Situation Normal
by Karl Thurgood
Wingblade double-checked the mission logs one more time, confirming the bomb-damage assessments had been appended and prepared to despatch them to higher command. He reached for the key that would send them on the way when the sound of the office door sliding open distracted him. An Autobot with a white exostructure, a friendly half-smile on his face, was framed in the door way.
“Mind if I come in?” the newcomer asked, not waiting for confirmation before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, “I could do with a quick word.”
“I'm sorry, I'm...”
“Busy, I know. Your staff said as much, but I won't take up much of your time.”
“I mean, that I'm not accustomed to soldiers entering a senior officer's office without waiting for permission,” Wingblade clarified, his tone clipped, “we try to run a disciplined unit out here soldier, it is the key to beating the Decepticons.”
“That's good,” the newcomer agreed, “a well-drilled unit is always nice to see. Names Jazz, I'm with the Special Operations Directorate, Second Field Ops Brigade.” Wingblade looked at him for a moment. Special Operations Directorate had a tendency to mean operations that went well outside the normal bounds of the wars conduct, operations that had a tendency to become more than a little... complicated.
“I see,” he replied, “and what can we do for the Directorate?”
“Well, I'm glad you ask,” Jazz told him, “it is less what you can do for us, and more something you've already done. I need to talk to you about one of the operations that your wing carried out recently......”
Megatron glowered at the map displayed before me. Considering once more whether they were any further changes that needed to be made to the plan. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that Shockwave had once again produced excellent work, he couldn't see anywhere that it could be improved. Nevertheless he tapped a few keys, removing the Fifty-Third Assault Brigade from the spearhead, replacing them with elements of the Forty-Fifth – whose officer corp was not primarily drawn from Tarnian ex-patriates. He considered that for a moment and then, satisfied, extinguished the display.
“Prepare the plan to be briefed to commanders in the field,” Megatron ordered.
“Yes, Megatron,” replied Soundwave, who had stood impassively as Megatron considered the plan.
“And Soundwave,” Megatron raised a finger in warning, “no electronic transmission. The Autobot signals intelligence specialists have done far too well at penetrating our command net recently. Each unit commander will be informed by courier of his part only in the plan.”
“I shall ensure that the couriers are briefed accordingly,” Soundwave confirmed, “and that none of them know each other's destinations.”
“An excellent idea,” Megatron concurred, “only we in this room, and internal intelligence are to know the destinations of the couriers. This offensive must be kept a secret, that way we will crush the Autobot front-line utterly and drive them all the way back to Iacon.”
A nice simple operation, that was what they had said it would be. Blaster wondered again why he actually ever believed Brigade command when they told him things like that. After all, it wasn't as if they were the ones who had to actually carry it out. The sub-orbital insertion into Decepticon territory wasn't too bad – he had done it before and would no doubt do it again. Of course, it would have helped if he and the other Autobot they had tipped for this mission had actually managed to drop into the same place, like they were supposed to. But in the end all it meant was that he had to do a little bit more walking than he had been prepared for. This far behind the immediate front-lines the Decepticon patrols weren't exactly at their sharpest, it had hardly been any challenge to slip past them. Of course, it would all be for nothing if the other Autobot who had dropped with him hadn't made it safely to the rendezvous point. Blaster knew that he might be able to claim, without any particular hubris, to be one of the best field communications specialists in the Autobot army, but it would all be for nothing without the rather special talents of his companion on this mission.
The transmission leapt from the headquarters of the Decepticon Internal Security force, at the foothills of Megatron's Castle Decepticon aerie. The whisker-fine tight-beam transmission was almost invisible to anything that didn't know exactly where to listen for it, like a whisper in a noisy room. Fortunately the repeater transmitter was listening – that was all it did. It trapped the signal and then echoed it onwards, handing it off to another repeater secreted just on the horizon. In hops and skips the transmission made its way covertly across occupied Cybertron, winging its way toward Autobot territory.
