Seibertron.com Energon Pub Forums

I love your 'con interactions. You give the Decepticons far more depth and personality than pretty much most of the fan fiction writers out there. Have I told you that I love your Barricade? Probably.

Great update!

Silly Rabbits! Autobots can't fight mean ol' Decepticons without human allies! Let's meet some friendly Soviets! Okay, maybe not so friendly. But those Spetznaz boys are actually pretty damn hardcore. I tried to do that justice here.


XXVI
Russian Airstrip

Optimus was a little surprised to see the unit standing on the edge of the runway was dressed in American uniforms. Including nametapes in English. The men standing in the rigid formation didn’t look like Americans at all. Leaner, tighter. Less friendly. Not a smile among the bunch. Well, Optimus considered, this is their first time. We are feeling each other out, and in the circumstances, perhaps a little wariness is a good thing.

He crouched down close to the unit’s leader, who stood in front of the formation. “My name,” he said, “is Optimus Prime.”

The soldier leapt to attention. “Captain Kozakh,” he said, crisply, in only mildly-accented English. “Commanding the 14th GRU Spetsnaz.” He gestured at the men behind him, who barely seemed to move enough to breathe. They stood more still than mechs.

“We can, if it’s easier, speak your language,” Optimus said.

“No need,” Kozakh said, blankly. “We wish not to inconvenience you. It is also,” he continued, “why we wear the American uniforms. We want you to be as comfortable as possible.” They didn’t look very comfortable. Several of the uniforms had heavy creases as if from long storage, and more than one had rather crude patching. Still, Optimus thought, the intention was good. The effort was appreciated, if unnecessary.

“That is,” he acknowledged, “most kind of you.”

Kozakh managed a thin smile. “We have a briefing room prepared, if you and your me—“ he paused as Flareup rolled up, “men are ready.”

“Yes, certainly.” Optimus ushered the bots into the open hangar. It was nothing like Diego Garcia. Heavy orange extension cables ran from floor to the fluorescent lights in the ceiling; some held in place by what Optimus had heard the Air Force refer to as hundred-mile-an-hour tape. The walls, once some shade of white, were splotched and bubbled with rust, the concrete floor pitted where, presumably, vehicles had once dripped fuel. Kozakh led them to a chalkboard at the far end, away from any windows.

“We are told that the enemy, these Decepticons, have satellite surveillance,” he apologized, as he crowded them into the far end. “And that they can access electronic information.” He flipped the chalkboard over, to where someone had drawn—in painstaking detail—a topographical map. “This,” he said, “is what your American allies would call the AO.” He picked up a piece of red chalk. “We have spotted one of the enemy robots around here,” he circled an area. “The helicopters are using this salient,” another red mark, “for their taking-offs. Takeoffs,” he corrected himself. “Radiant around them,” his English was…odd, but Optimus could follow, “smaller robots, which we have heard designated as ‘drones’.” He looked up. “You are familiar with these? These drones?”

“Yes,” Optimus said.

“Good.” He flipped open a binder on a table next to him where a photograph lay in a page protector. “This is one of them.”

“Starscream,” Cliffjumper said. “Bad news.”

“You cannot defeat him?”

“Oh,” Sideswipe said, “we sure can. Bad news for him.” Cliffjumper nodded, but less enthusiastically.

“The helicopter,” Kozakh flipped to another page. “Possibly this one.”

“Blackout.”

“Yes. He looks like one of your American’s attack helicopters. At first we thought our airspace had been invaded by the Americans. We were…initially…relieved to find that that was not the case.”

He fanned out more pages—color photographs, non-aerial, of the area of operations, and got down to business, outlining possibly vectors of approach. Optimus was impressed. Even though the Russians claimed to never have fought against the Decepticons before, Captain Kozakh had already weighed out several theories in his battle plan, such as visibility, armament availability, and even statistical analysis. He’d said, for example, that only rarely did Starscream start a fight from the ground, speculating that if they approached hard and fast, he would go airborne.

Even Sideswipe, who hated any plan that didn’t involve a direct charge at the enemy, was impressed by Kozakh’s knowledge. “I like this guy,” he whispered to Optimus. “Can we keep him?”

“He is not a pet, Sideswipe.”

Sideswipe laughed. “That’s an image, right? Though I think he’d be a better match with Ironhide. Same sour puss face.” Kozakh looked up from where he was explaining to Cliffjumper the location of long-range artillery assets.

“Is this information irrelevant?” he asked, quietly.

“No,” Cliffjumper said, quickly. “Sideswipe doesn’t focus very well. Surely you have men like that.”

Kozakh looked over to where his men had fallen out. They sat in quite groups, cleaning and readying equipment. Flareup was moving among them, trying to engage them in conversation. They answered her, politely, but kept their hands working. “They would not survive our training.”

Sideswipe’s smile faltered a bit. Then, “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, then. I’ll have to show you.”

“Don’t you dare frag this up trying to show off,” Ironhide said, abruptly. The first thing he’d said since boarding the plane. Wasn’t quite the old Ironhide, but getting there. Sideswipe grinned.

“Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?”

Ironhide’s gaze went to Flareup and back. “Whichever side lets me take a swing at Starscream.”

I am distinctly enjoying the return of banter between Sideswipe and Ironhide. He's been to darned quiet.

Really nice update. I am on the edge of my seat waiting for things to heat up

Oh, Ironhide with the chivalry...I like. Sideswipe is endearing as always. ^_^

(2 updates back) I can't get enough of being in 'cade's head. I loved his brief call with Megatron and I especially love his thoughts on Starscream. Excellent characterization as usual!

XXVII.

Tunguska
Starscream had apparently decided to amuse himself by sharpening his talons against the local forestry. Trees bore long gouges under their dark bark, and white circles like open mouths from where he’d lopped off limbs. He turned as soon as he heard Barricade approach. Not, Barricade noticed, retracting his talons. Threat or oversight?

“Glad to see you too,” he said.

Starscream looked down at his hands, still half-curled into attack position. He flexed and straightened them, self-consciously. “I am aggravated by your needless delay. How did you get Skywarp’s code? Why do you have it? Have you spoken to him?” The claws flexed dangerously, “What have you said to him?”

“Get down here,” Barricade said, “And I’ll tell you.”

“I will not stoop to your level.”

“Stalemate: I will not have this conversation with your pelvic frame.” Would the Seeker’s pride win out over his desire to know? Nope. The jet folded his legs into an awkward squat. He still loomed over Barricade, just…not so ridiculously.

“You shall tell me now.” Half-demand, half-question.

No reason to lie. If he’d had any evidence that Starscream had initiated the call, it would be different. He’d be investigating a possible treason. Right now…he didn’t know what to call it. “Megatron initiated a call to Skywarp last solar. I don’t know what they said. Soundwave,” he watched the jet’s lip quiver like a snarl, “is trying to block me.”

