My grandfather was a member of WW2’s “First Special Service Force”, a group the Germans called “The Black Devils” and was known as “The Devil’s Brigade”.
They were trained in hand-to-hand combat by Pat O’Neill. When they trained, they used their V-42 daggers… fully sharpened.
They went out in groups of 2–3 to wreak havoc with German morale; one story from Anzio, there were two Germans in a foxhole with a machine gun. One was awake, and one asleep. When the sleeping German woke up, he found his comrade dead (stabbed in the neck) with a sticker on his shirt- “The worst is yet to come”. The FSSF had a specialty in psychological warfare, and they were silent killers- they didn’t just kill with guns, they were trained to get up close and personal, and kill with a dagger in silence
But you ask about individuals.
In the early 70’s… my grandfather was in his 60’s. I was “helping” as he worked on a car in his driveway, and a pair of young men approached and “asked” about his toolbox. He told me to go on the porch.
My grandad was 5′6, with a pot belly. He didn’t look very tough. He was a quiet, softly spoken man. These guys- late teens, much taller than gramps- looked tough.
The guys got a bit aggressive; my grandfather told them, in a polite quiet voice, that he would like them to leave the driveway. He said some other things, very quiet, and the guys laughed. Gramps emptied his hands and wiped them on his overalls. He just stood there.
One of them pushed him, and I heard “Look old man, give us the tools or get hurt trying to stop us… “ The other guy swung and hit Gramps. All of a sudden all hell broke loose.
I was watching but still don’t really know what happened… it was so fast. Gramps took them both down in a matter of seconds. One of them had a broken nose and a visibly fractured jaw, and the other was unconscious on the ground. I later found out he had a fractured skull and very nearly died.
Gramps was very calm and quiet, he just turned to me and said “tell my wife to call the police”. (He always called her “my wife”).
When I came back outside, the guy with the broken jaw was now on the ground on his stomach with his arm bent back, and Gramps had his knee between his shoulders. I heard him say “I don’t want to kill you, so don’t move….”
Afterwards, he was really upset. I now realise he was suffering from PTSD flashbacks. When he finally spoke, all he said was “I didn’t want to hurt them, I tried to tell them… I tried to give them a chance…” He looked at me, and said “I would have killed them both, but I couldn’t do that in front of you…” His eyes were haunted.
The police didn’t charge grandpa, as it was pretty clearly self defence.
The guys were eventually arrested for assault on HIM, for drug possession, and for their attempted theft. When my grandpa- my short dumpy bald old grandpa- walked in to the court (he and I had both been called as witnesses), one of the guys started to really shake. His lawyer asked for a short break – when the guy got up, he’d wet himself. We were ushered back out, but in a little while were told to go home because they’d decided to plead guilty.
Men of the Special Forces train and perform in exceptionally difficult and demanding circumstances, the strategies and tactics they learn become as natural and instinctive as breathing. Those of us who have not undertaken that training cannot begin to imagine what they have been through. We owe them a lot of respect… and gratitude.
I saw my grandpa do some amazing things, scary things… but the worst of all were the dark periods, when he sat in complete silence in a dark room staring at the wall while he tried to deal with the memories, images and trauma that stayed with him until the end of his life. That those men can carry those burdens and still function tells you how strong and impressive they really are. Having to live with what you lived through- that takes a kind of courage that is immeasurable.