Blaster risked another look around the corner. What he saw matched with the picture he had been able to build up from intercepting local Decepticon communications. The target was definitely located in the long low structure that dominated what was left of this immediate area. They'd made efforts to hide the fact that it was in use from orbital observation, but to a set of optics on the ground the amount of traffic in and out made it the best candidate for the headquarters building. His audio sensors picked up a faint sound behind him and he rolled back into cover, readying his electro-scrambler. Not that he intended to use it if he could avoid it, any gunfire would almost certainly make the mission null and void – and possibly nullify Blaster along with the mission. Fortunately the mono-wheel shape rolling up behind him unfolded into the form of the Autobot specialist known as Scrounge.
“Sorry I'm late,” the yellow Autobot apologised, “I was dropped a bit off target. I did manage to do a visual survey of the outside of the target as I worked my way around though.”
“I've been observing the Decepticon patrol patterns. Maybe we should compare notes?” Blaster suggested.
Wingblade looked around the briefing room swiftly, checking he had everyone's attention. “This one is a bit of a rush job, but it will be worth it if we can pull it off. Intelligence has received some information that pinpoints where the field headquarters of the Forty Fifth Assault Brigade has been moved to,” A stir ran around the room in response to this news, “that's right. We may have missed them the last time but now we have a chance to make up for that,” Wingblade switched the display to show an aerial survey of the target area, “the problem is that the same intelligence suggests that they are going to be moving out wholesale fairly soon. So if we don't act quickly we will lose our chance to deal them a solid blow right at the top of their command structure.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Powerglide asked, “lets get out there and hit them.”
“This will be a deep-strike operation, and normally I'd wait for approval from Divisional command before committing troops to something like this. But in this case if we wait for the ops plan to be taken apart and put back together we will lose our window for the strike. I'm therefore using my command discretion to commit us. The following Autobots are slated to make the strike. Powerglide...”
“Awright!”
“Wingdagger, R-Blade, Tumble, Dropstrike. EW Support will be supplied by Raker.....”
Blaster shot another glance at Scrounge. This was the worst part of these operations. The waiting and the hoping that they wouldn't be spotted. A gap that Blaster had timed in the Decepticon patrol pattern had allowed them to slip through the perimeter and into the remains of the building next to the headquarters. The countermeasures suites that they were both using kept them from being detected by the perimeter sensors, and the shell of the building at least kept them out of the sight-lines of the sentries. Nevertheless, the longer they stayed so close to the Brigade headquarters the more vulnerable they were, and whilst Blaster would have relished the chance to crack a few Decepticon cranial-units that wasn't what this mission was supposed to be about. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned that Scrounge was insistent that he didn't need to physically penetrate the building to carry out his objective, whatever that might be. On the one hand not having to actually get inside meant less risk of being discovered by the Decepticons. On the other hand it lead to a lot more waiting, and waiting wasn't something that Blaster was very good at.
Powerglide had to keep all his attention on what he was doing. At these speeds, this close to the ground maintaining close formation was a dangerous way to fly. A slight misstep, a momentary lapse of concentration could lead to a disastrous collision that could easily seriously damage or even scrap one or more of the Autobot strikeforce, and that was in good conditions. Given that they were racing the leading edge of a strong magnetic storm the task was just that bit more arduous. They wouldn't have risked maintaining such a close formation on a deep penetration run, except for the need to stay close to Raker's extensive Electronic Countermeasures equipment, hard at work creating the blind-spot in Decepticon sensor coverage that they would need to get anywhere near their target unmolested. Not that Powerglide was actually worried, he knew that he was good enough to pull this off. After all, he had maintained precisely the same separation from Raker since they had dropped to low level to begin their insertion run. He would have kept his separation constant from R-Blade who was flying ahead of him except for the fact that the other Autobot's airspeed wasn't entirely constant. Powerglide was sure of one thing, if there was a mis-step on this part of the operation it wouldn't be down to him. He was note-perfect. He just thought it was a shame none of the others could spare the few seconds of attention to notice...
Two of Scrounge's fingers darted down the ducting, following the data-trunk line. Behind them they unspooled lines of cable – extensions of his neural circuity. With optic in one fingertip and audio-sensor in the other his awareness of the inside of the ducting was almost as sharp as that of the space surrounding his main body. There were other Autobot's who had mastered multi-focusing their conciousness, but few with the same level of dexterity and precision as Scrounge. That, and the unique systems of his left arm were what made him unique. His fingers flashed along the data-trunking, following the main trunk-line like a road leading him directly to the target. Straight to... there! That was it!
