What you’re really asking, maybe without realizing it, is whether these two legendary units operate in isolation. Spoiler: they don’t. But let’s cut through the Hollywood noise. The myths are juicy—joint trainings, covert mentorship, shadowy collaboration—but the truth? It’s quieter, more bureaucratic, and yet more fascinating.
The Origins: How Delta and SAS Carved Their Own Paths
The British Special Air Service emerged from the North African desert during World War II—a ragtag group of commandos blowing up planes with sticky bombs and riding Jeeps into oblivion. Founded in 1941 by David Stirling, the SAS was built on audacity, improvisation, and a kind of aristocratic recklessness that somehow worked. It evolved into a tier-one unit specializing in reconnaissance, counterterrorism, and hostage rescue.
Delta Force, officially known as 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, didn’t exist until 1977. Its creation was a direct reaction to the failed Operation Eagle Claw—the botched Iran hostage rescue. The U.S. military realized it lacked a dedicated, full-time counterterrorism unit modeled on the SAS. Enter Colonel Charles Beckwith. He’d served with the SAS in the 1960s. Lived it. Breathed it. Got shot six times during one op in Borneo. When he came back, he campaigned for years to build something similar stateside.
So yes, Beckwith borrowed heavily from the SAS model: selection intensity, small-team autonomy, emphasis on precision over force. But—and this is key—he didn’t replicate it. Delta was adapted for American doctrine, resources, and political realities. The SAS had decades of institutional memory. Delta had to invent its own. The parent-child narrative is tempting, but it’s not accurate.
Beckwith’s SAS Experience: Influence, Not Instruction
Spending 18 months embedded with the SAS during the Malayan Emergency gave Beckwith a front-row seat to their culture. He wasn’t just observing. He was crawling through leech-infested jungles, surviving on rice and rainwater, learning how to move silently in hostile terrain. That experience shaped his vision. But when he returned, he fought the Pentagon bureaucracy for years before Delta was approved.
And that’s where people get it wrong. They assume the SAS trained Delta from the ground up. They didn’t. Beckwith trained Delta—using SAS principles as a blueprint, yes, but filtered through U.S. Army Special Forces (Green Beret) doctrine. The initial cadre came from within the U.S. military. Some had seen combat in Vietnam. Others were martial arts black belts. But none were sent to Hereford for a six-month boot camp.
Doctrine vs. Dependency: A Matter of Philosophy
The British military has always been secretive, almost monastic, about its special forces. They don’t hand over playbooks. They don’t run foreign units through their selection courses—at least not officially. The SAS selection process—known as "the hills"—is brutal: 60-mile marches with 50-pound packs, sleep deprivation, cold exposure. Less than 10% pass. It’s not something they outsource.
Delta’s selection, while equally punishing, was built independently. It includes land navigation, stress shooting, survival exercises, and psychological evaluation. The similarities? Sure. But so are the differences. Delta leans heavier on technical surveillance and hostage dynamics. The SAS, historically, focused more on deep reconnaissance and sabotage.
Informal Ties: Where the Real Exchange Happens
Now here’s where it gets interesting. While the SAS doesn’t run Delta’s training pipeline, the two units do interact—just not in the way most imagine. There are no standing joint academies. No shared bases. No mutual command structures. What exists is a network of relationships forged in combat zones, backroom briefings, and the occasional classified exercise.
We’re talking about multinational counterterrorism collaborations—think Iraq, Afghanistan, or the Sahel. In 2003, during the invasion of Iraq, Delta operators and SAS squadrons conducted joint raids targeting high-value individuals. They shared intelligence, coordinated insertion plans, and sometimes even fast-roped into the same compound minutes apart. Was one training the other? Not exactly. But they were learning from each other in real time.
In Afghanistan, Task Force 333—a hybrid unit—paired Delta with SAS, SBS, and Australian SASR operators. They didn’t wear unit patches. They operated under a joint command. And in those high-stakes raids, tactics were exchanged on the fly. A Delta sniper might adopt an SAS breaching technique. An SAS operator might pick up Delta’s approach to close-quarters battle drills. But this isn’t formal training. It’s combat osmosis.
And that’s exactly where the myth grows. Because when journalists hear “joint operation,” they translate it as “one unit taught the other.” It’s a logical leap—but a wrong one.
Exchange Programs: Rare, Unofficial, and Highly Selective
There have been isolated cases where individual Delta operators attended SAS selection—unofficially, as observers. Not to pass. Not to graduate. Just to observe. Think of it like a doctor shadowing a surgeon in another country. You don’t get licensed, but you sure learn a thing or two.
