Everyone got into their outer gear and into line, shuffling toward a door where the sergeant waited. Then they were running, faster than a jog. Stone reckoned they ran a mile, slowing to a five-minute walk at the halfway point, before finishing fast. Then they found themselves at a shooting range, with a row of tables waiting for them. Each table held a semiautomatic pistol and an assault rifle, plus magazines and ammunition for each weapon. The sergeant spent a couple of minutes demonstrating how each weapon was to be loaded, cocked, and placed on safety. Then he ordered them to fire the weapons—first the rifle, then the pistol—on his command from various positions: prone, kneeling, and standing. Another sergeant walked behind them, offering advice. No one said anything to Stone.

After they had fired from each position, their targets were lowered into a pit, where patches were placed over the holes they had made. Stone’s sergeant stepped behind him. “Alpha,” he said, “you are an excellent shot with the rifle and a poor shot with the pistol. You will need extra pistol training.” The sergeant yelled out for another run, and everyone but Stone and one other trainee ran off. The two of them then got another half hour of training with the pistol, and Stone’s marksmanship with the handgun improved markedly. He was glad to be firing, instead of running.

“Now,” the sergeant said, “follow the corporal for your run.”

Stone sighed and did as he was told.

—

They finished up in a gymnasium with a thickly matted floor, where another sergeant gave them knife training, pointing out that the knives employed were neither rubber nor wood, but steel, and that they should try not to kill each other, as there was a lot of paperwork involved if that should occur.

—

Then another run, and back to the gym for unarmed defense training. The NYPD police academy had given Stone a grounding in this, and he was told that he excelled. Then a man shouted at him, “Heads up! Knife attack!” Stone looked up to see a middle-aged but fit-looking man walking toward him with a knife. “I don’t have a knife,” Stone said.

“Never mind,” the sergeant said. “All you have to do is stop him from killing you.” His assailant was already starting to wave the knife around. Stone managed to avoid a lunge at his throat, but the tip of the blade drew lightly across his neck as it passed, so Stone redoubled his efforts to not be killed. During another pass, he managed to get hold of his assailant’s wrist and twisted the knife from his grasp. The man fought back, but Stone managed to get him onto the mat with his arm twisted behind him.

“Alpha,” the sergeant said, pulling him to his feet by his collar. “See the soldier at the end—the one with the medical kit—for treatment.”