4.2: Breaking the Spear
Defence Directorate Command Platform
Vos/Tarn Border
Qosho Region
Cybertron
"Report. Quickly."
"We have isolated the remaining Vosian command units and are standing by to shut them down. Air Guardians have been dispatched to take point at all locations but are facing heavy fire from Vos' surviving aerial forces. A lot of their heavy flyers are more manoeuvrable than anything we have and they're taking a long time to go down."
"Send in the squads to take out the command units now."
The tactician – Megatron had barely registered his security clearance, let alone his name – hesitated. "Sir . . . without Air Guardian support, I'm not sure they'll have the fire power to overwhelm –"
"I don't need them to overwhelm the Vosians, I need them to keep them so occupied they can't keep coordinating the forces preventing the Air Guardians from getting through. Do it."
"Oh. Yes, Commander. Of course."
Megatron rounded on the other side of the war room. "The Tarnian situation?"
"Almost no central control of remaining city forces." Hevacce pointed at the scattered icons on the map. "They're totally uncoordinated. We're seeing groups of them firing on anything that moves, others throwing down their guns to help civilians. Not that that's making it any easier to contain them. Tarn's topography is too complicated – there are too many places for them to dig in and they are much better at weathering aerial bombardment than the Vosians."
"Use the sub-surface passages," Megatron ordered, commanding the map to show the layers beneath the streets and expressways, "Optrion and Turbo have been able to make use of them at close range. Let's expand on the idea. Send in driller squads to get in under the hold-outs."
"I'll get on it." Hevacce refocused the view and highlighted several large structures. "These will be another matter. Most of the central bunkers were cracked open by the blast but these are still mostly intact . . . and if those warheads didn't get through . . ."
"For now, we do nothing. They haven't fired on the rescue teams sent into those areas. Until they do or until they send out more soldiers to attack the Vosians, we're not wasting resources on them."
"Understood."
The red squad leader turned away to begin issuing orders. Megatron took a long look at the map, considering the shifts in geography the twin missile strikes had caused. So much destruction, so little purpose to it all. Had any of those responsible survived their idiocy? His fists closed involuntarily. For their sake, he hoped not.
"I will move in to join the ground forces in Vos," he announced to the room at large, "I want two heavy squads ready to depart in three cycles. We'll clear a path for the rescue teams and reinforce the containment squads. The Vosian commanders' most likely rallying point will be here, the Coppermount fortress. We'll co-opt any local defences along the approach corridors and let them retreat towards us. That way we decide the terms of engagement and minimise further collateral damage."
A flurry of activity met his words, the preparations getting under way before he had finished laying out the plan. He flashed load-out instructions and route maps as he spoke, updating the map and his mechs simultaneously. In moments, the tank squads would be armed, fuelled and ready to board the combat shuttles. If all went well, they could slip in amidst the chaos in the skies over Vos and be on the slopes of Coppermount before any of the locals were any the wiser.
If all went well. As he headed for the door, Ravage slipping after him, Megatron sneered at the phrase. Nothing about this insanity had gone well so far. Could he really believe this to be the exception?
"A moment of your time, Field Commander?"
He stopped abruptly at the interruption, ready to snap angrily at whoever was making such a stupid request. Supreme Commander Viktoleo met his glare with mild blue optics and the most patient of expressions.
Megatron saluted automatically. "Sir. I'm afraid I need to deploy out into the field immediately," he added, trying not to sound unsure as to what in the Pit a Supreme Commander was doing in his command platform.
"I promise not to detain you for long. And I believe there are still two and a half of those three cycles you mentioned remaining . . . ?"
There was absolutely no way to refuse. Not without going against every shred of protocol and openly insulting one of the three highest-ranking members of the Defence Directorate. Megatron gestured to the corridor outside. "Of course, sir. If we can talk on the way?"
Viktoleo nodded graciously and fell into step beside him, perfectly matching his long strides. "This is extremely inconvenient for you so I will cut straight to the point," he said, vocalising it so that only Megatron – and Ravage, of course – could hear him, "Field Commander Vieuxuun."
Megatron nearly crashed to a halt again. "What about him?"
"He is currently sitting mode-locked in a detainment cell with several severe injuries to his outer armour and weapons systems. You appreciate that this is not a natural position for a ranking office of the Defence Directorate to be in."
