Back again! A month and a day later, I deliver to you now the second chapter of Hard Facts, Simple Truths, in which our main stars gain their Autobot designations, meet some key members of the army, and start to get an idea of just what they've signed themselves up for. I do hope you will enjoy, and leave a review, dagnabit!
In no way official, but this is how I use 'em:
Klik (Second)
Breem (Minute) 100 kliks
Joor (Hour) 60 breems
Orn (Day) 30 joors - 15 for a day cycle, 15 for a night cycle
Deca-orn (Week) 10 orns
Groon (Month) 3 deca-orns/30 orns
Vorn (Year) 14 groons/42 decaorns/420 orns
Chapter 2 - Assessments and Assignments
"I think I liked Kup waking us up with the pot and pan routine more than this." Trenton grumbled, Hank nodding through a yawn to agree with him. It was the first official orn of training for the new recruits, their Wilds Dweller guide having finally gotten them to Ark Valley the evening before, right as a powerful new storm was opening up. After taking a shower and warming up again, Hank and everyone else had dropped off to bed without so much as a tour of the base.
When the day cycle began, though, they got their first good look at their instructor, Kup's good friend Ironhide. The grey-haired man was easily as muscular than the Hepley cousins, and even taller than Warren. He was a flesh and blood version of a tank - strong, tough, and very, very loud.
"ON YER FEET, ya lazy good fer nothin' slag heaps!" The old timer had bellowed, stomping into the barracks room that the five young men were previously sleeping in. It was chaos for a few moments before Ironhide got them organized and lined up for inspection.
Trying and failing to stifle another yawn, Hank nearly leapt a foot in the air when his eyes blinked back open to find the old man glaring at him from a mere few inches away.
"Did I cut too much into yer beauty sleep time, boy?" Ironhide growled, easily intimidating his victim. "Should I let you go cryin' t' yer momma?" At a loss for words, Hank just shook his head while maintaining eye contact, hoping that the massive soldier would leave him alone to pick on someone else.
It was just then that an unexpected reprieve came, in the form of Rhea entering the room and joining the line, catching the old man's eye.
"Glad you could join us, missy." Straightening up, Ironhide resumed looking each of them over before returning to a central position where each of the youths could see him. "Now. As you may have been warned, I'm Ironhide, the top Weapons Specialist for this base. You will not tell me your names, as Kup has already added them to our records and there they will stay. From this now on, you will be known by your Autobot designation - this is both to protect any relatives of yours back home, and your own identities after the War ends, whenever that orn may come."
One by one he looked at each of them in turn with their new codename. "Warpath." Warren straightened ever so slightly and nodded.
"Cliffjumper." Trenton wrinkled his nose up, as though remembering something unpleasant, but also nodded.
"Blurr." Barry actually appeared a bit relieved, probably because his codename wasn't too different from what people had been calling him for vorns anyway.
"Springer." For a split second, Spencer looked confused, but it cleared away as he accepted the name.
Then it was Hank's turn. "Hot Rod." And he felt like protesting. What kind of a designation was that supposed to be? Certainly not one that would have glory heaped upon it. But before he could say anything, Ironhide had already moved on to Rhea.
"Arcee." She frowned, but didn't say a word, so Hank also reluctantly kept his silence.
"Well, now that that's all out th' way, we're gonna spend the rest o' today figuring out just what guns you lot can handle, and what you'll be trainin' with and usin' from now on. Tomorrow we'll do the same with blades, and the day after that will come hand-to-hand combat, followed by tactical assessments, and finally vehicle practice." It all sounded good in theory, but Hank knew something was bound to come up that would shake his enjoyment. Ironhide barked for them all to get moving, and the group followed him out of the barracks at a jog.
"Isn't this exciting?" He muttered sarcastically, getting Rhea - Arcee - to pause mid-step and lightly kick him. Hank got the message: shut up and keep up.
As it turned out, Kup had apparently gone easy on them in the mountains.
While each orn would be dedicated to different assessments of the youths, every morning was slotted for a physical workout that left Hank nearly exhausted by the end of it. The only good thing about their run around the perimeter of the base was that he finally got to see the whole place - it would have been a very lovely little valley, if not for the various components of a military outpost occupying the area.
In the center was a three story command center, surrounded by barracks and several specialized buildings: the mess hall, an armory, a shooting range, and training center, just to name a few. Several garages and cliffside bunkers dotted the edges of the valley, with a wide driving track circling all the interior structures. It was on this track that Ironhide set the new recruits to running, with a stop every so often for crunches or jumping jacks. When they finally finished three laps, the sun had risen high enough to be visible over the surrounding barrier of mountain stone, and it came time for the weapons assessments.
"Everyone to a marker!" Ironhide instructed, getting them to assemble along a line of marks on the ground at one end of the shooting range. There was another youth already there, who couldn't have been any older than Barry- Blurr, standing beside a table covered with guns of different sizes and types.
"Now," their grey haired trainer drawled. "We're gonna start off with a simple pistol. Bluestreak here is one of our premier shooters, and will be helping me with your drills. Blue?" The youth quickly selected half a dozen small, handheld weapons and brought them over. Each of the new recruits picked one up, Trenton- Cliffjumper making a face at its size.
"Please tell me we'll get to shoot something bigger than this!" He complained, not realizing that Ironhide was right behind him.
"You'll shoot what I give ya t' shoot, runt." The large man growled in a warning tone. "If yer able to go on up to a larger size, then ya will. If not, then there will be no. Complaining. Got it?"
"Yessir!" Cliffjumper waited until Ironhide had moved on, before whispering over to his cousin. "Is it just me, or does he remind you of Gran?"
"Yeah, it's kind of scary. Think they might be related?"
"I hope not, 'cause then it would mean we're related to him!"
