Orns of a tactician 6
Jan. 23rd, 2012 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silberstreifDisclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Prowl or anything recognizable.
Beta: Starfire201 and taralynden
Summary: The attack on Typhern.
Prowl's hand swept almost tenderly across the dark, humming computer terminals in the small room of the mobile, tactical operations centre, before he walked over to one of the four berths. Two were already occupied by unresponsive mechs, heavily linked up into the mainframe. Only an occasional twitch showed that they were indeed awake and working. The fourth berth, normally reserved for his student, would remain empty.
Once, he had led battles from Iacon; however, 30 vorns ago Decepticons created an interference field across the whole planet, making his highly secret and encrypted transmissions, where every astrosecond made a notable difference, impossible. At first, he had been exasperated about the new necessity to regularly leave Iacon and with it his tactical mainframe, but then scientists built this small headquarters exactly according to his wishes. It was a small miracle of technology and it was his realm, one of the few places where he felt truly comfortable.
Today he hadn't the luxury of being alone. His two subordinates had taken over his work, while he had been held up with useless negotiations, and their assistance was invaluable to manage the data onslaught during battle. Bumper, a small orange minibot, had been taught by Prowl for a few deca-orns, then he got fascinated by the technology itself and chose tactical communication officer as his career path. A wise and suiting choice, Prowl admitted privately, even though he had lost another potential student.
The other one Prowl didn't know as well, even though they had worked together on many operations. Steelplate was a quiet, dedicated tactician that seldom smiled. Together with his ill-kept, dark blue frame, he was often underestimated. Prowl knew from his file, that he was still mourning the deactivation of his family in a senseless bombing at the beginning of the war. It showed sometimes in his ruthless and merciless methods against the Decepticons. Despite this, Steelplate had proven to be a terrific tactician and was one of the few Prowl considered as a possible replacement for the head of the Tactical Department.
As Prowl lay down on his berth, his plates slid aside, revealing dozens of cables searching for their ports on the berth. When they had found them, non-vital systems closed down, whole new progressing units appeared, graphs flared in his HUD, and eventually, reality dissipated in an endless, steady stream of data and data bases, messages and signals. For the first time in deca-orns, Prowl found himself relaxing.
"Welcome, Sir. New jamming frequencies on all channels for two klicks," Bumper informed his newly arrived senior across the stream via radio.
"As expected." And just as predicted. "Activate our interference field." He opened his most encrypted connection. "Prowl to Smokescreen. It has begun."
"Copy that and out," was the short answer of his student. Hopefully, none of the Decepticons had detected the short connection this early.
Normally, Smokescreen's place would have been next to Prowl's berth. But his new job meant, he was responsible for the very close and constant supervision of many agents. And that would have led to conversations about their most secret operations via radio across a whole battlefield littered with enemies trying to decrypt their code. A layman was able to see that this option was too dangerous, so Jazz and Prowl had decided that all the tactical Live-Support for the BlackOps would be taken over by Smokescreen, and not – as normal – be shared by the tacticians. Instead of the many bodyguards Prowl's HQ had, Smokescreen would rely entirely on secrecy and Jazz's people as protection, while trying to stay as close to the agents as possible.
"Troop movements in sectors 76, 87 and 102," said Steelplate, every word precise. "As expected, they're coming from north and advance across the bridges."
"Observe those bridges, Steelplate. Detonate them, when more than 45 Decepticons are on one. Bumper, take over surveillance of the sector movements."
"Roger," was the technician's enthusiastic answer, followed by a cool "Copy that" from Steelplate. Silence lasted only a few kliks, then: "Bridge four destroyed. Detonation of bridge two and five imminent. Estimated deaths: 120."
"Good. Bumper?"
"Troop movements are increasing. Movement in all outer sectors. Seems to be a large-scale attack."
Worried, Prowl called up Bumper's maps. He had calculated for the possibility of a large-scale attack on all fronts, and still had hoped that the Decepticons would choose another tactic. This one could lead to a battle of attrition, with many, many deactivated on both sides. But Bumper's analysis was flawless.
