Hopefully the site has corrected for all the bugs that were experienced by many writers. I wimped out and waited until I heard of an all-clear before trying to update. This chapter and the next are the last two before we reach the original stroy line. The one seed of an idea that spawned the rest of this tale-telling. Thanks so much for reading. PLease let me know if you enjoyed it.
Chapter 20
After spending countless hours flying aboard a C-17, one becomes inured to the constant drone and ceaseless vibrations of the four, large Pratt and Whitney turbo-fan engines. In fact, to those whose major mode of transportation is a C-17, the sonorous throb becomes a soothing lullaby, guaranteed to lull even the hardest combat vet into the welcomed realm of sleep.
Yet, there are some who insist on creating discord in the midst of harmony; a cacophony of chaos amongst the stillness. And they have no qualms about sharing their callous attitude towards life. Such was the plight of those accompanying the off-lined corpse of Optimus Prime.
The men under the command of Major William Lennox were a close lot. They knew each others likes and dislikes, favorite TV shows and music. They knew not only each others birthdays, but also those of the wives, sweethearts, children, parents, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles and cousins to the fifth degree. They knew who snored, who sang off-key, who did the best impression of Ratchet at his worst.
And they knew that they had just lost their most revered comrade. This was bad, but what made the situation worse, what rubbed more salt in the painful wound, was the obvious indifference shown by one Theodore Galloway, newly appointed Director of NEST. And he showed his total lack of sympathy with the constant typing on the lap top that he had brought with him on the flight.
"tipp-tap-tap…clackity-clack…tip-tip-tip…tappity-tap…" and so on, and on, and on…
An hour into the flight Chief Epps had had enough. With an exasperated sigh and blood in his eyes he stood, and arranging his uniform in place, he strode purposefully towards the annoying human annoyance.
The movement by his subordinate and friend caught the eye of Major Lennox. Turning his face to the oncoming Chief, he managed to catch a glimpse of Epps eyes; their expressions of both men conveyed an unheard conversation in micro-seconds.
"What's up?"
"I'ma gonna kill that sucker, that's what's up"
"No, can't let you do that."
"To hell with that."
"Epps, don't be a fool. He's so far from worth it."
"I'll tell you who's worth what. I'm gonna slam that damn lid down on his damn fingers if he doesn't stop all that damn clacking…"
"Better that than talking."
"Hummmph…so…when is this idea of yours going down?"
"Couple of hours…"
"S**t." But Epps turned towards the rear of the cargo bay and walked off his anger with a circuit around the prone frame of Optimus Prime.
Thom Billings was jolted from his peaceful dream of white sand beaches, lush palms, blue surf and Marie in the all-togetherrrrr…Oooono…nope…stop that…stop that right now! He shook his head in an attempt to awaken his brain and shake out the near pornographic dream he could almost touch.
As his brain settled into awareness from its jostling, Billings hearing kicked in. He heard the unmistakable revving of a motorcycle engine, then two, then three. It took him nano-seconds to remember and realize what was now happening. He jacked his earphones into the C-17's internal comm-system…
"Hey Capt., the Bots are restless. Are we near the jump point?"
"Ah…roger that. We're waiting for final confirmation from Big Dog."
"Understood." He couldn't keep the grin from splitting across his face in wicked glee and he turned towards the source of the rumbling engines.
Pulling out his Leatherman® tool, he opened it to the largest, sharpest knife configuration and began sawing away at the restraints the bound the three femmes on to the loading pallet. Movement off to his left, showed two long metallic blades pop up and arc downwards, slicing that portion of netting that bound Sideswipe. Peeling the webbing from his frame, the master-swordsmech turned towards the pallet behind him and began cutting through the bonds that kept a now very sour Ironhide in his alt-mode.
"Can't you go any faster" Ironhide complained.
"Don't want to muss that pretty armor of yours." Sideswipe snarked back. One final swoosh of his blade left the net in pieces and allowed an opening for the large weapons-master.
"You'd best get me out this plane", the weapons specialist grumbled as he lifted the netting off of his frame.
While Sideswipe finished off the rest on the restraining Kevlar® treated nylon restraints, the C-17's loadmaster began prepping the cargo area for the drop. He hid his delighted smirk as Chromia wheeled up to her mate and said mate wrapped his weapons laden arms around her. She was nearly lost in his embrace.
