"Prowl not here?" Ironhide asked the question even before he stopped. Judging by the expressions on the faces of his human colleagues, it was one they hadn't quite dared give voice.
The topkick truck braked to a halt in front of the gantry, transformed, and spared Lennox, Epps and Graham a nod as his head rose level with the elevated command post. His gaze slid onwards, noting the carefully neutral expression on Optimus Prime's face before coming to rest on Ratchet.
Their medic was out of medbay, which probably counted as a good thing, but he looked unimpressed, his scowl not quite hiding the concern Ironhide read in his glowing optics.
"He's only been in recharge for a few hours. I caught him working late into the night. By the time I realised he wasn't even trying to cycle down, the slagger was pretty much ready to drop offline anyway. If he does that again, I'm going to make him wish he was never sparked. And if anyone wakes him before he comes out of recharge naturally, they'll join him." Ratchet folded his arms across his chest, frowning at Optimus and Ironhide in turn before throwing a forbidding glance towards the humans for good measure.
Ironhide returned the frown, cycling his arm cannons in a worried gesture. Most mechs recharged infrequently by human standards, and could be woken from their recharge cycle or skip it entirely without any ill effects whatsoever. Ratchet's insistence that Prowl slept in the medbay, and the way he was hovering over their second, was more than a little unsettling. Slag it, it hadn't taken a medic's optics to see that Prowl was in a bad way, but Ironhide was starting to suspect he'd underestimated just how bad. Every mech knew losing a bondmate was hard, physically as well as mentally. Even so, Ratchet's deep worry for their friend sent shivers through his back struts.
He nodded, stowing his cannons only when Optimus glanced down at them. Shifting on his peds, Ironhide folded his arms to stop himself fidgeting. "We could delay the meeting 'till he's up and about?"
"We've kind of muddled along without Prowl here before, Ironhide." Epps leaned forward against the gantry rail, head tilted back so he could keep Optimus, as well as Ratchet and Ironhide, in sight. "What's different about today?"
Ironhide and Optimus Prime exchanged long looks. The sergeant had meant his 'muddled along' as a sarcastic understatement. He didn't realise just how much truth there was in the phrase. With Jazz gone and Bumblebee on long term deployment, their officer corps was seriously depleted. It was an ongoing struggle for Ironhide and Prime to marshal their disparate, unbalanced and unfamiliar forces. The Autobot diaspora had left small groups scattered across half the galaxy. While every new arrival was a joy, the scattering of 'bots who'd made it to Earth hardly made up a coherent team, or covered even half the specialities Ironhide could once have counted on. Sometimes it seemed he only found out what they could do in the heat of battle, and only then if the right mech happened to be in the right place at the right time.
With that in mind, not including their greatest tactician, their finest administrator, and – Pit! – their second in command in an officer-level meeting was foolhardy at best. More than that, Ironhide was looking forward to having Prowl's steady optics and calm voice back. He'd missed his old friend more than he'd ever admit.
Optimus spoke before Ironhide could frame a satisfactory answer to Epps' question. He sighed, the air cycling through his vents in a sudden gust.
"Unfortunately delaying the meeting isn't really an option – primarily because of Prowl's work last night."
"The pictures?" Epps leaned back a little to better see the Prime's face. "Have the techs found a match?"
"Not as of yet." Prime's deep voice vibrated through the large hangar. His optics dimmed a little. "We are still waiting on that analysis. However, in addition to downloading his own intelligence records to our mainframe, substantially boosting our pooled information on the activities of both Autobots and Decepticons elsewhere in the galaxy, and reviewing our information on Sunstreaker's disappearance, Prowl took the time to produce a preliminary tactical analysis on several of the reports and pending investigations that we have neglected recently. My second in command flagged one of those reports for my immediate attention."
"He was just about to go find you and wake you about it when I caught him." Ratchet grimaced, pinging an officer-only channel for privacy as he went on via the comms. "Mech was barely able to make his optics focus, let alone give a coherent briefing. I told him it could wait for the morning."