"I put him there." Megatron made a cutting gesture. "I take full responsibility and will answer for it later if needed to. But right now –"
"Right now you are doing an admirable job of dragging some sort of organised response out of this disaster. Which I am here to help with by telling you that we back your judgement entirely in this matter."
This time, Megatron did stop. "Excuse me?"
Viktoleo's mouth formed something that was almost but not quite a smile. "Effective immediately, your decision to relieve Vieuxuun of duty has the retroactive approval of Grandus, Deftwing and myself. Your actions in moving swiftly and decisively to disable the Vos and Tarn military infrastructure have our complete backing and all the available forces are indisputably under your command."
"You came here to tell me that I have the job I already had?" Megatron asked in disbelief, "And that locking up the mech who murdered one of my best soldiers was the right thing to do?" He did not know whether to be relieved or disgusted.
"Not at all. I am here to be seen to give our approval to you for the benefit of everyone watching this crisis unfold and believe me, that is everyone who can watch." Bafflement must have shown on Megatron's face because Viktoleo went on, "Consider this a signifier of your authority. Not for your troops, but for the world outside the Defence Directorate. By being seen to come here and emerge at your side as you go off to bring an end to this conflict, I am showing Cybertron as a whole that you are the legitimate instrument by which order will be restored – rather than, say, a lone field commander who astronomically exceeded the remit of his orders to launch a two-pronged invasion of two sovereign states with a hilariously out-numbered contingent of planetary defence soldiers."
"With the greatest of respect," Megatron said firmly, "I do not have time to play political games."
"No," Viktoleo said, matching his tone exactly, "That is why we are playing them for you. But make no mistake about this, Field Commander: everything you do from here on out will have political ramifications. The Prime himself authorised – commanded – this intervention. You understand? We are conferring on you Primal authority."
He stared at the Supreme Commander, not really seeing him at all. Primal authority. The permission of the Prime to cut through the ridiculous snarl of laws and regulations that had kept them from doing anything until it was too late. Legitimacy for what he needed to do. Although not necessarily to do whatever it took. And all the consequences that came with that. The responsibilities. The weight of expectation, anticipation, speculation and condemnation. As Viktoleo said: political ramifications. All on him.
"I understand," he acknowledged solemnly, placing his fist against his chest, "I will do what I must and what I can to save these people."
"We know." The Supreme Commander returned the salute, horns tilting slightly. "That is why we're giving you the job. Now." He indicated the platform exit. "Let me walk you to your dropship. Wouldn't want you to be late with the world watching, would we?"
Iesyn District
Tarn
Cybertron
"Please! If you won't stand down, at least let us airlift the civilians out of here! We know they must be heavily injured! Please let us remove them to a safer area for medical treatment! At least let us –!"
Optrion ducked quickly back behind a barricade, nano-cycles ahead of a blaster bolt. He leaned heavily against the reinforced barrier and grunted. "I'm getting a bit tired of people trying to shoot me in the head."
"It gets a bit dull after a while, yeah," Trailbreaker agreed from his observation post a few barriers along, "Although I don't think shouting at them any louder's gonna help, actually."
"Any other suggestions gratefully received."
"Uh." Quasar held up her fingers. "They're walled up tight in that refinery. By walls, we mean massively thick shields meant to contain energon detonations. Even if we could blast through, there are still energon stores in there. And a bunch of civilians that those soldiers have rounded up believing they're protecting them from an invading army. And we can't get around the back because of that . . . um . . . I'm trying to come up with a better description than 'wall of fire' but I'm not sure how else to describe what happens when you use a photon bomb to ignite an entire fuel distribution network. Also there's so much radiation this far into the city that the civilians are probably already cooking in their own oil, so if we don't get them out soon . . . uh. So, in short . . . um . . . I got nothing." She slumped despondently. "Sorry sir."
Adjusting his optics yet again to try and compensate for the fierce light, Optrion looked at the troops lined up awkwardly beside him. Despondency hung heavy in the boiling air. Everyone present was sullen and frustrated, trying hard to concentrate as every cooling system in their bodies strained against the heat from the fires. A few were uncomfortably adjusting and readjusting their weapons, the more technically minded among them trying to configure their way to a solution. Unfortunately, so far no one had come forward with an inventive way of melting the refinery shields or opening a fold-space aperture through them or something equally useful.
Perhaps if they had another means besides shouting to communicate with the entrenched Tarnian soldiers, more options would be apparent. But this deep into the city the interference was so thick every communication channel had been ripped to random shrieks.
