Orns of a tactician 4
Jan. 15th, 2012 08:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silberstreifBeta: Starfire201 & taralynden
Summary: Ironhide isn't obeying Prowl's orders. With good reason?
4. Consideration
Prowl hurried through the empty, dark corridors of the Autobots' third garrison in Iacon. Most soldiers were already on their way to Typhern to strengthen the armed forces stationed there. According to his calculations the tanks of the Third Garrison were indispensable for the frontlines if it came to a major offensive. Only they had the sheer firepower and the required armor to pressure the Decepticon advance to a standstill in the right places and to drive them back.
Therefore it was alarming that with the troops Delta and Phie a whole quarter of the garrison was still here. He should have received confirmation of their departure a full orn ago. Instead he had gotten nothing. When he inquired as to why, Commandant Fireshot explained testily that both troops were held back on Ironhide's explicit order.
Just why had Ironhide disregarded his orders? Didn't he understand how much was at stake? Usually he could trust Ironhide on a professional level and maybe this was the reason Prowl felt so angry about this.
But maybe the anger was due to the fact that the tactician had worked for nearly eight orns without any rest. Elita-One's refusal to send one of her own tacticians from the peacezones for support added only to it.
Forcefully he entered the observation deck on which the surveillance sensors last recorded Ironhide.
It was quiet here, Prowl suddenly realized. No machines, no other Autobots, no weaponfire reached is audial sensors. He paused while his optics adapted to the twilight. The deck seemed empty, he was alone. No one who wished to hear his opinion, no one who doubted his plans, no one who expected a miracle only to give him the blame when it didn't come.
Although rationally he knew that Ironhide was here somewhere, he relaxed marginally for the first time in orns. The varying warnings that appeared were just one symptom of his exhaustion. When did he drink his last energon cube? He couldn't remember.
Tiredly, he corrected his schedule. Refuelling now came first, before his reports, meetings and other endless trifles. It was illogical to risk working in a sub-optimal condition any longer.
His heavy steps echoed across the room as he searched for the soldier. Finally, far ahead on the other side he discovered Ironhide's silhouette against the dark city, but the mech didn't turn around. Instead he kept looking down onto the area formerly known as the 'Square of Solidarity' as if he were some ancient memorial or statue.
The square beneath the dome was brightly illuminated. The light was even enough to wrest a few of the grand towers and bridges of Iacon from the dark. Prowl gave them a short wistful glance, thankful deep shadows concealed the gaping wounds in the architecture. All too easily could he assign names and memories long past to every single crater. Since then, the towers had been abandoned and Iacon had transformed into a military base, that had mostly retreated into the underground for protection. The only thing that was still on the surface, were the garrisons and the automatic artillery. They formed the first line of defence in case of attack.
"Ironhide," he greeted tersely as he stopped behind the bot. "Is it true, that you kept the troops Delta and Phie of the Third Garrison behind?"
The weapon master finally showed that he had noticed Prowl and turned just as far as needed to look into his face. "Yeah, that ah did," he said without a hint of an apology.
"And what in Primus name were you thinking?", snarled Prowl as all the tensions and worries of the last orns found their outlet. "I planned with them, trusted them to protect the rear of Front 21 in Typhern! But to do this they need to be in Typhern and not here! You're risking the lives of all of us!"
Ironhide clenched his hands, as his own temper flared. "Ah ain't risking anything! Typhern or here, there is no diff'rence. That lot ar' slagging recruits!"
So, that was Ironhide's problem. The troops Delta and Phie consisted of formerly neutrals who fled to Iacon, after the plains south of the sea of rust were contaminated. Of the twenty Deca-Orn standard weapons training under Ironhide's watch they had completed just about two-thirds of it. Nevertheless, the Autobots needed them and their abilities.
"Recruits, that should be on their way to Typher by now ."
"Just ta die there for nothing!"
As if that was not the bald truth for all their soldiers in the end. Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment and brought his own feelings under control. Emotions didn't help here. Primus help him, he had to deal with this problem, then have an Energoncube and get a few klicks recharge...
"Never for nothing, Ironhide. And they are only secondary reserve."
"For the frontlines!", accused the weaponmaster furiously.
His doorwings sagged a little. "Yes. They are soldiers."
"Slag it, Prowl!" The fist hit the translucent quartzose shield with a loud boom. The younger mech flinched, and nearly stepped back. "Look at them! They ain't ready. They are too young!"
