A/N: In which, I suppose, a stab at redemption goes wrong. For everyone.

A reviewer had commented that he/she didn't believe a nuke was a valid threat against Cybertronians. I am of the opinion that any weapon with a heat blast powerful enough to vaporize metal would be lethal. Heat in the bombs used on Nagasaki and Hiroshima were calculated to be 5000 degrees Fahrenheit, for a radius of half a mile—more than the Tunguska battlefield as I imagine it. Additionally the blast wave that close would be able to destroy buildings: a mech's metal frame would certainly feel more than a tickle. And yes, I did actually research this in plotting out this story. I am that lame.

XXXVI

Barricade's systems ran cold. The Russians were more devious than he'd given them credit for. Seems when they played hardball, they played hardball. They weren't even withdrawing their own men. Only the cameramen had melted away, and it was unlikely even they'd manage to get to minimum safe distance. Probably only left to take the footage out of the immediate strikezone.

And over there—Flareup. Pinned down by the humans, caught in the treeline where the humans had taken cover from the falling shrapnel. He had to—no he didn't. That was only an approach. You lost your mind. Lost your perspective. But still. A warning. Atonement. Make up for what you did. For her. No. For yourself. Clear your conscience. Give her a fair chance to get out alive. Not that far—just run over and then dash back onto Blackout.

"Be right back," he said. The copter was loading the last dozen or so drones. He still had time. Still, he had to make this look good. He launched himself at Flareup, catching her above center of gravity, spinning them both through the air. He tucked, landing hard on his shoulder, feeling its main gyro crack. He pulled her audio to his mouth. "Russians, with a nuke. Get out."

She pushed away from him, openmouthed. "Get out!" he yelled. Was she stupid? "You want to die?" He plunged forward, suddenly, as something hit him hard right above his pelvic frame. His hands grabbed for her shoulders, to balance himself.

"Why, 'con?" he heard Ironhide's voice behind him, colder than the Pit. "YOU want to die?" Ironhide's hard hands grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard on the injured one, hauling him off Flareup. He spun Barricade around and into his other fist. The Decepticon's sensor net flared, his visuals offlining for a klik. His bad leg gave, and he stumbled heavily to the ground.

Ironhide seized him by his upper arm tire, twisting its stabilizing fairing. Barricade tried to tough it out, but, he admitted, he wasn't really that tough. Pain sucked. Still, he tried to fight back, scraping the claws of his good hand across the Autobot's shoulder gearing.

"Stop!" Flareup was shouting. "Ironhide, we don't have time. Listen to him!"

"Only thing I want to hear from him is cries of pain."

"She's right," Barricade grunted, sagging to his knees as Ironhide continued to twist his stabilizing fairing. "Russians with nukes. We're all dead if we don't get out."

Optimus, who had limped up behind Ironhide, took in Barricade's words. "We can't take the chance he might be telling the truth."

Ironhide looked dubious, looking between Optimus and the LZ. Something clicked in his brain, perhaps the sight of hurry as the last drones flung themselves into Blackout's cargo hold as the copter was already beating the air with his rotor blades. As they watched, the dronemaster leaned off the rising copter to haul up one tardy drone by the arm.

"Right, fine. He comes with us, though." He twisted the fairing again. Barricade gasped in pain.

*****

"Do something!" Blackout yelled, over mission commnet. "They've got Barricade!"

"We are trying to intercept the bomber, Blackout. At the present moment, that is the larger priority." Starscream's throat ached. Not Barricade. How could he have been so foolish? How had he gotten himself captured? He knew better. He should know better.

"It's Barricade!"

"I am aware of that." Under the cool tone, Starscream struggled. He glanced over to Skywarp, who flew, silent, and grim, at the reverse of the vector he'd intercepted on the Soviet communications wired into his vehicle mode. What would Skywarp think of Barricade? What would he think of Blackout? Any of the mechs that the jet refused to call friends, but who had tried nonetheless. Would Skywarp think he was betraying a comrade or following the logical tactical priority? What would he do if Skywarp wasn't here?

"Slag you, Starscream. Go after him myself."

"You will not. Direct order, Blackout. You must deliver the drones to the Nemesis. That is your mission. Do not deviate." The words were cold, calm, leaderlike, but Starscream felt ill. Abandon a comrade to certain death? He remembered how furious he had been when he'd been captured. Dropshot had probably simply run in fear. Grindor, he'd been too inexperienced. He'd barely managed to get out with his own armor intact. But still, it burned at his core that they had left him. He hated doing the same. And to Barricade. He felt a lump in his throat about bringing up Saejon Three. Unfair. Wrong.

He heard Blackout roar in frustration, but knew the copter would follow his orders. Just as he knew there'd be hell to pay afterwards. Was this…? Was this fate's sick way of handling things? Barricade had given him an order that infuriated him, and now…he had just done the same to Blackout. He hoped Blackout would do a better job accepting his apology.

No. "Skywarp," he said. "Intercept. We have one captive down there. I must go." He started to peel off vector.

"Starscream," Skywarp said. "It's too late. If we engage now, we'll all be caught in the initial blast. His best chance to survive is to let the Autobots take him captive. They will get themselves safe and take him along."

A hot mix of anger and shame burned in Starscream's chest. Skywarp made a horrible kind of sense. "Yes," he said, his voice raw.