The first phase of the trees is a learning phase, and although you remain tactical in the Harbor area, you still have to attend lessons. There is never a minute when you can afford to switch off. If the drill sergeants think you fucked up, they’ll send you directly to the ERV—the emergency rendezvous. If the area were to be attacked, you were expected to make rapid time to the ERV and carry out the drill. You needed the ERV’s location details at all times, and they did change. Failure to make the ERV should you be dispatched would probably mean an early bath and a free plane ride back to the U.K. Throughout the whole of selection, the Sword of Damocles is not just over your head, it’s actually held to your neck. You are constantly under extraordinary pressure to succeed.

The schoolhouse was up a hill, which made anything on the hills look like a pimple. This meant that every time you had a lesson, you went up that hill and were hanging out before the lesson even started. Combined with the heat and humidity of the place, you were permanently soaking—whether it was raining or not. The importance of keeping your dry kit dry could not be overstated. You would never get anything dry again if you got it soaking. Probably the best way to learn how to administrate yourself properly. No shortcuts here. Those who tried were pretty much the first to go. A tap on the shoulder and the instruction to get your kit and “fuck off” to the helipad was pretty much all the notice you got if you had done enough to fail.

BOOM! A battery in the burn pit exploded. It was followed by calls to, “Stand to, stand to!” Pet hate for the drill sergeants was batteries being tossed in the rubbish for burning. It was an instant ERV offense. We were halfway through a navigation lesson, learning about how to refer to contours as shapes. Without warning, we were headed for the ERV. Everyone bomb-bursting away from the position trying to get their kit on and and get their compass out to get a bearing for the ERV. It was less than a kilometer away, but in the jungle, that is a fucking awfully long way. No tracks were to be used, so it was cross-graining from the off.

In the jungle, this is the hardest way to cut around. Point to point, no easy way or following to the contours to escape the severity of the hill, and no stopping in this instance. Blokes were everywhere. It was a complete shambles. The point we were to get to was pretty random, too, as it would be. There is no point going to a prominent position, as the chances are the enemy would have that pinged and an ambush ready. It meant your pacing and bearing needed to be spot on. All I could hear was people crashing through the trees and swearing.