"It's a major offensive," he confirmed and gave all troops new, refined orders.
After this, events happened fast. Steelplate destroyed all the bridges, but the Decepticons had anticipated this and brought makeshift bridges of their own. Around a third of those were demolished by BlackOps, before they had to fall back. The enemy advanced further.
"Sir," interrupted Bumper after a fast and intensive discussion between the two tacticians. "Hacker attacks are reducing my capacities to below 50 percent. By the look of it, it's Soundwave."
Soundwave, a mech who always complicated everything. Couldn't he have stayed in Kaon to enjoy one of the spectacular magnetic storms? But Soundwave wasn't Megatron's shadowmech and mech for the more 'sensitive' orders for nothing.
"Understood. Send your other data to me and concentrate on fending him off."
The Decepticons approached in spite of traps and ambushes, courtesy of Jazz and Smokescreen, fast in a broad front across the plain towards the inner sectors.
"Smokescreen to Prowl. Sightings of multiple mechs that are suspected to be part of gestalts. Among them, members of Bruticus."
"Thank you. Can you eliminate the team leaders?" The last thing he needed was a fully functional gestalt with aggression problems of the size of Cybertron's moons.
"We'll try. Out."
Again they minimally changed their attack strategy, while Smokescreen ordered sharp shooters as a countermeasure. Prowl's hope that the snipers could at least slow the advancing Decepticons disappeared quickly.
"They've reached the bridges of the inner sectors," Steelplate said in a level tone.
"Same game as before," ordered Prowl and opened his broadband connection. "To all Autobots. The enemy is advancing. Prepare for combat."
He switched over to individual troops and gave them their exact attacking orders. Before he could finish, one of the commanders sent a message with highest priority:
"Enemy contact! I repeat, enemy contact in sector 45!"
It was followed by similar messages from other sectors. Obviously, the Decepticons wanted to break through with all their might at a few chosen points. But the points seemed random. What was their strategy? Prowl couldn't see one, other than an attack based solely on violence and might. Well, that also wasn't unusual.
"Casualties in sector 35 to 40 between 25 and 30 percent."
"If beneath 65 percent request primary support of the sector."
They kept the front lines steady, forcing the Decepticons to retreat in a few sectors. However, just as Prowl had feared, the death toll was high. He searched in vain for a better strategy, for an idea to stop this attrition policy. Instead, he tried to advise the skirmishes directly, directed soldiers were they were needed and avoided thinking about the sparks that were forever lost. He could not afford to doubt. Not now. Typhern was worth it. It had to be. An urgent call yanked him out of his frenzy.
"Smokescreen to Prowl. We have a small problem here... A team found a bomb in sector two and deactivated it."
He sounded hesitant, worried, which raised red flags within the battle tactician. Prowl pinged Steelplate to take over his work for a moment and concentrated himself on the radio contact: "Details, Smokescreen."
"Okay! Bomb, plutonium-based, enough oomph to injure or kill most bots in the area. Prowl, it was hidden on the south side of the Vector Prime-bunker." Right there, where the whole air defense of sector two was stationed. Right there, were a bomb would cause the most damage.
Prowl could feel his air filter working faster. "Understood. Check all other vulnerable sites."
"I'll do my best. Smokescreen out."
He looked over the map, took over his duties again, but the bomb was always on his mind. How had they missed it? How had it been transported, how hidden? So far into their security zone, it should have been impossible. But far worse was the single resonating thought: Were there more? And another thing was strange. Normally, the fights in the air were hardest for the Autobots, because they had no matching troops to the Seekers. But there had only been scattered sightings. Was Starscream really not using this chance at glory? No, it was Starscream. Nothing short of Megatron's sudden death would keep him away from here. So, where were the Seekers? Were they waiting for more bombs, so that they hadn't to fear air defence?
"Sector 32 and 34 free from Decepticons. Furthermore, they are retreating in sectors 36 and 38 to 40."