Rustbowl stood at the head of the holo-map table. Arrayed in an arc at the other end of the command centre stood his company commanders – Pushback, Speartip, Flashfry and Flameout.
“I'll handle your detailed assignments in due course. But just to reiterate, until you get the word you don't tell anyone about this plan. Not your seconds-in-command, not your logistics officers. No-one,” he emphasised, “there is going to be a lot of activity right along this sector of the front but what we have to keep hidden from the Autobots is that we are the cutting edge of the real offensive. Its like that Metalikato thing where you do a lot with your leg and other arm to hide the short-blade in your off-hand. Shan-ves or whatever.”
“Shan-vas-neh,” offered Speartip, who rumour said had been a wanna-be games competitor back before the war.
“Or whatever,” Rustbowl repeated, “the important thing is that we are the real leading edge and everything else is intended to keep the Autobots too busy to concentrate against our drive towards the old Dis front.”
They broke formation as they started their run towards the target. This was going to be all about timing. Fortunately the Decepticon force had erred on the side of stealth when they positioned this headquarters. Rather than cover the area with extensive fortifications they had relied upon good communications discipline and careful siting to prevent anyone locating the base well enough to plan an attack this far behind their lines. Even so, at the first sign of the attack their would no doubt be enough ground fire, and aerospace drones scrambled to the location, to make hanging around in the airspace extremely dangerous. So one pass, in two consecutive attack waves would be all that they could really risk. Powerglide eased forward to take his position in the first wave, arming his concussion bomb dispensers as he went.
Blaster shook Scrounge by the shoulder, trying to capture his attention. He kept his vocoder volume low as he hissed,
“We need to get out of here.” Scrounge did not immediately respond so Blaster repeated,"We need to get out of here. This area is about to get a bit too hot,” This time Scrounge turned to look at him,
“What's going on?” he asked. Blaster inclined his head in the anti-spinward direction,
“Unfortunately for us there are Autobots incoming.”
R-Blade's target acquisition system marked the projected impact point, on the horizon at the moment but coming steadily closer all the time.
“Stay tight, low and fast,” he ordered the rest of the first wave, “lets do this by the program and get in and out before they know what's hit them,” he was only half aware of the acknowledgements from his cohorts, the majority of his attention focused on the rapidly narrowing distance that separated him from the target.
“Other Autobots, what are they doing here?” Even as he asked it, Scrounge knew that it was a fairly silly question that surprise dragged out of him.
“I don't think they're delivering Energon Goodies,” Blaster offered, “better pull your gear out so we can make tracks in the confusion. We want to get out of there before this place gets really stirred up.”
“Ok”
“And Scrounge, better make it fast.”
Scrounge sent a part of his awareness flowing down the neural circuitry that connected to his fingers, willing them to retract. The a-grav systems embedded within them altered their polarities, sending them recoiling from the loose access plate at which they had been listening. In Scrounge's haste he miscalculated the required force. One fingertip struck the sides of the duct, rebounding from the impact to rattle from one surface to another before he could check the motion and get it back under control.
Rustbowl turned at the sound that echoed from within the wall of the command centre. A sound like metal on metal. An expression of concern crossed his face for a moment as he tried to work out what the unexpected sound could mean. But the comm buzzed insistently, demanding his attention and he turned away from the wall.
“What is it Runamuck,” he asked the image of the soldier who appeared on the screen.
“Boss, you need to know this. There are unidentifieds incoming, I think its an Autobot attack!”
“Here?” Rustbowl made a gesture of denial, “how could they possibly have located us?”. For a moment he thought that Runamuck had to be mistaken. Their headquarters was too well camouflaged for their position to have been located. But as a rolling volley of detonations reached his audio-sensors Rustbowl realised that this was probably wishful thinking.