Lennox was frowning, joining Epps at the railing. "Which report, Prime? Something that might lead us to Sunny?"
Optimus shook his head, resisting the urge to sigh again, although Ironhide could tell it took an effort. "Regrettably not. Prowl's review of the reports coming in from Europe, however, raises a significant concern."
"The Poland thing? I thought we thought that was just a scout stirring things up? Making trouble for the sake of it and maybe trying to distract us."
Ironhide nodded, his assessment largely in agreement with Lennox' summary. Ratchet just waited, his narrowed optics resting on Prime and his expression expectant.
Turning back to his two standing officers, Prime sent each of them a data packet, holding their gazes until both had time to review the information. Ironhide swore, his cannons charging instinctively. As always, the logic in Prowl's report was impeccable, his trained processor dissecting the situation to reveal its core elements and sifting through those for clues. And as usual, the results were disconcerting.
"How the frag did we miss that?"
Ratchet rubbed his helm, weariness dripping from him.
"We've had other things on our minds."
"Ah… guys?" Epps called up, glancing sideways at his stone-faced commanding officer. Ironhide grimaced his apology. Lennox did not like to be left out of the loop – for good reason. There were far too many things in this civil war that could get a human killed. Ignorance was one of the worst and Lennox knew it.
Prime glanced at the screens that lined one side of the gantry, several of them coming to life with data, even as Optimus summarised the key points aloud.
"The human eye-witness accounts all mention a large, grey machine. However, Prowl's analysis suggests that the witnesses have reported conflicting features consistent with not one but three different Decepticons known to be in this system."
"Combine that with data on unrecorded flights from air traffic control in the region…" Ratchet picked up, still scanning the data himself. "And a number of disturbances and thefts of raw materials…"
"It's a base." Ironhide slammed a fist into the open palm of his other hand. "A Decepticon base being built right under our noses."
"Damn," Lennox swore quietly, his eyes scanning the information on the screens, although his human brain could only be processing a small fraction of it. "I'd swear half that data wasn't there yesterday."
It hadn't been. It took a mech with good instincts and determination to sidestep his way through the maze of human information networks and track down something like this. Red Alert could have done it. And Jazz maybe. Not many others. It certainly took more patience and concentration than anyone had to spare since Sideswipe fell.
Ironhide shrugged, his optics flickering as he realised why Prowl's report, and this meeting, had been tagged as urgent. Instinctively he checked his chronometer, before looking at his Prime. Optimus nodded in response to his unasked question, speaking aloud for the benefit of their human allies.
"This analysis strongly suggests that at least a subset of the Decepticon faction is in the final stages of constructing an advance base. Unfortunately, my negligence in overlooking these reports has left us with a very limited window in which to act before that base is likely to be fully fortified and our opponents become firmly entrenched."
"How limited are we talking?" Lennox asked with a frown, breaking off his study of the information displays to look up at the Autobots.
"My tactician estimates a twelve hour window from the present time before the risk factor associated with routing the Decepticon incursion rises substantially."
This time the profanity spilling from Lennox's lips was rather stronger. Even NEST's fast transports, benefiting as they did from Cybertronian technology, were looking at seven long hours in the air to reach Eastern Europe. If they were going to respond to this they'd need to lift off within the hour and strategise in flight. And Ironhide didn't need Prowl's coded tag on the file to tell him that failing to respond was not an option.
Lennox didn't have the advantage of tens of millennia spent fighting the Decepticons, or of working with Prowl, to fall back on.
"Optimus, I get the reason for concern, but your guy's just now arrived on Earth. Are you sure he's got to grips with this as well as he thinks he has? He wouldn't be the first to blunder into a new situation and assume the worst."
Ironhide bridled, his cannons whirring. Ratchet shook his head. Optimus just met Lennox's eyes with his steady blue optics.
"Prowl's analysis is impeccable, Major Lennox. And I would expect no less."
To his credit, the human didn't flinch in the face of Prime's implied rebuke. Lennox had the deployment and safety of his own team to think of. Ironhide could respect that.
"You trust his judgement," Lennox noted.