Finally good news. "Wonderful. Bumper, what about Soundwave?"
"Just normal attacks. He's having a tough time with our firewalls," said the technician, pleased with himself.
Suddenly, various points on the maps that represented the bots on the battlefield went dark. A brief look on the locations confirmed his worst assumptions.
"Prowl to all air defense bases. State your location and situation."
Static. Then, "Base in sector two here. Unharmed." Sector after sector called in, but in the end a significant number was missing. Reports of a sudden explosion, that killed bots and destroyed most of the artillery gave more than a clue what had happened. Hurriedly Prowl fed his maps and statistics the newest information – and created a picture that chilled the energon in his cables. The Decepticons had placed the bombs with strategic care, creating air corridors without any Autobot air defence. He had to mobilise their own fliers!
"Smokescreen to Prowl. Seeker squadron from east, sector 26."
Red flashing points appeared on the map, moving fast, directly towards the new corridors, towards Typhern. They would slaughter the citizens! "Prowl to Autobot Fliers. Stop the Seekers with all available means!"
Steelplate had managed the normal coordination and communication meanwhile: "We're getting reports about strange Seeker behaviour. They're flying very high in a tight formation and ignoring everything below."
Grimly, Prowl read his maps and statistics. He had the sinking feeling that he was overlooking something, but he couldn't see it. The unprotected air corridors led in a direct line from the less embattled front lines, towards the zone where the support troops were waiting, to the core of Typhern. It made no sense to send the Seekers into Typhern. They were fantastic soldiers in the air, but on ground weak and despite able to kill many civilians; they would never be able to hold the city. So what was their mission? What didn't he see?
"The Seekers are separating!" Steelplate sounded troubled, an uncommon lapse for him. "They have released something."
"Something?"
All at once, Prowl felt as if he were hit by Superion's fist. Systems aborted and shut down, the data stream flared and plunged into blackness, time lost its meaning. Deep inside, something contorted in agony. As the assault abated, his circuitry slowly transmitted anew. It hurt, but he forced himself to regain access to stream before the tactical mainframe or his own processor had completely rebooted.
"EMP attack!" gasped Bumper, aghast.
"This strong?" doubted Steelplate, while trying hastily to regulate the jumbled data stream. "We're too far from the battlefield."
They were. Normally. But things change and improve, especially if you had a mad scientist on the other side. "That's Shockwave's new weapon!" realised Prowl with a deep horror.
And if they could feel it here, far away in a shielded and supposedly safe cabin, then the impact on the battlefield had to be apocalyptic. No wonder, that the seekers were flying so high, or that they released the EMP-bomb only far inside Autobot domain. Too near, and they would have hurt their own soldiers. Despairing, he counted the life signs of his Bots. Too few. All the support troops in affected ten sectors had perished, alongside them many frontliners. Heavily injured bots were counted on fifteen sectors more.
"Primus help us...," whispered Bumper. At least Soundwave's attacks had abruptly ended. Was the Decepticon affected, too? Whatever the reason was, it thankfully gave Bumper the chance to help his colleagues to defragment the data and to restore their communication lines.
The battle had turned. Now, they were on the defensive, on a few points already completely overrun. Sector after sector fell. Prowl tried to close their lines, to recover a strong front – but without support it was impossible. They were losing fast. An ominous possibility unfolded in his CPU, weighted heavily on his spark: retreat. Should he let Typhern fall, despite the trapped, trusting civilians, just to save more of his soldiers? Should he abandon this city, their oath to protect it and the still existing, although decreasing, chance at victory, simply because the cost was too high? With an ashy taste, he thought back to the orns leading up to this moment: Moonblaster and Barrel, Jazz's other dead agents, the sacrifice of Ironhide's younglings, the Chrome tower, and the already fallen soldiers... Had all their sacrifices been meaningless?
"Prowl," reported in a panicky Smokescreen. "The Seekers are coming back."
