Location: Fort Bragg, North Carolina
"The Farm" – Delta Force Selection Site
Day 1
The air smelled like pine and sweat.
The place had no signs, no flags, no emblems. Just barbed fences, gravel roads, and quiet instructors in black caps. It wasn't listed on any base map.
Zane Cross stood in line with 121 other men. Rangers. SEALs. Marines. Tier-1 legends. All here for one thing:
Selection.
No rank mattered.
No medals.
Everyone here was stripped to just one identity: candidate.
A man with dead eyes and a clipboard walked past each of them.
"You are not special. You are not chosen. You are not owed anything. You are here to suffer. And most of you will break."
He stopped at Zane.
"Name?"
"Cross."
The man looked him over. No reaction.
"Try not to die."
Day 2 – Rucks and Silence
40-pound packs. No map. No help. Just grid coordinates and miles of pain.
Zane's boots bled. His shoulders screamed. But his legs? They kept moving.
Every other hour, a candidate dropped.
Some puked. Some cried. Some faked injuries.
Zane drank water, pissed dark yellow, and kept moving. He didn't speak. Didn't look around. Just marched.
At the second checkpoint, a sergeant asked:
"You doing okay, Cross?"
Zane didn't blink. "Better than okay."
The man raised an eyebrow. "You sick in the head or just built different?"
Zane just walked off.
Day 4 – Navigation Under Pressure
They handed out maps. Broken, torn, parts missing.
Zane studied his. Realized two grid points overlapped — it was a trap. Designed to make you second-guess.
He trusted his instinct. Made the harder climb.
At the top of the ridge: a red flag and a watching cadre.
"You're the only one who picked the correct route," the man said. "Why?"
Zane: "Because it felt wrong."
Cadre nodded. "Good. Delta men trust their gut more than the paper."
Day 6 – Peer Evaluations
Candidates were told to write down the least reliable person on their team. No rules. No justifications. Just one name.
Zane wrote no one.
When asked why, he said: "If I was unsure about any of them, I'd tell them to their face. Not write it in secret."
They didn't praise him.
They just circled his name in red.
Day 8 – The Interrogation Room
Dark room. One chair. One voice through a speaker.
"You've killed. We know that. You've disobeyed. We know that too."
Zane sat still.
"Why do you want this unit?"
He answered with zero hesitation.
"Because I don't believe in fair fights. I believe in finishing the job before the enemy wakes up."
Silence.
Then the voice said:
"Good answer."
Day 10 – The Final March
40 miles.
No sleep.
50-pound ruck.
18 hours.
It was called the Long Walk. It broke even the toughest.
Zane's legs buckled halfway. He puked blood at mile 29.
But he didn't stop.
At mile 40, his vision blurred, his ears rang, and his body screamed to collapse.
He saw the finish flag.
One step.
Another.
He crossed it.
Then he blacked out.
Day 12 – The Invitation
He woke up in the medical tent, IV in his arm.
A man in civilian clothes sat beside him. The same one from the FOB. Scar above his eye.
"You passed."
Zane didn't smile.
The man stood. "Delta's not about being the best. It's about being the last one standing, even when there's nothing left. Welcome to the unit."
He tossed a patch onto Zane's chest.
SWORD THROUGH LIGHTNING.
DELTA.
Zane closed his eyes.
He made it.