Awaiting his turn for release, Ratchet, the Autobots Chief Medical Officer, was trying to waken the recharging femme curled up on his hood and windshield.
"Spindle…Spindle, come in please…Spindle, are you receiving me? Del…online…DEL…! His patience worn thin, he sent a slight electric charge through his frame and jolted recharging femme into online awareness.
Buzzzzerrrrrt!
Yeee-owwww! The shout reverberated throughout the cargo area. This was followed by the sound of a body rolling over the hood of a Hummer H-2 and numerous curses that could only be described as static-like and angry sounding.
"Just what the slag was that for?" her voice filled with the promise of payback. "What in the Pit could be so all-fire im…" she stopped, as the scene before her came into focus. Seeing the other bots rise from their places on the loading pallets, she supposed that they were getting ready to land at the base on Diego Garcia.
"Oh," she remarked sheepishly, "I didn't realize we were so close to base."
"We're not." She looked over to the speaker. Sideswipe continued, "Change of plans."
"What?" But before waiting for an answer, Spindle's unfocused eyes and slack face indicated that she was consulting her memory files. As this was happening, she also sent a command to retract the nanites. They responded quickly, with susurrus exuviations, and she began to unfold herself to her full 10 foot height. At once, her optics fully refocused, and a puzzled look swept across her face plates.
"Wait-a-minute…this isn't the India Ocean. What the slag is going on? I thought we were returning to the base? What the Pit! Why are we…?"
"Above Egyptian air space?" Arcee completed. "We have been given reason to believe that Sam has a way to revive Optimus and we are going to meet him there."
Spindle stared at the pink femme a look of incredulous wonder crossing her face plates. For a moment, the world seemed to drop away and leave her hovering between reality and dreams.
"Revive Optimus? How?" she half whispered to herself. A fleeting wisp of hope passed through Spindles spark and she shivered.
"Yeah, and if we don't a move on, the Cons may be there first." Sideswipe announced abruptly.
"Alright," shaking her head, she began nodding in agreement. "Alright, count me in. You got Con afts to slag, I'm all for it!"
Chromia cast an anxious look towards her mate. He caught that look and grunted.
"What weapons are you carrying now?" Ironhide spoke now as Weapons Master and she un-spaced a small energon blade and pistol. The pistol had numerous notches and scrapes; kill marks and the blade thin and as long as one of her finger servos. Ironhide shook his head. Chromia moved to the femmes' side
"Del, this isn't some back alley on Cybertron, these Cons will be firing weapons bigger than your entire frame," a worried tone colored Ironhide's words. "Stay with the plane, you'll be safer."
"Safer…uh-huh…yeah, sure. And out of the action; look when the bucket lands, I will simply follow you off. I am still a civilian, you cannot stop me," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest plates.
"We're not landing," Chromia interjected. Spindle looked to the femme, confusion crossing her face; then… "What?"
"Del!" The voice came from the rear of the plane. "Here, catch!" Sailing over the heads of the bots standing between them, came a photon rifle. It barely cleared the Weapons Specialists' head as he ducked, and directly into the outstretched arms of the femme to whom it had been sent; her confused expression now replaced with one of near panic.
"Holy Pit-firing slag Sideswipe; ya coulda shot out the plane ya processor-less, pit-spawn!" Ironhide was practically livid, his optics a dangerous red-tinged blue, his speech pattern becoming less sophisticated.
"But I didn't. Anyway the safety is on and she caught it just as I planned she would.
"Smug, idiot mech with slag-for-memory," Ironhide continued, to all who could hear. "I oughta throw ya outta this plane head first with no chute. It shouldn't do any harm if ya land on yer head. Might even improve that sorry excuse ya call a processor." He stormed to the mid-section of the plane, Chromia following with soothing words and caresses.
Meanwhile, Spindle was both admiring and studying the weapon. It was nearly as long as her arm, but she found that she'd no trouble handling it.
"Thanks!" she looked up at the swordsmech, "It's really well-balanced. I like the targeting array." She held it in firing position, Sideswipe in her sights. "Yeah, nice; I appreciate it." She smiled shyly at the mech and gave a little chuckle and sub-spaced the rifle neatly.
Okay." She announced, "Weapon's upgraded." And then she caught herself, and it seemed as if the light finally lit itself in her processor.
