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but as a squad, he was family, and you didn’t mess around with family.  She knew enough not to give him an opening, and she knew he wouldn’t press.
    Gangrats back home usually didn’t know how to accept a “no,” which was a major reason she had blooded with the Commando Meninas.   Liege was grateful to know that in the Marines, which was in many ways just a bigger, more powerful gang, “no” was understood. 
    She also liked the fact that so many Marines were prime beef on the hoof, and Liege was not a blushing schoolgirl.  She had and would continue to socialize, but as far as romance, it wasn’t going to happen within the squad—heck, not even within the battalion.
    She shook off that train of thought and buckled down to get the biostats on her M-PA.  Forty-five minutes later, she was able to log off.  Closing the hatch to the tiny platoon office behind her, she took the ladder two steps at a time to the third deck, then ran down to her room.  Fanny had already left, as she’d expected, so she stripped off her utilities, jumped into the shower, and scrubbed off the day’s grime.  Within a minute, she was out and dried and opening her locker.
    Her turquoise camisole top and bright yellow snake-pants were on a hanger on the backside of the locker door.  A piece of paper with “Wear this!” written on it was pinned to the hanger.
    Leave it to Fanny , she thought, taking the outfit and holding it up to the mirror-screen. 
    With her red hair, which was finally reaching almost to her collar after being shaved at boot camp, and light skin, she wasn’t sure the colors really complimented her, but she’d take her roomie’s advice.  Another minute—which had to be a record for her—and she was out the hatch and taking three steps at a time back down the ladder.
    The Area 5 E-Club was only about 200 meters from the barracks, so she still beat the hour she’d told Wythe.
    “Liege!” Fanny called out, standing up from a crowded table as Liege entered the club bar.
    As her bunkie, Fanny was the only person to call her by name.  To everyone else, she was “Doc.”  It had taken Liege awhile to get used to it, but “Doc” was a badge of honor, one she now wore proudly.
    “Pull up a seat, Doc,” Corporal Wheng said.  “We’ve got two pitchers to finish off before we hit the ville.”
    Normally, the three corporals and the sergeant would be at the NCO Club, which was why they’d planned the welcome for the two newbies out in town.  But with Liege late, they’d been fine with starting the drinking on base.  Pitchers were much cheaper on base, too, so there was that benny.
    Liege liked Wolfshead Red or Guinness.  Neither of which was sold at the club, though, but, she wasn’t going to turn down free beer, even if it was the Munchen piss-water most everyone else seemed to love.
    She took the proffered stein and wormed her butt in between Fanny’s and Victor’s. 
    “Welcome, boots,” she said, lifting the stein to the two newbies.
    “Boots!” Wythe said, laughing.  “You heard that!”
    One of the two, PFC Korf, really was a boot.  He looked like a gangly baby, and he smiled stupidly, holding his stein as if he’d never had a beer before.  He had the puppy-dog attitude, just happy to be playing with the big kids.
    The other newbie wasn’t technically a boot.  Lance Corporal Tamara Veal was a huge girl, maybe bigger than any other Marine at the table.  She hunched uncomfortably at one end of the table, her stein clutched in her hands.  She looked out-of-place and not too happy to be there.
    Liege hadn’t really had much contact with Veal since she’d arrived the day before, but she knew the lance corporal had been on the Marine track team before getting banished back to the grunts.  Liege had expected to see some slender runner, but it was obvious that this girl hadn’t been tearing up the marathon circuit. 
    With Veal and Korf, the squad was now T/O. [3]
    The party was