"Quiet!" Ironhide barked, getting them all to fall silent and pay attention again. "Now. Each of you will take a turn firin' five shots at yuir target, with Blue takin' note of yer score while I correct any flaws in yer technique. After t'day, each o' ya will be assigned a particular weapon, which it will be yer job to maintain 'n practice with. Got that?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good! Ladies first." He nodded to Arcee, who took a stance and raised her silver pistol to eye level. Five rapid shots later, she returned to a normal position while turning the Safety switch back on. Ironhide grinned his approval while Bluestreak jotted something down on a datapad.
"Four out of five hits!" The youth called out, and then it was Hank's turn. He tried to mimic Arcee's earlier stance, squinting down the yards to his target board. The first shot had him flinching, which threw off all his others as he tried to get them all done as quick as possible.
"Er... Two hits." Bluestreak said sympathetically as Hank brought the pistol back down. Ironhide just shook his head, moving on to Springer while Arcee had to remind the youth beside her to put his gun on Safety.
It was going to be a long day...
-HF-ST-
Just over two joors later, Hank was wholeheartedly agreeing with his earlier thought. He hadn't had the opportunity to handle a real gun in vorns, so it was to be expected that his skills were less than stellar - first with the pistol, then the one-handed blaster, followed by the two-handed, the rifle, and the cannon (which he could barely lift). The only person who'd done worse was Blurr, who had never fired a gun before in his life.
Arcee had done pretty good with all the weapons, being the only person to get a perfect score with the rifle test. Springer wasn't far behind her, landing three or four shots each time. Warpath's hands had swallowed the pistol and smaller blaster, making his job of aiming a bit trickier, but he was then the only one to able to easily lift and fire the cannon, making up for his earlier poor scores. Cliffjumper had also insisted on giving the cannon a try, and though he could raise the thing up to chest height, his short stature had the guy overbalancing and nearly hitting the targets on either side of his own, only scoring one proper shot.
By the end of it, Ironhide was grumbling to himself, heading off for the officers' quarters as he ordered Bluestreak to escort the rookies to the mess hall for lunch.
"Don't worry," the young Autobot told them all as he led the way. "We'll get everything sorted out by this evening. Ironhide's really good at what he does, I've been here a long time, well not as long as him obviously, but for as long as I've been here there's never been anyone better-"
"I think this guy might actually talk more than you do, Blurr." Hank mentioned to his downcast friend as the two hung back from the others and Bluestreak's incessant chatter.
"I dunno, Ha- Hot Rod, I used to go a lot faster than that when I babbled at people."
"Well, either way, maybe you two could start a club." Seeing that his attempt at humor wasn't doing much to cheer his friend up, Hank decided to switch topics. "I wonder if they've got anything to shoot long distance besides guns here. I'm a crack-shot with a crossbow."
That got Blurr to pick his head up and stare at the other youth. "You're kidding."
"Nope - my mom didn't let me keep or practice with anything that fired bullets and energon, so I got one of the older hunters to teach me how to shoot his crossbow. It's a pretty quiet weapon, with none of the noise and recoil that kept throwing off my aim today."
"Huh. Think I could learn to use one of those?"
"Probably. I'm gonna ask if they've got any, so maybe you and I could train with those and let the gun-types leave us be!"
"That would be nice..." Blurr sighed wistfully. "Don't get me wrong, I'm used to tough coaches pushing me to do better, but this Ironhide guy is in a league by himself."
"Yeah, can you believe that he actually makes Kup look like pleasant company?" Both of them got to snicker over that, before entering the mess hall after their friends. The large room wasn't very full, it being a bit before the usual mealtime, but definitely wasn't empty either. And of the half a dozen people seated at various tables, the only one who didn't look up to stare at the newcomers was a blonde kid in a yellow shirt working on the datapad he held.
It was straight towards this particular table that Bluestreak headed, calling back to the trainees that they were welcome to get their meals and sit wherever. Shrugging, Springer led the way over to the serving counters set along one wall, where wide window openings allowed the food to be transferred from the kitchens into the seating area.
"Ten credits says this is nowhere as good as what we eat at home," Cliffjumper muttered as the six of them sat down at an empty table, loaded trays in hand. As his first bite of mashed potatoes, Hank had to agree. It certainly didn't help that he'd grown up in his mom's eatery where the food had to be exceptional in order to get return business. Arcee, though, was digging in as though this was the greatest meal she'd ever had.
Warpath was watching her with amusement. "Rhea, if you keep that up, you're going to choke."
"Like Pit I will," the girl mumbled through her full mouth before swallowing. "The camping rations might have been better than what I survived off of in Hivus, but this is even better than those!" And with that startling comment, she dove back into inhaling her food. The boys all exchanged bewildered glances, but also returned to their own meals.
"Hi there!" An unexpected voice chirped in Hank's ear, startling the youth and getting him to jump. A dark skinned man pulled a chair up to their table and flopped into it. "So! Y'all are th' new meat ole 'Hide's been worryin' at, huh?"
"Uh..." Hank blinked at the guy, still stunned from his sudden arrival. The others weren't in much better condition. "Yeah?"
"S'cool, man, 'Hide's never as tough as he firs' looks." Grinning, the man leaned forward in his seat to peer at them all over the top of his reflective visor. "I'm Jazz, by the way, but y'all can call me whatever y'want: Jazzer, Jazzy, Jazz-man, it all works. No need ta return th' intro's, I already know who each a' you is. What I'm interested in now is what the new reports don't cover!"
"...Huh?"
"What y'all like t' do in yuir spare time, what're yuir favorite colors 'n things, and most importantly-" He paused, getting all of them to lean a little closer. "Music! Always gotta know what tunes folks like best and least."
"Music?" Arcee asked blankly. "I don't listen to music."
Immediately, Jazz's clasped both hands over his heart, schooling his features into an expression of pain. "Don't listen to it? Girl, y'don't know what you've been missin'!"
