I changed the timeline a bit, so this all takes place in April 2007 and Sam is a sophomore, age 16 not 17
Warnings: bad language and, well, it's movie one so - violence. This applies to all following chapters and may up the rating. Also, I will not at any point edit out curse words because they offend you. Sorry, but if you've met any person in the army, they do not always talk g-rated.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. I'm not putting up this disclaimer again. It's annoying.
World: Harry Potter Book 1 and Transformers Movie/Novel-verse (and extra characters if I feel like it.) Plus, I may choose some situations from the book or my mind over the movie for detail and to make characters more 3 dimensional.)
Flashback OR Spanish if Fig is speaking and suddenly goes into italics (I only have a few correctly translated Spanish phrases in my arsenal)
'thoughts'
"Speaking"
Chapter 7: New Beginnings
The orphanage was three stories tall with one bathroom and six bedrooms on each floor except for the first where there were only three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. Each bedroom held six to eight cots pressed together in an effort to conserve space.
In the corner of one of these rooms sat a young boy who held a small bundle of cloth in his arms. The sound of loud voices and banging could be heard through the thin, creaky walls, but the boy ignored them and continued making faces and poking at the bundle, every now and then speaking in different voices.
Soft footsteps moved toward the shut door of the room, the boy quieting and huddling closer to the shadows, all movement stopping as he did so. Dim light from the dying hallway lamps flickered into the room for a moment before being blocked by old wood once more. The boy relaxed.
"Did you get it?"
Another boy knelt into the shadows to shuffle the bundle into his own arms, a full bottle of white liquid gripped in his hand.
"Yeah. The old grump will be wondering where her money went tomorrow, but she won't suspect me."
Unfurling the cloth a bit, bright green eyes peaked up through onyx hair to stare somberly at the red haired brothers. The babe took the offered formula, eyes and ears still following the continuing conversation.
"Of course not, how could she ever suspect Mr. Goody Two shoes?"
"And you convincing the other kids to be unruly tonight had absolutely nothing to do with it."
"Well they'd listen to you if you'd act your age and not like an old man." The first boy paused to give a sad smile to the babe who was tugging at his shirt, bottle finished and mouth opening and closing, a string of nonsense sounds bubbling out. "Don't worry, Emeralds, you'll get the hang of speakin' again soon enough. Then you can freak out the matron by reciting the child endangerment laws."
The babe rolled his eyes, but gave the boys a playful grin and giggled. "Heh-o ma beh-bee, heh-o ma ha-nee – "
"Man, I still can't get over how hot it is here."
Electric blue eyes slid across the occupied seats of the CV 22 Osprey helicopter. The man who spoke wore standard military gear for a typical day scouting the area around Qatar, his brown-red hair cut short and hidden under a baseball cap. Donnely had been reassigned to William Lennox' team barely a month and no one could escape hearing those same words at least once a day. It didn't much endear the young desert newbie to the longer term soldiers.
"Ugh, boy, I swear! We don't need you to remind us of the damn heat. We're here too. Or have you been staring at the sun too long to see that?" Robert Epps, technical sergeant, rolled his eyes, not bothering to wait for a response before flipping on his radio and turning the volume up, a fast paced song quickly beating out and above the sound of the helicopter blades. Epps was just over 30 and a father of three with dark skin and expressive eyes as well as a passion for the technology he was in charge of on camp.
The group sat listening to the changing tunes for a while as their transport took them steadily closer to base for the incoming night just a few hours away. The companionship ended not long after Epps began to get a little too into his music.
A man near the back of the hold nodded to the old radio. "Hey, man, who sings that?"
Still swaying to the beat, Epps replied with the same tones of the song, "Ako~on."
The other man whacked his arm.
"Let's keep it that way, huh?" Will easily shrugged off the dirty look Epps threw at him, brandy brown eyes catching those of the other three men seated around him as the incensed singer began a teasing tirade on winning American Idol.
Jorge Figueroa, the 30-odd Chief warrant officer who simply went by Fig, shook his head, adjusting his sunglasses as he did so. "Another 8 months of this. I won't survive." He glanced pleadingly at Will. "Shield me from the horror."
Donnely snickered as Epps quickly flipped topics to target the spanish speaker.
"Oh, you can't deal with my American dream."
"Not when your singing makes the camels run away from water."
"Well at least they don't run away just from being near me - "
Fig lunged forward, hand outstretched. "That happened once!"
"Yeah, while you were talkin' 'bout your cricket-stew!"
"Bobby, Bobby; it's called 'gumbo' not 'stew' and it was Prairie dog. The crickets were sauteed in peanut oil - "
Donnely hunched over his seat, a fist pressed to his lips. "Ugh, both of you stop talking about it!"
Creating a quick truce with Fig, Epps turned a wide grin to the younger soldier. "But, Donny, Donny; prairie dog meat tastes like - what was it? Pork!"
