<div class="floatright">(http://)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Marcus O’Hare (NPC)<br/><strong>Vehicle:</strong>-<br/><strong>Location and time:</strong>Outreach, embarking day<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>-<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>all<br/><hr/><br/>One of the tank crew who is sitting on a nearby table looks up and grins at the mech pilots with a mouthful of almost too white teeth. Like many of his kind it is clear that he is a little bit in awe of the mech pilots, but still he has been with the Raiders for a few campaigns now and has seen the commander back when she was a Raven pilot and knows a thing or two about her.<br/><br/>“Look, flyboy. Angel is it? Don't worry about telling her you used up the missiles. Worry about telling her you got someone killed because you didn't use them. Yeah we got the same talk you guys got no doubt, we are low on missiles. But we served with her back when she was a mech jockey like you lot. Brash, wouldn't listen to caution, and more than once told the old boss to stick it. If you need to shoot, shoot. She will yell at you and scream no doubt, but trust me. You didn't see the grief stricken look on her face after the last op. She can take the loss of money more than the loss of live.”<br/><br/>He pauses to take a long sip of his glass of water before finishing up what he wanted to say.<br/><br/>“Don't worry. Yeah the intel sucks, the battlefield fluid and we might get gangfucked by the Clanners and the Dracs. But don't worry, we will be there to bail you hotshots out.”<br/><br/>