He watched Starscream’s processing the information playing out across the jet’s face. “Megatron contacted Skywarp….” Whatever thought the jet was having, it was not a happy one. Yeah, well, Barricade didn’t think Megatron had comm’d Skywarp to find hints for Starscream’s naming-day gift either.

“One of your Trine, right?”

“Yes,” the jet said, offhand. His brain was still chewing over something that tasted fairly unpleasant. “Barricade,” he said, after a moment, “why are you telling me this? Are you certain you know nothing more?”

Barricade shifted his weight, uncomfortable. “All I know is what I’ve told you.” He didn’t even want to touch the first question.

“Skywarp,” Starscream looked up at the sky, almost fearfully. As if he half-expected the other jet to drop down at him. “Megatron must be seeking to replace me. No. I had—had I already requested transfer at that point? Even so…. Why Skywarp?”

Hate to interrupt the completely incoherent musing, but…. “Seeker Trines are spark linked, aren’t they?”

Starscream’s lip curled, as if appalled by Barricade’s ignorance. “Yes. They are our primary spark links.”

“What does that do for you?”

“It is stronger than most, being trebled, but a spark link like any other.” A hesitation. “Do you not know? Barricade,” his eyes got a sly, gloaty line, “have you never spark linked?”

Barricade felt his mouth go hard. “Starscream, it’s me. Who the frag is going to want to spark link with me?”

“I would certainly never consider it,” the jet said, “But you are not THAT bad. Perhaps.”

Barricade rolled his eyes. Thanks for the compliment. “Great. I’ll list you as a reference. Can we get back on topic: Topic NOT being what a loser Barricade is?”

“I much prefer that topic,” Starscream said. “I could expound on that at length.” Barricade glared him down. “Fine. Why do you think it is significant that we are spark linked?”

“Not really sure. But if you’re connected like that…chances that Megatron might try to use Skywarp to manipulate you?”

“Yes,” Starscream sighed. “Highly likely.” He frowned. “It would likely be effective, as well.”

The plot thickens, I am desperate to know what Megatron and Soundwave are up to. The snark from Barricade is as usual on top form!

Must. Know. More...

Barricade rolled his eyes. Thanks for the compliment. “Great. I’ll list you as a reference."

L-O-L moment. Great stuff! ^_^

Yay. stuff is finally beginning to happen. About bloody time. I have no idea when I wrote this story why I thought this was any good. Sigh.

XXVIII.

Optimus got a bad feeling. Something wasn’t adding up. Something wasn’t making sense. The American uniforms, for one thing. The fact that all of the orders issued to the Russians were in English, but what little chatter there was was in Russian. The whole scenario—it had bothered Prowl, as well. But it was nothing he could, as the humans said, put a finger on. The Russians were accommodating enough, and certainly a tough group. They had, with a hundred apologies, refused to let the Autobots give them a ride any distance to the Tunguska AO, choosing instead to run alongside. And unlike the Americans, they ran in grim silence. Faster than the Americans—every soldier, fully combat loaded, averaging four minute miles. For miles. Well, he couldn’t blame them really for not wanting to get too close to the Autobots. The unknown quantity. But still…just something off about it.

A mile out, they slowed, flattening themselves to the ground, advancing slowly. Surprise seemed the best tactic. Sideswipe had grumbled, but Prime wanted a better idea what they were up against.

“There he is,” Sideswipe’s voice burst in his audio. Looking where the mech pointed, Optimus saw Starscream’s tall figure, gesticulating at a smaller figure. Barricade? The Russians hadn’t said he was here. Another thing that simply didn’t add up. Sideswipe spotted Barricade an instant later, from his derisive snort. “He’ll be easy. Someone else can take him. I want someone worth my time.” Sideswipe snicked his blades out of their housings.

“I got him,” Ironhide muttered. “Got a bit to settle with that four-eyed freak.” He looked over at Flareup, who frowned, but readied her own weapons.

Kozakh crawled over to Optimus. “What now?”

“We want to keep Starscream on the ground as long as possible,” Cliffjumper said, from next to Prime. “He’s airborne, he’s too maneuverable.”

“We can rally jets,” Kozakh said. “I did mention air support.” A slight downward quirk of the mouth, as if mildly annoyed that the Autobots might not have paid attention to his briefing.

“Yes,” Prime said. “But I would prefer to keep as many humans out of our fight as possible.” He frowned. He’d prefer to keep the Russian soldiers out of the fight, too, for that matter. “I shall engage Starscream.” He cut off Sideswipe’s protest with one hand. “You and Flareup are the fastest. You should head to the salient and deal with…whoever we have to deal with there.”

“Hope it’s Blackout,” Sideswipe said. “Have yet to kick his skidplate.” He gestured to Flareup and began skirting the jet’s position.

He made a hand gesture. His men popped up from the light-forest floor. While the Autobots had been talking, Kozakh’s men had been creeping along, almost invisible. “We can begin the assault at any time,” Kozakh said.


*****
Barricade shook his head. Starscream was still convinced, half-convinced, that Barricade knew more about Skywarp than he was letting on. His own damn fault, really. Broke Ironhide, yeah, but also broke something else. Something that almost mattered. Blackout had said Starscream was jealous of him? Starscream wasn’t jealous. And right before he’d left the jet, Starscream had clumsily, awkwardly, tried to apologize. As if telling him about Skywarp made what Barricade had made him to do Flareup all better. Stupid warriors—he’d never understand their moral calculus. Still, time to put on a happy face. Another show, friendly up. Because, yeah, that had worked so well last time.

“A token, only,” he said, handing over his handful of junk to Suvorov. Really, a token. Junk. That’s what this whole deal is, on both sides, I suspect.

Suvorov wasn’t impressed. “What,” he said, with some finicky distaste, “is this, my friend?”

Barricade smiled easily. Jerking Suvorov’s mind around was just the break he needed from all that Starscream angst. “Small mech,” he said, stepping closer, so Pyotr could feel every inch of the difference in their height. And remember, I am a small one, Barricade wanted to say. “Can’t exactly fit a planet buster in my undershorts.” He snorted at his own joke. He’d have to tell that one to…oh. He didn’t have anyone left who was talking to him. “Besides, this is the kind of stuff the Americans got. Apparently nearly went mental at the chance to dissect a limb.” Part of his mind flicked back to Starscream, the unwilling donor. Damn jet wasn’t exactly a willing donor of anything except his perpetual bad moods. Honestly didn’t know why he cared.

Stop it, he ordered himself. Losing focus. Suvorov. The Russian looked at the blackened pile with some distaste—it would probably stain his suit. He turned and nodded to his driver, who began loading the parts into the trunk of his car. Barricade’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on here. Suvorov wasn’t normally at a loss for words. He watched as Pyotr tugged up the sleeve of his suit—chrono check, apparently—and pulled some sort of face at his driver. The driver ducked into the trunk, apparently busy arranging the junk parts. Suvorov’s phone rang.

