IEUTENANT COLONEL Palmer, still looking tense from the demoralizing covert ops training, stood at the front of the classroom. He opened a case on the desk and took out a James Bond-like handgun.

“This is the Beretta M9, a semiautomatic pistol,” he said, being careful not to point it at anyone. “It’s one of the safest and best-designed handguns in the world and is standard issue for several branches of the U.S. military.”

Gazzy raised his hand.

The lieutenant colonel seemed to go a little pale but ignored him. “Capable of handling fifteen-round magazines, this weapon has proved to be one of the most reliable and accurate—“

Gazzy waved his hand back and forth. Impossible to ignore.

Palmer tried looking stern. “This better be good, son,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“The Beretta is great and all,” said Gazzy earnestly, “but I’ve heard the military-issued model tends to jam something awful. People think it’s the weird finish on the barrels. Plus, it’s supposedly really heavy, bowling ball heavy. Kind of like the all-steel M1911 model. And then the trigger’s too far away for most people, even if they have big hands…”

Lieutenant Colonel Palmer was nonplussed. Again.

Gazzy looked at him, concerned. “Um, it’s still a really neat gun, though,” he said. “And did you know—if you stick the spring from a clothespin right under the safety when it’s in the left-hand mode, then pull the trigger, it’ll explode about two-point-nine seconds later? I mean,throw it first.”

“Sometimes two-point-seven seconds,” Iggy added. “Don’t dawdle. And man—try doing that with the barrel full of Spam sometime!” He and Gazzy chortled and slapped high fives.

About a minute later, the lieutenant colonel rubbed his eyes. “Class dismissed.”