Her response was just to shrug. "I've got better things to do with my time than waste it." With that, Jazz tipped his chair backwards, falling to the floor with a crash that got everyone's attention.
"A waste o' time, she calls it!" He proclaimed dramatically, getting most of the spectators to realize what the problem was and to roll their eyes. One older man in a white and red medical coat growled something under his breath and came over.
"Jazz, if you pretend to have a heart attack over this again I will knock you over the head with something bigger than a wrench." Looking up from his prone position on the ground, the music-lover favored the dour man with a dazzling smile.
"Aw, c'mon doc, that was a serious medical emergency!" He proclaimed, hopping back to his feet and righting the chair. "You 'n 'Hide are th' only ones I've still t' convince of music's value - even Prowler's agreed it can be helpful! Though, now it looks like I've got another non-believer t' work on." Arcee snorted while the medic crossed his arms and glared.
"I do agree that certain sound patterns can stimulate a response in the body, but only from a scientific standpoint. It does not mean you can cajole me into breaking out into song with you!"
"An' my job will not be done 'til I've succeeded on that verra important thing!" Out of the doctor's pocket came a wrench, the sight of which had Jazz's grin growing a bit weaker. He quickly made his excuses to the recruits before fleeing.
"'Bout time." Taking the chair that Jazz had vacated, the man looked them all over. "Chief Medical Officer Ratchet. If he or any of the other lunatics in this place get on your nerves, my best suggestion is to threaten them with one of these - I've spent vorns instilling a fear of wrenches and other projectiles into their thick skulls."
"Uh, good to know." Springer said quickly.
"Now, I'm perfectly aware that Ironhide's got a prior claim on your afts for the next few orns, but I'm going to insist on getting in a proper physical examination for each of you by the end of the deca-orn. That'll include you lot letting me know ahead of time about any particular quirks that need to be taken into consideration if and when I'm stitching you back up after a fight. Understood?"
"Yes sir." Ratchet nodded in approval of their quick responses, relaxing a little more into his seat.
"Good. On another note, if any of you get on my bad side, I'll make your lives so awful to endure that visiting the Pit will seem like a vacation. Got that into your heads?" Again, he seemed satisfied by the rapid affirmatives, and stood to take his leave of them. "Very good. We'll be seeing each other later then."
As Ratchet walked away, Hank leaned forward to ask a worrisome question. "Are all the officers in this place crazy?"
"It's sure looking like it." Cliffjumper muttered. "Let's just hope we come out of here alive and with our sanity intact."
"Here, here."
When Hank approached Bluestreak at the end of lunch to ask about crossbows, the youth got an excited gleam in his eye. He soon led the recruits over to the armory, where they spent some time admiring the many, many racks of weapons and ammunition while their guide looked for something he'd set aside ages ago.
"A-hah!" Bluestreak emerged from the far shadows, triumphantly holding up a pair of hi-tech crossbows, accompanying packs of bolts slung over his shoulders. It wasn't long before Hank had unfolded and set one of the weapons up, showing the others how to load, aim, and fire it. His very first shot hit a bull's-eye in the target - the next five were used to form a star shape around the initial bolt. Ironhide returned to the shooting range in time to see this feat, and found himself a tad impressed.
Soon enough, though, he'd ordered the recruits back into their earlier line, handing out the weapons that they'd proven to be most proficient in that morning. Arcee got a rifle, Springer a two-handed blaster, while a cannon went to Warpath, and Cliffjumper was given a one-handed blaster. Hank was elated when told he could keep the crossbow, Blurr wearing a matching grin as he was instructed to learn how to use the other one. The rest of the afternoon was spent going over the cleaning instructions for each individual weapon, as well as some instruction on how to better their respective aims. By the time that Bluestreak was told to take the group back to the mess hall for dinner, each of the recruits had passed their first day of assessments.
"It gets harder from here on in." Ironhide promised them with an evil grin. Even so, none of the rookies felt their spirits dampen.
They were one step closer to becoming Autobots, after all.
-HF-ST-
The next morning started out in the same manner, with Ironhide getting them all up before the sun and out running laps around the base. Once the exercises were over and done with, though, the recruits were led to indoor training center. Every single one of them balked a bit upon seeing Jazz standing by an arrangement of energon blades and grinning manically at them.
"Apparently you've already met this here rascal, so I'll skip the introduction today." Ironhide barked, getting the youths focused back on the matter at hand. "We're gonna follow th' same basic idea as yesterday, so git in yer line - or do I hafta yell it out for ya?" Instantly, the six rookies were standing half an arm's length away from one another along the wall. Their instructor nodded his approval, before motioning Jazz forward to start explaining about each of the weapons types they'd be going over.
"Now, since there's way more variety here th'n what y'all worked with yesterday, I'm gonna ask ahead o' time what each a you's got previous experience with." As before, they started at one end of the line and worked their way down. Arcee was familiar with knives and daggers, able to wield them in a close quarters fight as well as throw the things, with almost as much accuracy as her shooting skills. Hank could only claim to understanding the basics of sword fighting, though Springer's snickers as he said so didn't help matters. The former Roamer said he could fight with both short and long blades, being most familiar with short axes. Blurr, again, couldn't lay claim to any sort of experience, but Jazz was willing to bet that a lifetime of playing sports that tended to involve some form of ball or puck being controlled with long sticks or paddles would help the athlete out more than he expected. Warpath and Cliffjumper said that, from a young age, they'd been set to practice fights against one another using everything from swords to battleaxes. When Ironhide asked who had first trained them, and the cousins replied that their Gran taught the two, the man threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh. Jazz looked as startled as all the youths.
"Ooh-kay then, now that you've gone and broken th' man, let's see what y'all got on the fightin' mats."