Unsettled by Ironhide's uncharacteristic behaviour and a bit intimidated, Prowl followed the order. Beneath them trained different soldiers together, shooting at targets, and practising transforming to have no gaps in their defense. They were good, but not as good as the rest of the Third Garrison, their tank elite.
Prowl had already known that. He evaluated their progress in training and he had been the one who decided that they were ready for their first battle. But in all the chaos he hadn't had the time to read their personal information. With growing horror, he realized what really disturbed the old soldier – none of the training recruits were completely upgraded into their final frame that marked them as adults.
Too young. Too young to kill. Too young for this war. Maybe too young to survive at the frontlines.
Ironhide saw his dismay with satisfaction. "Ya didn't know, eh?"
"No." He should have read the personal information. But the new reports about the installed defense lines in Typhern had come in and needed to be analysed. "Ironhide... I can't change the plans any more. They have progressed too far. All other qualified troops are too far away or have already different jobs." He couldn't take his optics from the younglings beneath. "I'm sorry."
He would send half children into battle, worse, to the frontlines. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see the helpless anger and betrayal on Ironhide's face, as he – again – went against every moral code.
"Tz, of course ya are." The acidness burned.
But instead of fulfilling Prowl's expectations and to burst into a blind rage came a severe silence, in which both simply stood next to each other and watched the recruits. They joked with each other, laughed and two of them even tried to prank a superior, if Prowl correctly interpreted their intentions with the green paint.
"If we don't send them, what happens?" Ironhide finally asked with a rough voice that could barely restrain his emotions.
He knew the data by spark, had calculated it again and again, had corrected and adjusted it to every detail he had with near obsession. "There is a chance of one in ten that the Decepticons will break through Segment 21 of our flank. If that happens, without these troops nothing would stop them reaching the very core of Typhern."
"They would win." And raze the city to the ground, kill all the citizens and kidnap the sparklings to reprogram them into loyal Decepticons.
"Yes."
"Slag," cursed Ironhide.
Prowl noticed with relief that Ironhide's rage seemed to be cooling down, just to be replaced with sorrow. As Autobots they had to consider every life as equally precious, but war forced them to weigh spark against spark, friends against strangers, near-adults against sparklings.
For a moment he was grateful that his own two students, Smokescreen and Trailbreaker, rarely went directly into a battle. Tacticians worked in the background. Tacticians, though, were those who were obligated to render hard decisions, despite all of their own moral and feelings, too. When he spoke, he tried to sound as neutral as possible:
"If you give the order now, their delay will only have minimal consequences."
Prowl always calculated with buffer time, if possible. A precaution, that had paid off more than once.
"Ya really cold as ice, aren't ya?", said Ironhide bitterly. Briefly he shuttered his optics, a sign of internal communication. "They will depart in eight breems. Now ah can only hope they return."
A problem solved, a worry less. "Thank you."
Beneath them the mood had changed abruptly. The laughter and jokes had vanished, instead the previous recruits collected the weapons. The soldiers had gotten their marching orders.
"Forget it. If Prime trusts ya, ah should do the same."
So simple, so plain. So typically Ironhide. Prowl couldn't suppress the smile, just as little as he could deny the warm feeling that bloomed deep within.
However, Ironhide hadn't quite finished:
"But we aren't blind, ya know? We still see if something isn't right, and things between ya and Jazz aren't."
Was it that obvious? Prowl's doorwings twitched, otherwise he showed no reaction. He knew only too well, that Ironhide wasn't someone who realized these things on his own and who wanted to talk with the mechs involved. That meant, Optimus Prime must have sent him. A very considerate action; after all, a hearing with Prime himself wouldn't improve anything, except the rumour mill.
"We work well together."
"And otherwise?" Prowl's silence was enough of an answer. "Ah know, that ya aren't the most empathetic mech and he can be more stubborn than a cyberslug, but at least try."
"We do. Some mechs just aren't compatible."
"Could be," the soldier admitted. "But Jazz and ya... together ya have the greatest successes. And that's the reason why Prime wants to send ya ta takeover the coordination of the defenses in Typhern." He grinned. "So ya better play nice with each other."
Taken aback, the tactician just stared at Ironhide. "Jazz and I? Together?", he asked unbelieving.
The old mech nodded.
With a small groan, Prowl covered his optics. Of all mechs, Jazz. He could already feel his future processor pains. "Primus... Prime really likes to make my life more complicated."
Next to him Ironhide began to laugh.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
No Jazz this chapter, because he's busy. ;) But don't worry, he'll be in the next chapter.