He made a good show—entirely fake, Barricade realized, but by now he was caught up in the little show they were putting on. Just for him. Didn’t he just feel special? He’d puzzle out the why later. Meanwhile, Suvorov’s face ran the gamut of looking puzzled, then alarmed, then angry. He snapped his phone shut.

“Time,” he said to Barricade, “to put, as the capitalists say, your money where your mouth is.” That sounded…unpleasant. Barricade blinked, allowing himself to look bland and slightly stupid. Never outfoxed an enemy with him thinking you were smarter than he was. “The Americans,” Suvorov explained, a slight tinge of frustration in his voice. “They are here. With your Autobot enemies.”

Fraggin' cliffhanger... *tears out hair* XD This builds up the growing tension really well, can't wait to see what happens when Barricade and Ironhide bump into each other again. Sparks are going to fly!

Yay! More digging into 'Cade's head...always my favorite. ^_^ Excellent build up for a battle scene. I can't wait for more.

Yay! Action! FINALLY!!!!

XXIX
*****

Sideswipe crept along a cut the Russians had told him paralleled a ridge that went straight into the LZ. Flareup rolled behind him wobbling on the knotty roots. He hoped for her sake the LZ was flat. Above him, he heard the whup-whup-whup of rotors. He felt his central line blaze—his favorite feeling. The rush right before an engagement with the enemy. Yeah. This would fix everything. Everything. The Autobots would get new friends, better friends, than the Americans. From what Sides had seen, he really liked the Russians’ style. And this would bring everyone back on board. ‘Hide would prove himself again, and stop looking so damn mopey; Flareup would work…whatever was eating at her out of her systems. And Prime? He’d finally have time to worry about his men—not the piddly fleshlings. Or better yet, Prime could not worry at all. It’d been too long since Sideswipe had seen the Autobot leader without that crease of worry between his ridgeplates.

He gestured for Flareup to catch up. “Ready?” She nodded grimly. The next rise would take them to the LZ. “You can hang back if you like.” He flashed a grin. “I’m hard to keep up with.” She managed a tight smile and a slight roll of the eyes. A little of the old Flareup. That was also, Sideswipe decided, an encouraging sign.

He pulled her into a quick hug. “Don’t worry, Flare. I got your back.” Won’t let these ‘cons hurt you, he thought. Not again. He pulled away before he could register the disappointment on her face.

*****
Barricade’s mission commnet message reached Vortex just as he got lift. Autobot attack. Knew it was going too well. Another few lifts and they’d’ve had all the energon from this site. Only stuff worth having from this spark-forsaken place. Immediate problem, of course, is that fully loaded, he had a lot of drag, which hampered his maneuverability. And locked him into his vehicle mode.

“Moving,” he heard Blackout acknowledge. “Down in a klik.”

“Vortex,” Starscream said, taking over. “You get clear. You have the most value right now.” Long time since Vortex had heard words like those. Time was he’d’ve teared up at anything that sounded like praise. He knew better now: it was his cargo that had value. Not him.

He acknowledged, grabbing lift only to have his sensor net alarm as he took several hard hits to his starboard side. He grunted across commnet. “They’re here.” He saw two smaller shapes dash out of the treeline toward him. He clawed for lift, swinging clumsily to bring his main guns to bear. The damn bots moved too fast for his loaded maneuverability. Still, he sent rounds after them to give them second thoughts.

The dronemaster clicked on commnet. Vortex heard the soft mutter as the dronemaster directed the drones en masse up the salient. Weapons fire stitched across the LZ. From the far side of the salient, another bot, red, raced up, trying to launch himself after Vortex. He caught one of Vortex’s cargo hooks. Vortex swung awkwardly in midair, one rotor dipping perilously close to the ground, shredding tree trunks. Splinters of wood flew wildly. The drones swung their primary fire on the Autobot clinging to Vortex’s underbelly, more than a handful falling as flying splinters cut through their lightly armored bodies.

Vortex got altitude, the Autobot squirming to ready some sort of attack. As he cleared the trees, Vortex cut power to his rotors. He dropped toward the ground, hitting his terminal velocity quickly. Cutting his cargo hook, he blazed his rotors back on, jerking upward with enough force to dislodge the Autobot’s grip. He tumbled hard onto the ground and lay, Vortex thought, pleasantly still.

*****
Optimus ordered the humans to stay down. Starscream had used humans as metaphoric shields before—he didn’t doubt the jet would hesitate to try the same tactic. The jet considered directly attacking humans to be beneath him, but he knew that Optimus would rather let himself get hit than risk injuring humans. A neat game the jet had played before. He had nearly reached a dashing distance from the jet when Starscream had whirled, eyes wild, and launched himself into the sky. Optimus cursed.


*****
Ironhide headed along the path he’d seen Barricade take. One score he could settle early. A surprise to the others to see Barricade here. A pleasant surprise for Ironhide. First, the mech thought, I’ll show him how hard I can hit with my cannons on. Then…well, I’ll improvise. Maybe I’ll have a little game for him. Like, pick which limb I shoot off next.

“CJ!” Sideswipe’s voice. Loud. Ironhide turned, hitting his comm. “Sideswipe. What’s up?”

“CJ—copter dropped him. He fell! He’s not moving.”

“LZ?”

“Yeah.”

“Be there.” Ironhide cut comm. Looks like he had another grudge to work out on the ‘cons. No matter. There was room in his spark for the both of them.

*****
The jet’s order cut across mission commnet. “Rally at the LZ. Blackout is coming down empty, unfortunately. He must be allowed to load.”

“Load what?” asked the dronemaster. His responsibility to move cargo up. Under fire. Barricade could tell he wasn’t looking forward to it. Underarmored and only lightly-armed drones, sent down on a retrieval mission, suddenly turned into hot combat—all the dronemaster’s responsibility. Welcome, Barricade thought, to the Decepticon luck. Why we’re all such fraggin’ optimists.

“Load the drones,” the jet said. “Right now we need them more than energon.” Barricade felt…stunned. This was the mech who insisted drones were expendable. He wondered what had given the jet a spark of conscience. He hoped it wasn’t him. Conscience was a miserable burden. Having one himself—two, really—he knew all about that.

He hustled to the LZ himself, feeling his usual useless. No weapon, even. Should have used his good karma with Megatron to demand that little restriction get lifted. Oh, you like my work? Finally convinced I’m not insane? How ‘bout letting me carry a pulse rifle? Megatron, unlike Suvorov’s proverbial capitalists, was not ready to put his money where his mouth was.

“Gonna have to hitch with the drones,” he said.

“Yes,” Starscream acknowledged. “You can assist them to load.”

