(Verstand tanzt)
Dances of the Mind
Bourrée: Hot Stepping
Chapter 1:
"This is it"
"Attention!"
The entire room rose with a crisp salute as Colonel Gage himself came to conduct the briefing. When he took his place behind a podium situated by the entrance of the hangar, the occupants took their seats once more.
"Good morning," the colonel began, scanning the numerous eyes amongst the crowd. "Today we have a special mission. Enemy forces have been dormant until now." He placed a transparency on an overhead projector, which he switched on. "This is a satellite view of the nearest known enemy base, military designation 21C, as of two days ago." A landing strip could be seen, as well as an array of structures. There was perhaps one jet occupying the runway and a jeep or two. He placed another transparency on the overhead. "And here is the base yesterday." This picture contained a significantly greater number of aircraft and vehicles, as well as additional tents and temporary structures nearby. What was most noticeable, though, was the dark black lines that ran down the runway, indicating high traffic. "Conway, on intel, will fill you in."
"Thank you sir," Conway said, taking the podium. He signaled to his assistant, who began to pass out manila folders. "As you can see, what we're dealing with here is nothing out of the ordinary, as far as unit composition. You'll encounter the usual fighters, tanks, and IFVs, and the usual assortment of drones. Our sources indicate, however, that there is at least one platoon, and perhaps up to three stationed there. In the worst possible case, we're dealing with some two thousand infantry, two tank battalions, three fighter or bomber squadrons, and up to one detachment of Decepticons. It'll be pure textbook maneuvers and Decepticon ploy, so there shouldn't be any problems.
"If you'll look at page eight of the report, you'll see the unit listing we have, as far as our sources have confirmed." There were a few whispered words exchanged among the listeners, but the room was otherwise silent and attentive. "I'll hand the podium back to the colonel now, so he can brief you on the mission."
"Thank you Lieutenant Conway," the colonel said. "What we're doing here is a pre-emptive strike. We have authorization to use any amount of force necessary to neutralize the threat." Many glances were exchanged as he spoke these words. "I want every one of you out there and in the field. We're leaving a small group to defend the base, but don't worry. I have word that Captain McDonnel and the 105th airborne are a radio call away, and Captain Merk and the notorious Wolfpack armored group are within a few hours to the south. I'd say we're in good hands." The colonel took the liberty of smiling, which somewhat eased the tension in the room. "Are there any questions?" He glanced about the room. A hand shot up. "Yes?"
"Sir, if what if this is some lure, to draw us out?" a young private asked.
"As I said, we've calculated sufficient defenses for this mission, and have additional troops at our disposal. I haven't been a colonel this long to throw it all away in one crap shot." There were a few chuckles, as he was known to lose often at craps. "Any further questions?"
A metallic hand raised in the air.
"Yes?"
The hand belonged to a heavily built transformer off to the side, who was crouching almost as if in attempt to make himself unnoticeable. In front of him, like a huge steel beam, lay a rifle with an intimidatingly large bore. His mechanical voice was deep and echoed in the expanse of the hangar. "With the size of our assault, they will surely detect our presence before we arrive. How much warning will the base have before we actually fall upon them?"
"Conway, can you answer that?"
"Uh, yes sir. The base has a typical type 3B radar relay system, so they should pick up traces as far as 50 miles, and definite signals within 25 miles. It is a mission priority to destroy the radar station to sever their link with the outside world. The base is also rumored to have a direct uplink to Cybertron, so be aware for that. It would be a mission priority to keep that uplink intact, as it is of much greater significance than a normal array. If anyone has visual confirmation of such an uplink, we expect to be notified immediately. An electronics team is on standby to capture the station. You can identify the relay by the four distinct smaller dishes on the corners of the main dish. The problem will be locating the main dish, though, as it can be easily hidden amongst an array of normal satellite dishes, so keep your eyes open before you let those missiles fly."
The colonel glanced about the room. "If there are no further questions, then report to your commanding officers; they'll have your specific assignments. Dismissed." A quick salute was given and the soldiers rose as the colonel left.
"Not a little worried, are you Tripwire?" Private Sam Gradsen asked, tapping him on the shoulder.
"What made you think that?" the autobot replied, picking up the beam rifle beside him.
"Oh nothing," he said, waving it off and chuckling on his way out.
