Читать книгу Under Pressure. Living Life and Avoiding Death on a Nuclear Submarine онлайн

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HMS Dolphin was very much like going back to school, punctuated by the odd pint or six in Gosport, or over the water in Pompey town centre, in the footsteps of Admiral Nelson himself. One of the nightclubs, I think it was Joanna’s, was a favourite haunt, treading through sticky, beer-slicked carpets onto the dancefloor, dancing to Barry White, Marvin Gaye, Paul Hardcastle and Madonna, with one-night stands a-plenty – the dirtier the better.

The accommodation at the base was four to a largish room. There were no kit inspections, no hassle from the staff, a complete change from the horrors of Part 1 basic training. It wasn’t without its moments, though. In the room next door a trainee submariner from Aberdeen scared us to death one night, returning back to base well and truly hammered, waving a gun around and threatening to shoot someone. We became scared very quickly, and amid all the screaming and panic I found him with his back to me. I gave him a hefty kick behind his right kneecap and he collapsed like an old block of flats being demolished, straight down in a big heap. As he hit the floor the gun flew out of his hand, and we pinned him down until security arrived and took him off to the detention quarters. Just like CPO Jenkins, he was never seen again.