Great. Glorified dronemaster. Knew better than to complain. Waste of vocalizer charge. He raced through the thinly spread trees toward the noise. Ah, he thought, and now I know they’ve gotten to me. Running into battle unarmed. These warriors have ruined me. He resolved that at least he wouldn’t say something heroic about honor and/or glory. This was frag-stupid, and he would not use any other words to describe it.

As he hit the outer edge of the drones advancing up the hill they picked up their pace. Part of their programming—to follow any Decepticon signature. Also part of their programming not to target any Decepticons. Also, his brain fed him through the surge of what he refused to call fear, part of their programming not to disobey a direct order.

Maybe he didn’t have to run headlong into certain easy-target status. He grabbed one by the shoulder. “Let me see your weapon.”

The drone held it aloft, confused. Frag. Too literal. “Right. Correction, hand me your weapon.” The drone followed all the proper safety procedures including clicking the safety on and handing it to him grip-first. If Barricade survived, he was going to write the dronemaster a commendation. If he remembered. And, as Barricade had thought/expected/hoped, basic drone programming did NOT happen to include the directive not to let Barricade have a loaded weapon.

He patted the thing on the head. “You’re unarmed. Make it to the copter and climb on. No override.” That was as far as his conscience went. The drone turned and dashed off after the others. Barricade hefted the weapon. Standard pulse rifle. Not too spiffy. But easy to operate, reasonably accurate and sturdy as the sides of the Pit. He’d take it. Not like he had a choice.

I just had to read this before I went to sleep (don't shout at me I am in bed )

Well worth the tiredness I'm going to feel in the morning. This is intense, I hope CJ is not you know... 0_0 ooohhh you're going to make me wait for the next bit aren't you? *camps outside your door for spoilers* XD

Well, peeps (as in Carriemus and Toyz, the only two who read this...) Only 8 sections left after today. Next story will update slower--I'm not done with it yet! YIPES!

Won't be able to update on Friday. I'm sure y'all will be devastated.

BTW: Flareup's wrong. There's another reason they don't attack her. So...can you win Are You Smarter Than a Cyclebot? (Yes, fic now comes with interactive fun).


XXX
*****
Flareup ducked behind a tree. She was pinned down. A dozen drones held her at bay. Across the LZ from her, Sideswipe was scything his way through a cluster of the little things. Flareup felt sick. She loved Sideswipe, but…he was enjoying cutting down the drones. They barely knew how to fight, much less fight back.

She…couldn’t bring herself to fire on them. She’d sent several hundred rounds at Vortex, and probably the same amount at the descending Blackout, but just couldn’t bring herself to target one of those blank little faces. The others were different. The drones had no choice. By definition. Her spark ached watching Sideswipe carve through them.

Meanwhile, while Sideswipe was butchering them (she couldn’t think of it in any other terms, really), Cliffjumper was lying flat on the field, his head tossing from side to side. Small sparks shorted from his joints, and a puddle of a bunch of terrifying fluids leaked from under him into a technicolor puddle. The drones left him alone.

That gave her a thought.

What if--? The thought terrified her. What if she stopped even her suppressive fire? Would they fire back even then? No. I can’t do that. But…I was afraid before. Of the repair bots, and there was no reason to be afraid then. And her armor was light, but it could survive a few direct hits.

She raised her arms, dropping her gun and shutting off her energon blade, and, after a ventilation, stepped out from behind the tree.

They didn’t fire. Keeping her hands up, she advanced, cautiously, a step towards them. They shifted back, almost recoiling. Almost as if they were afraid of—her. “Hi!” she said, loudly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to go check on my friend.” She gestured with one hand over to where Cliffjumper lay. They flinched back from her gesture, and clicked and beeped nervously to themselves. Having a conversation? She couldn’t tell. All she knew is that they weren’t firing, and, as she approached, they parted from her path. Keeping weapons trained on her, of course. The cluster of drones followed her as she approached and knelt down by Cliffjumper’s damaged frame.

“CJ?” she said. “Can you hear me?”

The red Autobot’s eyes flickered open. “Flare—get down!” he gestured weakly with an arm that was responding at less than 10% power. “Behind you!” he gasped. She turned, alarmed, but only saw the same cluster of drones, now staring at her curiously.

“My friend,” she told them, pointing to Cliffjumper. “Yes?” She nodded. They had mimicked gestures before, when she was in the repair bay. One or two nodded now, as well. They withdrew another step.

*****
Starscream launched himself into another spinning dive, firing furiously around where Blackout was preparing to load the drones. Five of the enemy—Ironhide had engaged the other side of the mass of drones that the one named Sideswipe was assaulting. On mission commnet, Starscream could hear the dronemaster’s harried voice rallying a rescue party. He logged their coordinates—after this pass he would give them covering fire. One Autobot was down, and the purple cyclebot was out of the battle bending over him. Had she become the medic, now? That was not her job when she was at Bourzey. Better, though, the jet thought, that she realize she is not a warrior. He would not engage with her.

Optimus Prime, on the other hand, was a different story. The red and blue bot charged up the hill from the lookout Starscream had taken himself—so Prime had intended to try and take him single handedly? Foolhardy.

He adjusted his approach vector, angling his fire in a line from Blackout towards Prime, gritting his dentals in satisfaction as the Autobot dove for cover. Not so brave as to take direct hits, Starscream thought. Still, it was a kind of respect—that the Autobot leader feared Starscream’s weapons. The jet spun up for another pass, recalling the coordinates of the drone rally.

What was—humans. Americans. Rushing in the wake of Prime. So much for Barricade’s plan to ruin the human alliance. It had failed, apparently. The jet snorted: he wouldn’t waste his time with the fleshlings. But still…it was curious.

He pulled altitude, wondering if Barricade had seen the Americans. Now, Starscream thought, Barricade will know what it is like to fail. He was not sure how he felt about the prospect.

Nice! Is it because of her red optic or 'con parts? If not then I am not cleverer than a cycle bot and I fail. Will miss Friday updated but looking forward to the next installment!!

Pretty much straight out ugly combat and vicious after today. Enjoy your last breath of angst. That is, if anyone is still reading and not swept away under tsunami of angst. Follow on story has much more of Teh Action.

XXXI.
Nemesis.

“Your loyalty to the Decepticon cause has never been in question, Skywarp,” Megatron said, smoothly. The Seeker looked uncannily enough like Starscream’s old protoform that Megatron found it disturbing. As though time had suddenly spooled itself backwards and he was in the past. It made him all too aware of how much things had changed.

The illusion was shattered when Skywarp moved. Even his smallest gestures were different from Starscream’s. Where Starscream had a tendency to twitch, his hands to flutter nervously, Skywarp’s gestures were smooth, unworried. He, Megatron thought, has a clear conscience. You can see in the very way he moves.

“I’ve never given reason to have my loyalty questioned,” Skywarp said, his voice calm, his eyes level. For a moment Megatron missed the spark of fear he’d get in Starscream’s eyes, the slight hitch in the jet’s voice when he said something too bold.