"With my spark," Optimus said. Ironhide might not be able to voice the sentiment with Prime's calm resolve, but he couldn't deny he felt the same. He gave a short nod when the human glanced in his direction for confirmation.
Lennox sighed. "Then I guess we're going to Poland." He turned to Epps. "Scramble the active battle squads. Wheels up in fifty."
Ironhide nodded to the human captain and then to his Prime. He headed out to get their own troops moving. And left Ratchet and Prime to the argument already reflected on both faces.
Waking was a struggle. A thin keen echoed in Prowl's audio sensors and he recognised it as his own.
He silenced his vocaliser with an automatic command, rendering his cry silent. Pain wracked him. It flooded his tired limbs, his aching processor and the spark that would never be whole again. Every part of him clung to the fragmenting recharge cycle, not wanting to face another day, year, vorn of agony. He knew better than to believe it would fade any time soon, or that he would ever wake without grieving anew for his lost bondmate.
His processor strained, resisting its reboot cycle. He could feel a crash building. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to let it come.
But then… something stirred inside him. The sparklet that hovered beside his own centre wasn't conscious. It was barely more than a flicker of emotion, a vague sense that he was not alone. It didn't replace Jazz. It couldn't come close. But it was enough to shake him from his shocked descent into stasis.
His processors rebooted sluggishly, his optics flickering into dim life. Error messages and status warnings streamed past them, and he dismissed each one, satisfied for now simply to be online.
As he had every cycle since Jazz left him, Prowl awoke with his hand resting above his spark and the bitter knowledge that another life was utterly dependent on his. If he returned to the Matrix, he'd be taking Jazz's last gift with him. And while that was still far from unlikely, he would not allow it to happen through his negligence alone.
"Prowl?"
The tall Autobot blinked, cycling his optics without shifting their focus from the polystyrene ceiling tiles above him. It took longer than it should have for him to realise that he lay supine on a medbay berth, or to process the gravity, atmosphere and magnetic field signature that told him he was on Earth. He'd become far too accustomed to waking alone and in the quiet of deep space. He needed time to deal with the surging grief that enveloped his spark, and to give the brutal logic of his battle-trained processor time to reassert itself. Jazz was gone, but that couldn't be the end. His sparklet needed him. More than that, the Autobots needed him – not just to pursue some abstract cause, but to keep all that was left of his people, his friends, alive.
The keening cry that had echoed through him began to subside. The fragile remnants of his control returned. He reactivated his vocaliser, clearing it with a whir as a worried face looked down into his.
"Prowl? Are you okay? Please, I really, really don't want to have to call Ratchet right now. He was pretty much venting fire when Optimus made him leave."
Blue optics refocused on a matching pair, dilated with concern. A vibrant yellow blur resolved into the familiar plating of Bumblebee, and Prowl felt the young scout's servos grip his arm.
Prowl nodded, pushing himself up from the berth and unable to stop the flare of frustration when Bumblebee was forced to steady him. His door-wings flicked out, balancing his seated weight and he realised that while the spark-deep pain still throbbed through him, the familiar ache of grinding door-hinges was gone. Aware that his silence was just fuelling Bumblebee's anxiety, but unable to resist his curiosity, he paged back through the warnings he'd received on reboot. Venting a sigh, he made a mental note to thank Ratchet. His systems were still a mess, the weakness of his spark undermining the medic's efforts. Even so, he hadn't woken with so few errors from his frame since this ordeal began. The aches and pains Ratchet had relieved might be largely cosmetic, but it still felt good to move his door-wings freely, and he'd forgotten what it felt like to have his energon system read merely as 'low' rather than 'critical'.
"Prowl? If you don't talk to me soon, I'm calling the Hatchet and then we'll both be sorry."
Prowl's optics dimmed for a moment in surprise. He tilted his head to one side, studying his young friend. "Then perhaps it's a good thing that will be unnecessary, Bumblebee."
Bumblebee took a step back, venting a gusty sigh. Prowl's splayed door-wings twitched, adjusting to the loss of support as Bumblebee withdrew his hand.