"No...," Prowl heard himself say, but his student was right. The Seekers had veered around, gathered again and started the exact same manoeuvre at the other end of Typhern. The few intact Autobot fliers were kept at bay by a whole flight cluster of Seekers.
He couldn't stop them. He couldn't do anything, but warn the others, knowing it was futile. Nothing, nothing could save them.
"Prowl to all soldiers: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack."
If the second EMP was even half as strong as the first one, every further fight was senseless.
"I repeat: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack."
Then everything went dark as the attack devoured his words forever.
It was harder to come online this time, to get his own systems running. Pain lingered. Prowl ignored the unimportant data, concentrating on restoring the communication lines and left his subordinates to do the rest:
"Initialise retreat! I repeat, to all Autobots, initialise retreat towards the east!" Quickly, he sent his plans towards Smokescreen, so that he could reroute it towards Jazz's agents. He received no confirmation from Smokescreen. Was his student among the casualties? Was Jazz still alive?
"Prowl to all commanders of the tank divisions: cover the retreat. Hold the following landmarks at all costs!" Of all orders, 'at all costs' was the one universally hated the most. It was seldom more than a hidden command to die for the cause. He banished all empathy with those divisions, and especially with troop Delta and Phie. The tank frames had survived the EMP blast thanks to their sturdy armour better than most, were strong enough to manage this task and available. They were the logical choice.
Prowl looked over the area, where the second blast had struck and wanted to access the maps with the status signals – only to met a fragmented chaos, left behind by the EMP. Almost nothing had been restored. Unacceptable. Those status signals had one of the highest priorities to restore, and he needed them, now!
"Bumper, Steelplate, what are you doing?" No answer. He tried to call their data unsuccessfully. Next, he sent an ping. Nothing. "Report, that's an order!" It was as if they weren't online.
They weren't online any more.
And then, finally, and much, much too late, Prowl understood the plan of the Decepticons. So simple, so elegant and deadly.
The tactician knew what he had to do. What was more important than the Autobots on the battlefield, than his plans, than the retreat and his own life. He acted as he had practised a thousand times before and sent a highly complex string of secret code to the mobile, tactical headquarters.
For a moment the dark, humming computers faltered and verified, though in the end they obeyed. The data stream writhed, turned and shattered. Data banks were corrupted and maps bleached to white. As efficient and reliable as it ever had been in its short life, the mainframe erased itself.
Prowl averted his mind from the loss of critical data, not wanting to contemplate the destruction of one of the few things he cherished, not wanting to think about those he had abandoned when they needed him most. Instead, he concentrated on waking up as fast as possible – too fast to be healthy – from his trance and onlined his optics.
- Just to see the black muzzle of a pistol.
Reflexively he flinched away, threw himself to the side and off the berth. A shot pierced his left doorwing. The tactician cried out and tried to find his balance again. Something, or somebot, kicked with enough power to toss the Praxian against the wall. Fragile doorwings crumpled upon collision. Agony blanked his processor. Warnings flared up, he was losing energon too fast... Survival programs kicked in, enabled him to try to stand up, but he was hit again. This time in the knee.
Prowl collapsed. But not without discovering only a few meters next to him the grey, stiffened body of Bumper. The familiar face gazed at him with an empty expression, mouth grotesquely wide open, an arm still connected to the berth. Energon flowed from the shredded torso, smearing the floor.
Blue pedes stepped into his visual field, into the growing puddle, and he looked the body up, freezing as he recognized the attacker – Soundwave.
Another shot. Silence.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A/N: This is probably the right moment to mention, that this isn't a Death fic. ;) There will more chapters to come.
It would be great to hear the opinions of this chapter, because this was the reason I made the oneshot (chapter 1) into an whole fanfic. Those two EMP blasts were inspired by Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the song "nuclear attack" by Sabaton.
~silber
Beta: Starfire201 and taralynden
Summary: The attack on Typhern.