“Indeed,” Megatron said. “Which is why I have summoned you here.”

Skywarp made no move but to tilt his head, curious.

“Tell me, Skywarp. What is the reason your Trine is sundered?”

“Our Trine is not sundered,” Skywarp replied. “Duty alone calls us to separate quadrants.”

“Oh, come now,” Megatron purred. “You have not flown as a Trine for how many megacycles?”

“That is irrelevant, my lord.” Megatron got the impression that the title was a distraction from the potential offense of his words. A wise warrior does not call any of his leader’s questions ‘irrelevant.’ “The Trine bond does not fade with distance. Or time.”

Megatron tried another approach. “I am glad to hear that, but also,” he said, pulling his face into a moue, “A little saddened. What if, hypothetically speaking, of course, but…what if a member of a Trine had gone…unstable?”

“Non-hypothetically, you are speaking about Starscream.”

Megatron smiled, thinly, trying to look sheepish and caught-out. “Yes.”

“Unstable how?”

“Moody,” Megatron began, cautiously.

“Starscream has always been moody. Is it affecting his performance?”

“I worry,” Megatron said, his voice like silk, “that he is unhappy.” Not entirely a lie. An unhappy second in command was only a small step from a treasonous one. He’d seen already how some of his warriors were cleaving to the jet. Perhaps leftover—and misplaced—loyalty from the days of Starscream’s command, but Megatron suspected something more. The Decepticon forces could ill afford a rupture over command. But still, he had to tread lightly in dealing with this. His warriors might tolerate him disciplining the jet—whose arrogance was notorious, after all—but they would surely balk if he stepped over to outright elimination. Hence, Skywarp. One way or the other, he would bring Starscream under his heel.

“Unhappy?” Skywarp let the word hang, dubiously. “You summoned me because you feel he is unhappy.”

“He is,” Megatron said, “my second in command. His performance, and his well-being, are important to me. How important? That I summoned you because he is unhappy.”

Skywarp looked dubious, but couldn’t, or daren’t, speak out. “So you wish me to speak with him?”

“I wish you to find out what is making him unhappy. And report back to me. Especially if you feel he is unstable as well.”

Skywarp frowned, trying to feel to the bottom of this puzzle. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “I think it fair to warn you, though, that should he be unstable…. The Trine takes care of its own.”

“Of course,” Megatron said. As long as Starscream’s conniving and his factionalizing of the troops was removed, Megatron didn’t much care what happened to the jet. Oh, ideally he’d like to make the jet suffer himself, but there was not, perhaps, time for that in the present circumstances.

If necessary, he would bow to circumstance. It was the only thing he would bow to.

*squees* oohh I have my fix now looking forward to the up coming battle.

But this update has left me very intrigued as to how Skywarp will approach Starscream

wow, what a great update! I love Skywarp's characterization and his last comment about the Trine was awesome. You packed so much goodness into one little update. I'll drift off to sleep tonight in sheer envy.

I'm kind of enjoying how people on FFN are thinking I'm bad at plotting--ummm, no, the Autobots just aren't up to this level of deception.

Oh yeah, and as a result of his time at Combat Control, Barricade's not allowed to have any weapon other than that pitiful spoke weapon for personal defense. Either that, or Orci and Kurtzman suck, giving EVERY OTHER DAMN MECH a range weapon but not Barricade.

XXXII
Tunguska

Barricade blinked in surprise as the humans dashed right by him and up the slope to the LZ. It wasn’t like he was exactly inconspicuous—three times their height, standing in the midst of a thinly studded forest. A machine in all this nature. Black and white and silver in all of this yellow and brown.

But no, they hurried by him simply as if they had other places to be and no time to fritter messing with him. It was…odd. Almost funny. As an experiment, he moved after them, following them up the hill. A few turned to look: none turned to fire. And he wasn’t about to waste the limited charge of the pulse-rifle on humans. Though a target that small might provide an amusing challenge….

He burst onto the LZ clearing moments after the humans, who suddenly found their trigger fingers and their voices, firing wildly. Huh. Whose side were they on? The usual humans the Autobots messed with knew to avoid shooting at their allies—these soldiers fired at anything remotely mechanical.

A few even finally seemed to notice Barricade behind them, pinging shots at his head. All right—that wasn’t funny. He ducked, swinging the pulse rifle like a club into their midst. They scattered like birds, moving on to another target.

This made no sense.

Until he saw the cameraman. More precisely, recognized the cameraman as Suvorov’s driver. He clicked on mission commnet. “Know they’re a pain, but don’t hit the humans,” he said.

“Easier said than done,” Blackout muttered. His front gun rotated along its limited firing access, punching holes through the crowd. “Am I supposed to take hits?”

“Be over there in a klik,” Barricade said. “Just…try not to hit them.”

“I presume you have a reason for this above providing us with such an interesting challenge?” Starscream said.

“We’re being watched. Keep it at that.”

“Drone programming is to return fire,” the dronemaster commented.

“Don’t override.” A drone vs human fight looked less…unfair. “Just pull them back to load quickly.”

“’Nother issue: New group of humans. Coming from the east. Soviet uniforms. Are they the enemy?”

“Hold: attack neither. We’re being set up.” Barricade saw it play out in front of him—pretty lame attempt to follow on his work. Still, imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

“Set up how?” Starscream asked, but before Barricade could answer, one of the Autobots—Sideswipe—spotted him and disengaged from the drones, roaring after him, swinging his bladed hands with delight. Barricade snarled, firing three rounds at the ‘bot. And cursed. Damn pulse rifle didn’t have charge to pierce through the armor, though the rounds hit with enough force to stagger the Autobot back. All three rounds had hit center mass, though. Still got it, part of his processor said, happily. For all the good it does me. Could be throwing gravel at the damn thing.

Which wasn’t a bad idea. He pretended to stagger back, falling hard on his back, his arms flailing for a grip. Sideswipe loomed over him. “Hi there,” the Autobot said, swinging one arm far back to get as much force behind the blow as possible.

THAT was his idea of clever battlefield repartee? Standards had fallen, hadn’t they? Barricade lobbed a handful of the thick greasy mud at the Autobot’s face, rolling fast to one side. Coming up, at point blank, he fired again. Definite hits. The ‘bot grunted, went down.

“Barricade,” Starscream’s voice was unreadable. “Do I see you with a weapon?”

“Do you?” he snapped.

“I merely wish to know what I shall have to authorize in the post-battle analysis.” More precisely: what Megatron would beat him for.

“I can lose it and you can never have seen it,” Barricade offered. Weapon wasn’t worth the price. Not with the jet already nursing an oversized grievance against him.

“Do not worry about me,” the jet said. “However, if you are going to violate such a high level directive and use a weapon, I suggest you use it in some manner that does us credit. Lobbing mud does not.”

“How ‘bout I try insults next?”