While Ironhide got over his attack of unexplained mirth, Jazz had the recruits pull out some weapons they could use, and set the group to going up against some practice dummies so he could take note of stances, grips and the like. Once the older man joined him, the pair set about moving through their trainees to adjust faults and get a closer look at how much skill and power everyone was able to supply. The cousins were definitely able warriors, with Ironhide wanting Warpath to start doing advanced training with some of the larger battleaxes and broadswords. Cliffjumper was once again irritated to find his height working against him, as the Weapons Specialist insisted he use a smaller blade.
Arcee was already very proficient at working with a dagger in each hand, taking her mock opponent apart at the seams. When Jazz brought up her earlier mention of having some skill at throwing, the girl's response was to toss one of her daggers up, grab it by the tip of the blade, and hurl the thing at a dummy at the other end of the row. Hank near about leapt out of his skin when it embedded itself into the wood of the thing's head, directly between the painted representation of eyes.
"Remind me not to do anything to frag her off," he muttered to Springer, standing behind him.
"Could have told you that the first day we met her, dude."
Having taken one of the longswords from the assortment, Hank was asked to demonstrate a bit of what he could do. As Jazz corrected the position of his feet and a few of his movements, the youth didn't notice Ironhide frowning thoughtfully at him. What Hank did notice was Arcee's interested attention, and he nearly fell over himself trying to perform what should have been an impressive spinning attack on the dummy. Jazz doubled over laughing as the older instructor huffed in irritation.
Springer managed to impress the both of them with his sure grip and manipulation of a hatchet, not only performing sweeping attacks against unseen enemies but following Arcee's earlier example by successfully throwing it at one of the dummies. Blurr, though, was the most surprising of everyone when Jazz gave him a couple of short paddles to hold.
"Hey, these are like the sticks we use in Blast Ball!" The teen exclaimed happily, giving the set a quick flurry of motion.
"Yep, now howsabout we see just how fast ya are, kid." Smirking, Jazz moved to a machine with a long tube emerging from it, and activated the thing. Taken by surprise when the first ball came shooting towards him, Blurr yelped and twisted to avoid it. Cliffjumper wasn't so lucky, getting socked in the gut and nearly falling over from the force of the hit.
"Are ya gonna dodge or are ya gonna fight, boy?" Ironhide barked, getting Blurr to realize just what this test was. Another ball was shot towards him, and this time, the athlete struck it with one of the paddles, sending the projectile whizzing at a ninety degree angle towards the door.
Gradually, Jazz increased the pace the balls were being fired at, and Blurr deflected every single one. His fellow recruits were in awe, for as long as they were standing in an area behind him, it was guaranteed that they wouldn't be in danger from the projectiles. Blurr was breathing heavily by the time the exercise was over, but he had a large grin on his face.
"That was the most fun I've had since before the Cons started pestering me back home!" He told the others, still riding the high from his achievement.
"War ain't about fun, kid." Ironhide interrupted his joy. "Imagine ya were holdin' a couple a shields in those fast hands a yer's - think ya'd be able to move 'em quick 'nuff t' deflect bullets 'n shrapnel?"
"Yes." Blurr responded without a trace of hesitation.
"Good. We'll git ya outfitted fer some then, along with settin' ya t' learnin' how t' move a pair a blades like Arcee does." And with that, he sent them off to get their midday meal.
Jazz of course accompanied the group, finally getting some of the info he'd been after the orn before. When they reached the mess hall, he also started pointing out to them some of the other Autobots stationed in the Valley. Bluestreak waved at the group from another table, along with a young man wearing similarly styled clothing. Ratchet was also in mess hall again, sitting and glaring at the two men having a discussion at his table - one with spectacles, who looked rather reserved, and another in a soot-stained lab coat, who was getting more and more animated about something.
"Blue and Smokey both been here since they were kids, so I 'spect you guys ought ta get 'long with 'em just fine." Jazz mentioned as the rookies all sat down with their food. "I don' think I gotta warn ya 'bout steerin' clear o' th' Hatchet when he's in a mood, but the other fellas sittin' over there 're okay. Percy's a bit bland, but 'Jack's always willin' t' help a guy out - jus', be careful 'round his inventions, they got a tendency ta go boom when ya least expect it!"
"He makes new weapons?" Cliff asked, excitedly.
"Eh, sometimes, but that man could be workin' on a toaster an' it would still explode." He chuckled at the looks of scepticism. "Hey, that's fine if'n ya don't believe me jus' yet - by the end o' the deca-orn, you'll see wha' I mean."
The six of them resolved to take the man at his word, for the time being.
-HF-ST-
Another morning, another three laps around the base, another orn of assessments. This time, though, the recruits were more than a little startled at the sight of Ironhide's latest assistant.
"He's just a kid!" Cliffjumper protested when they entered the training center to find the blonde boy waiting for them. Said kid rolled his eyes while Ironhide chuckled.
"True, but he's a kid that's lived here fer as long as the War's been goin' on." The old soldier told them. "An' I suggest ya see what he can do 'fore you go sayin' things like that t' his face. Right, Bee?"
Nodding, the kid gestured for Cliff to follow him onto the sparring mat. Grumbling about how fighting someone half his age was just wrong, the rookie nonetheless stomped after him.
Less than ten kliks later, Cliffjumper was flat on his back, the kid crouched over him and smirking like a smug cyber-cat. As he stepped away, Ironhide leaned over to raise an eyebrow at the wheezing Cliff.
"Now, learned a valuable lesson have we?" A weak nod was all the answer he needed. "Good. I suggest that th' next time y' call Bumblebee a kid, it had better be in a pleasant manner, got it?" Another nod, and then Ironhide was helping the stunned rookie up and over to a wall.
The remaining five all exchanged wide-eyed glances, mixtures of shock and amusement. Noticing them, Bee just smiled in an innocent way that totally belied the punches and dropkick he performed just a few moments before.
"So! Who's next?"
