A/N The following is a bit of Barricade's backstory. Sorry, I could do NOTHING with 'Race Track Patrol' connecting him to Intelligence work, so I kinda chucked canon out the window here. (But you'll eventually spot those Micromaster cameos!) SO, here's NEW backstory. Barricade, in this, is WAY younger than you think. Early days of the war on Cybertron. This section, which is HUGE for something I write, is Act One. And is about a third of the wordcount of the story. Just…tryin' something different. Five sections total.
1.
"Good cycle, gentle warbots," he began his usual patter, not even bothering to listen to himself any more, "My designation is Combat Control 26G643AB, personal designation Barricade, and I'll be your CC for the upcoming mayhem."
He heard the six bots in his team grumble. Everyone hated CC. Hated CC til CC saved their sorry asses. And even then some. "My mission success rate is 92%, currently the highest in Combat Control. My casualty rate is average, roughly 54.2%. My fatality rate is among the lowest, at only 18%. To prepare you for what's ahead: statistically, you will succeed. You will most likely get hit. But you will survive. I shall now give you 30 kliks to verify the statistics I have just given you. If you think you can do better on your own, please feel free to close down your channel. That will increase the likelihood of non-casualty for the others by approximately 4% each."
He waited. One of them checked of course. One of them always checked. "He is that good," he heard one say, almost angry. As if he wished his CC were incompetent and a liar. Because, yeah, that made sense.
He waited. "No objections? Fine. Please log your numeric mission designations. You," he pinged one, "Are now One. You, are Two," and so on down through the six of them. One, Number One, in fact, inevitably complained. "Why don't you use our real designations?"
"Because it takes less time to say your number than your polysyllabic name," Barricade replied, curtly. Also, because he didn't really like to think about these bots as individuals with names. When a number died, who cared? When a bot with an actual name died, that implied that a history, a personality, likes and dislikes, died with it. No thanks. "You may of course refer to me as CC or more likely, 'you'. 'Your highness, savior of my skin plating' would be appreciated, but I bow to circumstance." One snort of laughter. Barricade logged that—number Four. Keep him alive, he decided. "If this is unacceptable to you, hang onto your individuality by all means. And close your channel." Another pause. No one did. Very rarely did anyone. Not when they saw his stats. He could be the biggest fraggin' bastard, but the numbers paid for a lot of nipped pride.
"Our mission is to assault a warehouse from where we believe a small faction of counterinsurgent Autobots who have lately been launching…unpleasantness. Likelihood of explosives judging from their usual methods, near 100%. Likelihood they will use them in a combat situation, also high. I have taken the liberty—I presume you don't mind—of mapping the most expedient areas for them to lay explosives and traps. I will download each floorplan as it becomes relevant. Any questions so far?"
Two and Five muttered. Barricade didn't care enough to call up their voc volumes. Sometimes it was fun to change their vol settings and have them blast out what they thought was a mutter or whisper. They hadn't pissed him off quite enough. Yet.
"If you're still onboard, please lower quaternary firewalls to allow CC access to your systems." One by one, they let him in—their armament specs, stats, alt modes and abilities, and current readiness scrolling across the screens in the large CC helmet. All six. Of course, he preened. Your reputation precedes you. "Good. I have you all. The transport will drop you in half a cycle. I will leave you to your thoughts, gentlemen, and pick up with you when you hit the CZ."
*****
Barricade slumped back in the harness, feeling the cables from the CC helmet slide over his head and shoulders as he rolled his head around to loosen up his neck. Bad part hadn't even begun yet and he was already getting tense. Do not borrow stress from the future, you idiot, he told himself. Doesn't spread it any thinner on the ground. Can't do your job worth spilled oil if you tweak yourself.
He glossed his primary visor, rolling its optical control to scan the CC center. Only three other CCs working right now. Slow optempo. He wondered why he only had a six-team for this one. Not that he minded—fewer idiots to have to corral against their better instincts. He recognized Fray's hands, frantically operating the virtual screens. Hot action there. Barricade figured he'd look like that in about half a cycle: they didn't waste their 'best' CC on any milk runs.
