Clive Fairweather: Silence is real enemy – soldiers must speak up

COMING under enemy fire has to be the ultimate adrenalin kick for any young soldier – provided, of course, that you sustain no injuries, or, at most, a bit of blast and shrapnel which can be shrugged off, as much later you recount the tale in graphic detail to your comrades.

The lowest denominator in the army, the ten-man section, is invariably the first to have the bullets zipping and whanging in among it, and it is here, at this level, that most battles are often won or lost in a matter of seconds or minutes. No time here to freeze in self-survival without first getting your weapon up and firing to get the enemies' heads down.

Without such instinctive reactions, Scottish – or British – soldiers would soon be a goner in today's asymmetric warfare, where this present generation of young men and women is consistently proving to be every bit as brave as its predecessors – if not more so. Nevertheless, for some, in the order of 4 per cent, nightmares can start to kick in – weeks, months or even years later.

Sleep becomes all but impossible, as the same lurid film reruns in the mind. But unless that unlucky individual, no matter how brave in action, quickly seeks or is given professional help, escape in the shape of suicide may be a very real possibility.

Embarrassment at being "unmanly" by admitting to such trauma must therefore be forgotten. Silence is the real enemy, something that has always faced soldiers as long ago as the First World War trenches – and is continuing to stalk our troops in Afghanistan today.

At last, however, and within the last few years, recognising and managing the symptoms of early mental distress at section level has now been factored in by military trainers.

Once upon a time, it was called "shellshock" – or even "LMF" (lack of moral fibre!) – but, after Vietnam, the new byword for the condition has become "PTSD" or "Combat Stress". In either term, Johnson Beharry, our gallant Victoria Cross holder, has shown the way yet again: this time in an act of selfless bravery by making such public admission for the sake of others.

• Clive Fairweather was second in command of the SAS during the Iranian embassy siege.