Orns of a tactician 5
Jan. 15th, 2012 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silberstreifBeta: Starfire201 & taralynden
Summary: Sometimes the enemy is withing, but what to do about him?
The ponderous door of the ancient chrome tower, which housed the council hall and core of the administration system, fell shut behind Prowl. The dull sound roared briefly through the dark street canyons of Typhern, then gradually died out. The youngest and weakest inhabitants had already fled into safe back country or into one of the many bunkers, while every mech fit for action had been drafted into the Autobot army. Only some stubborn rebels and the town's councillors, who insisted on taking part in the city's defence, persevered. Typhern was a sinister, silent moloch, waiting for the inevitable.
Prowl glanced over the deepest shadows of Chrome Square out of which phantomlike his bodyguards appeared. They were tall, had no striking colours or physical characteristics and were heavily armed. They formed a loose circle around him and waited quietly, permanently scanning the surroundings for suspicious signs. On the roofs snipers were in position. But all seemed peaceful, or Prowl would have been informed immediately.
He finally broke away from his memories of the just aborted negotiations and transformed. A few klicks afterwards, the convoy raced over empty highspeedpaths, always towards city walls.
Slowly the worries and thoughts of the tactician settled down into a fragile, quiet peace. Speeding down the old and well-crafted streets, taking turns at maximum speed and not braking for anything gave him a sense of freedom, he was seldom able to indulge in. Of course, the speed was necessary and time precious. But for a moment he was nearly able to forget it all.
If he was truthful, he liked Typhern better since most people had left it. The citizens expectations of a miraculous rescue, the anger when he dashed that hope, the following fear and desperation... It had been suffocating.
Now, all he had to do was to drive as fast as possible, which he did gladly.
On a longer straight track, one bodyguard suddenly swerved out, accelerating until he was nose to nose with the tactician. Tension momentarily rippled through the convoy, but quickly subsided. Prowl already had a notion who this could be. Confirmation came when he received a ping on his most secured and secret frequency.
"Jazz," he greeted tersely as his peace vanished. "What is the news?"
"A nice 'hello' to you, too... Whatever... The Decepticons are moving forward and gathering in the north. Your team thinks they'll attack in half an orn." The chief of the Black Ops team spoke rushed, between the words worry and urgency could be heard. "Ah, yes, and Smokey wants you out of Typhern last orn. Even with my people, I can't guarantee your safety any more."
His people? Alarmed, Prowl broadcast an identity ping to the guards. Only Autobot identifications came back, but no designations, troop names or position in the army. These weren't regular soldiers, but a special operation troop of Jazz's detachment. The spy really must fear for the worst, when he used his own people.
"I see. Thank you for your troubles."
A short, forced laugh. "Just doing my job. But what about you? How went negotiations?"
With a heavy spark, he recalled those long, frustrating orns during which he had realized, why Optimus Prime in wise foresight had dispatched two of his highest-ranked officers to Typhern: the city council was corrupt and power-hungry. While Jazz took over organising the army in the background, Prowl tried to make them see reason - and failed. Ultimately, he had left today's meeting early, resigned to the fact that his attendance had no positive effect. Gloomily he conveyed the bad news.
"They didn't change their opinion and still demand that it's their right to control the Autobot army as long as it is used to protect their town."
An angry huff of the engine next to him, was nearly the only sound other than the wind as they drove across the high bridge. Beneath them sprawled the skyscrapers and interlaced levels of Typhern.
"Those rusty bolts of cleaning drones! Only Prime has the right to command the army and we were appointed by him. Will they never catch on?"
"They already do," answered Prowl soberly. He had asked himself exactly the same question after the first negotiation. "But they don't care. The councillors are using Typhern and its inhabitants as leverage to try and influence our decision."
"Just say how it is: they have taken this town as a hostage," growled the saboteur. "My agents report that their plan is to stir up a riot. They just have to limit the access to the energon and blame us. And of course, Typhern's people trust and believe them."
It was a nightmarish scenario for any tactician: a battle not just against external enemies, but internal, against your own people, too. No army in the universe was prepared for this, a bloody defeat was inevitable. Prowl's battle computer nearly overclocked with all the hasty calculations and endless possibilities. With every result he got more nauseous.
"We can't let this happen."
"Exactly my opinion," replied Jazz. "We have to anticipate them."
"How?" Prowl doubted, but deep in his spark hoped, that the other saw solution, he himself couldn't discover.
