Self-explanatory order. Jack unceremoneously hefts Sinclair up in some kind of bastard cross of a fireman's carry (see?? do you believe him now?????) and the way you're supposed to hold a baby.

...The man is heavy, and Jack wobbles for a moment as he finds a new centre of gravity. But the chemical thrower isn't light either, nor the grenade launcher. And bulking up your body does more than let you swing a wrench. He's gotcha, Sinclair; if anything ends up failing it'll be his balance.

Without further ado, Jack strides past the turrets and into the house.