6. Annihilation
Prowl's hand swept almost tenderly across the dark, humming computer terminals in the small room of the mobile, tactical operations centre, before he walked over to one of the four berths. Two were already occupied by unresponsive mechs, heavily linked up into the mainframe. Only an occasional twitch showed that they were indeed awake and working. The fourth berth, normally reserved for his student, would remain empty.
Once, he had led battles from Iacon; however, 30 vorns ago Decepticons created an interference field across the whole planet, making his highly secret and encrypted transmissions, where every astrosecond made a notable difference, impossible. At first, he had been exasperated about the new necessity to regularly leave Iacon and with it his tactical mainframe, but then scientists built this small headquarters exactly according to his wishes. It was a small miracle of technology and it was his realm, one of the few places where he felt truly comfortable.
Today he hadn't the luxury of being alone. His two subordinates had taken over his work, while he had been held up with useless negotiations, and their assistance was invaluable to manage the data onslaught during battle. Bumper, a small orange minibot, had been taught by Prowl for a few deca-orns, then he got fascinated by the technology itself and chose tactical communication officer as his career path. A wise and suiting choice, Prowl admitted privately, even though he had lost another potential student.
The other one Prowl didn't know as well, even though they had worked together on many operations. Steelplate was a quiet, dedicated tactician that seldom smiled. Together with his ill-kept, dark blue frame, he was often underestimated. Prowl knew from his file, that he was still mourning the deactivation of his family in a senseless bombing at the beginning of the war. It showed sometimes in his ruthless and merciless methods against the Decepticons. Despite this, Steelplate had proven to be a terrific tactician and was one of the few Prowl considered as a possible replacement for the head of the Tactical Department.
As Prowl lay down on his berth, his plates slid aside, revealing dozens of cables searching for their ports on the berth. When they had found them, non-vital systems closed down, whole new progressing units appeared, graphs flared in his HUD, and eventually, reality dissipated in an endless, steady stream of data and data bases, messages and signals. For the first time in deca-orns, Prowl found himself relaxing.
"Welcome, Sir. New jamming frequencies on all channels for two klicks," Bumper informed his newly arrived senior across the stream via radio.
"As expected." And just as predicted. "Activate our interference field." He opened his most encrypted connection. "Prowl to Smokescreen. It has begun."
"Copy that and out," was the short answer of his student. Hopefully, none of the Decepticons had detected the short connection this early.
Normally, Smokescreen's place would have been next to Prowl's berth. But his new job meant, he was responsible for the very close and constant supervision of many agents. And that would have led to conversations about their most secret operations via radio across a whole battlefield littered with enemies trying to decrypt their code. A layman was able to see that this option was too dangerous, so Jazz and Prowl had decided that all the tactical Live-Support for the BlackOps would be taken over by Smokescreen, and not – as normal – be shared by the tacticians. Instead of the many bodyguards Prowl's HQ had, Smokescreen would rely entirely on secrecy and Jazz's people as protection, while trying to stay as close to the agents as possible.
"Troop movements in sectors 76, 87 and 102," said Steelplate, every word precise. "As expected, they're coming from north and advance across the bridges."
"Observe those bridges, Steelplate. Detonate them, when more than 45 Decepticons are on one. Bumper, take over surveillance of the sector movements."
"Roger," was the technician's enthusiastic answer, followed by a cool "Copy that" from Steelplate. Silence lasted only a few kliks, then: "Bridge four destroyed. Detonation of bridge two and five imminent. Estimated deaths: 120."
"Good. Bumper?"
"Troop movements are increasing. Movement in all outer sectors. Seems to be a large-scale attack."
Worried, Prowl called up Bumper's maps. He had calculated for the possibility of a large-scale attack on all fronts, and still had hoped that the Decepticons would choose another tactic. This one could lead to a battle of attrition, with many, many deactivated on both sides. But Bumper's analysis was flawless.
"It's a major offensive," he confirmed and gave all troops new, refined orders.
