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James Hillary 'Jack' Russell

CIA Clandestine Services Officer

0 · 152 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by RaptorThreeSix

Description

Mr. Russell is a caucasian male, is approximately six feet tall and weighs about 190 pounds on an athletic build. His hair is a dark brown when cropped short, but would be a coppery red if it was allowed to grow out some. He has freckles over most of his arms, shoulders and face. He has two tattoos: one of his family coat of arms on his left upper arm, and one of a Cross of St. James superimposed on a Celtic sword and Harp on his left shoulder blade. Mr. Russell has a scar on his left eyebrow, one on his abdomen from his appendectomy, and one on the tip of his left middle finger--the result of an unfortunate kitchen knife accident. Though Mr. Russell tries to blend in, he does cut a rather imposing figure when he so chooses to; it can assist in getting cooperation when none might otherwise be available.

Though not necessarily a snappy dresser, Mr. Russell always attempts to have a well-dressed presentation. For normal office attire, he wears a polo shirt with the company logo on it, tucked into khaki trousers. When on a formal detail, he will wear a suit tailored to conceal radio, pistol, spare magazines, and light body armor. For drills, he will wear his group's uniform: an olive drab or khaki flight suit over which is load-bearing equipment or armor vest. His footwear is generally light hiking boots, or specially made shoes that give the appearance of Oxfords while still maintaining good ankle support and running stride.

Personality

Mr. Russell has a rather laid-back personality. Never much of a screamer (except during his Army days), he does harden his countenance when someone fails him. Mr. Russell tries at all times to be relaxed, and has the patience "of a saint," according to one associate. He tries to always see the positive side of any obstacle, but maintains his candor and will point out deficiencies so that they can be improved. Usually can be found joking about with a half-grin on his face.

Equipment

Mr. Russell maintains a working knowledge of a wide assortment of the tools of his trade. Generally he maintains on his person a SIG-SAUER P229 and two spare magazines as well as a light burglary kit and an encrypted cell phone.

His qualifications in weapons (as of 1999) include:
US: M9, M1911A1, M4A1, M16A2, M249, M240B/G, M60E3, M203, M2BMG, Mark 19, LAW, AT-4, M40A1, M24, M82A1
NATO: Browning/FN Hi-Power, SIG P226/229, H&K P7/USP/Mk23, FN FiveseveN, SA80A1, FAMAS F-1, G3, G36, P-90, FN FAL/FNC, PSG-1
Warsaw Pact: AKM (all variants), AK-74, Makarov, Dragunov, RPD/RPK, PKM, RPG-7, -11, -18

Mr. Russell is intimately familiar with the capabilities of several different forms of high-explosive, to include C4, Composition B, PETN, Semtex, various brands of det-cord. He is trained in high-speed offensive and defensive driving with many vehicles. His personal vehicle that he uses while at home in the States is a '9X BMW Z3, even though it is slightly unsuitable for the driving that he gets to do in Northern Virginia.

History

James Hillary Russell was born in Arlington, Virginia to John Hillary Russell and Mia Russell on 05 November 1969. His father worked for the CIA first as a security officer and later as a Special Protection Officer (SPO) for Ambassador Helms during the first Iranian hostage crisis, but was luckily extracted before the second (and infinitely more famous) crisis. His mother, Mia, was an editor and reviewer for various publishing houses, and an avid fan of the outdoors. "Jack," a childhood nickname that stuck with him, attended Bruton High School near Camp Peary, Virginia, graduating in June '87 with a 3.8 GPA. He didn't travel very far for college, either, deciding to attend the University of William and Mary. Using an Army ROTC scholarship, he pursued a degree in Political Science, graduating Cum Laude (as he partied a bit too much in his sophomore year) in 1991. Once in the Army, he branched Infantry, attending Ranger School, Airborne, Air Assault and Pathfinder school. Much to his disappointment, he missed the Persian Gulf War, but was in Bravo Company, 3rd Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, and took part in the bloody events of the Battle of Mogadishu on 03-04 October 1993. After rotating back, he served for a year as commander of Bravo Company, 2nd-506th PIR, before his application was accepted to participate in the Special Forces Assessment and Selection--the "Q-course". In September of 1996, Captain Jack Russell was granted his long tab and joined the 7th Special Forces Group. In January 1999, Major Jack Russell was permanently seconded to the Central Intelligence Agency's Directorate of Operations. Inside the National Clandestine Service, he was assigned to the Special Activities Division's Special Operations Group.

So begins...