Fortunately, the rest of the hand to hand combat assessments did not actually involve the recruits fighting Bumblebee or Ironhide; instead, the pair of Autobots set them against each other and then just sat back to witness the results.
Arcee was, as expected, the best on the sparring mat. She took down her opponents with ruthless efficiency, striking at their weak points before delivering a decisive punch or kick that threw them out of the fight. Hank was the first who suffered a hit to his nether regions, a move that had all the observers wincing. (Ironhide applauded Arcee's use of it, but asked her to reserve its use to the actual battlefield.) Springer was also a beast once he got hands on his opponent, using some wrestling moves he'd picked up from older cousins to pin the other person to the mat. Blurr made the most of his speed, dodging any hits that came his way, but had a trickier time throwing any worthwhile strikes of his own that tended to have Ironhide call time on his matches. Perhaps scariest out of the recruits were Warpath and Cliffjumper, both of whom could launch some pretty powerful punches, and neither of whom were ever that hurt by the blows they received from the others.
Hank... felt more and more like a punching bag as the orn drew on. He didn't manage to win a single spar, instead experiencing the pain and bruises build until he was having a hard time getting up at all from his seat on the floor. When it came time to break for lunch, he waved the others on and just stayed in the training center, ignoring the looks of concern sent his way. Hank was surprised and more than a little touched when the kid, Bee, came back a breem or two later with some food for him.
"Thanks," he said earnestly, getting a small grin in return. The boy then sat cross legged on the ground beside him, pulling a small datapad out of his pants' pocket. As Hank ate slowly, Bee typed up something on the screen for him to see.
I'm guessing you've never been in a real fight before?
"Yeah, no, not like this." Hank swallowed his mouthful of food. "Back home, it was more like the occasional scuffle between kids, and the tanning our parents would give us afterwards was always worse than any injuries from actual hits."
Bee nodded in understanding, taking the pad back and typing out another message. I can help you get better! Lots of Autobots have taught me how to take down opponents bigger than me, which for you would be half the training group.
"I'd really appreciate that." Hank told him. "Anytime you can spare, I'll be here." The kid beamed at him.
That's great! We'll probably want to space out our practice with the actual training days, or you'll be so tired that it's hard to do well at all.
"Yeah, the whole point would be to make it harder to kick my butt, not easier." Hank's smile turned into a frown when it looked like Bee was silently laughing. "Hey, um, I hope you don't take offence to this, but do you make any noise at all?"
Instantly, the kid quit smiling and instead tensed up, growing pensive. Hank started to apologize and say forget about it, but Bee had already taken the datapad back.
It's... Hard to explain. For as long as I've lived here, whenever I try to talk or laugh or cry, or anything really, it's like there's a voice at the back of my head saying it's a bad idea and I can't. My throat just closes up, and nothing comes out.
"That's, kind of awful, kid."
Yeah, well, it's just the way I am. I work around it. Hank watched the downcast expression, wishing he hadn't brought it up at all.
"So... ten vorns with the Autobots, huh? Bet you've seen some pretty epic stuff." Bee shrugged at that, but answered anyway.
I've never left Ark Valley, so I haven't seen any battles, if that's what you mean. I always watch for when people come back from missions, though, and run to tell Ratchet and First Aid how many wounded we've got.
"Oh."
I have, however, gotten to help out with some awesome pranks before.
"Oh? That sounds a little more up my alley."
Bee smirked at him. When the training assessments are done, remind me to introduce you to the Twins.
-HF-ST-
Conversation with Bee aside, Hank's orn of sparring had gone miserably, and he woke up the next morning feeling stiff and sore all over. Springer had to actually come over and help him get up out of bed. When Ironhide arrived, and saw the state that the youth was in, he ordered the others to head outside to join Arcee for their workout, while the crusty old soldier himself led Hank to the building where the medical bay was located.
"Now, whatever ya do," 'Hide told him as they approached the doors. "Do not tell Ratchet it was my fault - or I'll have you sparring with Arcee for a vorn, got it?"
"Yes, sir." Honestly, Hank was too much in pain to say anything else. Ironhide nodded, opened the door, and immediately had to duck the metal brace chucked at his head.
"'HIDE! I warned you what would happen if I had to treat another one of you recruits!"
"Right, well, good luck kid." With that, he clapped Hank on the shoulder and took off down the hallway. Ratchet appeared in the doorway, cursing as his prey escaped. The he turned his glare onto Hank, glowering at he took in the youth's tense posture and haggard appearance.
"Alright, get in here, Hot Rod was it?"
"Um, yes, sir." Cautiously, Hank followed him into the bay, ready to dodge any tools thrown his way. The young woman watching from the hair end of the bay was watching them with an apologetic smile.
"Don't worry," she called, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. "Ratchet's just annoyed that 'Hide broke his promise not to break anymore newcomers."
"Aid, where'd I leave the bone scanner?"
"Counter top to your left." As the doctor let out a triumphant noise as he located the tool and set to checking Hank for any breaks or fractures, the woman made her way over to shake the youth's hand. "First Aid, Assistant Field Medic, nice to meet you."
"Uh, hi, I'm Hot Rod. Er, new recruit, as you've clearly noticed." He tried grinning at her, only to wince as Ratchet concluded his scan and smacked the device against Hank's head.
"No flirting with my assistant." Instantly, the youth tried to protest as Aid let out an annoyed huff.
"Ratchet, not every young man who comes in here is trying to flirt with me. And even if one was, it's my sister and brothers' job to chase him off, not yours." She told him sternly, before shooting an apology to Hank. "Sorry about that, I swear he's starting to turn into my father."
"Uh, no, that's fine. I totally get it. No romantic silliness anywhere near the medical bay." He held up his hands in position of surrender, hissing in pain when Ratchet took the opportunity to start probing his torso.
"Well, at least this one learns fast," the medic muttered. "Shirt off."