"Are you sure, Prowl? You looked kind of out of it." The younger mech shifted awkwardly, not meeting Prowl's eye… not admitting he'd heard the officer's keening cry.
Prowl let his gaze rest steadily on the youngster. "I assure you that I am operating within acceptable parameters."
It wasn't quite the same thing as 'well' or 'fine' and both Autobots knew it. Bumblebee glanced up, catching Prowl's optics for a moment before looking away and giving a jerky nod. He reached behind him and then turned back, presenting Prowl with a weak smile and a palely-luminescent energon cube.
"Doctor's orders."
Prowl didn't bother to argue. He accepted the cube, taking a sip from it before subspacing it with a brief glare that dared Bumblebee to comment. He didn't expect his non-compliance to escape Ratchet for long, but he saw no reason to choke down the sting even of low-grade when the medic wasn't present.
"And where is…?" Prowl peered past Bumblebee's yellow-armoured frame, catching a glimpse of Sideswipe's red lying on his berth beyond. Of the Ratchet's new and – in Prowl's strictly private opinion – rather unflattering fluorescent green, there was no sign. Frowning slightly, Prowl brought his optics back to the mech hovering by his berth. His voice trailed off, his slowly-booting processor finally catching up with his situation.
"Ah…" The scout's hesitation was uncharacteristic. "I'm not sure if I'm meant to tell you."
Distracted for the moment, Prowl waved a dismissive hand. A backlog of comm messages scrolled past his HUD. A request for clarification on his urgent report of last night from Optimus Prime was quickly followed by 'query withdrawn' addenda from both Prime and Ratchet. There was a long pause before an official 'approved for ultra-light duties' statement from Ratchet, accompanied by a Cybertronian notation adding 'only because I can't slagging well stop you thinking' in the medic's inimitable style. The assignment notice from Prime that followed suggested Ratchet had got to him too. It flatly banned anything physically strenuous, permitting limited hours of data analysis work only, with a strong steer towards 'identifying the current whereabouts and status of Autobot Sunstreaker'.
Prowl vented a sigh. He'd been intending to do just that. What frustrated and slightly alarmed him though was what Prime hadn't mentioned.
"Where is Optimus?"
"Ah, Ratchet said I should get you anything you need so you don't have to…"
Bumblebee bounced on his pedes, optics dimming a little as he searched for a way to avoid the question for a second time. Prowl straightened, his door-wings twitching up again, not quite to their usual flare, but certainly rigid enough to let the young warrior see his irritation.
"Bumblebee." His voice was even, but he put a sharp edge into it that he'd not had to use in quite some time. The younger mech stuttered into silence, his own winglets fluttering nervously. "You may be aware that both Ratchet and Prime have approved me for duty. With that in mind, and speaking as your commanding officer, I suggest you consider your answer carefully as I ask again: Where is our Prime, and what is being done about the Decepticon situation in Europe?"
Small winglets drooped against Bumblebee's back, their movement entirely involuntary. The mech gave a shrug, conceding defeat, and stepped backwards into something approaching a formal pose.
"Prime took some of our people and some of the humans to deal with it."
"'Some of our people'?" Prowl repeated, raising a brow ridge and frowning at the vagueness.
The formality faded from Bumblebee's frame. He rubbed the back of his head, a human gesture Prowl might have found amusing at any other time. "Just about everyone," he admitted, spreading his hands wide. "He even persuaded Ratchet… eventually. Arcee's still on the perimeter, and Prime left me here to keep an eye on… Sides."
"And me," Prowl concluded.
Bumblebee's vocaliser emitted a warble that seemed to mingle apology with confirmation. The younger mech had become accustomed to non-vocal communication in the vorns since Tyger Pax. Even with his speech restored, it seemed he fell back into familiar patterns.
"Calm yourself. I am well aware that my current physical condition precludes me from defending either myself or Sideswipe from any hypothetical Decepticon assault. It would be impractical and illogical to resent our assigned protector."
