Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [40]
He just smiled, almost knowingly, and told us we would probably fit in well – that was if we passed. He said the SAS attracted misfits and characters – but only those who could first prove themselves worthy.
He then told us something great, that I have always remembered.
‘Everyone who attempts Selection has the basic mark-one body: two arms, two legs, one head and one pumping set of lungs. What makes the difference between those that make it and those that don’t, is what goes on in here,’ he said, touching his chest. ‘Heart is what makes the big difference. Only you know if you have got what it takes. Good luck … oh, and if you pass I will treat you both to lunch, on me.’
That was quite a promise from an officer – to part with money.
So that was that.
Trucker and I wrote to 21 SAS HQ, nervously requesting to be put forward for Selection. They would do their initial security clearances on us both, and then would hopefully write, offering us (or not) a place on pre-Selection – including dates, times, and joining instructions.
All we could do was wait, start training hard, and pray.
I tossed all my German study manuals unceremoniously into the bin, and felt a million times better. And deep down I had the feeling that I might just be embarking on the adventure of a lifetime.
On top of that, there was no Deborah Maldives saying I needed a degree to join the SAS. The only qualification I needed was inside that beating chest of mine.
I would like to preface this chapter with the following note.
As a former Special Forces soldier, I signed the Official Secrets Act, which rightly restricts me from revealing details, places, names and operational procedures of the Special Air Service.
The following account has been modified to ensure that I comply with this, and it remains important for me personally to honour that brotherhood.
The aim of the next part of the book is to give you a taste of what I went through to have earned the right to be part of the family, that is, the SAS.
PART 2
‘Many are called, but few are chosen.’
CHAPTER 36
This is how the BBC summed up the SAS in one of their broadcasts:
The reputation of the SAS stretches worldwide. It has a reputation for ruthless efficiency and military professionalism. Other Special Forces units model themselves on the SAS, whose selection procedures are arduous and protracted. Around nine in every ten hopefuls fail …
Like so many boys growing up, I had always heard about the famed Special Air Service or SAS. The shadowy figures that formed what is widely acknowledged as the toughest, most elite Special Forces fighting unit on earth.
In quiet moments, I had always wondered what it would be like to try their selection course to join.
Would I be one of those who had the ‘right stuff’, or, more likely, would I be among the majority who attempt it … and fail?
I wondered what it would really take to be one of those few that had earned the right to wear that famous sand-coloured beret, with its winged dagger.
What toll would it exert to be part of this SF (Special Forces) Unit, and would I have what it required to join the elite, the best?
Aged barely sixteen, I had passed my Potential Officers Course to join the Royal Marines Commandos as a young officer after school; I was all set to join up – just like Dad had done.
But part of me just wondered, should I not at least try Selection for the SAS Reserves, before committing to the marines?
Just to see.
The rational answer that came back to me was that I should be honest with myself. I was fit and strong and determined, but I wasn’t a totally natural athlete – I had always had to work at it, and hard.
I had many friends who were naturally much stronger and fitter than me (and they didn’t even have to train at all), and deep down, that made me doubt myself. Yet somehow, because I wasn’t ‘naturally’ gifted athletically, I had developed this ability to fight, and to push myself hard, physically and mentally.