A longer pause was the only hint that Jazz was preparing his answer thoroughly. "They risk their own town, the army that protects them and demand power, they have no right to. To me, that bunch aren't Autobots any more and I will treat them as such."
His spark plummeted and appalled, he slowed down for a moment. "You want to kill them!"
"Yes," was the cold answer.
Didn't the spy understand, how many laws and moralities he was violating? While accelerating again, Prowl hissed: "They are high-ranking Autobot politicians! Their assassination contradicts the Autobot-Code."
"And? Nobody has to know anything, and please, don't claim you've never acted against the Code before."
Memories flashed through his cortex, only a few orns old. Young, too young, recruits, who as troops Delta and Phi, fulfilled their duty. And precisely those recruits were now in double danger thanks to the councillors. He shoved the guilt aside.
"It's still murder."
For a short moment the city wall could be seen between the houses. They were soon there.
"It's still war," echoed Jazz cynically. "And our honoured councillors intend to hand over this town with open gates."
"I know!" But assassination between Autobots couldn't, mustn't be the right answer.
Steeply descended the street and with a roar, the convoy disappeared into a tunnel, which was illuminated by green emergency lighting. Flickering light flitted over their metallic surfaces. None of the 'bots said anything. With every metre they covered, they lost more valuable time.
Prowl tried desperately to find a better solution.
Even if they could overtake the energon distribution, urban riots would happen and the Autobots would lose trust, something they couldn't risk. Only in the bunkers were the younglings safe and they needed the citizens as soldiers on the battlefield. Further negotiations were ruled out. He didn't believe that they would get anywhere and the tactician himself was too big a target to stay in town any longer. He had to withdraw behind the front lines and retake coordination of the troops. His absence had been painfully noticed. Jazz, on the other hand, was officially not even in town!
Not matter how he looked at it, there would be dead and injured bots. All he could do was to choose, between a big risk and a comparably small sacrifice. Between horrible possibilities and certain murder.
In the distance appeared the end of the tunnel, which was directly in front of the town's gates. Time was up. They had to come to a decision. Now.
"So?", asked the chief of the Black Ops very quietly. "Do you have a better idea?"
For a short moment, morality and reason waged war against each other, then he did, what logic dictated him to. As ever.
"No," he admitted with the horrible feeling of having failed. They passed through the shadows of the tunnel and were in the open again. "You have a free hand."
"Good." The single word cut as deep as an energon dagger. "Otherwise, maybe it would have gone ugly."
Without another word, the spy turned left and drifted into a narrow side street. An astrosecond later, he vanished from Prowl's sight.
The convoy rushed on, through gigantic gates, out into the barren plain. Behind them, the gates closed them off from the city. Nobody could get into or leave by the official way any more. The Praxian accelerated and left Typhern far behind. He wanted to arrive at the secret tactical base as fast as possible to catch up with his neglected work. Plans needed a finishing touch according to new data that had kept incoming during his diplomatic duties. A group meeting with his subordinates was necessary, too.
Suddenly a flash brightened up the area, followed by a loud thunder. Prowl slammed on the brakes, he and the others transformed and looked back with quiet horror. A hot blast wave hit them. In the distance, the chrome tower, the town's pride, staggered agonisingly slowly to earth, ripped apart over and over by more explosions. The ground itself trembled as the silver colossus hit it and shattered into thousands of pieces.
Abruptly, Radio frequencies awoke to life. Panic-fuelled voices were calmed, those confused were informed about an unexpected Decepticon attack, aggressive ones called for revenge. Many turned to their superiors. Quickly, Prowl was confronted with frantic enquiries for further orders.
But the tactician kept quiet and and looked frozen at the new silhouette of Typhern. The doorwings on his back trembled. The timing was wrong. When Jazz suggested the assassination, the bombs had already been in place. Had the master spy really waited for his opinion? Or would he have activated them anyway? His last sentence hinted for the latter. A nasty suspicion crept upon Prowl. Did Jazz manipulate him, so that Prowl couldn't report him to Optimus Prime, because he was part of the crime?
Bitterly, he realized that he had given his consent anyway. The first dead in Typhern, the first civil victims, which officially were under his protection, had died at Autobot hand. Indirectly by his own hand.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure, if it had been necessary.
Prowl choked.
Summary: Sometimes the enemy is withing, but what to do about him?