He called up his schedule. Tomorrow, one small raid, shadowed by a new CC. Great. Another mind to deal with, except sitting right on top of his brain asking stupid questions. He could hardly wait. Well, at least he knew he had a tomorrow. Statistically one of these mechs he had dragging down his cortex probably didn't. Too early for him to start picking favorites for that role.
He called up mission specs again. Ugly one. Lot of close in building room-to-room fighting. The mechs he'd been given were relatively small and maneuverable (he was smaller), which was good, but they were also not exactly stomping war machines. If it came to a drawn-out firefight, they could run out of ammunition. Or guts. And/or guts. And if these Autobots used well-shaped charges….well, he wished the smaller building-to-building guys had better armor. Better yet, wished the mission orders were to flatten the building from orbit. But then, they wouldn't need him.
Not that he'd mind that. He hated this. Hated that he was so good at it.
Checked his chrono. Just about time. He called up realtime birdseye of the CZ and started his shell programs. Last minutes of peace for all involved.
*****
2.
"Three," he said, "Forward five paces, then down." His visor was running all six of his charges' locations, doubled in individual monitor and then team spread. They were ground approaching the target building, leap-frogging from safe point to safe point. "Hold." Barricade revolved the 3D of the target building. "May have a sniper. If so, on our approach 3B2." (Third floor, second side, second window in from the approach edge).
"I'm not fraggin' waiting," one of the voices—Two—griped. "Damn talking head doesn't know shit how to run a battle."
"Two, I said hold." There was a way to draw the sniper out. Two walking out from Barricade's carefully selected cover for him would work, but wasn't the ideal solution. He cursed as Two trotted out of the cover. He pulled Two's optics—at least the damn mech had his eyes on the right window. Was going to be Two this mission, huh? Barricade's hands keyed the override. Not yet. As long as Two had the sense to keep moving.
Nope. Two paused, raising his weapon to fire at the window. "Two, dammit!" he snarled, turning his voc vol up to max. Two flinched, which spoiled his shot, but also made him twitch just enough to one side that the sniper round merely punched a hole through his shoulder, and not his spark chamber. Two flailed to the ground, his weapon clattering next to him.
"One, Six, Three,"—they had the best angles of fire—"suppressive fire. Four, no—" he checked alt modes, "Five, alt up and throw a cable at Two. Drag him to your cover."
Five followed with an obedience bred by fear. Barricade's small hands called up Five's profile. First CC mission. Only a handful of other combat missions before this. Still, fear was good. Barricade could work with fear—and the obedient kind was better than the frozen kind. Five flung his alt mode's cable out in front of Two. "Grab hold," Barricade said. "Four, move up to Two's previous position. Ready your parabolic launcher." Another scramble. The other three kept up suppressive fire as Five dragged the injured bot behind the wall he crouched by. "Slack suppressive at your discretion. Five, you know how to use your emergency patch kit." A mild reprimand. He'd pulled Five's optics, and Five was just staring into, and through, the leaking hole that went through Two's shoulder. "If not, ask Two."
"Two's out," Five said, his voice shaky. "I think he's dead."
"Not dead," Barricade said. "Got his signal right here." But…close to unconsciousness. Barricade pulled up one of his programs. "Two. You can hear me. Lower your tertiary firewalls." Two complied, immediately—he'd learned his lesson. Would've been nicer if he'd learned a little sooner—they could be accomplishing the fraggin' mission instead of patching his sorry camshaft. Barricade's program invaded Two. "Two," he said, trying to gentle his voice, "I am rerouting your alarm systems, temporarily, to allow you to continue to function. Assist Five in stabilization repairs. He's freaking out."
Two's optics fluttered open as Barricade's program took hold. "Hey, let me help…." Barricade heard him say.
Four pinged him. "Ready."
"Aim."
Four aimed at the sniper's window.
"Adjust one floor up. Suppression's pushed him back from the window. Best bet is to cave the roof on him." Four quickly adjusted his aim. He waited for Barricade's approval. "Good." He fired. Barricade pulled his bio—he'd been on several CCs before. "Not your first CC rodeo, Four? Who was your previous CC?"
"Damage."
"Ah." Damage was good, but a little overcontrolling. Explained why Four did only as he was told. "You can take a bit more initiative with me, if you like. As long as you don't counter my orders."
