Corporal Jago 'JB' Barden
British, born in St. Eval near Padstow, Cornwall, UK
DOB 17th Oct, 1975, Age 24
Former Tank Commander from 3rd Royal Tank Regiment (the Armoured Farmers) and then the US 3-70 Armor
Call sign "JB"


Personal Statement:

Dydh da. That means Hello in Cornish I think and, even though I'm a proud Cornishman, it's about as much of the language as I can speak. I'm Corporal Jago Barden, or JB to me mates, formerly of the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment in the British Army and lately of the Cajuns. How I ended up here is a story for over a pint or two but lets just say that I spent some time in hospital after a proper fuckup with a burning tank and when I was released for active duty 3RTR had been and buggered off without telling me where to. NFI and all that bollocks. Anyway an American SFC was drumming up replacements and I proper fitted the bill for 3-70 Armor so he didn't give me a choice. Had some orders about filling replacements with members of allied armies and that was me done for. Felt like that press-ganging the Navy used to do back in the history books.

3-70 Armor was lush though. Pretty quick they made me a Tank Commander in charge of an M1 Abrams and it had a right load of gadgets still working that had been busted for years on me old Challenger. They learned me quick and we was a decent crew by the time we saw combat. We had some heavy contacts but then me Abrams brewed up a couple of months ago near some unpronounceable Polish town after we was hit by some kind of AT missile. As they didn't have a replacement tank for me by then, and they was proper short of soldiers in other unit, I was reassigned again on the grounds that I can fire a machine gun. That was me thanks for making sure all them blokes in the tank got out ok. Bleddy officers.

Anyway, I've seen enough of this war. I've lost enough friends and done the revenge bit already so I'm for going home if I can. I ain't gonna desert as these Cajuns are a decent bunch of blokes but that General said we were on our own so I reckon going home sounds like a decent idea. I doubt the Sovs will let us just drive west unopposed though as I guess that the front line is somewhere in that direction.


Physical Description:

JB played prop at rugby and you can tell that by the shape of him. He is short and squat, still very muscular, with a neck that would require specialist tailoring to fit a collar round. He keeps his dark brown hair clipped short and shaves when he can, his youthful face revealing that he is only in his mid twenties.

He wears a mishmash of camouflage clothing, normally a Bundeswehr Flecktarn combat jacket and Polish Army wz. 93 pattern combat trousers, all issued to him in recent months, and wears no name tags or unit or rank insignia. When he strips down his upper body some nasty burn scaring is visible across his left shoulder, the left hand side of his chest and the left hand side of his back, rather distorting the tattoos he had there originally. The skin there is still red and smooth to the touch, as healed as it's ever going to be.

Somewhere along the line he picked up a German H&K G41A2 Assault Rifle but he prefers to carry a machine gun when operating as a dismount.