Phule Me Twice by Robert Asprin & Peter J. Heck

A short distance away, Snipe spotted Lieutenant Armstrong scanning the sky with a pair of high-powered stereoculars. Snipe hurried over and stood next to Armstrong. “What can you see?” he said.

“The ship’s still below the horizon,” said Armstrong, with a casual air that Snipe wished he could emulate. “So far, no sign of missiles or landing craft.”

“Keep a sharp eye out,” said Snipe, not bothering to keep an edge out of his voice. “I’ll need to know instantly if you spot any sign of activity.”

Lieutenant Armstrong took the ‘ocs away from his eyes and fixed Snipe with a look that would have made an oyster flinch. “Sure, Lieutenant Snipe, just as soon as I see anything worth reporting. I hope you don’t mind if I use my judgment. It’ll be a few minutes before the ship clears the horizon, so if you need to do anything urgent-“

“Good, good, keep your eyes peeled,” said Snipe, oblivious to the chill in Armstrong’s voice. He turned and headed toward the perimeter to check out the defenses.

To Snipe’s surprise, there were only two legionnaires visible, sitting with their feet in the perimeter trench and quietly eating sandwiches, with their backs facing outward. One of them was looking at the centerfold of a men’s magazine, while the other was nodding his head in time to the music in the earphones he wore. “What are you doing?” Snipe shrieked, his voice going up an octave in pitch. “There’s an unidentified ship-probably an enemy-approaching the camp, and you’ve got nothing better to do than sit here reading a skin mag?”