Bishop takes Pawn
Jazz coiled and took a flying leap seconds before a hand grenade tumbled down the slope and ignited, showering the area with small stones. He crashed into the scrub at the bottom of the ravine, rolled to his feet and dove into cover. Jazz warily poked his head around the edge of a boulder and scanned the area. Nothing.
0o0o0
The Common Room was almost silent, every optic locked on the small screens of the comm/scan units that Red Alert and Hoist had set up hours earlier.
"Anyone see anything?" Bluestreak half-whispered, the gunner peering over Hound's shoulder.
"Nothing since that explosion." Prowl replied, one corner of his mind absently wondering if Bluestreak even realised that he was currently clutching his rifle to his chest. Probably not. Twostroke mewed forlornly from her perch on the gunner's shoulder. She knew something was wrong.
"I'm picking up movement in sector three!" Red Alert announced. "It's Jazz, and it appears that he is unharmed."
There was an audible sigh of relief from the gathered Autobots and their allies. Then the nervous waiting began again.
0o0o0
A gentle wind blew across the ground, whipping up dust and sending tumbleweeds skittering across the cooling rocks. Jazz leaned into it, feeling the tiny particles of dirt pepper his shins. He inhaled deeply, sensors analysing the trace compounds present in the atmosphere. Though his sense of 'smell' was no where near as sensitive as Hound's or Shadow's, it was sufficient enough to tell Jazz that Deck had been through the area recently.
The breeze picked up, rattling the dry branches of the sage bushes and carrying with it the mournful cry of a coyote. Jazz's head snapped up as the canine's howl broke off into a series of terrified yelps that faded into the distance. "Gotcha."
Jazz took off in the direction of the coyote, running in a half crouch as he flitted between the pools of darkness in the lee of standing stones and trees.
Their chase had taken them far from the ravines and into the wider desert area. Deck had momentarily lost him after the grenade went off, the weapon being of a special design that not only caused an explosion but also created a fine cloud of sensor-reflective particles. But Jazz had more tracking abilities in his arsenal than just his inbuilt sensor suite.
Pebbles crushed into the ground provided a trail that was clear enough for him to see even without his night vision. Uprooted vegetation gave direction and an indication of time of passage. And disturbed fauna, like the coyote, pinpointed Deck almost exactly.
There.
The unmistakable head and shoulders of the target were plainly silhouetted against the stars as Deck crested the top of a ridge. Jazz dropped to one knee and brought his sniper rifle out, centring the cross hairs on the mech's head. He flicked off the safety and started applying pressure to the trigger.
Wait.
This was too easy.
Jazz threw himself flat and squirmed into the scrubby bushes. There was no way that Deck, insane or not, would make such a basic mistake as going above the top of high point. He had to be planning something.
The silhouette suddenly turned towards Jazz and started jogging down the ridge.
"How does he…oh heck!" Jazz cursed silently as he realised his mistake. He'd covered his paint and visor, but he'd forgotten about the windshield on his back. A glint of reflected starlight had just betrayed his position.
The Porsche flipped onto his back and on top of a rock, the weight of his upper body neatly smashing the tempered glass. The sound was like an explosion in the night and it stung like anything, but Jazz didn't have any other options. He crouched and shook out the last splinters of glass. Deck was coming and Jazz really didn't want to start a fight on his terms. He picked a direction and ran for it, right into a tripwire.