Sooooo, this is definitely not tomorrow... Sorry. I have no excuses but my own forgetfulness.
The good news is that the epilogue will likely be finished by Christmas as my muse is being rather cooperative at the moment.
Chapter 25:
"Hey Churn, haveya heard anything from our troops yet?"
"Oh yeah, Bitmap is in Comms, Old One-Optic left him in charge so our glorious meta-defected commander can take his place in the army under Lord Megatron. Bits says the campaign is goin' great and our troops just slaughtered the scout guards on the edge of Iacon. According to him, Lord Megatron bridged over from Kaon to personally lead the attack himself!"
"Those portals ol' Shockey came up with have really come in handy, huh. With them we'll probably have the war won and be sitting pretty in Iacon before the vorn is out!"
The two border guards chuckled nastily over the downfall of the Autobots, never realizing that their entire conversation was being overheard by an invisible watcher.
Mirage had been on his way out of the territory only to find his exit point guarded by two Decepticons. The nearest other egress was half an orn's travel to the south and by then Soundwave would be awake again. After about a joor of waiting the two soldier's had begun to converse about an ongoing battle and it was then that Mirage realized his information would arrive too late.
Casting about for what to do, the noble was suddenly glad that his superior had given him operational discretion.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
Prowl stared at the holographic battlefield in growing dismay. The Autobots were losing and there was nothing he could do about it. His on site tacticians were relaying orders as fast as they could, but as soon as the troops managed to push back the 'Cons, reinforcements would appear. Where all the Decepticons were coming from no one could tell. It was like they were just appearing out of thin atmosphere. The long range sensors detected no spark signatures incoming and the opsmecha had reported neither cloaked transports nor secret passages.
Something that surprised the Praxian was that Jazz had eschewed going out on the field with the rest of his department, instead staying by Prowl's side and even offering to help filter the data in hopes of finding the solution to win this battle. They worked together seamlessly, where one faltered the other brought strength and between them they managed to hold the line. However, despite all their efforts, if something did not go in their favor soon, the Autobots would be defeated.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
Mirage watched as another group of Decepticons stepped through the ground bridge. The glowing green portal was his best chance at getting back into Autobot territory with any hope of being timely enough to make a difference. Unfortunately, Soundwave was meching the controls.
Mirage was debating the danger levels if trying to sneak past the telepath and hope for the best when one of Soundwave's flying symbiotes entered the room. The tiny red and white gyrofalcon landed on the larger mech's shoulder and chirped something at *his host. Mirage froze. The little spies were known to be at nearly as adept at telepathy as the big spy and it was entirely possible that the small femme was reporting evidence of the noble's presence. Why else would the host have them out actively patrolling in a Decepticon stronghold.
Soundwave turned from the console and began to move.
Mirage stopped all venting and tried to make his meta a blank non-entity.
When Soundwave passed by the noble's hiding place and left the chamber entirely he could not help but tremble in relief. Mirage dashed forward to the control console to make sure the coordinates were still set to Iacon, no need to end up in Kaon, and then disappeared through the ground bridge to home.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
Jazz was staring at the holographic battlefield with single-metaed intent when the crackle of a highly encrypted local comm nearly made him jump out of his seat in fright. He examined the ident ping sitting in his internal comm suite carefully, as it claimed to be that of one of their on-mission operatives. The Polyhexian would not put it past the Decepticons to try to cripple Autobot communication waves via viral transmission, but the only way they could have acquired this particular comm code would be if they had captured its owner. There was however, another almost infinitesimally small possibility.
Jazz leaned over and quietly excused himself to Prowl, knowing that the Praxian would be able to read between the lines of "Something's come up." The saboteur then made his way to the Communications Deck as fast as he could without drawing attention. The Deck was a study in organized chaos and Jazz had to wait for a moment for a space to open through which he could pass. His target was Blaster, who stood at the central console like a ship's captain at the helm. The host was plugged in at about twenty different points of the console and was truly proving that he was the Master of the Comms.
Jazz sincerely hoped his friend had a few processor threads to spare because the magnitude of the security threat potentially in the saboteur's comm suite would require the aid of the very best. He slipped up to the red and yellow mech's side and laid two digits on his elbow. A warm servo covered his for a nanoklik and Jazz knew he had been acknowledged.