5. Precaution
The ponderous door of the ancient chrome tower, which housed the council hall and core of the administration system, fell shut behind Prowl. The dull sound roared briefly through the dark street canyons of Typhern, then gradually died out. The youngest and weakest inhabitants had already fled into safe back country or into one of the many bunkers, while every mech fit for action had been drafted into the Autobot army. Only some stubborn rebels and the town's councillors, who insisted on taking part in the city's defence, persevered. Typhern was a sinister, silent moloch, waiting for the inevitable.
Prowl glanced over the deepest shadows of Chrome Square out of which phantomlike his bodyguards appeared. They were tall, had no striking colours or physical characteristics and were heavily armed. They formed a loose circle around him and waited quietly, permanently scanning the surroundings for suspicious signs. On the roofs snipers were in position. But all seemed peaceful, or Prowl would have been informed immediately.
He finally broke away from his memories of the just aborted negotiations and transformed. A few klicks afterwards, the convoy raced over empty highspeedpaths, always towards city walls.
Slowly the worries and thoughts of the tactician settled down into a fragile, quiet peace. Speeding down the old and well-crafted streets, taking turns at maximum speed and not braking for anything gave him a sense of freedom, he was seldom able to indulge in. Of course, the speed was necessary and time precious. But for a moment he was nearly able to forget it all.
If he was truthful, he liked Typhern better since most people had left it. The citizens expectations of a miraculous rescue, the anger when he dashed that hope, the following fear and desperation... It had been suffocating.
Now, all he had to do was to drive as fast as possible, which he did gladly.
On a longer straight track, one bodyguard suddenly swerved out, accelerating until he was nose to nose with the tactician. Tension momentarily rippled through the convoy, but quickly subsided. Prowl already had a notion who this could be. Confirmation came when he received a ping on his most secured and secret frequency.
"Jazz," he greeted tersely as his peace vanished. "What is the news?"
"A nice 'hello' to you, too... Whatever... The Decepticons are moving forward and gathering in the north. Your team thinks they'll attack in half an orn." The chief of the Black Ops team spoke rushed, between the words worry and urgency could be heard. "Ah, yes, and Smokey wants you out of Typhern last orn. Even with my people, I can't guarantee your safety any more."
His people? Alarmed, Prowl broadcast an identity ping to the guards. Only Autobot identifications came back, but no designations, troop names or position in the army. These weren't regular soldiers, but a special operation troop of Jazz's detachment. The spy really must fear for the worst, when he used his own people.
"I see. Thank you for your troubles."
A short, forced laugh. "Just doing my job. But what about you? How went negotiations?"
With a heavy spark, he recalled those long, frustrating orns during which he had realized, why Optimus Prime in wise foresight had dispatched two of his highest-ranked officers to Typhern: the city council was corrupt and power-hungry. While Jazz took over organising the army in the background, Prowl tried to make them see reason - and failed. Ultimately, he had left today's meeting early, resigned to the fact that his attendance had no positive effect. Gloomily he conveyed the bad news.
"They didn't change their opinion and still demand that it's their right to control the Autobot army as long as it is used to protect their town."
An angry huff of the engine next to him, was nearly the only sound other than the wind as they drove across the high bridge. Beneath them sprawled the skyscrapers and interlaced levels of Typhern.
"Those rusty bolts of cleaning drones! Only Prime has the right to command the army and we were appointed by him. Will they never catch on?"
"They already do," answered Prowl soberly. He had asked himself exactly the same question after the first negotiation. "But they don't care. The councillors are using Typhern and its inhabitants as leverage to try and influence our decision."
"Just say how it is: they have taken this town as a hostage," growled the saboteur. "My agents report that their plan is to stir up a riot. They just have to limit the access to the energon and blame us. And of course, Typhern's people trust and believe them."
It was a nightmarish scenario for any tactician: a battle not just against external enemies, but internal, against your own people, too. No army in the universe was prepared for this, a bloody defeat was inevitable. Prowl's battle computer nearly overclocked with all the hasty calculations and endless possibilities. With every result he got more nauseous.
"We can't let this happen."
"Exactly my opinion," replied Jazz. "We have to anticipate them."
"How?" Prowl doubted, but deep in his spark hoped, that the other saw solution, he himself couldn't discover.
A longer pause was the only hint that Jazz was preparing his answer thoroughly. "They risk their own town, the army that protects them and demand power, they have no right to. To me, that bunch aren't Autobots any more and I will treat them as such."
