Baptism by fire

Today I reported to Strasburg, Virginia for my first day of Hostile Environments and Emergency First Aid Training. The five-day course is run by former British Royal Marines who have retired after 20-plus years of special forces service. The lessons include "hostage abduction and enduring captivity, personal security, mines and booby traps, post-traumatic stress disorder, weapons and ballistics awareness, civil disturbances, vehicle checkpoints and natural disasters."

It was the first one that got me this morning.

Colleagues who have been through the training program warned me that a simulated kidnapping would occur at some point during the week. One very wise female co-worker told me to always wear my hair in a ponytail, because when a bag was thrown over her head her shoulder-length hair flew in her face and nearly suffocated her. Ponytail in place, I thought I was ready. Turns out I was wrong.

We were driving from our hotel to the training site, part of a working farm about 20 minutes away, when our teacher told us he would just jump out and open the gate separating the property from the main road. As soon as he stepped out of the car, I heard gunfire--lots of gunfire. I turned to the right to see the source, when all of a sudden there were men with masks and camoflauge jackets on the left side of the car. They were screaming at us to get out of the car, then throwing us to the ground when we stumbled out. The guns--including at least one AK-47--kept firing. As I had never heard gunfire before, this was all a bit overwhelming.

Within a few seconds a dark-colored bag had been pulled over my head and cinched tight with a drawstring. We were forced to walk a short distance away, then pushed back to the ground, where we were patted down. I couldn't tell where any of my classmates were. After a few minutes I was pulled up to my knees with my hands behind my head.

In retrospect I feel a bit ridiculous for being as scared as I was. I was in shock, yes, but I was also very rationally telling myself that nothing would happen to me, that this was a lesson taught by people wanting to help me. But as much as I tried, I couldn't calm myself down, couldn't shake the fear that a rifle butt would soon be slammed into the back of my head. In short, I panicked.

Over lunch, one of the instructors convinced me that my reaction was exactly the desired effect; the belief being that it's never going to be as bad as the first time. They had videotaped the whole 15-minute exercise, so we all watched me cringe when the bag was finally removed from my head. Predictably, the exercise was followed by an extended discussion of what to do if you really are kidnapped. While I obviously hope I will never have to use the information I learned, going through an incredibly realistic simulation was certainly the best way to deal with the reality that this actually could happen and learn how to handle it. Next step: how to avoid it altogether.