A/N: While the dreaded RL didn't loom quite as large over the weekend as I thought it was going to Mirage most certainly did! In fact he stomped in on Friday and dragged me away by the scruff of my neck until this chapter was written and he's still standing menacingly behind me demanding I finish the next one as well! The idea of Bumblebee as the hardened and dangerous special ops agent he is in this story belongs to Tirya King in her story Undercover which you can find on this site.
--- Earth, now ---
Ratchet slowly came back to an awareness of the conference room, the images of Jazz's suffering burned indelible into his memory banks, he could feel still wet tear track down his face and a deep numb horror clamped 'round his spark chamber. As a medic he knew just how much agony Jazz had endured, and he was having trouble processing it. The rest of the 'bots in the room where in no better condition, the savagery they had witnessed had shaken all of them to their smallest resistors. Ironhide and Hound had risen to their feet and still stood at the salute, the wordless tribute of one warrior to another. Beachcomber, Brawn, Cliffjumper and Huffer were a tight huddle of tears on the floor, supporting each other in their grief, Jazz always had time for. Ratchet stopped the thought with a burst of renewed pain; Jazz had always had time for all the mini-bots. The twins were sandwiched together so closely he doubted you'd be able to get a micro welder blade between them, faces slack in shock, tears still pouring down the faces, he dimly recalled they'd chocked out cries when Jazz had asked Prime to apologise to them for him. Hoist and Grapple were staring at the table as if they'd never seen one before, Trailbreaker had his head on his arms and was sobbing quietly, Tracks had bowed his head hands clasped tightly in his lap, and Ratchet thought he might be praying. Wheeljack and Preceptor were gazing at him, their optics pleading with him to tell them it wasn't real, that they hadn't just seen a beloved friend enduring torture and execution and worse that it hadn't been broadcast to the universe as entertainment.
In fact the only mechs in the room who weren't overcome with horror, grief or disbelief were Mirage and Bumblebee who were looking at each other, faces dry of tears, with unreadable expressions. Mirage tilted his head to one side and, his voice cold, hard and remote broke the silence.
"We'll need the 'krig rounds and pistols, contact explosive – suggest two grades, usual close & mid quarters kits. As much standard ammo for everyone's guns as we can pack and they'll all need some sort of silent close up."
Bumblebee nodded once, his cheerful mobile face solidified into hard uncompromising lines.
"Blow it to slag and pick a lock would be best. Liquid burn might be useful" the smile that crossed his face, under other circumstance, would have made a 'bots energon run cold "if only for creating a distraction."
Mirage gave a sharp nod; a thoughtful frown creased his face making him look feral.
"Prime might actually let us employ the stuff in kit 357, if we manage to take and keep any of them alive. And I suppose we should really take … it … with us. He always was a firm believer in that sort of thing."
Bumblebee twitched, and then reluctantly nodded
"I suppose so; it is the custom after all and well…"
He tailed off waiving a hand in the direction of the screen. They both stared into the middle distance for a few seconds, then Bumblebee twitched again, squared his shoulders turned round and walked out of the room calling over his shoulder.
"I'll go start packing the kits. Squawk if you think of anything else."
Mirage made a sound of agreement and turned his chair so it was facing a computer terminal, his fingers hovered in the air for a second as he considered something and then he began to type. Planetary stats and reports scrolled up the screen at considerable speed absorbing his whole attention, when the terminal went dark he sat back in his chair, slowly considering the Autobots in the room; Ratchet met his gaze and had to struggle for enough self control not to flee from the room. Anger, no incandescent rage burned in the depths of his optics, heavily controlled grief lurked in the set of his shoulders but the predominant emotion was an icy, determined, unstoppable thirst for revenge.