Watching the conversation for another minute, the last male in the cab finally waved off the older men. "Alright, that's enough. We have another 20 minutes in here and I don't want to spend it covered in Patrick's spew."
"Yeah, wouldn't want you to short-circuit again." Blue eyes narrowed.
"It's not physically possible for a human body to 'short circuit' AND - " Epps' mouth closed with a click. "If you even think of calling me that name ever again, I will end you."
The cab was silent as the man with wind blown, flame-colored hair leaned back in his seat, Epps and Will exchanging a glance. Then...
"Watch that blood pressure or you'll Fritz."
Although he would never say it aloud, in his very personal opinion, wars were stupid.
Yes, they create change and sometimes better living conditions, but the same can easily be done with laws and agreements between groups. And the initial reason for wars tended to be ridiculous in and of themselves. It was why they continued one after another. The losers in one war want revenge or restitution or something and so another battle is fought. The result is hundreds and thousands of people dying and leaving behind family and friends who suffer and then may or may not restart another war. An ongoing cycle of pain and hatred. It did nothing.
That didn't mean that he wouldn't help his "side" any way he could. A bit hypocritical, but he never really cared what other people thought of him as long as he did what he felt was right. The military always needs mechanics to repair their planes, tanks, and hummers, after all.
His induction into Colonel Lennox's squad was by pure chance. The older man, and now father, had been passing through the mechanics' tent while Fred had been arguing with Sergeant Selvis about improving the armor on the Humvees. Will had listened, asking questions on whether soldiers' survival rate increased with the armor, and agreed with him on it. Two weeks later, Lennox's special ops team had a new member. The extra physical and weaponry training was a pain to go through, but he wouldn't change a thing about it.
"Freddie!" Even when stationed just outside of a warzone.
Brown eyes met blue, the smaller of the two smiling with open glee. "Hey, Mahfouz. You been bothering the brutes for candy again?"
"No, just you. You got some, yes?"
Fred smacked his hand against his forehead. "Oh no! I ate all of it. It was delicious."
Mahfouz laughed, rocking on his feet. "No you did not!"
"Yes I did. Can't you tell how fat I've gotten? I think I'm even bigger than your papa."
"No! Not fat! Rail! Freddie, I have some, please?" Fred tapped his chin, humming thoughtfully.
"I don't know. Did you do those worksheets I gave you?"
"Yes!" A binder was quickly yanked from under robes, proudly displaying the messily written 'Mahfouz's English' on the cover. "Had Mister Ela-y-jah check it, too."
"Elijah." The recently-turned 24 year old reached back behind the bench to his pack, pulling out a snickers and tea bottle. "Here, go eat in the wreck hall."
Grinning, Mahfouz snatched the offered snacks. "Many thanks, Freddie!"
Fred waited until Mahfouz was out of sight before looking over his shoulder at Fig, the man leaning against a parked jeep. "You're good with kids, amigo."
"And you're telling me, why?" The older man shrugged, dropping himself onto the beaten wood beside the younger male.
"You gonna have some yourself sometime?" Fred shook his head with a huff.
"I'm not in a rush. I can wait the few years I have left on my term of service, Cookie."
Fig chuckled, lightly shoving the flame-head's shoulder. "You're never gonna stop that, eh, Fritz?"
"You just answered your own question."
The two rangers sat in silence, watching as the sun slid down the horizon and darkened the camp. Eventually, they had to separate with orders to check inventory, Fig on the east tent and Fred on the north. It wasn't until a group of armed combatants passed by that the younger paused in his work. Frowning, he leaned halfway out of the tent to see a MH-53 Pave Low coming low into base. Ducking back out of sight, Fred went on a spree, snatching up armor, guns, and ammo quicker than Mahfouz did with sweets. Wait...
"Shit, shit, shit!" Repeating the mantra faster as he ran, Fred made his way to the wreck hall, eyes locking onto the small 10 year old sitting near the back, tea bottle nearly empty. "Mahfouz, up! Get up, we gotta go!"
Brown eyes widened in surprise as the army-mechanic bodily scooped the smaller boy up and out of the shelter, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds as he jogged toward the east end of the compound. "Cookie, hey!"
Fig suddenly found himself with an armful of confused child, an armored vest soon tightened to his torso. "Wha -? Fritz, what's wrong wit you?"
"There's a Pav Low coming in. We need to find Will and Epps and the others and get ready. High powered but easy to carry. And water/ food in case we have to leave base." Every few words were punctuated by a magazine cartridge being suddenly thrust into either Fred's or Fig's pack. "Something is going to happen, we need to get ready for a fallout. There've been rumors for nearly a month now that we can't ignore - "
Fig readjusted his grip on the boy in his arms, head shaking in an attempt to ward off a headache."Ay, Tonto del culo, Fritz! Calm yourself! There are always rumors and every time you hear them, you go off with the guns and the emergency drills and you piss off the general - "
Fred quickly rounded on him, snatching Mahfouz up and dressing him in a spare vest and helmet. "Ortiz was a jackass to begin with. And this is legitimate! When was the last time a helicopter landed with an armed group of soldiers to greet it?"