"Got it." The smoke cleared—the fourth floor corner had collapsed onto the second floor. They saw one thin, red painted arm twitching in the rubble. One and Three cheered.
"Not over yet, warbots," Barricade said.
"One less." One replied.
"True."
"Entry looks clear," Three reported.
"Good. Regroup there. Two, you can move." Not a question. He could read on his HUD that Two's legs were functional.
He waited while they hopscotched their way through to the blasted open doors. He heard six pairs of feet crunch on broken glass and heat-brittled metal. He already had the first and second floorplans ready.
"We're all here." One reported, unnecessarily. Still, it was courtesy.
"Success. Now, we have two ways of doing this, little warriors. I can download the maps to you for continual-consult, or you can lower tertiary firewall and let me in."
"What's that do?"
"Be more like me whispering in your ear about bad ideas before you make them. Perhaps unpleasant, as I've been told I don't have the sexiest voice, but faster than the alternative."
"I'm in." Four again. "It's not bad, really. Done it before. Don't even really hear him—you just get an idea that something or someone might be behind that door. Stuff like that." He felt Four's firewalls drop. Four, he decided, was not only getting out of this mission alive, he'd get out with a commendation. If Barricade had anything to say about it. And, oh look, he DID.
The others all followed Four's lead, even, Barricade smirked to notice, Two. "If this gets creepy," Two muttered, "I'm shutting you down."
"I'll just have to keep my observations about your hot ass to myself, then, Two," he said, acidly. Three snickered.
"Gonna find you after this," Two snarled. "Fraggin' little runt." Barricade saw Two's optics leap from bot to bot. "Seriously, have you ever seen these guys? Barely bigger than drones. Don't have the armor to fight off a paper clip."
"Hey," One warned. "He's kind of got our lives in his hands right now. As in, including yours."
"One, I would never endanger a mission because of a team member's prejudices," Barricade said, blandly. He'd heard the 'pathetic droneling' line a few too many times for it to sting anymore. Much. "Now, we're all onboard, right? First objective." He dropped to his subvoc, splitting his attention into six different channels. This was…uncomfortable. His attention divided, his consciousness stretched over them, feeling, because of the temporary hack, exactly what they were feeling. Five's capacitor was a little too fast. Barricade couldn't do anything about that right now. Four seemed perfectly calm—probably the kind more than happy to dump his trust into someone else. Bots like Four always confused Barricade more than those like Two. He could understand fighting. But the complete acceptance of another bot's control of your fate, on any level. It was…uncomfortable to be trusted that much.
Two was pissed, but, well, no surprise there. And Two did stop when Barricade muttered to him that behind that next door was a lovely place to have a bomb. "Go in high or low?" he asked.
"Their methods are too inexact—they don't have a preference. Blow a new door." He heard Two's approving grunt. Apparently anyone who authorized high firepower started to climb in Two's estimation.
"Four," he said, on another channel, "hang back. Getting footfalls above you. Can you get to a doorway?"
"Moving. Why?"
Before Barricade had a chance to answer, the ceiling in the room Four had been in ripped as the insurgents above began shooting AP rounds through the floor. "Idiotic," he muttered, to Four, "destabilizing their own floor."
"Desperate?"
"Maybe. Or they have something planned. Can you make injured sounds? Let them think they hit someone. Bad."
Four acknowledged and, before the shots died away, began howling. Realistically enough to send chills down Barricade's central line. And Barricade had heard the real thing more than enough times. After a moment, Four let his cries die to a whimper and fade out. "Good enough?"
Barricade grunted assent. A little too convincing for his sensor-net's liking. He walked the others through clearing the first floor without incident. No contact yet. They rallied below the stairwell. "They think we're one down. Don't have hard numbers on them yet—two, possibly three on the next floor—several more up above, but they might rush down to help. Next floor going to be rougher. Ready?"
3.
No fight this time. Three aimed his weapon up around the turn of the stairwell. "Any grenades or other suspicious things," Barricade cautioned, "you jump DOWN. Not up. Let them isolate themselves. Don't get cut off."