As Hank striped off the article of clothing, he caught the identical expressions of concern on Ratchet and First Aid's faces once they saw the layer of multi-colored skin.
"What in the Pit is that idiot doing to them?" Aid wondered, heading off to grab the muscle relaxant and bruise salve.
"Actually, this was mostly Arcee and Cliffjumper's doing. A little bit of Blurr and Springer. Pretty sure there's a couple imprints from Warpath's fists in here somewhere, too..."
Ratchet snorted at him, pulling up a blank medical file on his monitor screen that he started to fill in. "What, did they just elect to make you the training dummy for the orn?"
"Sure felt that way at the time... Fortunately, though, Bee stuck around after the session and promised he'd help improve my chances of holding my own."
"Good for him!" Ratchet approved while Aid looked a little ill.
"Why you lot had to go and teach that sweet little boy how to fight is beyond me," she shook her head.
"If you'd gotten here about six vorns earlier than you did, girl, you might have had a say about that. As it is, every person in this base would like to see that 'sweet little boy' survive this war, no matter what happens to the rest of us."
Hank got the uneasy impression he'd managed to send them into another round of what sounded like a well-repeated argument. He just hoped that the pair of medics wouldn't start throwing things at each other, because then he'd be stuck right in the firing line...
Once the medicinal goop had been rubbed into his abused skin, Hank was released to go rejoin the other trainees, under strict orders to return that night for a check-up before he went to bed. Just as he stepped out of the bay, wondering where the heck he was supposed to go for the 'tactical' assessments, a cough from further down the hall caught his attention. He recognized the young man leaning against the wall as the one who'd been eating with Bluestreak a couple of orns before.
"Hi, um, Smokescreen?" Hank asked, approaching him.
"Yep, that's me. I was told to come wait until you'd been released from the Hatchet's lair." The other guy grinned, tilting his helmet a bit as he stood up straight. "C'mon, your friends are working through the tactics test in one of Prowl's briefing rooms."
It took Hank a klik to run through the names Kup had mentioned in the mountains and pick out this one. "Uh, he's the Second in Command around here, right?"
"Bingo, we've got a winner!" They left the building behind, heading for the command center and dodging various Autobots going about their business. Once the two hit the quieter staircase, Hank spoke up again.
"...Doesn't he have more important things to do than test rookies?"
"Nah, Prowler always wants first crack at seeing who might make good officer material. It's his way of making sure no more Jazzes slip into the chain of command." Smokescreen smirked at Hank's confused expression. "Don't get me wrong, having those two work together on a battle strategy means it'll be the best we've got, but back when they first had to start working together, those two hated each other. And Prowl has no inclination whatsoever to inflict someone with a similar personality type onto himself to try and order around."
"...I see."
"So you say, but it'll be easier to understand once you've been here a while."
"How long do recruits usually stick around? Since this is the Headquarters base and all."
"Eh, depends on what your talents are and how quickly groups finish their training. Usually, the first five orns are the basic assessments, after which you get assigned to a particular division, undergo another groon or two of specialized training, and then are either good enough to stay here or join up with one of our mobile units. I'll go ahead and let you in on a little secret, Roddy - there aren't nearly as many of us as the Cons and Neutrals think."
He frowned. "What, you mean there aren't armies of Autobots defending the northern city-states?"
"I don't know the exact numbers - actually, I'm pretty sure only the top officers do - but at most? We have two dozen units of as many as ten or so operatives out in the field at all times, a couple bases half the size of this one, the various Wilds Dweller and Roamer agents, and the sixty or so people here."
Hank felt his jaw dropping, but didn't particularly care. "But that- that's maybe four hundred Autobots! Against-"
"Against over two thousand Decepticon Imperials, yeah. Which is why we don't have very many actual battles, compared to small skirmishes and guerilla warfare. It's also why we place so much emphasis on training the few newcomers we get, especially with tactics." By this point, the pair had come to a stop beside the closed door of a room labelled 207: Mission De/Briefs 3.
Smokescreen vented a quick sigh before offering Hank a smile. "It's not so bad. As long as we're careful not to take unnecessary risks, we don't lose too many people. I think it's worse for those folks that the Cons have suckered or forced into joining their ranks. Anyway, this is your stop, and just bear in mind all that I've said." With that, the man turned and strode away, leaving Hank to enter the room alone.
The first thing he noticed were the looks of concentration each of his friends wore as they worked on computer screens at a row of desks. Then there was Ironhide standing at the back, as imposing as ever but appearing relieved that Hank was still in one piece. And beside the Weapons Specialist was a man dressed like both Smokescreen and Bluestreak, frowning first at Hank and then the remaining empty desk.
Taking the hint, he hurried over and activated the test waiting for him. Looking over the questions, Hank realized they were all combat scenarios, requiring written explanations from the recipient as to what they'd do with certain weaponry and teammates.
...Maybe four hundred Autobots... Against over two thousand Decepticon Imperials...
...Which is why we don't have very many actual battles, compared to small skirmishes and guerilla warfare...
...Not so bad, as long as we're careful not to take unnecessary risks...
Right then. Time to see how much damage he could do, risking as few lives as possible.
-HF-ST-
When everyone had finished the tactical assessments, Ironhide sent them off to lunch and said that they had the rest of the orn to relax. Still mulling over all the insights he'd had to the Autobots over the last few orns, Hank wasn't much in the mood for conversation, so after finishing his meal he headed outside to wander around the base for a while.
All the vorns that he'd imagined the heroics, the glory and fame, he'd never much thought about what the actual reality of the War was. Hillitrex had been too far into the mountains to have its own Communications Hub like most towns, which was why most of their information came word of mouth from travellers passing through. Even so, when Hank was a kid and the War officially began, Sam Witwicky had come back one orn from Iacon with a recording of the message that the newly risen Autobot leader had sent out to every Hub across Cybertron.