Perhaps it would have made no difference. The Tarnians did not want to listen. Trapped as they were in the burning wreckage of their home, it was understandable that they would prefer to shoot anyone who came close.
Optrion slammed a fist into an open hand. No way to talk them down, no way to flank them, no way to breech the walls or burrow underneath and certainly no chance of taking them safely from the air. This was Cybertron. Not an alien planet with unknown geography and geology. This was his home territory. That should have been all the advantage he needed. Yet a strategy evaded him and his failure would likely trap them in a pointless siege.
"Excuse me? Commander Optrion?"
Grateful for the slightest distraction, he turned to find a short white and blue armoured mech clambering towards him. "That's me. You're with the Civic Guard?"
"Ah, yes. I'm Chief Medic Coiiynn – ah, I need to talk to you about those people in their."
"If you have a way of getting them out of there, please feel free to share it."
"Ah . . . I'm afraid not. It's the civilians." Coiiynn fiddled with the wheels in his forearms. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that they're in danger. Your sky-spy operators tell me that the shields on the other side of the refinery are cracked. The radiation is hard enough on us – and we've all been toughened. What I'm saying is that, in my opinion, we can't draw this out more than another day before the people in their start to suffer irreparable damage. Even your mechs aren't going to be able to weather this indefinitely."
Trying very hard to remain patient, Optrion fixed the little medic with a level stare. "I am well aware of the danger, Chief Medic. I fully intend to resolve this situation soon."
"Yes. Of course. I'm sorry. I just feel . . . rather useless standing out here." He hesitated, then looked down at his feet. "The worst of it is, I'm Tarnian. I feel that should give me some insight I could offer you."
"You're . . . Tarnian?" Optrion did not mean to sound so surprised but Coiiynn seemed resigned to the response, not offended.
"Before I joined the Guard, yes. I know, I know. I'm very short for it. As I say, I feel I should be able to give you some psychological insight that'll let you talk them down."
"But you can't?"
"No." Coiiynn grimaced. "They're Tarnians. Stubborn, patriotic, scared, angry Tarnians. They won't come out because they don't trust anything outside. I can't honestly say I blame them."
It was so obvious that Optrion audibly cursed himself for not thinking of it immediately.
He spun, leaving Coiiynn to splutter in surprise. "Quasar – how far out would you need to get a transmission through to the command network?"
"Um – I – ah – two, three hix to minimum clearance? I'm not sure but if I run it at maximum power I think I could get through at two."
"Then I need you to do that as fast as possible and send this to all points . . ."
Coppermount
Vos
Cybertron
Megatron roared, guns flaring one after the other, broadsiding the jet trying to bank out of his line of fire. He wheeled around as its wing-mates tried to follow through on dive-bombing him, blowing their wings from their fuselages. The Vosians plummeted from the sky, helpless and screaming.
All along the ground approach to Coppermount, Defence Directorate tanks were pounding away at Vosian squadrons. They kept coming and throwing themselves towards the fortress. Seeking sanctuary, trying to regroup, simply attempting to drive out the intruding forces – Megatron did not know and did not care. What mattered was that they were being drawn there, away from any civilians who might get caught in the crossfire. As long as they kept funnelling themselves into the killing zone, he was content to take them down.
Coppermount stood on the far side of Vos from Tarn, a defiant red shard stabbing at the sky. A relic of the distant past, it had been left behind by modern Vos as the centre of the city moved towards the coastal trade routes. It had not been forgotten – modern emplacements peered from the battlements and modern weapons ringed the perimeter – but that had almost been a reflex action, the Vosian military adhering to old habits out of a sense of tradition. It was only now that everything else was gone that it seemed like a reasonable place to fall back to. Perhaps they thought that behind the solid, reliable walls of the past they would be safe from the insanity of the present.
Idiots.
He surged forward into the fire from another wave of flyers. They were good – very good – dodging and weaving and banking and breaking off with expert timing. It earned them a few extra cycles of consciousness and wasted a few more cycles of his time. Subduing morons who could not see that there was nothing left to fight for was a distraction best ended quickly. Soon the only ones left flying would be the ones with some actual ability. And that would just draw it out further.
"Commander." Ravage's voice buzzed inside his head. "Optrion has just sent a request into the command net that you should see."
Pausing long enough to transform and boost himself to a more secure position, Megatron acknowledged. If Ravage felt something important enough to disturb him with mid-battle, it was. "Go on."