They glided up the stairwell with the kind of speed that spoke more how vulnerable they felt in the narrow funnel of the stairwell than if they'd sung a song about it. As each hit the top, he fanned them out in order of priority vector.
Three spotted the first charge. "CC?" he called. "What's this?" Barricade pulled up Three's optics. A dirty looking lump of…lumpiness, really. Greyish beige blob like some plaster had slagged off the walls. Would have been convincing if there were any other signs of heat slag. And the finger-marks, also. Amateurish. Must have been assembled in haste.
"Three," he said, 'Withdraw. Back the way you came. Do NOT turn your back on primary target door." Three backpedaled.
Four found two more charges, these up higher in the walls. And spaced far enough apart to hit the interior support beams. "Good spotting," Barricade said. "Whole second's wired to blow. Still have two of their registry on this floor so they're not quite set to blow it. Nonetheless, get yourselves by a window, and punch it out if need be. I signal you, you jump."
"Jump?" One again. Seems Two had tagged out with him as Most Annoying.
"Tuck and roll at the end. You want some distance between you and the building. Especially if they blow the support beams." He saw them rearrange themselves, backs to windows. "Step one to the left, each. Just in case they have a sniper across the road." Paranoia sometimes paid off. He could feel Four's pulse drop even more. Apparently, Barricade's paranoia soothed him. Made him feel he was really being looked after. Great.
He felt, through his hack, everyone else's tension. Like he didn't have enough of his own. It wasn't entirely unlikely that the Autobot insurgents would blow the charges with one of their own caught in it. All about the greatest good—sometimes, Barricade had discovered, that meant suck-all for the individual. Nothing. The registers on his screen seemed to amble about. Waiting. Were they drones? Fakes? If so, more than enough time to blow the second floor.
It hit him. Three's door—the one he had been heading to. Must have the trigger. Right in the center of the building. If they'd gone in using the textbook tactics, the whole team would have lined up, one big happy group, to get blown back to the Pit. Good thing CC had thrown the textbook out. "Three," Barricade said. "range weapon, please, and step back to the doorway where you found that charge."
He heard/felt Three swallow. "What's up, CC?"
"They're waiting for us to trigger it. Behind that door. Can you blast it open with your range weapon?" Three looked down at the door at the end of the hall, his eyes lingering on the charge. "Pretty sure."
"Wouldn't be unusual, according to The Book, to blow the door with a projectile blast."
"Gotcha." Three altered the magazine of his range weapon to metal slugs.
"Hold for a second. You're going to have to run like hell."
"Figured."
"Drop secondary firewalls."
"Why?"
"Want to run like hell?"
Three was confused, but dropped his walls. Barricade clicked off the force governors in Three's legs. "Now go."
Three blasted the door. As soon as the others heard the noise, like a beautiful synchronized piece, they threw themselves out of the windows. Three spun, and, with his legs boosted by the removal of the force governors, pounded down the hall hard enough to dent the floor. The blast caught him just as he reached a window, blasting him flat out. Barricade's program reached in, bending his head down into a protective roll. His primary weapon got torn from his hands in the landing, and his legs were shaking when he got up, and bits of his back plating were scored, but he was otherwise uninjured. Three turned to stare at the building.
The second floor blew straight out in a blast of white heat, slamming the third floor hard enough to collapse parts of the building to the foundation. "Frag….." Three breathed.
4.
"What now, CC?"
"Normally, I'd say roach-stomping, but even Autobots aren't stupid enough to blow the building up while they're in it. Unless they have some safety. We might have to go back in. If you need a hobby, you might lob a few grenades at anything that moves."
"On it," Six said. He moved up to crouch behind a wall across the street. Took cover, Barricade noted, without needing to be reminded.
"Wait and see?" One said.
"Wait just a little while."
"Why couldn't we blow the whole building ourselves?" Two asked. Barricade felt his brow crease in irritation, but not at Two. That was a damn good question.
"Short answer? What? And spare us all this fun and manly bonding? Long answer: probably something or someone in there they want verified dead. Better with a chance of 'taken alive'." Mission specs were silent on this, but that meant nothing. Intel was a mess right now after the Autobots had had that huge 'victory' (also known as a massacre) over at Bindir Hub. That's where Damage had been.