“Your aim is better with the rifle,” the jet said, dryly.

oooh nice snark at the end there How can they say you're not good at plotting? Bah!! This is good, tense... I want more!!! XD *ahem* Very nice update, I want to know what those humans are up to!

Wow. Only like 5 sections left after this one. Ummmm, maybe I'd better get crackin' on that sequel?!?

Straight out combat 'n' ugly. And a little snark.

XXXIII

This, Blackout thought, was an entirely new level of suction. Let’s recap, he thought. Grounded. Stuck in vehicle mode, quarter-loaded with drones, some still carrying stone chunks. Getting nailed by humans and Autobots, with only feeble dronefire as protection. With only a 45 degree firefan. And now…the jets.

The Soviets had apparently called out their fighter jets again. Blackout counted at least three wings of the jets, wheeling over the LZ, running strafing runs that didn’t seem to care who they hit. Ground troops must be the human equivalent of drones—the Russians certainly didn’t seem to care, or even notice, that the strafing runs tore through the masses of their own men. Three wings, nearly colliding with each other in the tiny airspace.

A brief respite as Starscream stabbed through their formation and they broke to chase him. Unsuccessfully. Starscream might be a pain in the crankshaft to work with, but at his job, he really was unmatchable. Blackout wished he weren’t taking so many damn hits so he could appreciate it better. Then, just that he wasn’t taking so many damn hits.

“Barricade, where the slag are you?”

“You don’t think I can actually help, do you?”

“You’d be another target, at least. Draw their fire or something.”

“Think you’re doing a fine job of that without my help. Besides, currently got an Autobot in hot pursuit. You want him to come say hi?”

“Love to. Bring him by my main gun for the traditional Decepticon greeting.”

“Better not hit me in all the excitement.”

“A little faith? Besides, I hear you’re packing now.”

“You’d better be afraid, after setting me up about the damn jet.”

Barricade tore by Blackout’s position. Somewhere he’d taken a hit in the leg, so his gait was off, but still enough to keep him ahead of the silver Autobot, who was moving slower than usual. Probably had a few hits himself. Blackout certainly hoped. Nothing was more irritating than an uninjured Autobot. He’d rather be locked in a room with Starscream. Blackout took his opportunity and opened up with his gun. The Autobot staggered to one side, flailing.

Barricade whirled and shot at the mech’s tire-feet. The tires burst with gratifying pops.

“Aiming low, Barricade; that’s what I like to see.” Blackout said, acidly.

“Save the flattery for later.” Barricade ran to cover Blackout’s exposed backside, kicking away a few grenades some soldiers tossed at them. He took up a position near the copter’s tail, firing as rarely as possible, trying to conserve charge and not be caught as the Evil Robot Who Shoots at Innocent Humans. However things fell out, the Russians could edit their footage to serve their purpose—they could play it as ‘evil robots attacking humans’ (probably their first choice); ‘evil Decepticons attacking everybody’; ‘evil Autobots attacking everybody’; or ‘valiant Soviet resistance to combined assault.’ He grudged them some approval—these Russians knew how to cover their crankshafts.

“Whoa!” he yelled, ducking as the Sukhoi came around for another strafing run. Blackout had snapped his rotors flat into their storage configuration, trying to give himself the smallest possible ground silhouette. Barricade hunched under the copter’s tail as the jets overflew, punching the ground with their guns. “Not our biggest fans,” he muttered.

“Not the greatest shots, either,” Blackout responded, “For which, for one, I am grateful.”

He grunted, taking a blow to the far side that rocked him on his groundwheels. “Gonna have to go airborne, just for a bit,” he said, kicking on his rotor. The blades started sweeping the air. He rocked with another hit, as the rotorwash seemed to push drones who had not yet loaded away from him. The dronemaster already had them running toward the treeline. “Watch out,” Blackout said, as he got a little lift, and rotated his guns to fire in a circle. “This time it is your biggest fan.”

Barricade looked over his shoulder and saw Ironhide at the same moment the Autobot spotted him.

*****
Flareup ducked as incoming metal rounds sailed by her head. She was working feverishly at Cliffjumper, remembering everything she ever knew from Ratchet’s Emergency Basic Repairs training, and hoping it would work. She’d clamped off the main lines, and run a quick power reroute through one of Cliffjumper’s legs. One hand was…beyond her abilities, but the other she boosted to somewhere near functional strength.

He pushed her away with that same hand. “Get someplace safe, Flare,” he said.

“I’m not going to leave you. I’m almost finished.” Rounds sailed back over her head from pulse rifles. She turned to look: the drones, returning fire. Whether they knew it or not—and they probably didn’t—right now they were protecting her. See how far a little kindness and understanding goes, she thought, grimly. They are not the enemy. “Now,” she said, giving Cliffjumper’s central power line a bit of a jump with her energon blade, “See if you can sit up.”

“Get out of here, Flareup,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I am not going anywhere without you,” she said. “You think I did all this good repair work—under fire, no less—for nothing?” She managed a grin. “Now, come on.” She tugged at his good arm.

He muttered some obscenities, but pushed to a sitting position. He tested his legs out, gingerly. “Not going to break any speed records on these.”

For about the hundred and fiftieth time, Flareup wished she were bigger. She’d be able to carry him, or at least take a good chunk of his weight. “It’ll be fine. We’ll go together.”

“That kind of optimism’s gonna get you killed, Flareup.” He struggled to get his legs under him, leaning heavily on her shoulder armor to boost himself up.

“That kind of optimism got me this far,” she said. She gestured to the drones, who beeped, approaching closer. “Thank you,” she said, carefully. “We’re going to go now. Go…,” she looked across the LZ to where other drones were gathering around the copter, “go be safe.” She pointed. They started moving off, slowly, returning fire from the humans.

“See?” she smiled triumphantly at Cliffjumper. “Drones.”

“Not what I see.” Cliffjumper threw his injured arm awkwardly on top of her, pushing her to the ground. Before she could protest, the ground around them pocked with rounds as several large jets blasted by. He fired back at their retreating shapes.

Flareup pulled at his arm. “Let’s just get out of here!” He was too injured to fight—she honestly didn’t think her repairs would hold.

He shook her off. “This is what we came here to do.”

“CJ!” she said, shocked, bumping back a few feet on her tire. “We did not come here to attack humans!”

“If they fire on us, they’re the enemy, Flare. Sometimes it really is that simple.”

“Then what are the drones? They didn’t fire on you—are they the enemy?”

He pushed her down again, out of the way of another pass of the jets. “Don’t have time for this right now, Flare. Either fight or get the hell out of my way.” He crouched, aiming at another airborne shape—the too-familiar F-22, coming in low. “Got you now, Starscream,” he muttered. He tracked the jet, firing shots in a line along Starscream’s flight path, nearly taking Flareup’s head off in the process.

She flattened herself to the ground. By the time she pulled herself out of the sticky mud, Cliffjumper was gone.

