Bravo two zero Read Online Free Page B

blindfold was removed and I found myself looking up at the training sergeant major.
        "Am I binned?" I said pitifully.
        "No, you nugget. Get back on the helicopter and don't fuck up."
        I'd caught him in a good mood. An ex-Household Division man himself, he was delighted to see his old lot doing so well.
        For the next phase I was on my own, which suited me fine. Our movement between RVs was arranged in such a way that everybody was captured at the end of the E&E (escape and evasion) phase and subjected to tactical questioning. You are taught to be-and you always try to be-the gray man. The last thing you want is to be singled out as worthy of further questioning. I didn't find this stage particularly hard because despite the verbal threats nobody was actually filling you in, and you knew that nobody was going to. You're cold and wet and hungry, uncomfortable as hell, but it's just a matter of holding on, physically rather than mentally. I couldn't believe that some people threw in their hand during these last few hours.
        In the end a bloke came in during one of the interrogations, gave me a cup of soup, and announced that it was over. There was a1 thorough debriefing, because the interrogators can learn from you as well as you from them. The mind does get affected; I was surprised to find that I was six hours out in my estimation of the time.
        Next came two weeks of weapon training at Hereford. The instructors looked at who you were, and they expected from you accordingly. If you were fresh from the Catering Corps they'd patiently start from scratch; if you were an infantry sergeant they'd demand excellence. Parachute training at Brize Norton was next, and after the rigors of Selection it was more like a month at Butlins.
        Back at Hereford after six long, grueling months, we were taken into the CO's office one by one. As I was handed the famous sand-colored beret with its winged dagger, he said: "Just remember: it's harder to keep than to get."
        I didn't really take it in. I was too busy trying not to dance a jig.
        The main bulk of the new intake, as usual, was made up of people from the infantry, plus a couple of engineers and signalers. Out of 160 candidates who had started, only eight passed-one officer and seven men. Officers only serve for a three-year term in the SAS, though they may come back for a second tour. As an other rank, I had the full duration of my 22-year army contract to run-in theory, another fifteen years.
        We went to join our squadrons. You can say whether you'd like to be in Mountain, Mobility, Boat, or Air Troop, and they'll accommodate you if they can. Otherwise it all depends on manpower shortages and your existing skills. I went to Air.
        The four squadrons have very different characters. It was once said that if you went to a nightclub, A Squadron would be the ones along the wall at the back, not saying a word, even to each other, just giving everybody the evil eye. G Squadron would be talking, but only to each other. D Squadron would be on the edge of the dance floor, looking at the women. And B Squadron-my squadron-would be the ones out there on the floor, giving it their all-and making total dickheads of themselves.
        Debby came back from Germany to join me in Hereford. She had not seen much of me since I started Selection way back in January, and she wasn't too impressed that the day after she arrived I was sent back to the jungle for two months of follow-up training. When I returned it was to an empty house. She had packed her bags and gone home to Liverpool.
       In December the following year I started going out with Fiona, my next-door neighbor. Our daughter Kate was born in 1987, and in October that year we got married. My wedding present from the Regiment was a two-year job overseas. I came back from that trip in 1990, but in August, just a couple of months after my return, the marriage was