"Something's moving," Four reported. "Either two bots or one big hunched over one."
Smoke and chemical blowback from the explosion was foxing Barricade's birdseye. He could register a hit, but nothing more. "Can you verify, Four?"
"No."
"Assume armed. Better yet, assumed bomb with legs, especially if it comes near you."
"Blow it now?"
"Wait. See if we can get visual." Barricade reached for the metadata. If they could get a visual, he could match it against any known high-value targets. That would give him a start figuring out how to react.
"CC," one of them said, his voice anxious. "It's stopped moving."
"As in dead?"
"No. Just…stopped."
Barricade hit all comms. "Everyone's near cover. Prepare to duck if it blows. Can anyone give me angle visual?"
"I can," Two said. "Optical separator." Two unscrewed one of his optics and fed it out along its cable on the top of the wall he crouched behind.
"Let me worry about this, warbots. The rest of you, watch the rubble. This could be a distraction and we don't want the rats slipping away." He cut his comm down to Two. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
"Can adjust for any discomfort."
"Can you give me my fraggin' arm back? Right now I have 12% mobility."
"Repairable."
"Doesn't help us now." Two was mad. Not even really at Barricade. More like mad at himself for having been so slag-stupid in the first place. Barricade was used to being the scapegoat. Unfortunately.
"Can boost targeting and dexterity in your remaining arm."
"Can you?"
"Need access to secondary."
"None of the other CCs do this."
"None of the other CCs have my success rating." A long hesitation, and Two dropped his secondary firewalls. Barricade's programs rushed in, shifting the targeting and power protocols to the useable arm. He felt Two's dislike for him and a residual throb of pain from Two's chest-wound.. No amount of him letting Two blow giant holes in something was going to make Two not hate him. Especially when Two blamed him for the giant hole blown in himself. This was a palpable presence, like a choking fog. That, Barricade thought, is gratitude from these warriors. Do not allow yourself to forget that.
Plenty of time to dwell on the petty interpersonal failings of the warrior class later. Right now, "Three and Five, mark that Two is at Alpha Bravo. Need some coverage around back—head to Charlie Delta." He watched the team-spread as the two mechs bounced behind rubble to the far corner. Quick, quiet, professional. Pointless to ask for much more, really.
"CC," Two said, impatient, "He's just waiting there."
"Exactly it. Waiting for something. Just haven't figured out what it is yet."
"CC," Two said, excitedly, "He's looking up. Could they have air support?"
Barricade pulled out the larger view. "Nothing within range currently to help."
Barricade pulled the entire team's optics, giving him a near 360 of the rubble pile. Most of the building had collapsed, except, strangely, the fourth floor, CD corner. As if it had been protected by a magical hand. It hung at an angle, but it was suspiciously intact. Reinforced. Whatever they wanted—whatever the Autobots wanted to protect—was in there.
"Three, Five, action's going to come your way, at CD corner. Six and One, don't change position but see if you can get an angle of fire on that corner."
"I hate waiting," Two muttered.
"Well, you can always spark things off like before," Barricade snapped.
"Fraggin' CC," Two muttered, as if CC were the vilest name he could think of to call someone.
The reinforced box wobbled. "Movement," Three said. Barricade could sense the uptic in five capacitors. Four was…pathologically calm. He was covering the AB corner with Two. Good enough.
A mech boiled out of the corner of the CD room, scrambling down two stories of rubble, assisted by gravity. Too fast and too unsteady to get a clear shot, though Primus bless Three for trying. Another mech rose up, blasting a heavy grenade straight at Three's cover. Three screeched. Direct hit. Barricade cursed. "Three, I'm shutting down your alarm systems. Stay calm." He shunted Three's pain signals and warnings into a junk-code processor. Three tried to take a look down at himself, see the damage. Barricade locked his neck. "Relax and lay back," he ordered. Mechs got bothered when they saw half their torso missing. He supposed he would too. But he didn't need Three's panic on top of everything else, just as it got hot. Feeling his alarm systems was bad enough.
"One, Six, divert to rear angle of that corner. Get that box, but watch your crossfire." Aiming up, it shouldn't be too much of an issue, but still—mechs got excited in the heat of battle.