As Blaster stood sentry over Scrounge a wave of small concussion bomblets detonated all around. The rapid sharp cracks came with the persistence of a downpour of acid rain. The debris thrown up from the blasts sleeted off Blaster and Scrounge's exostructure, but Primus seemed to be smiling on them – although the bomblets fell in a thick curtain around them none fell close enough to put them within the lethal blast radius. Scrounge's fingers snaked back into his hand, locking into place with a comforting snap.
“Ok, I'm ready,” he told Blaster.
“Did you get what we were after?” Blaster asked.
“Not all of it,” Scrounge admitted, “but I think it will be enough.”
“Lets hope so,” Blaster motioned Scrounge to move out, “there are a lot of ways an Autobot could get scrapped in this war, but being blown to fragments by my own side isn't really on my list of ways to go.”
“Mine either,” agreed Scrounge, “I'd rather not get scrapped at all.” Scrounge had barely said the words when an explosion so large it was more felt than heard shook them both to the ground. There was no mistaking the explosion of a heavyweight bunker-busting munition. The depth and volume of the noise of the blast tripped their emergency audio cut-outs, rendering them both temporarily deaf, but they both knew that it was only the fact that it had detonated within the Decepticon fortification that had shielded them from the worst of the blast. They both scrambled back upright. This would be their best chance to make a getaway, whilst the Decepticons were in disarray. They made tracks as swiftly as they could, Scrounge converting to his mono-wheel mode, and Blaster – without an alt-mode that would provide him with mobility – proceeding at the best pace his leg-servo's would carry him.
Powerglide banked hard, pointing his nose back toward the distant front-line and Autobot airspace,
“We could go for another pass and hit it again to make sure,” he suggested.
“Negative,” R-Blade replied, “drone and live air-units'll be on their way already. We need to be gone before they get here.”
“We could take a first wave easily,” Powerglide dismissed the potential threat. R-Blade dropped into his slot at the head of the tight formation,
“Not worth the risk,” he replied firmly, “this may be an important target, but it isn't worth endangering Autobot lives unnecessarily.” The Autobot formation headed away from the target, preparing to link up with the second wave and head back to friendly territory as soon as they had completed their attack run.
Scrounge looked toward the looming front of the magnetic storm. It was a daunting sight, the kind of thing that made sensible Transformers scurry to get under cover and sit tight until the storm had run its course.
“Are you sure that we'll be able to get through that and find the pickup point?”
“Don't worry,” Blaster replied, “it'll be fun. And besides, they aren't going to find many Decepticons crazy enough to follow us in there.” Scrounge could understand that. He wasn't sure that it would be possible to find many Autobots crazy enough to go into the teeth of the storm to be followed in the first place. He ejected a compact data-chip from the recorder in his left arm.
“You'd better take this, just in case,” he suggested. Blaster took it and slotted it into an access-port,
“I'll get this set-up ready for a burst transmission once one of the comsats is in range.”
“Are you sure that you are going to be able to transmit clearly through all that?” Scrounge indicated the churning, threatening front of electromagnetics.
“I'm the best field communications man in the army. Either of them,” Blaster replied immodestly, “it is as good as done. You ready to move again?” Scrounge transformed to his wheel-mode.
“Lets get this over with,” his voice sounded more confident than the felt.
*****
Jazz thought for a moment,
“Actually, it probably doesn't matter how we got them out, we have our methods and lets leave it at that,” he told Wingblade, “it's more that standing orders are for you to report any deep-strike operations up the line for approval before you implement them, it helps with deconfliction.”
Despite Jazz's bright and friendly tone Wingblade bristled,
“Standing orders also give us leeway to use commander's discretion to strike time-critical targets,” he reminded Jazz. His annoyance at being lecturered by an Autobot whose relationship to the Autobot army's regular chain of command was less than...regular....was more than plain.
“I'm not here to make any accusations, or even to tie your hands,” Jazz explained, reaching for his best non-confrontational, buddy-buddy, tone, “all I'm suggesting is that perhaps we should pool our processing power and work on a way to keep out from each others way. It might help us to avoid getting into any more situations that are......”, Jazz paused, searching his lexical banks for the correct word, “complicated.”
END.