Summary: Ironhide isn't obeying Prowl's orders. With good reason?
4. Consideration
Prowl hurried through the empty, dark corridors of the Autobots' third garrison in Iacon. Most soldiers were already on their way to Typhern to strengthen the armed forces stationed there. According to his calculations the tanks of the Third Garrison were indispensable for the frontlines if it came to a major offensive. Only they had the sheer firepower and the required armor to pressure the Decepticon advance to a standstill in the right places and to drive them back.
Therefore it was alarming that with the troops Delta and Phie a whole quarter of the garrison was still here. He should have received confirmation of their departure a full orn ago. Instead he had gotten nothing. When he inquired as to why, Commandant Fireshot explained testily that both troops were held back on Ironhide's explicit order.
Just why had Ironhide disregarded his orders? Didn't he understand how much was at stake? Usually he could trust Ironhide on a professional level and maybe this was the reason Prowl felt so angry about this.
But maybe the anger was due to the fact that the tactician had worked for nearly eight orns without any rest. Elita-One's refusal to send one of her own tacticians from the peacezones for support added only to it.
Forcefully he entered the observation deck on which the surveillance sensors last recorded Ironhide.
It was quiet here, Prowl suddenly realized. No machines, no other Autobots, no weaponfire reached is audial sensors. He paused while his optics adapted to the twilight. The deck seemed empty, he was alone. No one who wished to hear his opinion, no one who doubted his plans, no one who expected a miracle only to give him the blame when it didn't come.
Although rationally he knew that Ironhide was here somewhere, he relaxed marginally for the first time in orns. The varying warnings that appeared were just one symptom of his exhaustion. When did he drink his last energon cube? He couldn't remember.
Tiredly, he corrected his schedule. Refuelling now came first, before his reports, meetings and other endless trifles. It was illogical to risk working in a sub-optimal condition any longer.
His heavy steps echoed across the room as he searched for the soldier. Finally, far ahead on the other side he discovered Ironhide's silhouette against the dark city, but the mech didn't turn around. Instead he kept looking down onto the area formerly known as the 'Square of Solidarity' as if he were some ancient memorial or statue.
The square beneath the dome was brightly illuminated. The light was even enough to wrest a few of the grand towers and bridges of Iacon from the dark. Prowl gave them a short wistful glance, thankful deep shadows concealed the gaping wounds in the architecture. All too easily could he assign names and memories long past to every single crater. Since then, the towers had been abandoned and Iacon had transformed into a military base, that had mostly retreated into the underground for protection. The only thing that was still on the surface, were the garrisons and the automatic artillery. They formed the first line of defence in case of attack.
"Ironhide," he greeted tersely as he stopped behind the bot. "Is it true, that you kept the troops Delta and Phie of the Third Garrison behind?"
The weapon master finally showed that he had noticed Prowl and turned just as far as needed to look into his face. "Yeah, that ah did," he said without a hint of an apology.
"And what in Primus name were you thinking?", snarled Prowl as all the tensions and worries of the last orns found their outlet. "I planned with them, trusted them to protect the rear of Front 21 in Typhern! But to do this they need to be in Typhern and not here! You're risking the lives of all of us!"
Ironhide clenched his hands, as his own temper flared. "Ah ain't risking anything! Typhern or here, there is no diff'rence. That lot ar' slagging recruits!"
So, that was Ironhide's problem. The troops Delta and Phie consisted of formerly neutrals who fled to Iacon, after the plains south of the sea of rust were contaminated. Of the twenty Deca-Orn standard weapons training under Ironhide's watch they had completed just about two-thirds of it. Nevertheless, the Autobots needed them and their abilities.
"Recruits, that should be on their way to Typher by now ."
"Just ta die there for nothing!"
As if that was not the bald truth for all their soldiers in the end. Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment and brought his own feelings under control. Emotions didn't help here. Primus help him, he had to deal with this problem, then have an Energoncube and get a few klicks recharge...
"Never for nothing, Ironhide. And they are only secondary reserve."
"For the frontlines!", accused the weaponmaster furiously.
His doorwings sagged a little. "Yes. They are soldiers."
"Slag it, Prowl!" The fist hit the translucent quartzose shield with a loud boom. The younger mech flinched, and nearly stepped back. "Look at them! They ain't ready. They are too young!"