After this, events happened fast. Steelplate destroyed all the bridges, but the Decepticons had anticipated this and brought makeshift bridges of their own. Around a third of those were demolished by BlackOps, before they had to fall back. The enemy advanced further.
"Sir," interrupted Bumper after a fast and intensive discussion between the two tacticians. "Hacker attacks are reducing my capacities to below 50 percent. By the look of it, it's Soundwave."
Soundwave, a mech who always complicated everything. Couldn't he have stayed in Kaon to enjoy one of the spectacular magnetic storms? But Soundwave wasn't Megatron's shadowmech and mech for the more 'sensitive' orders for nothing.
"Understood. Send your other data to me and concentrate on fending him off."
The Decepticons approached in spite of traps and ambushes, courtesy of Jazz and Smokescreen, fast in a broad front across the plain towards the inner sectors.
"Smokescreen to Prowl. Sightings of multiple mechs that are suspected to be part of gestalts. Among them, members of Bruticus."
"Thank you. Can you eliminate the team leaders?" The last thing he needed was a fully functional gestalt with aggression problems of the size of Cybertron's moons.
"We'll try. Out."
Again they minimally changed their attack strategy, while Smokescreen ordered sharp shooters as a countermeasure. Prowl's hope that the snipers could at least slow the advancing Decepticons disappeared quickly.
"They've reached the bridges of the inner sectors," Steelplate said in a level tone.
"Same game as before," ordered Prowl and opened his broadband connection. "To all Autobots. The enemy is advancing. Prepare for combat."
He switched over to individual troops and gave them their exact attacking orders. Before he could finish, one of the commanders sent a message with highest priority:
"Enemy contact! I repeat, enemy contact in sector 45!"
It was followed by similar messages from other sectors. Obviously, the Decepticons wanted to break through with all their might at a few chosen points. But the points seemed random. What was their strategy? Prowl couldn't see one, other than an attack based solely on violence and might. Well, that also wasn't unusual.
"Casualties in sector 35 to 40 between 25 and 30 percent."
"If beneath 65 percent request primary support of the sector."
They kept the front lines steady, forcing the Decepticons to retreat in a few sectors. However, just as Prowl had feared, the death toll was high. He searched in vain for a better strategy, for an idea to stop this attrition policy. Instead, he tried to advise the skirmishes directly, directed soldiers were they were needed and avoided thinking about the sparks that were forever lost. He could not afford to doubt. Not now. Typhern was worth it. It had to be. An urgent call yanked him out of his frenzy.
"Smokescreen to Prowl. We have a small problem here... A team found a bomb in sector two and deactivated it."
He sounded hesitant, worried, which raised red flags within the battle tactician. Prowl pinged Steelplate to take over his work for a moment and concentrated himself on the radio contact: "Details, Smokescreen."
"Okay! Bomb, plutonium-based, enough oomph to injure or kill most bots in the area. Prowl, it was hidden on the south side of the Vector Prime-bunker." Right there, where the whole air defense of sector two was stationed. Right there, were a bomb would cause the most damage.
Prowl could feel his air filter working faster. "Understood. Check all other vulnerable sites."
"I'll do my best. Smokescreen out."
He looked over the map, took over his duties again, but the bomb was always on his mind. How had they missed it? How had it been transported, how hidden? So far into their security zone, it should have been impossible. But far worse was the single resonating thought: Were there more? And another thing was strange. Normally, the fights in the air were hardest for the Autobots, because they had no matching troops to the Seekers. But there had only been scattered sightings. Was Starscream really not using this chance at glory? No, it was Starscream. Nothing short of Megatron's sudden death would keep him away from here. So, where were the Seekers? Were they waiting for more bombs, so that they hadn't to fear air defence?
"Sector 32 and 34 free from Decepticons. Furthermore, they are retreating in sectors 36 and 38 to 40."
Finally good news. "Wonderful. Bumper, what about Soundwave?"
"Just normal attacks. He's having a tough time with our firewalls," said the technician, pleased with himself.