"My name is Optimus Prime,and I would ask all citizens of our world to take heed of this message. We have been deceived as to the intentions of these Imperials..."
He'd sat and listened to every replay of that recording as townsfolk came and went from the Witwicky home, ignoring their whispered worries and concerns. All that had mattered at the time was the confidence, the surety in that voice as the man behind it swore that he and his people would fight with every weapon they had to remove the renamed Decepticons.
Lost in memory, it took a flash of yellow darting across his field of vision to bring Hank back to the present. He watched as Bumblebee ran to where a brown haired man was leaving the command center. The man grinned and knelt, opening his arms so the kid could throw himself into them. Laughing, the brunette stood, allowing Bee to scramble around until he was perched on the guy's broad shoulders, eagerly pulling out his datapad and holding it down to be read. Hank found himself smiling as he watched, wondering who the guy was. He knew it couldn't actually be Bumblebee's dad, since Kup said the kid had been found and brought to the Autobots vorns ago...
The man that Bee was sitting on looked up, caught his eye, and waved Hank over. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, he jogged forward, smiling as Bumblebee waved to him.
"Is it just me, or have you gotten taller?" He joked, getting the kid to silently snicker. The man also smiled, handing the datapad back up.
"So, you're this Hot Rod I've heard so much about." Face reddening, Hank wondered exactly who he'd been hearing from.
"Yeah, that's me. And you are?" Perched above him, Bee looked down at the man expectantly.
"Oh, just call me Op, that's what this rascal uses." Even without turning his head, the guy was able to reach up and poke Bee in the side. Startled, the kid batted his hand away with an annoyed scowl, but Hank could see the glee in his bright blue eyes.
"Okay, Op, I hope you don't mind me asking, but who exactly has been saying what about me?"
"Well, to start, Bumblebee here is quite happy to finally have someone to teach combat skills too. I should say, though, had he not already offered, Ironhide's report on the sparring assessments would have gotten you immediate instruction anyway." Tall and muscular as he may have been, Op didn't seem imposing in the slightest with a small twelve vorn old perched on his shoulders and making faces at what he was saying. Hank was hard pressed not to laugh out loud.
"Guess I shouldn't be too surprised by that," he said instead.
Op merely nodded, dislodging Bee's folded arms, and started to turn away before pausing. "Would you care to join us? Bumblebee and I were just about to take our usual stroll around the base."
"Oh! Uh, sure, if you don't mind." The kid was nodding enthusiastically, while Op just gave him a gentle smile. "Okay then."
As they walked along the dirt path that circled the valley's perimeter, Hank was further surprised by the banter that went back and forth between the two. They made an effort to include him in the conversation (where he came from, his family, what he liked to do in his spare time, that sort of thing), but it was clear that the pair were used to this time just being for them.
"How long have you two been doing this?" Hank found himself asking at one point.
"Oh, almost for as long as we've both been here." Op smiled. "I was one of the soldiers who found Bee when he was a toddler, and more often than not in those early days my wife and I found ourselves being the ones to take care of him. Little rascal was always trying to slip out from under our noses..."
Bee bopped him on top of the head.
"...And succeeded more often than not! We'd find him in the strangest places, especially after he started using the ventilation shafts as a path of travel. Anyway, I started bringing him out here for an afternoon walk in order to wear out some of his energy before naptime."
Huffing, Bee dropped his head down to bury his face in Op's hair, getting the other two to chuckle at his embarrassment.
"I bet he was a lot smaller then." Hank mentioned, getting Op to hum in agreement. "So... Are you guys planning on letting him fight when he turns eighteen?"
Bee raised his head cautiously as Op's good cheer turned to something darker. "I... Am sincerely hoping to War is over by then. We all do. It is a hard enough thing to send others' children into battle..." He trailed off, but Hank could easily imagine what the man would have said next: But to send one's own is another matter entirely.
Yet another thing he hadn't thought about when contemplating the War.
"I always thought, growing up, that wars and battles were about winning for the greater good, earning glory to go with your name, and that the good guys always won over the bad." Hank said slowly, hardly believing he was bringing it up. "But, it's not that simple, is it?"
"Very rarely." Op rumbled, tightening slightly the grip he had on Bee's ankles where they dangled by his chest. "The greater good is indeed what we strive for, but not at the cost of lives that the Decepticons are continually willing to sacrifice. Glory, I have found, only serves to make you target on the battlefield, hence why we try to work quietly as much as possible, up until battle breaks out. And as for good triumphing over evil... In the end, that is what we hope for. Until then, losses have to be dealt with as much as victories." As he spoke, the man's voice had gotten deeper, causing Hank to frown as he noted something familiar about it.
They completed the rest of the walk in silence after that, until Op bid the young recruit a good night cycle, and headed off to the officers' barracks with Bee still perched atop him. It wasn't until the two were out of sight that Hank realized he'd never gotten the man's actual designation, or found out who he was in the Autobot ranks.
None of his friends recognized the description of the guy when Hank brought him up at dinner, though they all listened rather intently when he passed on the man's words about the War. Later, when he returned to the medical bay so Ratchet could satisfy himself that the bruises were all healing, Hank asked the old doctor if he knew who Op was. The startled look was enough to give him an affirmative, but then Ratchet started laughing and saying that the rookie would get to officially meet him the next orn. Disappointed, Hank was forced to go to sleep that night wondering about the mystery of it.
-HF-ST-
After the morning run on their fifth orn in Ark Valley, Ironhide directed the recruits over to a separate track, where they could practice driving various vehicle types that the army used for transport and missions. As usual, there was someone new waiting to help out with their assessments.
"Hey, Roddy," Springer nudged him. "Is that the guy you talked to yesterday?" Startled, Hank confirmed that is was, indeed, Op. Now, though, the man was wearing a red and blue armored jacket, with a large blaster hung from his shoulder and a longsword at his hip, as well as a stylized helmet tucked under under his arm.