Whoa! On the edge of my seat... *bites nails*

XXXIV
*****

Optimus blasted his servos into a powerful jump, throwing himself in front of the jet’s flight path as Starscream came around for another strafing run. His hands scrabbled over the jet’s exterior, finally dragging him to ground. Optimus landed hard on his back, hard enough that his sensor net temporarily blanked. His hands lost their grip and the jet’s form gouged the earth behind him, half-transformed. The jet’s legs swung wildly over his head.

Optimus was on his feet before the jet could gain his—he swung at the larger ‘con, throwing the jet into a sideways roll. Starscream came up firing both chain guns, first to his knees, then to his feet. “To what,” he snarled, “do I owe the dubious pleasure of this manhandling?”

Optimus lunged forward, grabbing the jet’s wrist above the gun barrel, jerking it off target. Then, harder, yanking ferociously at the arm itself. “We were invited. You weren’t.”

Starscream laughed until Optimus’s pressure strained his shoulder joint. It cracked. He winced. “Not again. Not this time,” he hissed, and, clamping his other hand over Prime’s, blasted his jets in a hard takeoff over Prime’s head. Optimus’s sensor net blared white, then red, as the jet’s torque snapped his wrist to a piece of useless flopping metal. He landed hard on his back, gasping from the pain.

“That is not pleasant, is it, Optimus Prime? Shall we let you go for five solars with merely stabilization? Shall we give you the experience of joint death? I am certain your medic would appreciate the challenge.”

“You talk too much,” Prime said, rising from his knees to aim a blow at the jet’s head with his good hand. The blow staggered Starscream to one side, but he recovered with his chain guns, dancing back out of Prime’s reach.

“On the other hand, you talk about as well as you fight, Autobot.” He knew Optimus didn’t have a range weapon on him. As long as he stayed out of the Autobot’s reach, he could beat him easily. Optimus lunged at him, swinging both arms down at his shoulders, and tripped heavily as two vehicles roared in between them. Barricade and…the other Autobot Ironhide. Barricade leapt up from his vehicle mode—Starscream could see coolant and energon spatters down his leg as the smaller mech turned to fire. The rounds punched into Ironhide’s vehicle mode doors. The Autobot skidded to a stop, between Optimus and Starscream and transformed.

Starscream would not allow himself to get distracted: he fired another salvo at Prime, knocking him back, and then tracked down to hit the smaller Autobot. “You are supposed to be loading,” he rebuked Barricade.

“Doing our best. Blackout’s had to grab some sky to be useful.”

Starscream could hear, from the far side of the LZ, the characteristic cracks of Blackout’s gunshots and the louder whoomps of his missiles. “He shall require your assistance when he lands again.”

“Know it.” Barricade snapped, and dropped into his vehicle mode again, racing around behind the jet back to the LZ.

“Coward!” Ironhide shrieked after Barricade, lunging to follow. Starscream slapped him, hard. Ironhide’s eyes blared white with fury. “You too,” he snarled at Starscream, crouching into an attack position.

*****
Sideswipe was confused. He didn’t like being confused—generally it made him angry. As now. Sure, he could take he’d fallen for that (dirty) trick and run across the range of the copter’s weapon. And he accepted that (somehow) that cringing little freak Barricade—who Bumblebee had beaten, after all!!—had managed to shoot his feet, sprawling him hard in the mud. After, of course, that other dirty trick the little freak had pulled. He was beginning to see why nobody liked Barricade. Not that he needed a lot of convincing in that department.

But what really chafed his camshaft was that now, sprawled on the ground, he’d become a target. More: a target of the humans. Most of the drones had broken for the treeline after Ironhide had sent a friendly greeting to Blackout. Barricade had torn by him, Ironhide in hot and angry pursuit. Oh, how Sideswipe wished he could see that fight. Better yet have that happen where he could drag himself over and give the ‘con a little taste of his blades.

But the humans…? Confusing enough the ‘cons didn’t seem to think him worth finishing off—an oversight he would personally make sure they’d regret—but now the humans, whom he’d thought for sure were on his side, were ponging him with a few hundred rounds a minute. It did not tickle.

He pushed himself to his knees—they still worked at least—by punching his energon blades against the mud. He swung his long arms in a full circle—that at least drove the humans back to a respectful distance. “Not the fraggin’ enemy!” he shouted. He pointed over to where Blackout was settling down to the ground again, doors already wheeling open. “That’s the enemy! You showed us fraggin’ PICTURES!” He ducked his face, using the fairings on his upper arms as shields as a shoulder-fired missile sailed past his face. Had the Russians gone bonkers? There’d been that one nanovirus on Uacal Station that had sent the Autobots a little crazy—attacking anything that moved—but he didn’t think humans would respond to that nanovi.

He swore as Barricade wheeled by him again, this time with Ironhide NOT in pursuit. The ‘con headed back to Blackout’s side, ignoring Sideswipe. Fatal mistake, Sideswipe told himself. He dug his forearms into the soil, spinning the drivewheels. Not a particularly heroic way to move, this modified crawl, but sometimes the hero had better things to worry about than how cool he looked. Sideswipe hoped these moments didn’t happen too often.

*****
Flareup ducked behind a fallen tree. Above her, the jets had slacked their fire. Risking a glance up, she saw several of the Soviet jets spinning in a furious dogfight. Against…another Russian jet. She simply didn’t have processor-space, or time, to puzzle that one out either. It seemed that everyone was fighting everyone else. Chaos. The humans had gone insane. They were shooting at her, even the ones she remembered from Captain Kozakh’s briefing. She didn’t think that what had worked with the drones would work with the humans. She hated to, but she comm’d Optimus.

“The humans!” she said. “They’re attacking us!”

She heard the sounds of battle over his comm. “Yes,” he said. “Here as well.”

“What do I do?”

A sigh. “If you have to, defend yourself.” A grunt, as he took some sort of hit. “We do have to consider that this is a test.”

A test? Flareup frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with humans if they endangered lives—human and Cybertronian—in some ridiculous test of loyalties. Maybe (and the thought tasted bitter) Ironhide hadn’t been entirely wrong.

I am rubbish at commenting, we know this but at the risk of repeating myself; excellently done!! Really nice flow to the battle, thoroughly enjoying this.

Oh beautiful chaos! I love it. Your action is lots of fun to read and the balance between 'con/bot activity and POV feels just right. And the snark woven in is perfect =D

hrm. if you haven't read my stupid Sideswipe backstory, part of this might not make sense to you. But...considering I think only Toyz and CP are reading, y'all are all good, right?


XXXV.
*****
Starscream staggered as Ironhide scored a direct hit with his pulse cannons on one of his engine mounts. The stagger threw him harder into Prime’s off-hand punch, which cracked the jet’s cockpit canopy. He tried, desperately, to push back, to get range. Up close, his long arms were a liability—Prime kept himself well within the jet’s proximity so the jet couldn’t manage to swing any real force behind his blows.