Outside, there was much commotion as everyone prepared for the mission.
"Longshot!" Tank commander Thomspon called out.
"Hank! I see we'll be working together again?" Longshot replied.
"Nah, they decided to assign you to the air corps this time." They both laughed.
"Well, it would be interesting to see the likes of an M1A2 Abrams in the air wouldn't it?"
"As long as it isn't one of my babies!"
"Oh and I'm an acceptable risk?"
"You autobots take care well enough on your own."
"Are you taking me for granted?" Longshot replied, feigning offense.
"What?" Hank replied, feigning shock.
By that time they were both at the small tent where a few officers were distributing assignments. The officer handed Hank a folio, which he opened. He laughed out loud. "Looks like you're with me Longshot!"
"On lead? Again?! That's the third time in a row!" Longshot complained
"Well, maybe they are taking you for granted!"
The officer at the tent did not look at them. "Next," he said, in a slightly irritated manner. They took the hint and brought their conversation out into the field. Marine captain Harris watched them depart, shaking his head. "Not like it used to be, eh Jack?"
Intelligence officer Jack Henley did look at Karl Harris. "No, not quite," he said, with a hint of German still tainting his otherwise unnoticeable accent. "How long has it been? Six years?"
Karl laughed. "More like six months. They're not too bad, though, once you get used to them. In fact they're rather amiable."
Jack wore a wry grin. "I don't think I'll ever get used to them."
"Have you even gotten used to cities yet?"
Jack though for a moment, then smiled broadly. "Good point. I still wish I was back on the farm. You know in the Rhineland, we had this saying..."
"Enough enough!" Karl interrupted. "I already promised you I'd go back with you on my next three-day. Isn't that enough?"
"Just reminding you of your roots."
"Hey—I was born in Texas and raised in California. As far as I'm concerned, I'm pure American blood."
Karl's sigh was almost of despair. Jack punched him in the shoulder. "Hey, I'm just kidding with you, eh? I just don't want to be laughed at because I call a sir a miss in German."
Karl smiled and handed him his squad assignment. Jack saluted him as he parted. "See you around, Karl. Have fun here, all nice and safe!"
By this time, the line was rather long and people were getting antsy, so Karl hastened with the other assignments.
At the supplies tent, bombardier Walter Lee checked out an additional flak jacket. The officer stationed there eyed him suspiciously, but provided it nonetheless. As he walked onto the airstrip, as voice called out, "You think you'll be needing that?"
The voice originated from a large bomber that looked strikingly similar to a B-2, but not quite. "Just makes me feel better, Horizon. Besides, one of the others might have forgotten one."
"Uh, yeah sure," the transformer dismissed.
"Oh, you're not actually insulted are you?" Walter asked, as he climbed into the plane from the open hatch.
There was no response for a moment, which made Walter lose his smile, but then the inside of the plane was filled with laughter. He turned red slightly, as the pilot looked back from the cockpit and the navigator looked up from his maps. He looked back at them both. "What are you looking at?"
"Okay, Tripwire, choose your company. We've got Fox company deploying on the north and east sides and Bravo company in the mountain pass in the southwest." Jack Henley looked up from his map.
"Where's the thickest fighting?" he replied with what seemed to be a glitter in his eye.
"Probably the mountain pass."
"I'll go with Bravo then."
"Sure." Jack paused as he was about to leave and regarded the Autobot with a severe eye. "You know, sometimes I worry about you."
Tripwire laughed, and leaned in close. "The only thing I'd worry about is finding a target cause by the time you get there, I'll have taken 'em all out!"
Jack shook his head and made off to talk to his other officers. Tripwire called out after him, "Make sure you bring extra ammo!"
"Alright Longshot, let's do this right," Thompson said, taking his seat as driver and commander.
"If you want to do it right, the first thing you should do is scoot over one seat," Longshot replied, his face appearing on the internal display.
"But that's the observer's seat!"
"Hey—most commanders just observe."
Hank put up a sour face, "Other commanders can do what they like. I like to drive. Besides, it doesn't get in the way of my commanding."
"I'm more worried about it getting the way of your driving. Hey there Birdie."
Arnold Lark entered the tank cockpit and took his seat at the gunners position. "Longshot? Couldn't recognize you from the outside!"
"Well, the army rubs off on you over time. Literally." They all laughed.