Unsettled by Ironhide's uncharacteristic behaviour and a bit intimidated, Prowl followed the order. Beneath them trained different soldiers together, shooting at targets, and practising transforming to have no gaps in their defense. They were good, but not as good as the rest of the Third Garrison, their tank elite.
Prowl had already known that. He evaluated their progress in training and he had been the one who decided that they were ready for their first battle. But in all the chaos he hadn't had the time to read their personal information. With growing horror, he realized what really disturbed the old soldier – none of the training recruits were completely upgraded into their final frame that marked them as adults.
Too young. Too young to kill. Too young for this war. Maybe too young to survive at the frontlines.
Ironhide saw his dismay with satisfaction. "Ya didn't know, eh?"
"No." He should have read the personal information. But the new reports about the installed defense lines in Typhern had come in and needed to be analysed. "Ironhide... I can't change the plans any more. They have progressed too far. All other qualified troops are too far away or have already different jobs." He couldn't take his optics from the younglings beneath. "I'm sorry."
He would send half children into battle, worse, to the frontlines. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see the helpless anger and betrayal on Ironhide's face, as he – again – went against every moral code.
"Tz, of course ya are." The acidness burned.
But instead of fulfilling Prowl's expectations and to burst into a blind rage came a severe silence, in which both simply stood next to each other and watched the recruits. They joked with each other, laughed and two of them even tried to prank a superior, if Prowl correctly interpreted their intentions with the green paint.
"If we don't send them, what happens?" Ironhide finally asked with a rough voice that could barely restrain his emotions.
He knew the data by spark, had calculated it again and again, had corrected and adjusted it to every detail he had with near obsession. "There is a chance of one in ten that the Decepticons will break through Segment 21 of our flank. If that happens, without these troops nothing would stop them reaching the very core of Typhern."
"They would win." And raze the city to the ground, kill all the citizens and kidnap the sparklings to reprogram them into loyal Decepticons.
"Yes."
"Slag," cursed Ironhide.
Prowl noticed with relief that Ironhide's rage seemed to be cooling down, just to be replaced with sorrow. As Autobots they had to consider every life as equally precious, but war forced them to weigh spark against spark, friends against strangers, near-adults against sparklings.
For a moment he was grateful that his own two students, Smokescreen and Trailbreaker, rarely went directly into a battle. Tacticians worked in the background. Tacticians, though, were those who were obligated to render hard decisions, despite all of their own moral and feelings, too. When he spoke, he tried to sound as neutral as possible:
"If you give the order now, their delay will only have minimal consequences."
Prowl always calculated with buffer time, if possible. A precaution, that had paid off more than once.
"Ya really cold as ice, aren't ya?", said Ironhide bitterly. Briefly he shuttered his optics, a sign of internal communication. "They will depart in eight breems. Now ah can only hope they return."
A problem solved, a worry less. "Thank you."
Beneath them the mood had changed abruptly. The laughter and jokes had vanished, instead the previous recruits collected the weapons. The soldiers had gotten their marching orders.
"Forget it. If Prime trusts ya, ah should do the same."
So simple, so plain. So typically Ironhide. Prowl couldn't suppress the smile, just as little as he could deny the warm feeling that bloomed deep within.
However, Ironhide hadn't quite finished:
"But we aren't blind, ya know? We still see if something isn't right, and things between ya and Jazz aren't."
Was it that obvious? Prowl's doorwings twitched, otherwise he showed no reaction. He knew only too well, that Ironhide wasn't someone who realized these things on his own and who wanted to talk with the mechs involved. That meant, Optimus Prime must have sent him. A very considerate action; after all, a hearing with Prime himself wouldn't improve anything, except the rumour mill.
"We work well together."
"And otherwise?" Prowl's silence was enough of an answer. "Ah know, that ya aren't the most empathetic mech and he can be more stubborn than a cyberslug, but at least try."
"We do. Some mechs just aren't compatible."
"Could be," the soldier admitted. "But Jazz and ya... together ya have the greatest successes. And that's the reason why Prime wants to send ya ta takeover the coordination of the defenses in Typhern." He grinned. "So ya better play nice with each other."
Taken aback, the tactician just stared at Ironhide. "Jazz and I? Together?", he asked unbelieving.
The old mech nodded.
With a small groan, Prowl covered his optics. Of all mechs, Jazz. He could already feel his future processor pains. "Primus... Prime really likes to make my life more complicated."
Next to him Ironhide began to laugh.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
No Jazz this chapter, because he's busy. ;) But don't worry, he'll be in the next chapter.