Suddenly, various points on the maps that represented the bots on the battlefield went dark. A brief look on the locations confirmed his worst assumptions.
"Prowl to all air defense bases. State your location and situation."
Static. Then, "Base in sector two here. Unharmed." Sector after sector called in, but in the end a significant number was missing. Reports of a sudden explosion, that killed bots and destroyed most of the artillery gave more than a clue what had happened. Hurriedly Prowl fed his maps and statistics the newest information – and created a picture that chilled the energon in his cables. The Decepticons had placed the bombs with strategic care, creating air corridors without any Autobot air defence. He had to mobilise their own fliers!
"Smokescreen to Prowl. Seeker squadron from east, sector 26."
Red flashing points appeared on the map, moving fast, directly towards the new corridors, towards Typhern. They would slaughter the citizens! "Prowl to Autobot Fliers. Stop the Seekers with all available means!"
Steelplate had managed the normal coordination and communication meanwhile: "We're getting reports about strange Seeker behaviour. They're flying very high in a tight formation and ignoring everything below."
Grimly, Prowl read his maps and statistics. He had the sinking feeling that he was overlooking something, but he couldn't see it. The unprotected air corridors led in a direct line from the less embattled front lines, towards the zone where the support troops were waiting, to the core of Typhern. It made no sense to send the Seekers into Typhern. They were fantastic soldiers in the air, but on ground weak and despite able to kill many civilians; they would never be able to hold the city. So what was their mission? What didn't he see?
"The Seekers are separating!" Steelplate sounded troubled, an uncommon lapse for him. "They have released something."
"Something?"
All at once, Prowl felt as if he were hit by Superion's fist. Systems aborted and shut down, the data stream flared and plunged into blackness, time lost its meaning. Deep inside, something contorted in agony. As the assault abated, his circuitry slowly transmitted anew. It hurt, but he forced himself to regain access to stream before the tactical mainframe or his own processor had completely rebooted.
"EMP attack!" gasped Bumper, aghast.
"This strong?" doubted Steelplate, while trying hastily to regulate the jumbled data stream. "We're too far from the battlefield."
They were. Normally. But things change and improve, especially if you had a mad scientist on the other side. "That's Shockwave's new weapon!" realised Prowl with a deep horror.
And if they could feel it here, far away in a shielded and supposedly safe cabin, then the impact on the battlefield had to be apocalyptic. No wonder, that the seekers were flying so high, or that they released the EMP-bomb only far inside Autobot domain. Too near, and they would have hurt their own soldiers. Despairing, he counted the life signs of his Bots. Too few. All the support troops in affected ten sectors had perished, alongside them many frontliners. Heavily injured bots were counted on fifteen sectors more.
"Primus help us...," whispered Bumper. At least Soundwave's attacks had abruptly ended. Was the Decepticon affected, too? Whatever the reason was, it thankfully gave Bumper the chance to help his colleagues to defragment the data and to restore their communication lines.
The battle had turned. Now, they were on the defensive, on a few points already completely overrun. Sector after sector fell. Prowl tried to close their lines, to recover a strong front – but without support it was impossible. They were losing fast. An ominous possibility unfolded in his CPU, weighted heavily on his spark: retreat. Should he let Typhern fall, despite the trapped, trusting civilians, just to save more of his soldiers? Should he abandon this city, their oath to protect it and the still existing, although decreasing, chance at victory, simply because the cost was too high? With an ashy taste, he thought back to the orns leading up to this moment: Moonblaster and Barrel, Jazz's other dead agents, the sacrifice of Ironhide's younglings, the Chrome tower, and the already fallen soldiers... Had all their sacrifices been meaningless?
"Prowl," reported in a panicky Smokescreen. "The Seekers are coming back."
"No...," Prowl heard himself say, but his student was right. The Seekers had veered around, gathered again and started the exact same manoeuvre at the other end of Typhern. The few intact Autobot fliers were kept at bay by a whole flight cluster of Seekers.