The saboteur heard the crackling ping twice more before Blaster was able to shunt enough of his lines to focus on Jazz. "Yeah mech, yah got somethin' for meh?"
Jazz nodded. "Ah gotta potent'lly compr'mised ops commline n' Ah need ya ta back meh up while Ah open it."
Blaster silently offered him a data cable and they synced up. They positioned all the necessary firewalls and then Jazz cautiously opened the flagged commline. The frantic voice that came through nearly blew out their audials.
-:- Mirage to Jazz, Mirage to Jazz, answer your slagging comm blast you! -:-
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
Thundercall pulled off from his dogfight with Starscream as soon as he got the call. Spitfire and Solarscar formed up by his wings and another trine distracted the Decepticon Second. The Autobot trine flew over Iacon base collecting several more heavy-weight flyers and continued on. A soft prayer for Primus to see them safely returned was whispered over the comms.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
Soundwave was not a mech for premonitions, but he found himself in a constant state of unease since Laserbeak had come to warn him of a breach in their perimeter. It did not ease meta either that his Lord Megatron had insisted upon taking ninety percent of the able chassised mechs from the Tarn garrison, leaving Soundwave with naught but a skeleton for defense. He had attempted to convince his master that leaving his rear so poorly guarded was unwise, but Lord Megatron was not to be persuaded. Indeed, if not for a timely interruption by Starscream, Soundwave would have likely been beaten for his temerity. It was never more apparent that silent loyalty was what the gunmech truly appreciated.
A faint whisper of sound on the edge of his audial range made Soundwave stop his introspection. A klik more and he had identified it. The host immediately dashed towards the command center, internally calling for his symbionts to return to him.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
Bay doors opened silently to the harsh howl of the passing atmosphere. Silver orbs slid forward to the gaping hole, innocuous in appearance as they slid out, not so much when they contacted the ground below.
Wide plumes of flaming plasma overtook the terrain, igniting natural and unnatural volatile substances making the inferno rise higher and spread swifter.
Thundercall surveyed the damage his bombers had wrought and declared it satisfactory. Nothing had survived. He watched as the nearby guns of the Tarn garrison swung around to target his flyers and gave the call for tactical retreat. They had accomplished their goal.
The smelting pits of Tarn were no more. Instead there lay a giant pool of molten metals, and somewhere in the middle were the once functional ground bridges. There would be no more reinforcements for the Decepticons.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
With the Decepticons primary method of transportation in ruins it was not long before Megatron called a hasty retreat and the Autobots were left to pick up the pieces of their city. The internal departments of Iacon base quickly sounded off as all clear and began the process of post-battle clean-up. Tactical was always one of the last to dismiss, but Jazz noted that Prowl had disappeared early on. He had dutifully aided Smokescreen in collecting all the reports that Prowl would have to sign off on and a datastick of the battle's information for tactical review. Only, Prowl had not returned. Jazz was confused, as he knew Prowl to be a conscientious mech when it came to post-battle regs, so this sudden departure from the norm was unsettling. He carefully locked up all of Prowl's work in the mech's desk and went on the hunt. It had happened a few times in the past that the stress of battle became too much for some mechs and they had subsequently attempted to take their own sparks in effort to find peace. Jazz was almost positive Prowl would not try such a thing, but as much of a loner as the Praxian was, it was an entirely plausible possibility.
A quick ping to the base's location systems indicated that Prowl was in Medical. Jazz's spark jumped into his throat and he broke into a run. Prowl had no business being in the hospital ward, unless the unthinkable had happened and someone was lucky enough to find the Praxian before the deed could be completed. The Polyhexian skidded around the last corner and composed himself before peeking into the medical bay. No Prowl.
The berths were filled with groaning, injured mecha, medics bustling not quite frantically between them. The effort to save the still-functioning would likely continue until the following orn and later, and already Jazz could see where aid had failed. A small side room was partially full with the deactivated frames of those lost under the scalpel and he knew they were not likely to be moved for a while as the mausoleum crew was quite busy with cleaning up the mess on the battlefield. It was to Jazz's relief that Prowl was not among that number, but nor was he a guest of one of the mediberths. A cursory look around indicated that the Praxian was not there at all, but before Jazz could decide on his next move one of the medics spotted him. He knew he was in the way, but he had a general to find. Luckily for him, the medic was Fixit.