Ironhide shot at his left heel joint. Starscream screeched, his hands clawing at air for balance. Go down, part of his processor told him. Go down, come up fighting. Get your range that way. He let himself drop to the hard ground, firing his jets to give him some momentum. Prime grabbed at his injured ankle (Starscream howled again), jerking back against the jet’s pelvic frame. As if, denied the chance to re-take Starscream’s arm, he would settle for a leg. Starscream flailed with one arm toward Ironhide, who was merely allowing his cannon to recharge. He loomed over the downed jet, grinning evilly.

“Don’t like being held, do you?” Ironhide said. “It’s okay to hold Flareup while she gets tortured, but…not for you, huh?”

“I did not—“ The jet cried out as Prime brought the hard elbow of his injured arm down against the jet’s side, causing his sensor net to flare red. Punish me for what I did, he thought, wildly, but not for what I did not know I did.

He heard the rising pitch of Ironhide’s pulse cannon’s recharge stop. He closed his eyes. This, he knew, would hurt. He would not die: he did not intend to die easily, and he had taken hits from the mech before. That didn’t mean he cared to repeat the experience. Especially at point-blank range.

An explosion. A rush of air. He cracked his lids to see a shadow over him, legs straddling his downed form, blasting at both Autobots. The silhouette was unfamiliar, but when the mech turned his face….

“Skywarp,” he croaked. Unsure if he was happy to be reunited with his Trinemate in this circumstance or not.

*****
Mixed luck, Cliffjumper thought to himself. Optimus and Ironhide had the jet between them—they didn’t need his help. The Russian jets had stopped—not without some marvelous explosions overhead that had rained parts down on the LZ like dead leaves. Which had at least driven the humans under the treeline for cover, most of their weapons rendered useless by the EMP. He wondered what had happened. Who had brought an EMP (Primus bless him). The bad luck side of it was that, without the distraction of the heavy jets and their fire, the copter had been loading more or less unmolested.

Sideswipe, the idiot, was crawling toward the copter. Barricade was…amusing himself, apparently, firing shots carefully over the Autobot’s head, as if the spectacle of Sideswipe ducking down into the mud was a neverending source of humor. Blackout fired intermittently, just enough to suggest to the few assaulting humans they really ought to keep their distance. The drones were loading, like the blank little things they were: in orderly little rows, moving lockstep whenever possible, stepping around a comrade if he happened to fall, until the dronemaster—who stood little larger than a drone himself and looked white with exhaustion—picked three or four out to load the fallen drone.

They were going to get away? Really? Cliffjumper was no Sideswipe, but the idea of the ‘cons getting out of this place more or less functional—after what they’d done to him, what he’d seen them do to Sideswipe (and even before, Flareup, Ironhide) filled him with a constantly roiling rage.

But even he admitted (he was no Sideswipe), he was in no condition to dash across the fields of fire onward into glory. It would end more like dashing onward into offlining. If the ‘cons didn’t get him, his injuries would. Flareup had done her best, but some of his injuries were a bit beyond Emergency Basic Repairs. Still, he had to try to do something…..

*****
“Stop messing around and shoot him for real, already!” Blackout snapped at Barricade. Barricade had been winging shots over Sideswipe’s head for the last…oh, forever. It kept the Autobot from advancing or returning fire, but only so long as Barricade kept it up.

“At that range this slaggin’ thing has all the punch of a wet sock,” Barricade retorted. “If he realizes that, the whole ‘suppressive fire’ thing evaporates, and then where are we?” He squeezed off another round, watching Sideswipe splat himself in the mud for about the fortieth time. If nothing else, Sideswipe was going to have a hell of a time cleaning his gears after this.

“Where the hell we are right now,” Blackout said. “Look: cavalry’s arrived.” The copter was right—the red armored one, Cliffjumper, was making a mad dash across the open space, firing wildly at the pair of Decepticons, determined, Barricade suspected, to do something ridiculously heroic, or heroically ridiculous (was there really a difference?) to save Sideswipe. Stupid, especially if one considered that all he was ‘saving’ the other Autobot from was splatting himself in the mud.

“My turn,” Blackout said, punching his main gun. With a shriek and flail of limbs, Cliffjumper went down again. Blackout hoped he’d stay down, this time. Like fighting fraggin’ zombies sometimes. At least drones knew when they were too self-injured.

“Aww, now where’s the sportsmanship in that?” Barricade said.

“Write me up if you want. Me? I’m beginning to see Vortex’s point about staying alive.”

*****
Sideswipe flared with anger as he got Cliffjumper’s message, ‘Coming to help’. Sideswipe didn’t need anyone’s help. Especially didn’t need a rescue. “Don’t need your help!” he’d bellowed back. Which struck him—just like last time. Just like with Sunstreaker. But Sideswipe could never hold onto anger very long, so the emotion faded to a prickly and uncomfortable mix of worry and bad memories. Not again. Not another one.

Just like Sunstreaker, pushing himself, way too injured, way too hard. Trying to keep up with Sideswipe. The downside of being so damn good, Sideswipe thought, was all that competition. Even from mechs who didn’t need to compete. Like one’s own spark-twin. Sunstreaker didn’t need to compete to get respect, especially not Sideswipe’s respect. No one could compete, Sideswipe thought, with me—no one else has my luck. Even now—he’d lost his feet, and had several dozen pockmarks from the humans on his armor, but he was almost full-function.

He cried aloud as Blackout’s rounds tore through Cliffjumper’s already fragile frame, one of Cliffjumper’s own glass-gas rounds bursting in the mech’s face. Cliffjumper fell, soundlessly, against the mud.

No, Sideswipe thought. Not again. Another one lost, because of me? Not this time. Not this time. He looked at Cliffjumper’s body—the mech’s fingers twitched, weakly. He could still get a warm buzz of static on his comm—Cliffjumper wasn’t gone yet. There was still a chance. It meant abandoning the battle, but some things, Sideswipe had learned the hard way, were worth more than battle stats. And Cliffjumper was one of them.

He threw himself sideways toward the red mech and began dragging him slowly to the treeline. Out of harm’s way.

This time, he told himself, don’t let your last words be ‘don’t need your fraggin’ help’. Last words he may ever hear.

*****
Skywarp jerked his head up, registering something. He and Starscream were back to back, engines clanging against each other, facing down the two Autobots. “Starscream,” he subvoc’d urgently. “Time to go.”

“No,” the jet replied. “We can defeat them. Now that our odds are more balanced….”

Skywarp bumped his Trinemate deliberately with an elbow. “No, I mean we have to go NOW. Russians are coming. With a nuke.”

Starscream cursed, and hit the mission commnet, relaying Skywarp’s message, his voice frantic. Then, “You and I?”

“Let’s try to intercept.”

The two jets leapt for the sky.