<div style="text-align: right;"><strong>Name:</strong> Geoff "Sarge" McLowell<br/><strong>Location:</strong>  Mess Hall<br/><strong>Summary:</strong> Eating and paying attention<br/><strong>Tagged</strong> Wade, Pippa </div><br/>Geoff shoveled the food look-a-like into his mouth without much concentration, his hands on automatic.  The stuff didn't taste of much anything, which just reinforced the sergeant's opinion that no sane man worked in the military.  He gave Pippa a brief nod, in a way including the synth among the squad members in his mental tally.  They were darn useful in tight spots, so he didn't see the point of the pro-humanist hatemongers.<br/><br/>He looked up as the Lt ambled over with a tray, taking a seat with him and the synth.  He dipped his head and aknowledged him with a soft, yet firm, "Sir."  Since the officer hadn't waited for him to stand before sitting down, he assumed this conversation was to be semi-relaxed.  Which was only a good thing, as mess hall was supposed to be a relaxed place.  This Lt, Wade, had proved to be one of the more reasonable commander types he'd worked with.  Geoff listened to the Lt's comments avidly while swallowing his own ...food-ish substance.  When the topic touched on the briefing, Geoff glanced at the Lt sharply, then offered a few comments after his superior had finished speaking.<br/><br/>"Sir, see if you can pull a little more detail than normal out of the brass.  Something about this op stinks; the pre-flight info was even sparser than usual, and the usual tells us squat.  We've been through a couple of skirmishes with this squad, but this painful throb I've got in my left elbow tells me this might have potential for a FUBAR on a level I haven't often seen.  I recommend extra care in this case, Sir."<br/><br/>Geoff had run his right hand over his left elbow absently while speaking, it had been shot all to hell in his last properly FUBAR mission, years before the current squad had even been put together.