"Finally, I could see the four-ton trucks below me, parked in a small turnout next to a dam at the foot of the mountains. I raced down to the dam and clocked in. I knew I was slow, as I could see all the other recruits huddled in the woods next to the dam's entrance. Wispy trails of smoke drifted up from the many little self-contained army Hexi stoves, each heating individual mugs of sweet tea. I knew the score. Each recruit quietly working in their own little world, trying to rehydrate and sort their kit out under their basha or camp, before the night march. The DS didn't say anything. They simply sent me to join the others, and await the orders for the night-march. As dusk approached, we all stood on parade. Once more they announced: "Okay, the following will not start the night march. You have not passed today's test." I stood and waited. Four names were read out. Then the DS looked up at me. Cold. Unemotional. "...And Grylls."