meters of enemy positions. The MTA operations demonstrated another aspect of Australian hiding techniques, their ability to work in the most difficult terrain.
The mountains of northeast Fui province featured dense jungle on steep slopes with limited water sources and challenging navigation. Most forces avoided such areas when possible. The SAS sought them out knowing that difficult terrain discouraged enemy patrols and provided opportunities for concealment that flatter, more accessible areas couldn’t match.
In these mountains, the Australians developed hiding positions that seemed physically impossible. Clinging to steep slopes where walking upright was difficult, they would establish observation posts that could watch trails below while remaining virtually undetectable from above or below. They used the terrain’s natural difficulty as part of their concealment, reasoning correctly that enemy forces wouldn’t expect observers in positions that required such physical effort to reach and maintain.
Water sources in these areas were limited, presenting challenges for patrols that might remain in position for days. The SAS addressed this through careful rationing and by choosing positions near water when possible, even if it meant more difficult concealment. They would move to water sources in the darkest hours of night, collect what they needed silently, and returned to their hides before first light.
On some missions, they simply endured thirst, understanding that compromise of their position would be far more dangerous than temporary discomfort. As the war progressed and the Vietkong became more familiar with Australian tactics, the SAS had to adapt. By mid 1970, after 5 years of SAS operations, the enemy had learned to watch for helicopter insertions and often moved to investigate landing zones shortly after Australian patrols disappeared into the jungle.
This led to the development of what became known as cowboy insertions. In a cowboy insertion, one helicopter carrying a patrol would be followed by a second slick helicopter with another patrol. Both would land. Both patrols would disembark and move together for about 5 minutes. Then the second patrol would stop and wait another 5 minutes while the first continued.
If there was no enemy contact, the second patrol would return to the landing zone and be extracted. The enemy, watching the helicopters come and go, couldn’t be certain whether troops had been inserted or how many remained in the area. The deception bought time for the actual patrol to move away from the landing zone and establish its hide before enemy forces could converge on the area.
This adaptation showed the continuous evolution of SAS tactics. They never assumed that what worked yesterday would work tomorrow. They constantly analyzed enemy reactions, adjusted their techniques, and stayed one step ahead. This intellectual flexibility combined with rigorous physical training and absolute discipline made them extraordinarily difficult to counter.
The psychological impact on the soldiers themselves was complex. Living for days or weeks in a state of extreme alertness, unable to relax, always conscious that discovery meant potential death, took a toll. Some men thrived on it, finding focus and purpose in the demanding environment. Others struggled with the constant tension, the inability to ever let their guard down.
The SAS recognized this and rotated patrols carefully, ensuring that no one spent too long in the most stressful positions. The bond between patrol members became intensely strong. Five men living in each other’s pockets, communicating through glances and gestures, trusting each other with their lives in the most literal sense, developed connections that lasted long after the war.
They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, could predict each other’s reactions, operated as a truly unified team. This cohesion wasn’t just emotionally satisfying. It was operationally critical. In a hide with enemy forces nearby, the knowledge that every man would maintain discipline absolutely made the impossible possible.
The success of the Australian SAS in finding and utilizing the perfect hiding spots in Vietnam came down to a combination of factors that other forces struggled to replicate in full. Superior training certainly played a role. The SAS selection process was rigorous and only those who demonstrated both physical capability and mental resilience made it through.
But training alone wasn’t enough. The Australians brought a military culture that valued patience over speed, stealth over aggression, information over body counts. They brought experience from Borneo that had taught them jungle warfare at its most demanding level. They brought a willingness to learn from the enemy, to study how the Vietkong moved and hid and survived in their own territory.
and they brought an intellectual humility that allowed them to constantly question their methods, admit mistakes, and improve. The combination created a unit that could hide where others couldn’t, see what others missed, and survive where others perished. When two squadron conducted the final SAS patrol in Vietnam in October of 1971, they left behind a legacy that would influence special operations doctrine for decades.
Military forces around the world studied Australian techniques and incorporated elements into their own training. The concept of the hyde as an art form rather than simply a tactical expedient became standard in reconnaissance training. The emphasis on patience, on using terrain as an ally, on thinking in three dimensions and accounting for all the senses.
These lessons were absorbed and passed forward. The jungle is a living thing, complex and filled with dangers, both natural and human. Most soldiers who fought there saw it as an enemy, something to be endured and overcome. The Australian SAS saw it differently. To them the jungle was neither friend nor enemy, but a medium, something to be understood and used.
