Cadre Camp at The Mill Gym is Australia’s toughest

NOTHING to eat but one snickers bar over 36 hours, 10 minutes sleep and thousands of burpees. And that’s just the beginning.

Cadre Camp at The Mill Gym in North Fremantle, WA is arguably the most gruelling fitness test in Australia. Picture: The Mill Gym.

RUN by ex soldiers, The Mill Gym Cadre Camp in Western Australia gives normal civilians an experience of special forces selection.

Steve Costello took up the brutal challenge and survived to tell the story.

“GRAB your gear. In single file, line up in height order. Quickly!” screams a menacing voice from the doorway of an unmarked warehouse in a dimly lit suburban side-street.

Twelve men and I urgently shuffle with bags and swags in front of an expressionless man, known as the DS (Directing Staff). He is wearing a baseball hat, camouflage pants and a black T-Shirt saying, “The Mill … You Work — You Reap.”

The Cadre Camp has begun. Run by former and serving SAS soldiers, commandos, and clearance divers from the secretive Mill Gym in North Fremantle, Western Australia, it’s an abridged international Tier 1 Special Forces (SF) selection course for SF candidates and weekend warriors with a point to prove.

We want to test if we can lead and work as a team under extreme physical and mental stress. By the end of the weekend we will have been cold, wet and sandy for 36 hours, have slept for 10 minutes, eaten one Snickers bar, done thousands of push ups, pull ups and burpees, carried giant logs, 12kg torsion bars and 20kg jerry cans along the Perth coastline, become prisoners of war and interrogated in Indonesian.

“Go inside, line up with your gear, and grab a paddle. It must be within five feet of you at all times,” the DS orders.

Inside the brightly lit warehouse, five Special Forces soldiers wearing the same uniform and intense stares as the DS surround us like sharks. Time for a kit check.

“The purpose of the kit check is to ensure all mission critical items are present. Failure to not have all items will lead to mission failure for you and your team. Did everyone bring the items listed in the Camp Information Pack?”

“Sir, I don’t have my hat,” says Teammate 13.

“Push up position!”

We’ll be spending a lot of time looking at the floor. If one teammate messes up, everybody pays.

“Everything on the Camp Information Pack was listed for a reason. Because you ignored this, your team owes me 10. Lower! Raise! Lower! Raise!”

After the kit check is over, we are instructed to move our non-essential items across the room. Everyone leaves their paddle, to the DS’s disgust.

“Simple instructions! What did I tell you? Down!”

The punishment is 169 burpees — 13 for every teammate that messed up. The clap at the end of the burpee has to be perfectly synchronised.

“Not good enough, do it again,” sighs the DS. We’ll hear this phrase a lot over the weekend.

“Guys, look at who’s leading the count,” shouts one teammate. We quickly learn communication is vital for survival.

Next is the physical screening test. Maximum burpees, push ups, pull ups, air squats and sit ups within two minutes. A 2000m timed row. And a 1.6km sprint. I have an agonising stitch and the taste of two lunches eaten a few hours before in a last-ditch attempt to calorie load.

“Act like a d*ck and you’ll quickly lose your guy’s respect,” the DS later explains during an SAS leadership and culture presentation. Behind him is an A1 ethos statement in bold, white lettering on a black background. Statements like “Relentless Pursuit of Excellence, Discipline, and Humility” are continual reminders of what is expected.

“It’s up to you to earn everyone’s respect over the next 36 hours,” the DS continues. Throughout the camp, we peer assess our teammates’ leadership from 1 (best) to 13 (worst). Regardless of if you are the team leader, you have to take the initiative to benefit the team. Check your teammates’ gear. Carry extra gear for an injured teammate. Fill up his water bottle. Remind him to take his paddle. Take the focus off yourself.

“Has anyone signed the form yet?” the DS smirks at 5am the following morning after multiple hill sprints and harbour swims. We always carry a voluntary withdrawal form. At any time, you have an easy way out. Just sign the form and your ordeal is over.

“Someone come to the front and sing, Happy Wander,” the DS orders.

We’ve had 24 hours to learn five verses of an obscure 19th Century German song that’s become an SAS marching song.

No one can remember. More push ups. More burpees. More pain.

“I know it, Sir.”

Teammate 13 moves to the front. He’s been struggling all weekend. But he sings every word perfectly. No one can survive Cadre Camp alone.

“On the floor! Face down! Don’t look up!”

It is Day 3, 4:30am and we’ve been “arrested.”

I am handcuffed, blindfolded and hooded with a black canvas bag. Face down on the concrete, all is silent. I begin to shiver.

Suddenly, I am dragged into a hot room with bright lights and placed into a stress position. Thirty minutes later I am dragged into a dark room that plays the sound effect of wasps at full volume. Two hours later, I am dragged outside and placed on my knees.

My hood and blindfold are removed. Several torches beam into my eyes to block the identity of my interrogators.

“Siapa nama anda? Anda berasal dari mana?”

(Damn, I’ve forgotten the Indonesian phrases I’ve had two days to learn.)

“I cannot answer that question, Sir.”

“Ahh, you speak English. You’re Australian, right?”

“I cannot answer that question, Sir.”

“You sound like the boss.”

“I cannot answer that question, Sir.”

“No one else spoke bad Indonesian and English. We’ll speak again very soon, my friend.”

I am blindfolded and hooded again. Dragged into another room with Arabic music playing in full volume, I can see my teammates dispersed in various stress positions.

My hood is removed again. In front of me is a bag full of McDonald’s Egg McMuffins beside the DS, who now smiles.

“It’s over guys, well done.”

I eat my first McDonald’s in 13 years.

@SteveWCostello