“It’s duel time,” Frankie said. “Raise your weapons.”

The grip safety was off, the safety lock off, and the hammer cocked. Keeping his finger off the trigger, Lett eased the butt upright, into the crook of his thumb and forefinger, and he raised his gun halfway so that it aimed at just before the commando’s feet. The man was doing the same, nodding along to Lett’s moves.

“No way to hold a weapon, soldier,” someone said. Jeers followed. Chuckles.

Lett spoke to the commando, soft yet firm, his head craning forward. “Listen to me. Don’t do it. Don’t let them make you. Okay? Can you?”

The commando nodded.

“Take aim,” Frankie shouted. Someone giggled.

The commando was shaking his head now. Good man.

“Take aim or we fire,” Frankie shouted.

Lett glanced sideways. Their machine guns and pistols were trained on them. They’d have to be good shots or they’d strike the lava rock, and no one wanted ricochets in here.

“Last chance. Take aim!”

“Don’t do it,” Lett repeated to the commando.

But the commando aimed his Colt with both hands. He leaned forward, knees bent.

“Goddamn you,” Lett muttered. He raised his gun with both hands but kept his index finger off the trigger, resting it along the barrel.

“All right, that’s it. You get a five count,” shouted a guard. “Five . . .”

The commando’s eyes bulged but his arms steadied and his finger found the trigger cage.

“Four . . . Three . . .”

“Aw, hell.” Lett’s finger found the trigger. The commando’s pale chest was easy to see.

“Two . . . “

Then, Lett took his finger off the trigger. He stood up straight, chest out, not caring that he was naked. His heart had suddenly calmed.

“One . . .”

Nice and steady. Hit me right in the heart, please.

“Fire!”

The commando swung his gun around and rammed it into his mouth and fired.

It clicked. No round.

The commando squeezed the trigger. Still no round. He squeezed again, stumbling backward. Nothing, nothing. He landed on his back and kept squeezing, his legs kicking.

Lett aimed down at the lava rock earth and squeezed his trigger, again and again. Nothing. No rounds in the chamber or in the magazine, none at all.

They were laughing at the commando, howling and pointing, gasping from the hilarity. “Ha, my sides are splittin’,” someone said. “Shoulda gone with the bullets,” said another.

Frankie was just shrugging, shaking his head, like a parent who doesn’t quite get why children love a playground so.

Lett should’ve known that he had no ammo, just by the lighter weight of the weapon. That riled him more than anything. He glared at the guards. Sweat ran down his forearms in long hot slivers. “Did I pass?” he barked.