"He has just asked that the highest ranking Tarnian officer who has either stood down or been placed in custody be taken to his current location. He . . . believes that they will help him resolve a situation he has encountered."
"Authorised," Megatron said without hesitation, folding back down and reopening fire. It was easy to see what Optrion was planning and it might even work. The Tarnian ethos under Viilon had always included faith in authority.
"Understood," Ravage purred, with the faintest hint of criticism of how fast he was to trust 'the Iaconian'. But that was Ravage. No faith in anyone.
Still the Vosians kept coming. Still they threw themselves towards Coppermount and against the Defence Directorate. Was that a lack of faith too? A lack of trust of anyone now their world was destroyed?
It did not matter. He would keep shooting them down until they learnt to stay there.
Perhaps then they might start listening to reason.
Keesin District
Tarn
Cybertron
"They're here!" Trailbreaker pointed to the white spot of a shuttle flying low over the expressway towards them. Ordinarily the gesture would have seemed silly but with the heat and the radiation swamping their sensors, looking and pointing was pretty much all they had left.
The shuttle carefully touched down on a piece of intact roadway, settling uneasily. Its side opened up and two figures jumped out, one jumping again into a jet form and allowing the other to grab hold. They flew up to the barricade, coming swiftly and as close to the ground as possible to avoid taking fire from the Tarnians.
The passenger – a truly gigantic grey and blue mech – dropped down right in front of Optrion and saluted smartly. The jet unfolded into Deca Magnus, at which point everyone else saluted.
"Sir." Optrion stepped forward. "Forgive me, this is unexpected."
"No doubt." Deca indicated the grey mech. "I was in discussion with the captain here when your message came through. We agreed it would be quickest to use my shuttle and while I admit I am unlikely to be much help in talking these soldiers down, I hoped I might be able to offer some assistance."
"Ah, thank you, sir . . ."
"Don't mind me, Commander. Consider an me observer until you need me to be otherwise. Continue as you planned. This is your operation."
Trying not to find that statement overly ominous, Optrion turned to the Tarnian captain. He had red optics and a solid frame that suggested he turned into something heavily armed and immobile. "You want me to talk to them," he said, nodding at the refinery.
"Yes. I know you stood your mechs down to help with the relief effort and I hoped that you might be able to convince these soldiers to do so as well. There are a significant number of civilians in with them and we need to get them to safety as soon as possible."
"I understand. I will do it. I don't suppose you can get a channel through this . . . ? No of course not. Very well then."
He stepped up to the barricade and out into the gap between two of the barriers. A shot immediately ricochetted off his armour, though this caused him little obvious damage. He stood out in the open, letting the Tarnians see him clearly. They did not fire again.
"I AM CAPTAIN Ci-114 OF THE THIRD DEFENCE UNIT," he shouted in a voice that shook the ground, "MY NAME IS CERRE MECH BOS TAVA SZENDA. I AM OF TARN. LIKE YOU. I AM SOLDIER, LIKE YOU. AND LIKE YOU I HAVE WATCHED MY HOME DIE. EVERYTHING I WAS SUPPOSED TO DEFEND IS DESTROYED. THIS IS WRONG. THIS IS UNFORGIVABLE. AND YOU ARE RIGHT TO TRY TO PROTECT THOSE WHO SURVIVED. YOU HAVE DONE YOUR DUTY. BUT YOU CANNOT STAY HERE. THE PEOPLE YOU ARE PROTECTING CANNOT STAY HERE. I KNOW YOU WANT TO FIGHT. I KNOW YOU DON'T TRUST THOSE WHO HAVE COME INTO OUR CITY. I DIDN'T. BUT THIS IS TOO BIG. THERE ARE TOO MANY WOUNDED. WE CANNOT DRIVE OUT THE DEFENCE DIRECTORATE AND SAVE OUR BROTHERS AT THE SAME TIME. WE . . . NEED THESE PEOPLE TO HELP US. OUR DUTY HAS TO BE TO THE SURVIVORS NOW. PLEASE DON'T LET ANY MORE TARNIANS DIE TODAY."
Falling silent, he waited. They all waited. Optrion scanned the refinery, looking as best he could for any sign that Cerrebos' words had fallen on receptive audios. For a very long time, there was nothing. No shots, no open doors. Nothing.
Cerreboss shifted his stance, looking back at the rest of them uncertainly. Trailbreaker fidgeted about, half readying his forcefield projectors. Quasar's emitters snapped open and closed compulsively. Arms folded, the Magnus remained utterly impassive.
