WEST POINT, N.Y. — Three soldiers crouch in the dust behind a plastic barricade and peer up the road. They know something's coming — maybe out of the deep scrub lining the road, maybe somewhere ahead on the asphalt, already steaming hot. They watch and wait.

Then they see it.

A man with his hands over his head, two cylinders and a detonator strapped to his chest, walking steadily closer and pleading in broken English: "Help me. I've got a bomb on me. Help me!"

The soldiers bellow at him to stop, to stand still. Don't touch that detonator! Now the troops get their orders, shouted from their squad leader down the road — don't go to him and don't let him come to you. Just wait.

The man with the bomb pleads, he begs, he gets angry and steps forward, he stops and begs again.

"Sir, one more step and we will open fire on you," says one of the soldiers, his helmet low over his eyes, his rifle gripped tight.

Is the man aiming to get close enough to kill them? Is he innocent? Can they convince him to wait for a bomb expert?

Above all, how do they find their way through these questions with loaded weapons, a ticking bomb, the confusion of shouted commands from behind and mangled, Arabic-inflected English ahead?

The bomb isn't real. The soldiers' guns are loaded and heavy, but the bullets are not deadly. The Iraqi man is actually an American soldier, an instructor. The road is half a world away from Baghdad, winding through upstate New York's leafy woods where West Point cadets translate classroom lessons into action.

This year, for the first time, the U.S. Military Academy has scrapped its Vietnam-era summer training for scenarios drawn straight from Fallujah and Ramadi. The idea is to train tomorrow's military leaders in warfare that's emerging today in Iraq and Afghanistan — a stew of tactical maneuvers, police actions, cultural conflicts and negotiations, all framed by the laws of war.

A day with the cadets shows what they're up against.

The man — call him the Iraqi victim — tells his story in a jumble: Men came in a van. They told him the bomb would go off in five minutes. He has a wife and family. Won't the Americans help him?

The three soldiers at the front barricade try to keep him calm.

"We'll help you, just be patient, sir," says the female soldier. The victim quiets, his breath ragged.

Each of the three soldiers tries to talk to the victim, until the squad leader orders: "Just one do the negotiating."

The female soldier, delegated to backup, grumbles just so the other two can hear: "But I was doing the best job controlling him."

The victim is distraught. He rambles. He steps forward again.

The squad leader yells out from behind his barricade: Fire a warning shot. If he keeps coming, engage.

"Stop right there!" the negotiator shouts.

Be patient, the soldiers say. The bomb expert is coming. Five more minutes.

"But you already say five minutes," the victim shouts and lurches forward.

The backup raises her rifle to her eye.

The victim steps forward again.

The backup fires a single shot into the ground.

It seems that even the insect buzz in the brush quiets for a moment. The victim stands still, the dust floating around his feet. Hearts pound. Nobody speaks.

Then another "Iraqi" comes down the road, says he is the victim's cousin, demands help. Together now, they complain even louder and step forward and the negotiator warns them once, twice, not to come any closer.

He tells a soldier with the squad automatic weapon to fire at the next step.

And the victim takes that step.

The big gun bursts a half-dozen shots and the victim falls to the ground, holding his leg, shouting in pain. His cousin yells: "American bad! American bad!"

Now it is confusion among the soldiers and their commander. Why did you fire? He kept advancing. Don't shoot! He's still alive? Is he coming closer?

The soldiers fire again. Now, the victim is dead.

Lesson over.

A few moments later, the soldiers, now clearly students, flop down in a circle on the grass to discuss what went right and what went wrong.

With a body on the ground, can this be called a good morning? Or is it a bad one?

The cadets' superiors break down what went right and wrong. The good: They survived. "You'll die here two or three times a day," Maj. David Phillips tells them. "But you only die down the line once."

Some students ask if it would really take that long to get a bomb expert. (Probably longer, they're told.) Another cadet warns that the way it played out would just do more damage to the perception of the American effort in Iraq. (Agreed.)

And then Robert Pecha, a 19-year-old from Sonoma, Calif., pipes up. "Sir, I've got a question about shooting him again. Is that allowed at all or are you going straight to jail?"

Phillips nods his head: The victim was no longer a threat, so no follow-up shots should have been fired.

"It was a serious moral dilemma," Phillips says. "It was a brutal lesson."