"Armed?" Picking up his own automatic, Fig leaned out the tent flap as though he could somehow see the airstrip through the the lines of tanks. "You mean like escort armed or like a 'we may or may not kill you' armed?" At the annoyed look, he lifted his hands in defense. "Yeah, you're right, dumb question. Ey, Epps! You know about this?"
Said sergeant jogged over to the tent, a frown pulling at his lips, brow furrowed. "I don' know 'bout nothin', but my signals copped out on me. Reception shouldn't be this bad without at least a breeze going through our sector." The darker man automatically took the gun thrust into his hands, barely taking the time to give his younger colleague a look when he noticed the armored munchkin half hidden behind the flap of the supply tent.
A sound like screeching feedback echoed through the camp, high pitched clicks and whirrs quickly following. Without warning, a thick wave of heated electricity blasted through the campsite, a warehouse near the landing strip going up in flames soon after.
For once, the two elder men were grateful for Fritz' paranoia.
Abruptly, Epps cursed and began sprinting toward the epicenter of the explosions, Fig trailing behind like an angry parent. "La madre que te parió, Epps! Where you goin'?!"
"Will has his vid night around the helipad! I ain't leavin' him without his gun!" The line of containerized housing units (CHU's) to the dark man's left burst outward into flames.
Tossing an automatic at a passing soldier, Fred scooped up his self-declared ward and followed after the older men, eyes peeled to catch a glimpse of whoever or whatever was destroying base like a lego playset. The team soon met up within the rows of tanks. Having the same worry of finding their group, Will was dragging Donnely along by the shirt, small handgun gratefully traded for Epps' automatic.
"Is everyone alright?"
"We're all good, man, but what the hell happened?! Who's attacking?!"
"Guuyyys, I think the better question is 'what'!" Following Donnely's wide gaze, Fred had a moment to think of how loudly George would squeal if he could see a fully automated robot moving around. As it was, having those glowing red eyes locked onto his very fragile form was probably the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced. Aside from 'dying.'
"MOVE!"
All four men followed the order without question. Through the smoke and debris, with only the stars and burning fires to light their way, they ran on until they were out of the base perimeter and then further still, waving at fellow soldiers to follow. Even as the concussive sounds of whatever weapon the metal behemoth was using thundered into their ears, screams and gunfire dwindling to nothing, they ran.
There weren't many survivors. Those who did were in a vague state of shock even as they sprinted through the desert night, some having witnessed their teammates incinerated, people they had shared their lives and memories with for months and sometimes years. Fred could name all of them.
His team had obviously lucked out, all five members living and mobile. Having the highest rank amongst them, Will took leadership, deciding to head for Mahfouz's village a little over day's trek away. Epps and Fig guarded his sides while Donnely trailed behind, attempting to comfort one of the quiet men.
Elijah Boyd. Dirty blonde and freckled, at age 28 he was a year older than Donnely. Usually silent whenever Fred had seen him, the one time he did speak was when a lunchtime conversation came up about why they signed into the forces. The man had never gone to college(barely even graduated high school), but he had a younger sister who wanted to get in, so he joined to save up enough money for her. His entire team had been on night shift in the control room: killed while he was grabbing them some coffee.
Jalmar Wilkons and Sean "Spaghetti Head" Wilder were teammates at opposites ends of the spectrum. Jalmar came from a small, spread out community in the south while Sean was raised in a jewish-italian home up in Newark, New Jersey. Nonetheless, the two got on well; Sean tending to talk enough for both of them. They were holding the right flank together, Sean on the outside, gun held high, and keeping a half-eye on his darker counterpart shuffling along beside him, face blank.
The last two were what Fred could easily assume as childhood friends. Both were tall and muscled with a solemn outward face and an uncanny knack for knowing when the other needed a hand, whether in work or socializing. Their birth names, Victor Cole and Jonathan Stone, were immediately translated into "StoneCold" the day of their arrival on base. Neither had spoken since meeting up with the rest of the survivors, but Fred could see a more vague version of how he and George used to communicate in their movements.
George. He really hoped they could get a pickup soon, because both his brothers were going to panic when news of the attack aired on the news the next day.
As the surviving troop of 10 made their way through the dark sands of Qatar, they didn't know that a large scorpion-like machine had been sent out to terminate them or that they would have to fight for the sake of their entire planet when they finally made it state side.
And an ocean away, a pair of broken glasses sat perched next to where a young teen lay still, dreaming of new cars and giant icemen.
Author's Note
Yeah, I'm finally in the Transformer-verse! After 6 'prequel' chapters...
For Fig's spanish "Tonto del culo" is basically his way of fondly calling Fred stupid or silly. Literally "an idiot of an ass." Similarly, "La madre que te parió" is kinda like saying "motherfucker" but is literally "the mother who gave birth to you." "amigo" means "friend" and if you didn't know that - how?