He couldn't stop them. He couldn't do anything, but warn the others, knowing it was futile. Nothing, nothing could save them.
"Prowl to all soldiers: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack."
If the second EMP was even half as strong as the first one, every further fight was senseless.
"I repeat: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack."
Then everything went dark as the attack devoured his words forever.
It was harder to come online this time, to get his own systems running. Pain lingered. Prowl ignored the unimportant data, concentrating on restoring the communication lines and left his subordinates to do the rest:
"Initialise retreat! I repeat, to all Autobots, initialise retreat towards the east!" Quickly, he sent his plans towards Smokescreen, so that he could reroute it towards Jazz's agents. He received no confirmation from Smokescreen. Was his student among the casualties? Was Jazz still alive?
"Prowl to all commanders of the tank divisions: cover the retreat. Hold the following landmarks at all costs!" Of all orders, 'at all costs' was the one universally hated the most. It was seldom more than a hidden command to die for the cause. He banished all empathy with those divisions, and especially with troop Delta and Phie. The tank frames had survived the EMP blast thanks to their sturdy armour better than most, were strong enough to manage this task and available. They were the logical choice.
Prowl looked over the area, where the second blast had struck and wanted to access the maps with the status signals – only to met a fragmented chaos, left behind by the EMP. Almost nothing had been restored. Unacceptable. Those status signals had one of the highest priorities to restore, and he needed them, now!
"Bumper, Steelplate, what are you doing?" No answer. He tried to call their data unsuccessfully. Next, he sent an ping. Nothing. "Report, that's an order!" It was as if they weren't online.
They weren't online any more.
And then, finally, and much, much too late, Prowl understood the plan of the Decepticons. So simple, so elegant and deadly.
The tactician knew what he had to do. What was more important than the Autobots on the battlefield, than his plans, than the retreat and his own life. He acted as he had practised a thousand times before and sent a highly complex string of secret code to the mobile, tactical headquarters.
For a moment the dark, humming computers faltered and verified, though in the end they obeyed. The data stream writhed, turned and shattered. Data banks were corrupted and maps bleached to white. As efficient and reliable as it ever had been in its short life, the mainframe erased itself.
Prowl averted his mind from the loss of critical data, not wanting to contemplate the destruction of one of the few things he cherished, not wanting to think about those he had abandoned when they needed him most. Instead, he concentrated on waking up as fast as possible – too fast to be healthy – from his trance and onlined his optics.
- Just to see the black muzzle of a pistol.
Reflexively he flinched away, threw himself to the side and off the berth. A shot pierced his left doorwing. The tactician cried out and tried to find his balance again. Something, or somebot, kicked with enough power to toss the Praxian against the wall. Fragile doorwings crumpled upon collision. Agony blanked his processor. Warnings flared up, he was losing energon too fast... Survival programs kicked in, enabled him to try to stand up, but he was hit again. This time in the knee.
Prowl collapsed. But not without discovering only a few meters next to him the grey, stiffened body of Bumper. The familiar face gazed at him with an empty expression, mouth grotesquely wide open, an arm still connected to the berth. Energon flowed from the shredded torso, smearing the floor.
Blue pedes stepped into his visual field, into the growing puddle, and he looked the body up, freezing as he recognized the attacker – Soundwave.
Another shot. Silence.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A/N: This is probably the right moment to mention, that this isn't a Death fic. ;) There will more chapters to come.
It would be great to hear the opinions of this chapter, because this was the reason I made the oneshot (chapter 1) into an whole fanfic. Those two EMP blasts were inspired by Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the song "nuclear attack" by Sabaton.
~silber
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no subject
Date: 2012-01-22 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-23 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-22 11:52 pm (UTC)This was inTENSE. I'm on the edge of my seat, wanting to know what happens to Prowl.
Awesome story here, awesome!
no subject
Date: 2012-01-23 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-23 03:44 pm (UTC)Evil Cliffhanger of Doom! :P
no subject
Date: 2012-01-23 08:45 pm (UTC)