"So we're not landing…but…AWWWWWW! But I don't have any chute-upgrades. I can't…waitaminute…HaH!" In an instant, where a slender Cybertronian Femme had been standing, the short, slightly overweight human female known as Esmeé appeared. She turned towards the loadmaster as he was finishing calculating weight ratios and drop times.
"Do you have anything in this size?" she smiled sweetly at the man. She pirouetted in front of him and placed her hands on her hips, still smiling.
"Yes, maam," was all he could get out as his eyes, big as saucers, took in the human form. Nodding as he back-peddled to the planes mid-section, he nearly tripped over Thom Billings. A quick, whispered conference between the two and Thom was off the find the needed equipment.
"Del, this ain't no holiday outing. I can't allow you…"
She rounded on the Weapons Specialist. "You…can't…WHAT? Allow me to WHAT?" she began to advance towards Ironhide, who stood, hands firmly planted on his hip plates. She reverted back to robot form; the better to stare him down, if she could, though 'up ' was more like it.
"Mech, I have a lot of amends to make, apologies to tender; too much to make up for. I intend to start now. I am well aware of the dangers, and the distinct possibility of off-lining." Her ten foot tall frame, barely reached Ironhide's chest plates, but the vehemence with which she spoke, the determination that shone from the set of her face plates and the speed of her advance caused Ironhide to take a step backwards and raise his hands before him. She continued to harangue the larger, black mech.
That, 'can't live with you, can't live without you' saying that the humans bandy about must be universal. "I'm tired of keeping myself separate from the rest of you. I'm tired of feeling lost. I'm tired of being alone. If I have to offline today, I want it to be for a good reason and with people…people I…."
"Ma'am?" Sgt Billings called, "I have your chute here." Del sighed in relief. The words just would not come. How could things change so drastically so fast? How could anyone believe her sudden change in attitude? Why was this happening? The answers would not come. But she felt a kind of peace that she'd not felt in hundreds of thousands of vorns, and it gave her comfort.
Thom Billings, Sergeant, Royal Air Force stood off to the side with an MC-4 parachute rig. Spindle turned around to face the human and walked towards him.
"Uh, ma'am, you do know how to operate this type of parachute?" he asked. Spindles' human eyes lost their focus for a moment as she scanned the internet. Almost as rote she replied…
"The MC-4 standard military freefall parachute system, used by U.S Army Spec-Ops. It meets the full range of military freefall parachute operations which include HALO and HAHO. MT-1X 7-cell 370 square foot main and reserve canopies with…" she looked closely at the front of the harness, "with an Irvin FF-2 automatic ripcord release." A grin lit up her face.
Billings stared, mouth agape as she continued.
"Yes, I do believe I can operate this piece of equipment." She moved toward the waiting harness and began to slip an arm through on of the straps. "Now if you would just help me into it, I'll see if I can't beat these tired old bots to the ground."
"Who you callin' tired femme," Hide groused.
"You, you old bot," And she laughed, soft and sweet, like she used to laugh so long ago he remembered.
"We'll see," was his huffy reply. Chromia turned her face away, but her laughter spread over their spark bond and her mate only shook his head in dismay.
"Don't encourage her love."
"Can't be helped. She's always been that way; it's nice to have her back again."
"Then keep an optic on her. I'll…"
Ironhide's last comment was interrupted by the sound of the rear cargo doors cycling open. The noise on the cargo deck became noticeably louder and the dim light was overwhelmed by the bright blue, cloudless sky.
"Thirty seconds to drop." The announcement came over the loudspeakers.
At the first crack of light, Spindle began to grin; subtle, cunning, and then almost feral. She turned to her compatriots, eyes shining.
"Last one down's a rusty cog!" and saying that she ran to the still moving rear doors and launched herself into the air.
"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," the sound quickly becoming distant and faint.
"Aw SLAG!" Ironhide yelled as he ran towards the opening.
"Crazy femme," Jolt replied as he followed.
"GO-GO-GO" the loadmaster yelled as he motioned the bots toward the now completely opened doors.
With that the Autobots, who had escorted the still frame of their fallen leader, took a leap of faith on the word of a human boy with the hope of a second chance at life.
Many thanks to the fine folks of Boeing, from whose web site I found the C-17 description and to Don Mayer's Parachute Shop web site for the parachute description. And the the U.S. Air Force, who allowed me nearly 10 years to serve my country and gave me an in on air planes and their crews.