And when they found their perfect hiding spots, when they became part of the landscape so completely that even careful observers walked past without seeing them, they proved that the jungle’s greatest value wasn’t in what it could hide from you, but in what you could hide within it. The environmental awareness the sees developed went beyond simple observation.
They learned to read the jungle like a text, understanding its rhythms and patterns in ways that seemed almost supernatural to outsiders. They knew when birds should be singing and when their silence meant danger. They recognized the difference between wind moving through canopy and the disturbance caused by human passage.
They could identify animal tracks and understand what the presence or absence of certain species meant about recent human activity in an area. This knowledge came from immersion and study. During downtime at Nuidat, SAS soldiers would discuss the jungle, sharing observations and building collective understanding.
They would examine plants, learn which could be used for food or medicine, understand how different vegetation indicated water sources or enemy paths. They studied weather patterns, learning to predict rain that might cover their movement or create flooding that would force changes in enemy patterns. This wasn’t academic interest. It was operational necessity.
The more completely they understood their environment, the more effectively they could hide within it. The relationship between the SAS and Nine Squadron Royal Australian Air Force, which provided their helicopter support, exemplified another aspect of successful hiding. The helicopter crews became experts at rapid insertion and extraction, developing techniques that minimize the time patrols were exposed.
They learned to approach landing zones from varying directions and altitudes, making it harder for enemy observers to predict where patrols would actually insert. They practiced landing in incredibly small clearings, requiring extraordinary pilot skill, but allowing patrols to begin their missions closer to objectives and in less predictable locations.
The trust between air and ground crews was absolute. SAS patrols knew that if they called for extraction, the helicopters would come regardless of enemy fire or weather conditions. The pilots knew that SAS teams would never call unless absolutely necessary and that when they did, the situation was genuinely critical.
This mutual confidence allowed both elements to take calculated risks that enhanced operational effectiveness. Several SAS soldiers owed their lives to helicopter crews who flew into heavy fire to extract compromised patrols just as several pilots survived forced landings because SAS teams provided security and arranged rescue.
The training pipeline that produced SAS soldiers capable of such extraordinary concealment was itself remarkable. Selection was notoriously difficult with more than 70% of candidates failing to complete the course. Physical fitness was only the beginning. Candidates faced psychological testing, navigation challenges in unfamiliar terrain, and scenarios designed to assess judgment under stress.
Those who passed demonstrated not just capability but the specific mindset the SAS required. Patience, attention to detail, and the ability to maintain discipline when exhausted, afraid, or uncomfortable. Once selected, soldiers underwent months of specialized training before deploying to Vietnam. They practiced movement techniques repeatedly until they became automatic, no longer requiring conscious thought.
They conducted exercises where they would hide while experienced trackers attempted to find them, learning from every discovery what had given away their position. They trained in all weather conditions, understanding that operational necessity might require them to establish hides during monsoons or in the dry seasons dust and heat.
The training included extensive work on observation skills. Soldiers learned to watch without staring, understanding that direct eye contact could sometimes be felt by the person being watched. They practiced estimating distances, counting personnel, identifying equipment and weapons at a glance.
They learned to note details that might seem insignificant but could provide crucial intelligence, the freshness of tracks, the type of footwear enemy soldiers wore, whether cigarette butts were recently discarded or days old. These observational skills combined with the ability to remain perfectly concealed while using them made SAS patrols extraordinarily effective intelligence collectors.
The medical training each patrol member received reflected the reality that once inserted, they might not be able to call for help if someone was injured. Every SAS soldier learned advanced first aid, going well beyond the basics taught to regular infantry. They knew how to treat gunshot wounds, snake bites, tropical diseases, and the various injuries that could occur in jungle terrain.
Patrol medics received even more extensive training, essentially functioning as combat physicians capable of performing emergency procedures under field conditions. This medical capability combined with careful movement that reduced the risk of injury contributed to the remarkably low casualty rates SAS patrols experienced.
The equipment they carried reflected years of experience and careful consideration. Every item had to justify its weight because reducing load increased mobility and endurance. They carried weapons that balanced firepower with reliability. M16 rifles, often modified with flash suppressors and XM148 grenade launchers. Some patrols used silenced Sterling submachine guns for situations where noise discipline was paramount.
Others carried shotguns for close quarters work or generalurpose machine guns for the firepower they might need if compromised. The weapon selection varied based on mission requirements, but all were maintained immaculately because a malfunction during a hide could mean death. Ammunition loads were calculated carefully, enough to fight their way out of an ambush and reach an extraction point, but not so much that weight would slow their movement.
