<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #80BF00"> Samuel Richard Johnson</span></span></div><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #80BF00"> Sergeant Johnson; Sammy</span></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/h_zps63095123.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Damn, if that wasn't sexy as hell, Sam didn't know what was. <span style="color: #80BF00">"Seems like everyone here is a part of ATFW. You're the first person who I've met that was transferred like me. Most everybody else I know goes straight in for ATFW--usually people who like the adrenaline rush...“</span> he waggled his brows jokingly, and then sat back in his seat. <span style="color: #80BF00">"I gotta say though, that's pretty impressive. I had heard stories of someone called Ghost having those sorts of numbers, but I never dreamed I would meet them and that they would be so attractive. Guess I'm one lucky man,“</span> Sam flirted good naturedly. <br/><br/><span style="color: #80BF00">"But I'm glad to have crashed with you. If we need anyone on this plan, it's someone who can shoot. Where were you headed any way? You don't exactly look geared up for vacation,“</span> he said, rubbing his stubbled chin.</div>