Busting each other's balls was a key part of being in a fireteam, we also knew when to quit. Last thing Cornpone and I wanted was for Ski to ralph all over the breakfast table, that would make us real popular in the platoon. Not. "Here," I took two slices of wheat toast from Cornpone and put them on Ski's plate, "this will fill you up. We got a busy morning." The schedule called for an hour on the rifle range, then the platoon was hiking twelve miles, finding our way to five navigation points before a lunch break. This was part of our preparation for a major combined arms war game in a week, where we were hoping to show the Kristang what badass soldiers we humans were in simulated combat. Part of the war game scenario, which was still being developed, included simulated orbital bombardment, and humans flying captured Ruhar aircraft against Kristang dropships. UNEF would be the Blue team defending the planet, and the Kristang would be the Red team invaders, with the Kristang force playing the part of the Ruhar; using Ruhar tactics.

A couple slices of bland toast in Ski's stomach made him feel better, enough for him to steal a piece of French toast off my plate. He was feeling better enough to ask "Hey, Bish, that girl Shauna, you hittin' that?"

"Yeah," Cornpone elbowed me in the ribs, "what's the deal?"

They almost made choke on a mouthful of hash browns. "The deal? The deal is, first, she's a woman, not a girl-"

"You know what I mean." Cornpone wasn't going to get distracted from the subject.

"-and she's none of your business. We bumped into each other at dinner, and we talked. It's no big deal."

"You talked with a real, live, actual girl. You may have touched a real girl. That is a big deal." Ski objected.

Cornpone "Bish, you know what? I heard that across UNEF, only sixteen percent of the force are women. Sixteen percent! That means for every guy, there's like, uh, for every girl, there's like, uh, four guys!"

"I think you need to check your math, there, Jesse," Ski cut in. "The point, Bish, is that with those odds, we're kinda desperate, and if any guy on this planet is getting laid, we at least want details."

"I am not giving you details."

"Aha!" Cornpone slapped the table, drawing looks from others around us. "There are details."

Shit. I'd screwed that up. "Guys, hypothetically, some guy on this planet is, let's say, enjoying the company of a lady. Do you think it will improve the odds of other guys getting lucky if he talks about it? Or if he keeps his mouth shut? Huh? You think the women on this planet would be happy about some guy bragging about the details?"

"Damn it," Ski groused, "he's right."

"You can brag about getting laid, or you can actually get laid. It's real simple." I concluded.