Something moved at the top of the refinery wall. A shape against the sky. It rose up and detached itself, a mech leaping over the edge and falling towards them. Slowing his descent with jet plumes, he dropped closer until he could land in front of Cerrebos. Massive, with the same grey/blue colour scheme, he was clearly of a kind with the Tarnian captain. He did not make any gesture of respect or recognition but looked Cerrebos up and down, then glanced past him at the Defence Directorate soldiers. When he saw the Magnus, his optics widened. "Sub-Captain Ci-086-6," he introduced himself after a moment, "of the Seventh Defence Unit. For standing down when there are invaders in the city, I should consider you a traitor."
"I can't argue with that," Cerrebos replied evenly, "I disobeyed my orders. But the Central Command is gone. The High Governor is gone. Tarn itself barely exists any more. Primus, even the enemy is gone. All we have left are the people and we won't protect them by fighting these people." He waved one massive hand at Optrion and the Magnus and the rest of them.
Ci-086-6's optics flared slightly. "I know. I understand that. I don't like it but I understand it." Drawing himself up, he went on, "Which is why we'll allow you to enter and evacuate the civilians. Just the soldiers. Not the White and Blues." He stabbed a finger at the Magnus. "They betrayed us, covering up for those Pit-damned Vosians. Soldiers only. Understood?"
"Yes," Optrion agreed, because it seemed this last was addressed to him, "What about you though? Your mechs?"
"We're staying," Ci-086-6 told him flatly, faceplates tightened. "We've all agreed. Everything's gone. It's all over. But we'll do our duty. Protect this place, what's left of it. There's nothing for us out here. We're staying."
Cerrebos opened his mouth to argue but it was Coiiynn who spoke first. The little medic had been standing forgotten off to one side and he stepped forward angrily. "You can't. You'll die. Even if you can survive it for now, constant exposure will kill you. You're armours' already starting to ionise. If you stay here –"
"Then we die here."
"But –"
"Medic, stand down," the Magnus ordered quietly. He was looking at the ground now, his fists resting against his hips. "This is wasting time."
"Yeah." Ci-086-6 sneered. "It is." He turned to Cerrebos one final time. "You are a traitor. You should have done what we were built for. But . . . if you can live with that . . . make sure something good comes out of this."
"I'll protect our people," the captain promised, offering his hand.
Ci-086-6 gripped it briefly, then spun and made finger signals at the refinery. Painfully slowly, the shield cracked open, a bridge reaching out over to the barricade. Not looking back, the Tarnian soldier marched stiffly away across to the gaping doorway, where his comrades were already beginning to guide walking wounded into the open.
Cerrebos watched him go sadly. Coiiynn all but stamped his foot in frustration, biting off a bitter curse.
Determined that no more time would be wasted, Optrion ordered his mechs to fold away the barricade and begin extracting the Tarnian civilians. He sent Trailbreaker up to generate a forcefield bubble around those most in danger from exposure to the fallout and had Quasar go and summon their shuttles. The Civic Guard medics would board the transports to treat injuries on route back to the main infirmary camps while the military medics did the work on the ground. That way they could keep Ci-086-6's conditions and still make use of the resources to hand.
Directing his troops' efforts, Optrion found himself standing next to Cerrebos. The Tarnian's face was blank as he watched the first civilians crossing the bridge.
"Thank you."
Cerrebos looked down in surprise. "There is nothing to thank me for, Commander. I did this for my people, not for you."
"I know."
"May I stay?" he asked, "To help. Perhaps I can reassure them that they won't be harmed."
"I think that would be an extremely good idea." Optrion frowned, then said, "If you don't mind me asking, what did he mean, what you were built for?"
The captain did not answer for several micro-cycles. When he did, it was reluctantly. "I . . . he and I are . . . they called us Fortresses. We were supposed to be the first line of defence against a ground invasion. They remade us. Gave us one function. Fight to the death to keep the enemy out. We should all have died before allowing a single Vosian to enter the city. But . . ." He rolled his huge shoulders. "They didn't need to, did they?"
"No." The Magnus had come up beside them, footsteps masked by the surrounding din. "They did not." The light turned the white of his armour fiery.
"Why?" Cerrebos whispered, his optics reflecting that same fire, "Why did they . . . why did it come to this?"
Optrion had no answer for him. And if the Magnus did, he kept silent about it.