Caliphate

Private Rodger W. Young Range, Fort Benning, Georgia,

12 November, 2106

"No," Hamilton insisted, "we are not going to dump our groin armor so we can fuck."

"Scaredycat," Hodge taunted.

"Nothing of the kind," he answered. "It's just that the thought's preposterous. It'd be like two robots going at it."

Unable to help herself Hodge started to giggle. "It really would look ridiculous. But then, who's going to see?"

"Everybody. We don't have thermal imagers for nothing and the heat waves rising from your hot little ass would be sure to be noticed."

"You think my ass is hot?"

"I think all of you is hot, Laurie."

Some things, she thought, are better than sex. Being thought "hot" is sometimes one of them. "Okay. I'll leave you alone for now. But when we get back to Olson Hall you better show me that you really think all of me is hot."

"Deal," Hamilton agreed.

Though they were lying on their backs in the dirt next to each other, she didn't bother to snuggle in. Hamilton was right; there was something obscene about two robots cuddling.

"You done good, today, Laurie," Hamilton said.

"Thanks. You, too. Though this suit is a damned uncomfortable thing and pretty unflattering to a girl's figure."

At first Hamilton said nothing to that. After a few moments, though, she realized he was laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Well . . . I was just thinking, a girl in a heavy infantry suit is perfectly dressed under the enemy's law. What's the difference between wearing a burka and wearing Class B armor?"

She thought about that for a few seconds before answering, "I can't kill people as easily wearing a burka."