The AB corner mech started firing, pinning Two and Four down. "We're good," Four said. "We can wait." Six and One blasted at the box's structure itself—not even trying to hit any of the mechs who clambered out. Destroy the hive. Good. Five fired wildly at the mechs, drilling the one who had hit Three. Another round from a grenade landed near Three, blasting away the remains of his cover.
"Five," Barricade said. "Let's get Three."
Five collapsed against the wall he was taking cover behind. His ventilation bordered on over-rapid, his capacitor red-lining. "I can't!" he gasped. Barricade did a quick check.
"You're uninjured, Five. Three needs you."
"I can't!" he wailed.
"Scared? I can help you."
Five made a hiccuping noise. Trying not to cry. Poor thing. Probably first blooded combat, and he'd seen two up close.
"I can help you," Barricade repeated, readying his shells. "You want to save Three. Three needs your help. You can help him. I can help you help him."
Three's breath, ragged. "O—okay."
"Lower your firewalls."
"What level.?"
Barricade checked Five's status. And Three's. He needed to get Three under cover, quick. "All of them."
"All?" Five squeaked, but he dropped them. Barricade was in. He moved quickly. No time to be gentle. Blown most of that trying to sweet talk Five into doing this. Barricade cut Five's control. "You want to come along for the ride or take a nap?"
"Uhhh," Five didn't know what he was asking.
"You're coming along. Relax and try to enjoy the ride." Barricade hijacked control of Five's entire system. First step, slow ventilation and capacitor. Second, cut pain. Third, move.
Five bolted from behind his cover as Barricade snapped off his force governors. Five's personality watched in horror as a round shot at him, piercing one arm. Barricade felt Five's mind flinch against his own, waiting for the pain. And when it didn't come, a kind of horror. Barricade boosted a chemical mix to calm Five down. Didn't need him going even slightly shocky on him and fouling Barricade's control.
Five's ungovernored legs launched him into a long sailing jump. Barricade snapped Five's main weapons open, his higher-speed processors calculating each shot. Five watched in an awestruck numbness as each round hit its mark. Barricade tucked Five's body into a roll, landing him by Three. Five caught another long look at his injured arm—yellow lubricant and blue fluid pooling green and sickish looking in his joints.
"You're fine," Barricade snapped. "Three needs you." He had Five scoop Three up with both arms, and turn and run a careful zigzag back to cover, his boosted reflexes dodging the rounds the enemy sent at him easily. He released control of Five just as Five collapsed behind the wall again, dropping Three on the ground beside him.
"Control back to you," Barricade said. "Patch him and wait here. You're rally for the medevac."
One and Six were pounding the reinforced room. Plascrete had almost entirely been shot away, revealing a metal boxlike structure. Which Six was working at with his rocket launcher. "Good work," Barricade said. Two and Four had kept the AB mech occupied. "Ready to finish him?"
"Damn right." Two. Of course.
"Love to hear your plan, Two."
"Why ruin it by explaining?" Two knelt down, daisy chaining the fuses of two grenades clumsily with one hand. "Time to see if your little voodoo worked, CC," he muttered, and lobbed them over the wall. The first one blew at the mech's feet, the second, lifted by the blast, closer to the mech's abdomen. Minus one leg, the mech collapsed to the ground, arms flailing, firing wildly.
"Nice." Barricade admitted. "You do like explosions, don't you?"
Four said, "Two's demolitions." Four hesitated, then rose up from behind his cover and blasted at the fallen mech. Still a little slow to take initiative, Barricade decided.
"Nice and nice," Barricade said. "Let's mop up."
He directed the functional mechs closer to the metal box, diverting the more injured Two to replace injured Five pulling security on the very injured Three. The rest was almost easy, if one counted brutality as easy. But they discovered, in the end, what the Autobots had been trying to hide. A Councillor. Taking refuge or collaborating? Didn't much matter now, after six different rounds went through him. Just…one less enemy. Barricade cursed the Intelligence failure. If he'd known they had a high value person there, he'd've been more careful. Still, mission objectives as listed, another success. Three casualties, no fatalities, though Three would be sketchy for a long time. He called in Medevac and Transport, and with only a grudging sense of relief, logged himself out of the CC console.