Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [46]
I noticed, though, that the DS, who were with us, would never trip or stumble. It was only the recruits who would be tripping over clumps of grass or potholes in the dark.
It was as if the fully ‘badged’ SAS guys had learnt this game long ago.
I so wanted to develop that level of confidence and skill, and I knew it would come with practice; and practice at moving at night was something we would have no shortage of.
We finally traipsed into the last checkpoint in the mountainous forest, tired, wet and exhausted. I tied my poncho between two trees, laid out my bivvy bag and fell fast asleep.
Two hours later, at 0555, we were lined up along the track leading up to one of the high peaks, some six miles away. Standing high above us, the summit was barely visible in the early morning half-light.
Looking down the ragged line of recruits to my left, I could see that everyone was buttoned up against the chill.
Army-green woollen hats, damp combat clothes, hands clasped in fists at our sides to try to keep warm, and packs neatly laid in front of us on the ground.
Each soldier’s breath was steaming in the cold air.
My feet were sore, and felt tight in my new army boots. I could feel that they had started to swell with the bruising.
The RSM (regimental sergeant major) shouted out, ‘Stick with me if you want to pass this course.’ Then he was off at a pace.
We raced off after him, hauling our packs on as we moved.
Recruits were fighting to barge past each other in an attempt to get to the front. But keeping up with this pace meant going at almost a full run – a task that I knew would be impossible to maintain.
Each step up was hard-fought, and as the gradient increased so I could feel my energy draining. My body was running on reserve, and I was already pouring with sweat and sucking for air.
This is where it counts, this is the time to shine, I kept telling myself. Do not slip back, even one step.
I knew that to slip back would be fatal.
I would be swallowed by the other recruits, and would never be able to keep the pace.
It was the energy of this front pack that was keeping me there, despite the punishing pace and gradient.
I found myself amongst the few who had managed to keep up with the RSM by the time we reached the summit, and I fought hard to maintain that position all the way down the other side.
Running all the way down the steep mountain paths.
By the time we reached the bottom, we were a good twenty minutes ahead of most of the straggle of recruits.
When the whole group were assembled, the officer announced that our performance had been an embarrassment, and that if we were serious about passing we’d all have to start putting some effort in.
With that comment, he told us to stay where we were. He then ordered the trucks to start up, and we watched as they all pulled away, driving off down the main road, empty.
‘Turn round, lads – the trucks will be waiting for you back on the other side. That took you a pathetic two hours seventeen minutes to complete. You all now have two hours to retrace your steps back over the mountain to make the trucks. Those outside of that time are failed … and will walk home.’
Bleary eyed, I turned to start the climb up again.
I pushed to the front of the group, determined to make a good start and keep ahead, and headed back up the mountain.
As we cleared the first false horizon, some twenty minutes later, a corporal was stood there waiting, noting silently who was up the front and who had dropped behind already.
He quietly pointed back down the steep slope.
‘Get back down, lads – the trucks are coming back. Good to see who was prepared to put in the effort, though,’ he said, nodding at the front-runners, which included Trucker and myself.
We turned, and started down, exhausted and drained.
We all collapsed silently in the back of the four-tonne lorries, and heaved a sigh of relief as the engines started up and we pulled out on to the road and headed south.
It had been just another little tester. A tester with a purpose.
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