These exchanges are rare—maybe one every few years. They’re not part of a structured program. They require high-level approval. And they’re never publicized. The same goes for SAS members attending U.S. special operations courses, like Ranger School or SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape). It’s reciprocity, not dependency.
The Language of Tactics: A Shared Dialect
Even without formal training, Delta and SAS speak a similar tactical language. Both prioritize stealth, speed, and surprise. Both use suppressed weapons, night-vision gear, and precise breaching methods. They’ve converged on similar solutions because they face similar problems—not because one copied the other.
Take the "dynamic entry" technique: blowing through a door with explosives, flooding the room with flashbangs, and neutralizing threats in under five seconds. Both units use it. But did the SAS teach it to Delta? Or did Delta refine it independently and then share it back? Honestly, it’s unclear. Tactical evolution isn’t linear. It’s messy, iterative, and often simultaneous.
Delta vs. SAS: Training Philosophies Compared
Let’s break it down. Both units select candidates through grueling physical and mental trials. But the details matter.
The SAS selection lasts about six months and includes three phases: fitness, navigation, and fieldcraft. Candidates must complete a 64-kilometer (40-mile) march across the Brecon Beacons with full gear—starting at 4 a.m., often in freezing rain. Failure rates hover around 90%. Delta’s selection—while similarly brutal—is shorter, lasting roughly 5–7 weeks. It emphasizes stress shooting and small-unit tactics more heavily.
Physical endurance is a universal requirement. But Delta places a higher premium on firearms proficiency early on. SAS candidates might spend weeks learning how to live off the land. Delta candidates are shooting moving targets under duress by week two.
And here’s a twist: Delta operators are often drawn from existing elite units—Rangers, Green Berets, SEALs. The SAS, by contrast, recruits from across the British Army, though many come from infantry or armored corps backgrounds. That changes everything. Delta starts with pre-vetted warriors. The SAS has to vet them from scratch.
Selection Fatality: The Human Cost
People don’t talk enough about the deaths. In 1995, two SAS candidates died during a training march in the Brecon Beacons—one from hypothermia, another from heatstroke months later. In 2013, another recruit died during the same exercise. These tragedies led to reforms: better monitoring, revised weather thresholds, mandatory check-ins.
Delta has had its own share of near-fatal incidents. Heatstroke, drownings, cardiac events. The U.S. military doesn’t release official fatality numbers for Delta selection, but reports suggest at least three deaths since the 1980s. The risk is inherent. Push humans to the edge, and sometimes they don’t come back.
Women in Special Forces: A Diverging Path
The British Army opened SAS selection to women in 2018. No woman has passed—yet. The U.S. military followed with its own integration efforts. In 2021, a woman completed the initial phase of Delta selection but did not finish the course. Progress is slow. Standards remain uncompromising. But the door is open.
Frequently Asked Questions
Can Delta Operators Join the SAS?
No—not in any official capacity. Delta is a U.S. Army unit. The SAS is part of the British Army. You can’t just transfer. That said, former operators sometimes consult for foreign governments or private security firms. But that’s post-service work, not active-duty crossover.
Have Delta and SAS Ever Fought Alongside Each Other?
Yes—multiple times. In Iraq, Afghanistan, and even in counter-piracy operations off Somalia. They don’t wear name tags. They’re often masked. But joint raids are well-documented. One notable example: the 2005 rescue of British hostage Kenneth Bigley in Iraq—though the mission failed, Delta and SAS were both involved in the planning.
Is Delta or SAS More Elite?
This is the question everyone wants answered. Let’s be clear about this: it’s like asking whether a Ferrari or a Lamborghini is faster. Context matters. Both are among the most capable special operations units on the planet. Delta may have better tech. The SAS has deeper institutional history. But in a real-world scenario, the outcome depends more on intelligence, preparation, and luck than unit pedigree.
The Bottom Line
Does the SAS train Delta Force? No. Not formally. Not structurally. Not in any official, sustained way. But to say there’s no influence would be naive. Beckwith’s experience with the SAS shaped Delta’s DNA. Decades of informal cooperation, joint operations, and shared lessons have created a silent partnership—one built on mutual respect, not hierarchy.
I find this overrated, the obsession with which unit is “better.” What matters is that both exist. Both adapt. Both operate in the shadows where failure means death and success goes uncredited. The real story isn’t about training pipelines or bureaucratic ownership. It’s about two units, forged in different worlds, arriving at the same truth: precision, discipline, and silence win wars.
We’re far from it if we think special forces success comes from copying someone else’s playbook. The best units innovate. They borrow. They evolve. And sometimes, they let myths grow—because mystery is a weapon, too.