They carried claymore mines for defensive positions, smoke grenades for marking extraction zones, and fragmentaryary grenades for close combat. Medical supplies, water, and rations competed for space in packs that often weighed 60 lbs or more, heavy for men who might need to move through jungle for days before reaching their objective.
The radio equipment represented a careful balance between capability and weight. The PRC25, standard for American forces, was reliable but heavy. The SAS carried them when necessary, but used them sparingly, preferring to rely on pre-planned extraction schedules rather than regular check-ins. Some patrols experimented with lighter alternatives or simply carried minimal communication gear, accepting the risk of being out of contact in exchange for reduced weight and electronic signature.
The decision depended on mission parameters, but the underlying philosophy remained consistent. Only carry what you absolutely need. Food was another area where the Australians differed from American doctrine. Long range reconnaissance patrol rations were compact and efficient, but the SIS often supplemented or replaced them with locally appropriate alternatives.
They learned which jungle plants were edible and could extend their time in the field without resupply. They cashed supplies at pre-planned locations, allowing patrols to operate longer without the weight of carrying everything from the start. And they were willing to accept hunger as part of the mission, reducing rations to minimum levels when necessary to stay in position longer.
The intelligence reports SAS patrols generated were models of precision and detail. Rather than vague estimates, they provided specific counts, exact timings, and detailed descriptions. If a patrol reported 30 enemy soldiers moving along a trail, that meant they had counted 30 individuals, not estimated a group size. If they reported equipment, they described it in enough detail that analysts could identify specific units or supply sources.
These reports compiled over months of operations built a comprehensive picture of enemy activity in their operational areas. The value of this intelligence extended beyond immediate tactical applications. Strategic planners used SAS reports to understand enemy logistics, movement patterns, and intentions. The detailed observations allowed analysts to identify supply routes, base camp locations, and operational patterns that informed broader campaign planning.
In several documented cases, operations by conventional forces achieved success primarily because SAS reconnaissance had provided such accurate preliminary intelligence that commanders knew exactly where to strike and what to expect. The psychological dimension of SAS operations deserves particular attention.
The knowledge that invisible watchers might be anywhere affected enemy behavior in measurable ways. Vietkong and North Vietnamese army units in areas known to be patrolled by Australian SAS became more cautious, moved more slowly, and devoted resources to security that might otherwise have been used offensively. This effect multiplied the SAS impact far beyond the fiveman patrols.
actually in the field. The possibility of observation became almost as valuable as actual observation. Conversely, the stress on SAS soldiers of maintaining such intense concealment for extended periods required careful management. Unit leaders watched for signs of excessive stress and rotated soldiers through different roles and assignments to prevent burnout.
The squadron system with units spending a year in Vietnam then rotating back to Australia for rest and retraining helped maintain readiness and the strong unit cohesion, the sense that every member was equally committed and capable, provided psychological support that helped soldiers endure the demanding conditions.
The relationship with New Zealand SAS, who provided a troop attached to each Australian squadron from late 1968 onward, enriched the overall capability. The New Zealanders brought their own expertise and perspectives learned from operating in different terrain and against different enemies. The combined Australian and New Zealand SAS developed shared techniques and traditions that benefited both nations.
Several of the most successful patrols included New Zealand personnel, and the partnership demonstrated that the SAS philosophy of concealment and patience transcended national boundaries. As the war wound down and Australian forces prepared to withdraw, the SAS conducted its final patrols with the same discipline and attention to detail that had characterized their entire deployment.
The last patrol conducted by two squadron from October 1st to 5th in 1971 encountered no enemy contact. a fitting end to operations that had always valued avoiding contact when possible. When the squadron left Vietnam, they took with them institutional knowledge that would shape Australian special operations for generations.
The lessons learned in Vietnamese jungles proved applicable far beyond that specific conflict. Australian SAS operations in subsequent decades from East Teour to Afghanistan drew on the concealment techniques refined in Vietnam. The IO emphasis on patience, on using terrain effectively, on gathering information rather than seeking combat became core elements of Australian special operations doctrine and other nations special forces recognizing the extraordinary effectiveness of these methods incorporated similar approaches into
their own training and operations. The story of how the Australian SAS found the perfect hiding spot in Vietnam is ultimately a story about discipline, patience, and the willingness to see warfare differently. It’s about men who understood that victory sometimes means being so invisible that the enemy never knows you won.
It’s the mission itself, refined to an art form that few have ever matched. The jungle kept its secrets, but the Australian SAS learned to become one of those secrets.