The older mech gently took Jazz's elbow and steered him towards the exit. Just as they reached the door the medic addressed what he perceived Jazz's concern to be. "Jazz, I know you're worried, but we can't have mechs cluttering up the Bay while we're trying to save sparks. General Prowl has already been through to pay his respects and comfort the deactivating, so there is no need for you to repeat the gesture right now. Later, when everyone is repaired, you can return and cheer them up."
Jazz stood staring for several kliks at the closed doors to the Medical Wing. Prowl had been paying respects? Comforting mecha? That was… really out of character.
The saboteur was confused, he had memorized Prowl's patterns and nowhere in those were habits of visiting the injured post-battle. Now, it was true that there had not been any major battles since Jazz had come to Iacon, and it was entirely possible that the Tactical Commander's routine for those was different than that being exhibited now. However, what puzzled the most was the fact that it was entirely outside of Jazz's previously established baselines on Prowl's behavior and meta-set.
It was making his head hurt trying to meld the two, so he put it out of his meta and repinged the base for Prowl's new location. It came back as 'outside', which was less than helpful. Jazz was almost ready to give up and just wait for the Praxian to return on his own, but his stubborn streak insisted he at least set optics on Prowl. The best place to do that would be the roof.
*ooo*ooo*ooo*
The dark-cycle was well upon city when Jazz stepped out of the roof access. Iacon was mostly silent since the denizens were likely still in shock over the attack and there were very few lights on, with the exception of the outskirts where the clean-up crews still toiled. The Polyhexian looked up at the sky and felt the peace of the outstretched canopy of stars sweep over him. Why did that tranquility have to stay in the heavens, why could the Cybertronians not have some of that here on their planet?
A soft noise to his left interrupted Jazz's contemplation and he immediately plastered himself to the access point's wall. It was natural instinct for him to assume it was Decepticons until proven otherwise so it was completely natural that all of his stealth mods came abruptly online and his visor blinked over to nightvision with a side of black dampener to mask its glow. Jazz's brilliant white paint faded out to matte black as he noiselessly slid towards the corner and the remainder of the roof. He considered slipping up to the top of the access for the highground, but it would leave him too exposed for comfort. Jazz strained to hear any sound on the other side of the wall and heard the noise again. It sounded like… whimpering?
Now complete sure it was not Decepticons, and supremely curious as to who was crying on the open roof Jazz risked a gander around the corner. It was Prowl! The regal Praxian was kneeling, helm almost touching the roof as he bent low, and wings quivering high on his back as he rocked slightly. The tiny whimpers were accompanied by almost silent keens interspersed with distraught declaration of Prowl's responsibility for all the casualties of the battle. The mech was grieving. Jazz's meta was at a stand-still, this level of emotional expression was nearly unbelievable of the stoic Praxian. Jazz knew Prowl needed a safe emotional outlet, but he did not realize it was this bad.
The Polyhexian looked beyond the Praxian, and nearly gave himself away at what he saw. All around the SIC, etched in precise flowing script, were battle dates followed by the success rate and the number of deaths the battle had caused. Most of the roof was covered in the memorial to the fallen and Jazz felt a small tear slip down his own cheek at the number of lost sparks. This was depressing, and it was unhealthy for Prowl to dwell on it. Jazz would be doing something about this.
By the way, I am attempting to wrap up all the remaining plot points, so if you notice one I have neglected to address mention it in your review and I will try to include it in the epilogue or sidestories.
Starfire201: yes, things are getting quite fiery and our dear characters are going to end this with quite the figurative bang. Shockwave is a plotting plotter who plots and can never be held back for long. Headspace Shockwave believes that there are no failures, only unexpected results. Also, take your time with looking the story over, I can come back and edit this story whenever I please so its no problem.
Spectral-Aspen: thank you, thank you. I live to cause suspense. Elita will triumph and I will make a note to write it out in the sidestories if not in the epilogue. Complisults... that is a great word, I like it, can I have it? Optimus doesn't know, yet... *spoilers*. Ironhide would probably take it in stride and flirt back, shamelessly.