James Hillary 'Jack' Russell's Story

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The man walked into the bar, shaking his black trench coat off. The cold of the street was driven away, but not as quickly as the stranger would have liked. He walked over to the bar, surveying the scene from under the brim of his fedora. Once he wormed his way through the patrons and tables, he arrived at the bar, and signaled to the barkeeper. "Guinness if you've got it, mate," he said, tossing a twenty on the bar.

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The man noted the relatively-smaller figure and what she ordered. He was intrigued, so he decided to ask, "Are you even old enough to be in here, girl?"

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The man contemplated that for all of a second as he sipped at the pint of dark lager. "I guess. Never expected a bar to serve strawberry sundaes..." He shook his head in a bit of disbelief.

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screw this.

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See?!

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The man standing at the bar had been concerned the moment he saw that gigantic dragon. He almost went for his sidearm, but that would have just given him away. Finishing off the pint of beer, he headed for the door.

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James Hillary 'Jack' Russell The man in the black trench coat strolled back into the bar that he had left nearly two hours ago... right before realizing that he had a mission to go do and so he really shouldn't be drinking before it.

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Coming in from the street was a man wearing a black trench coat. He wore no hat to cover his head, even though it was cold outside. Striding up to the bar past all the tables and patrons he tossed a twenty down on the bar and asked the barkeep for a Guiness.

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After getting his beer, the man turned to survey the room. Not many people were doing much of anything aside from looking around the room. It didn't strike the man as a crazy establishment as it had the first time he had been in. No one was taking crazy bloody dragons out of their pockets or anything remotely astonishing. He was relieved, it wouldn't do to have to shoot someone in here. People tended to get upset when they got shot.

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Finishing his beer, the man in the black trench coat decided to leave. This place was dead, and it was obvious his target was not here. Besides, he had to wake up tomorrow.

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The man in the black trench coat heard the screams from inside the bar and decided it was time to kick some tail. Drawing his sidearm, he yanked the door open, spinning to take the path of least resistance...

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The man in the trench coat saw lots and lots of edged weapons. He had no clue what was going on, but the first person to turn towards him would be receiving a .40SW round between the eyes. Before he could even engage a target, the explosion knocked him into the corner, stunning him momentarily.

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The woman bending over him said something, but the man in the trench coat couldn't quite make it out. The concussion from the blast was giving him a ringing in his head that was not going away as fast as he wanted. Luckily, his sidearm was still in his hand. He gave the woman a thumbs up, shaking his head a bit to clear it out. "I swear to God, if I figure out who threw that bomb I'm going to shoot that screwball..."

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He could finally hear something that sounded a bit like, "Motta date ayto tart might, huh?" and was rather confused. He chalked it up to his ears still not fully working. If he ever was ordered to come in here again he was going to be wearing proper ear and eye protection. "What's that?!" he shouted, still not hearing right. Someone looked like they were in trouble, and so he yanked the girl to put her behind him and lined up with something that was wearing a mask that was straight off of Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. He fired two rounds.

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More gunfire erupted from another side of the bar, but the man in the trench coat scanned and identified it as also being aimed in at the golden masks... He loosed another two round when the first seemed to have no effect. He continued to fire controlled pairs until his weapon locked back on an empty chamber.

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The man in the trench coat went down on one knee, ejecting his magazine whilst shouting, "Gun down!" He slapped in a fresh magazine, thumbing the slide release. Something came out from behind him, a flash of silver that engaged the two men in the center. The dark man held his fire, putting his off-hand back to check on the woman behind him and backing up towards the wall.

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The man in the black trench coat decided that it was time to revisit the bar. He had barely escaped with his life last time he was in here, but since then he had rearmed and gotten better about wearing his ear-protection. As he walked in, it appeared to others that the man had ear-buds in his ears. Maneuvering through the bar, he managed to get his usual Guinness and surveyed the crowd for his contact.

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The man in the black trench coat noticed the staring contest going on in the middle of the bar, and wondered what it was about. He had no interest in whatever it was anyways, he just needed to meet the contact.

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Violence seemed imminent, and for the second time in as many visits, the man in the black trench coat moved his hand closer to his side arm. Granted, since the last time he had been here, his sidearm had also been improved....

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The man in the black trench coat's hand trembled, but whatever soon-to-be violence was completely dissipated by the sudden departure of one of the two--combatants? Had a fight just occurred? It didn't matter to the man, but as he surveyed the bar further and in greater detail, he noticed the woman who he had "saved" the other day--even though after the fact he didn't seem to be saving much at all. He pondered this as he took another sip of Guinness. Maybe she was the contact?