"Boys and girl, it's my honor to introduce ya t' the Autobot leader himself, Optimus Prime."
Hank nearly choked.
The grown men looked on with amusement as not just Hank, but all of the recruits turned some variation of white or grey in their shock. It was a few minutes later that Ironhide finally got them moving again, once everyone had recovered somewhat. As always, they went through the order of the first day to start having each of the rookies try out the different vehicle types to show what skills they had. Surprisingly, this was the first thing that Arcee did pretty poorly at, never going above twenty miles per joor and clutching the handlebars or steering wheel with a death grip.
Hank, though, felt like he was finally able to make up for his miserable performance on the sparring mat. Behind the wheel of the scouting vehicle, a low, sleek four-wheeled car that felt like it was made especially for him, the youth really opened up the throttle and roared through the driving course, avoiding obstacles with a flourish and adding in a few donut spins just for good measure. When he got back to the others, Ironhide was staring at him with both eyebrows raised, while Prime appeared pretty pleased with the show.
Springer also got to spring a surprise on their instructor. "Oh, sure, everyone over the age of fifteen learned how to fly my great-uncle's helicopter." He told the flabbergasted old man. "I wouldn't say I'm a master at it, but-"
"But nothin', if ya can fly, then yer more'n likely gonna go inta our air forces." Thanks to that, Ironhide overlooked Springer's lack of ability maneuvering anything that wasn't a truck.
As could probably have been predicted, Blurr was almost as unwilling to pilot the different test vehicles as Arcee, again because of lack of prior experience. Prime promised them both that it wasn't that big an issue, and that each could probably learn to drive a two-wheeled motorcycle fairly easily.
Warpath had a bit of an issue when it came to fitting into the actual driver's seats, thanks to his height and thick build. The space issue affected his driving talents a bit, but for the most part he came across as mediocre on all fronts. It was his cousin, though, who really took the prize that orn for having the most unexpected talent.
"You mind repeatin' that fer me, runt?" Ironhide asked in a tone of disbelief. Cliffjumper huffed in annoyance, but refrained from snapping at him.
"I said, do you have any tanks I could try out? I helped my aunt fix up an old husk of one that been on our ranch back in the Coldhorn Slopes, and could pilot it pretty well, but I'd love to get my hands on a modern model."
"It's true, sir." Warpath piped up. "Tr- Cliff's not half bad with handling those behemoths." Both Ironhide and Prime exchanged a look, to which the former shrugged.
"Alright," Optimus told them. "You can try one of ours, under careful supervision and the stipulation that you not shoot anything. I've heard of your penchant for large explosions, and would rather not have to rebuild anymore of my base after the shooting range." Smart enough to look abashed, Cliffjumper quickly agreed, and Ironhide promised to arrange a time for it later in the deca-orn.
"And that," he addressed the lot of them. "Concludes your initial assessment period. Congratulations on making it this far; meet back at the training center after dinner tonight, and we'll have your personnel assignments for you."
The hours after his dismissal and the meeting time were torturous for the recruits to endure - they walked around the base, checked over their weapons, even went to get some more sparring practice in (though this was mostly Arcee and Cliffjumper). Finally, though, dinnertime came, and immediately after clearing their trays all six youths were back at the training center and waiting in their line. They were met by Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, Optimus and a young man who was introduced as Silverbolt.
"Cliffjumper, Warpath, the both of you have been designated as Iron Corps soldiers, the grunts of our forces, I'll admit, but with the possibility of you moving up to join our Wreckers unit." The cousins had mirroring expressions of awe, because while they'd expected to become basic warriors, the Wreckers were a legendary fighting force - the heaviest hitters that the army had.
"Arcee, you're advanced enough with the right weapons and fighting abilities that you'll be joining Jazz's Special Operations division." The girl nodded, relaxing slightly as she already knew that the organization was made up of spies and saboteurs - right up her alley.
"Blurr, you'll be going into the Scouting Corps, a specialized attachment of our spy and courier network who find and bring back information from right up to or even behind enemy lines." Knowing that this was a division made up only of the fastest of the fast, he didn't argue in the slightest.
"Springer, we made a last minute change to your assignment. At first, it looked like you'd be going Warpath and Ciffjumper, but since you've handled a copter before you'll be going into Silverbolt's Airborne Division."
"We're a bit of a motley crew, with all different types of aircraft, so you should fit right in," the other man offered, getting Springer to relax a little and nod his appreciation.
"And Hot Rod, excusing your truly exceptional abilities as a living punching bag," this got a chuckle out of everyone, Hank included. "It's been decided you'll become one of the Cadets, the soldiers who study under various positions before joining our ranks of officers."
For the second time that day, Hank found himself facing a shocking piece of news. He was hardly listening as Ironhide wished them all good luck, didn't notice the awed and cheerful looks that the others shot him, and in fact didn't pay the slightest attention again until Optimus stepped forward to address them.
"I understand that being young can cause one to have different ideas about what war means, but I want to make it clear here and now that you all are official soldiers of the Autobot Army, and as such have placed yourselves into a less than desirable position. From now on, there will be those trying to kill you simply because of the symbol you wear, regardless of whether or not they truly support the one that they bear." He looked each of them in the eye in turn as he spoke. "I do not ask that you give your lives to our cause, because for any spark to be extinguished is a grave loss indeed. Instead, I can only hope that you will each do your best to help us end this War, and restore Cybertron to a way of peace and equality."
This was the second time in his life that Hank Veer had listened to Optimus Prime make a speech that reached into his very soul. But it was the first time that he, as Hot Rod of the Autobots, silently swore to always follow this man, and try his best to uphold the same ideals.
A/N: Next projected update will be February 5th. 'Til then, be well, dear people willing to read this monster of a story.
-Triscribe