"Ratchet, Wheeljack get back to the repair bay and get together what ever kit you think you'll need to treat Prime and Prowl plus what ever injuries we might manage to pick up going after them. First Aid and Swoop will be in charge of the bay until we get back, brief them as you think necessary. Hound, inform Omega Supreme of the situation and find out what his energy requirements will be for a fully loaded two way trip to Keitel. Ironhide, the Dinobots should be back from their perimeter patrol in a few minuets, they need to know what's happened, Hot Spot, Sliverbolt ditto for your teams, you and the Dinobots will be staying here in case Megatron decides to attack. We must assume he's seen that transmission as well and he'll think were helpless with grief and lack of command structure, and if nothing else I'm slagging sure Jazz will come back and haunt us if we let earth fall to the Decepticons. If you think you need to show it the broadcast is on the main server."
Mirage paused to judge the effect his words and body language were having, the sound of someone with a plan, any one and any plan was slowly pulling the others out of their shell shocked state, looking at those he had named he waited for them to acknowledge what he'd said and then continued.
"Hoist, Grapple, please give Bumblebee a hand putting the kits together and getting it all loaded into Omega." He smiled gently at the distraught huddle of mini-bots "Bee could use your help as well. The special ops armoury isn't designed for heavy 'bots like those two."
The thought that they could do something to help avenge Jazz got them standing on their feet, tears subsiding; Beachcomber looked up at the spy and asked.
"Will you bring Ja…?"
He couldn't finish the sentence but Mirage knelt down to his level place both hands on his shoulders and in a tone that left no room for doubt replied.
"Yes, we will bring him home. He deserves to be buried with honour here among friends."
Smiling gratefully at the spy they left the conference room with Hoist and Grapple to find Bumblebee. Rising to his feet Mirage's gaze swept over the assembled mechs.
"Bluestreak, Tracks, Trailbreaker, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe you're all off duty as of now, get something to put you out and hit your berths. You're going to be the close support, Hound, Ironhide when you've finished your other tasks do the same. You all need a full recharge cycle before we go."
A round of grim and silent nods where the only response.
"Blaster, Preceptor you're with me, we need to trace that signal back to origin and find out as much about the glitches behind this as possible."
They both immediately huddled round the other terminal in the room, bringing up signal tracing and analysis programs hoping desperately that doing something would block out the memory of screams.
"Welcome to the special operations department." Mirage said a grim smile on his face as he moved to join Blaster and Preceptor "The first last and most important rule to remember is that every we do here is against the clock. You know your jobs, move it."
Everyone moved.
--- Somewhere in the slums of Keitel, the same time ---
"We have a problem." The speaker had a hard clipped voice, one used to making words audible through loud noise.
"That's news how?" a scratchy almost breathless voice replied.
Suppressed sniggering could be heard from the group of bodies huddled closely in the run down building that was their temporary meeting point for this cycle.
"Silence" a deep gruff, but not unfriendly voice spoke "What kind of trouble?"
"They taped the whole thing as we suspected, and now they've sold the 'highlights' to several broadcasters." The first speaker paused to allow the sounds of outrage to die away "Prime picked a good security officer; he found the broadcast in the data stream before I could block the signal. By now the rest of the Earth based team must know what's happened."
"Not good" a higher, almost exited voice "He said that the team on Earth was good, that they'd be able to put together a SRR job in forty eight hours tops. That puts them here the day after tomorrow."
"We're too close to loose our target now. How's the recon job going?" the deep voice echoed slightly in the empty room.
"I can finish the basics by mid shift tomorrow. It isn't going to be my best work but it'll do." A melodious voice floated out of a body that almost disappeared in the dim light due to its colouring.
"Everyone else is ready to go?"
There were nods of affirmation from all the others.
"Good, we advance our plans by twelve hours. The Lady looking our way we should be done and out before the Earth team gets here."
"Will he be coming with us?" the breathless voice asked
"Unknown, it's his choice, and he'll make, and stand by it on his own terms, always has, always will."
Murmurs of agreement were swallowed by the night, when no else spoke the leader made a hand signal and the meeting broke up silently, each one melting into the darkness, making their way back to the lives they hid under.
