Name: Jack McAlister Carlyle "Rowdy"
Age: 31
Side: Allies
Occupation: Private Military
Views on the war: Like in his Central Intelligance days. Money in the bank. The people of Atlantis are tougher then he had thought, but if they stand in the way of an American victory, a millenia of training won't save them.
Weapons: The 45. Magnum Automag Pistol, which he carries in a shoulder holster, under his left armpit. Using 4.72x33 MM Caseless Ammunition the Heckler & Koch G11 had become as much a part of Jack as his own arm. MCK 9.5 inches of steel which rode in his right booot.
Bio: Born on a cold morning in the pacific northwest, he was christened Jack Mcalister Carlyle. As a child he was an untouchable, neither unpopular or popular. Instead he floated in the middle, seen by none but seeing everything. This turned from a running joke with himself into a habit and, when he graduated high school with straight A's, he was given a scholarship to go to the school of his choice, but Jack MCalister Carlyle turned it down. What Jack did, was apply to a trucking company and learn to operate a semi truck, just as his father had. He worked for a time, but his heart was never in it. At 23 he applied to the Central Intelligence Agency. The rest is classified, was eaten or burned.
Rowdy was not seen or heard from again for 5 years. What happened was never released, talked about or even acknowledged it's existance. This time, Jack was behind the wheel of a semi truck, a Peterbilt. The nickname "Rowdy" was hung on him when he busted an accustic guitar over the head of a dispatcher who had screwed him out of a lot of money.
In the winter of 2011, Oliver Fontane from the private sector approached him in an E-Mail. The private military business was booming and with the rapidlly escalating war in the Middle East his company was hiring Private Operators. Blackwater, G4S and other less reputable PMCs had deployed thousands of men into the field. All told,the Private Military had an Army just as large, or larger, then any country.
Jack's company was small. Compared to Black Water and G4S, who's roster accounted for two thirds of the military personel deployed, about two hundred thousand operators, Oliver Fontane's company was a speck. TAR Industries, Oliver Fontane's brainchild, had only 300 operaters deployed, but TAR had some of the best.
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Rowdy clutched his G11 to his chest, as the plane rocked violently to the side, from a Ground to Air missle that had missed by a hair. Emanuel, an operator from Mexico was thrown from his seat by the blast and was sent tumbling the full length of the plane.
Emanuel caught himself on a crate filled with concusion grenades. He pulled himself to his feet, just as another explosion rocked the plane.
Oliver Fontane himself, a lanky man of about fifty years, walked down the length of the plane. He kept himself upright by holding onto a rail set into the top of the plane's hold. Oliver stopped in front of Rowdy.
"Alright, Carlyle, we're directly above your objective. You will hold parachute until three hundred feet then pull. This will keep you off any scans we know about. These Atlanteans have no idea what equipment we have, so shed some of the armor and take more munitions. As far as we can tell, the Atlanteans have an Armed forces much like the United States, so we have targeted for you the last known position on their 'general' Hiamad Forenthis. How do you pronounce that?" Oliver sat down beside Rowdy.
"I'm not sure, sir." Rowdy replied, unbucking himself from his seat.
"Well, ask him in person for me." Oliver stood "We're private military son. That means we don't have to abide by the Geneva Convention and because of that, we can't expect to be treated as such. The reward for completing your objective is fifty thousand direct deposited. I'll stay on the horn with you from up here. OPEN THE HATCH!"
Rowdy tightened the straps down on his G11, he didn't want it to fly away in mid jump and be left only with a pistol. The wind rushed through the doors and whipped his hair into a frenzy, as he stood.
Fontane suddenly turned "Oh yeah, Carlyle. The DOD has decided to give you full disposal of any and all air support available. Mark the target with the infared strobe in your pack and call in to me."
Rowdy strode to the open cargo doors and looked down. Below him, the monolithic structures of Atlantis spread out. Rowdy could see groupss of Atlanteans had gathered together to watch the plane.
"Rowdy, GO!" Oliver motioned for him to jump from the plane.
Jack stepped backwards and threw himself from the plane.
Oliver Fontane was widely critisized and hailed asthe creator of the future of PMCs. Jack, Emanuel and all the TAR operators wore a full-body kevlar shield. They were made exactly like a medevil suit of armor was, but molded out of Kevlar and forged with minor weak spots at the elbows, shoulders, knee and neck. Jack's had a faceguard. Up and down his faceguard were streaks of red white and blue paint.
-----15 Minutes Later-----
Jack looked down from the rooftop he had landed on. Atlantean troops had discovered his insertion and a kill-squad had been assigned. They now stormed the rooftop he was on.
Jack spoke into the microphone "They discovered my chute, I've been targetted." Jack lifted his rifle to his shoulder andd sighted in on the lead Atlantean. He centered the crosshairs onthe man's head and pressed the trigger just once.
The G11 bucked backwards and the lead Atlantean's head exploded backwards, punching his body off the ladder. He fell in a heap in the middle of the street, crimson began to spread in a pool around his body.
"Your orders are clear, Carlyle. Kill anyone in the way and track down the general." Oliver replied.
Jack let his G11 fall on it's sling and clawed under his arm for the Automag. It came into his grip the moment the first Atlanteans poured onto the roof.
rivate in the 7th Rangers Unit