His spark plummeted and appalled, he slowed down for a moment. "You want to kill them!"
"Yes," was the cold answer.
Didn't the spy understand, how many laws and moralities he was violating? While accelerating again, Prowl hissed: "They are high-ranking Autobot politicians! Their assassination contradicts the Autobot-Code."
"And? Nobody has to know anything, and please, don't claim you've never acted against the Code before."
Memories flashed through his cortex, only a few orns old. Young, too young, recruits, who as troops Delta and Phi, fulfilled their duty. And precisely those recruits were now in double danger thanks to the councillors. He shoved the guilt aside.
"It's still murder."
For a short moment the city wall could be seen between the houses. They were soon there.
"It's still war," echoed Jazz cynically. "And our honoured councillors intend to hand over this town with open gates."
"I know!" But assassination between Autobots couldn't, mustn't be the right answer.
Steeply descended the street and with a roar, the convoy disappeared into a tunnel, which was illuminated by green emergency lighting. Flickering light flitted over their metallic surfaces. None of the 'bots said anything. With every metre they covered, they lost more valuable time.
Prowl tried desperately to find a better solution.
Even if they could overtake the energon distribution, urban riots would happen and the Autobots would lose trust, something they couldn't risk. Only in the bunkers were the younglings safe and they needed the citizens as soldiers on the battlefield. Further negotiations were ruled out. He didn't believe that they would get anywhere and the tactician himself was too big a target to stay in town any longer. He had to withdraw behind the front lines and retake coordination of the troops. His absence had been painfully noticed. Jazz, on the other hand, was officially not even in town!
Not matter how he looked at it, there would be dead and injured bots. All he could do was to choose, between a big risk and a comparably small sacrifice. Between horrible possibilities and certain murder.
In the distance appeared the end of the tunnel, which was directly in front of the town's gates. Time was up. They had to come to a decision. Now.
"So?", asked the chief of the Black Ops very quietly. "Do you have a better idea?"
For a short moment, morality and reason waged war against each other, then he did, what logic dictated him to. As ever.
"No," he admitted with the horrible feeling of having failed. They passed through the shadows of the tunnel and were in the open again. "You have a free hand."
"Good." The single word cut as deep as an energon dagger. "Otherwise, maybe it would have gone ugly."
Without another word, the spy turned left and drifted into a narrow side street. An astrosecond later, he vanished from Prowl's sight.
The convoy rushed on, through gigantic gates, out into the barren plain. Behind them, the gates closed them off from the city. Nobody could get into or leave by the official way any more. The Praxian accelerated and left Typhern far behind. He wanted to arrive at the secret tactical base as fast as possible to catch up with his neglected work. Plans needed a finishing touch according to new data that had kept incoming during his diplomatic duties. A group meeting with his subordinates was necessary, too.
Suddenly a flash brightened up the area, followed by a loud thunder. Prowl slammed on the brakes, he and the others transformed and looked back with quiet horror. A hot blast wave hit them. In the distance, the chrome tower, the town's pride, staggered agonisingly slowly to earth, ripped apart over and over by more explosions. The ground itself trembled as the silver colossus hit it and shattered into thousands of pieces.
Abruptly, Radio frequencies awoke to life. Panic-fuelled voices were calmed, those confused were informed about an unexpected Decepticon attack, aggressive ones called for revenge. Many turned to their superiors. Quickly, Prowl was confronted with frantic enquiries for further orders.
But the tactician kept quiet and and looked frozen at the new silhouette of Typhern. The doorwings on his back trembled. The timing was wrong. When Jazz suggested the assassination, the bombs had already been in place. Had the master spy really waited for his opinion? Or would he have activated them anyway? His last sentence hinted for the latter. A nasty suspicion crept upon Prowl. Did Jazz manipulate him, so that Prowl couldn't report him to Optimus Prime, because he was part of the crime?
Bitterly, he realized that he had given his consent anyway. The first dead in Typhern, the first civil victims, which officially were under his protection, had died at Autobot hand. Indirectly by his own hand.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure, if it had been necessary.
Prowl choked.
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Date: 2012-01-15 09:13 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-01-15 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-16 01:24 am (UTC)The fallout will come, but not in the next chapter. The battle awaits and we'll see the consequences of all those decisions in the last five chapters.