"Hey Lark, I'm not a bad driver, am I?" Hank asked directly.
Lark thought a moment, "No, not really."
"See?" Hank said with a touch of victory.
"When you're just driving, that is. Driving and commanding? I don't know..."
"Hey whose side are you on, kid? Name me one time that I ever messed up."
"Well," Longshot began, "there was the parking lot incident?"
"I told you—it was in the way! And what's the point of driving a tank if you're not going to utilize all of your abilities? Besides, they were all enemy vehicles."
"They were parked jeeps."
"But I effectively decimated their means of escape!" He lowered his voice a little. "And besides, you know it was fun."
"Fun to have to spend four hours in repair? And a new paint job? My underside was so scratched up...geez I could've sworn there was about an inch of steel left between those jeeps and my spark."
"But you didn't mind receiving a medal for all the confirmed kills those jeeps totaled up?"
For the first time, there was no response. Hank laughed heartily.
"Hey," Sam Gradsen called over casually. The group of other infantry returned his greeting as he walked on by. He headed straight for an Autobot who was already engaged in a loud conversation with another soldier. "I tell you," he was saying, "the XMP-55 will beat out the XMP-57 for sure."
"No way!" the other soldier protested. "Did you see the last test? XMP-55 cut out after 2000 rounds!"
The Autobot pointed a finger at the soldier. "But that was a proven fluke. The barrel was an irregular discarded from the shop floor, and they used the same 55 that they used in the previous tests while the 57 was a fresh one."
The other soldier began to protest when Sam coughed. After a side glance, the soldier said, "Well, I'd better be prepping with my squad. See ya later Speedway."
"Same to you Arnold," Speedway returned. He turned his head towards Sam, maintaining his lazy posture leaning on the side of a huge C-130 transport. "So, what's up Sam?"
Sam looked to the left and the right, and spoke in a low voice, "I just, ah, wanted to tell you—you know, before I forget—I, ah...remember that favor you owed me?"
"Sure thing," Speedway replied casually. He eyed him with slight suspicion, "What do you have in mind?"
"Well," Sam began before coughing a few times. "You see," he continued, "there's this girl..."
"You're not asking me what I think you're asking me are you?" Speedway interrupted hoisting himself to an upright position.
"Look, my car is in the shop. I need a ride. And this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!"
Speedway turned his head away. Sam protested, "Hey, you said anything!"
Speedway looked the opposite direction, scratching some spot behind his head. "Yeah..."
"Look—just this once, okay? And who knows, maybe you'll like her and..."
Speedway bent down and leaned in close, pointing a huge finger at him, "Just this once. And don't think you'll ever get me to do something like this again."
Sam smiled jovially. "Thanks! You're really a pal."
"And consider us even."
"Even Steven."
With that, Speedway walked off, muttering to himself. Sam watched him leave until he turned the corner and was out of sight. Then jumped and threw his fist in the air, and silently shouted yes!
"Well Colonel, this is it, isn't it?"
The colonel turned to see Zenith Prime standing still behind him. He turned back to gazed over his men once before responding, "Yes, Prime, I suppose it is."
Zenith Prime nodded once. A thoughtful silence ensued as they both watched the troops, transformer and human alike, prepare for battle. "I never imagined it would be like this," Zenith whispered almost inaudibly.
The colonel turned to Zenith and gave him a questioning look. Zenith replied, "It's like a dream, isn't it? I mean, here we have the humans and transformers working together so closely…this is how it should be, do you know what I mean?"
Colonel Henry Gage nodded slowly and turned his eyes back over the base. "And yet, in thinking of this, miles across this planet, somewhere out there, there are humans and transformers in bondage, pitted against each other to the death."
This time Zenith paused for long consideration. "Yes, indeed," he said at last. "Strange how things so different can coexist right next to each other, isn't it?"
"Yes, for sure," Gage replied. "But we hope to change that don't we," he said, adding a smile.
"Yes, indeed. We hope to change that."
With that, the two of them withdrew to watch their men—and transformers—silently.
"Report."
"They are moving."
"How many."
"Most of them. A few thousand."
Pause.
"Good."
Pause. A shuffling sound.
"You are dismissed."
A bow. The diminishing echo of footsteps.
In the darkness, Magnatron smiled. Once again, his patient efforts have greatly paid off.