Judging by the startled flare of Bumblebee's optics and his ruffled plating, that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. Prowl wondered if, in better times, he'd have shown frustration or anger or wounded pride. Right now he found himself unable to summon up any emotion beyond weary resignation.
Turning back to the matter in hand, Prowl forced his meandering processor to focus. He checked his chronometer and blinked back both surprise and concern. "How long ago did they leave?"
Bumblebee transmitted the time reference, following up with words before Prowl had a chance to translate the human units.
"They'd just landed and were rolling out when I heard you… wake up."
Prowl ignored Bumblebee's hesitation. He frowned, and for once didn't care that his uncertainty and concern showed. Prime was cutting the deadline he'd given him close. Closer than the margin for error stated in Prowl's report truly permitted.
If the Decepticon garrison strength was even a little larger than Prowl had estimated, or its mechs just a few percent more efficient…
He reached out to the base com-system and tried to tap the tactical information feed before growling in frustration. Last night he'd been too tired to notice the near-complete com blackout descend as Ratchet dialled down the room's wireless transmitters. It seemed the medic had been serious about him not working. With the door to medbay open, a trickle of information spilled through on a weak wireless signal, enough to update his basic coms. Not nearly enough for the high data density of a battle situation.
"I need a computer terminal and unimpeded access to the base network."
His confident statement might have carried more weight if he'd managed to stand upright without swaying. Shrugging Bumblebee's finger-servos from his shoulder, he let his optics dim and ran through a test cycle, recalibrating gyros that should have been checked in his boot-up sequence and clearly hadn't been.
"Prowl, are you sure you should…?"
Bumblebee was still hovering by his side when the cycle ended a few klicks later. The smaller bot had never been one to hide his anxiety. Prowl looked down into anxious optics and tried to ignore his young friend's twitching winglets.
"Bumblebee. I would remind you that I successfully navigated a substantial fraction of this stellar quadrant without assistance. I am quite certain that I can reach NEST's command station without – "
"I'm not supposed to leave Sides alone!" Bumblebee burst out, voice anxious enough to cut through his commander's dry comment. "Please, Prowl…"
Prowl stifled a sigh as he stalked away from the alcove-recessed berth Ratchet had chosen for him and came to a halt looking down on Sideswipe's medbay berth. The front-liner lay still, his limbs and torso limp, but his optics were lit with a dim, unfocussed glow. If Sideswipe was at all conscious of his surroundings, he gave no sign of it as Prowl crouched down to be in his line of sight.
"Sideswipe, executive command: report location Sunstreaker."
Just as it had the night before, the command imperative triggered a purely unconscious data-burst in response. Prowl couldn't help a shiver of relief that Sideswipe's systems were still functioning that far, even as he established that these coordinates too pointed to a location beneath the ocean floor. Unlikely to say the least, but Prowl logged them nonetheless, a part of him pondering the significance of the offset between Sideswipe's new report and those that had come before. Either the twin's absolute positioning system was drifting by a double handful of human miles each day, or…
The thought slipped beyond Prowl's grasp, lost amidst the echoes of Sideswipe's pained groan. The front-liner's finger-servos twitched, reaching out to no-one present before clenching into a fist. The glow faded from Sideswipe's optics, his fist falling open. Prowl and Bumblebee moved in unison, both turning anxiously to the med-berth readouts before relaxing with relieved sighs.
Sideswipe's condition was still critical, but it was at least stable. As Prowl understood it, Ratchet's treatment had bought them time. They could only pray that it was time enough for Prowl himself to find a true solution.
"I can't leave him, Prowl," Bumblebee repeated softly.
And if, as Prowl suspected, Bumblebee had orders to let neither Sideswipe nor Prowl out of his sight…? The tactician was fairly sure his junior officer had been briefed by Ratchet on exactly what 'ultra-light duties' entailed, and empowered to enforce the definition.
Door-wings flaring, Prowl scowled, giving up on an undignified and likely futile escape attempt from the medbay. He settled to sit on the berth beside Sideswipe's, reaching into subspace for his barely-touched cube and sipping from it reluctantly.
As much as he hated to be out of touch, he trusted Prime and his fellow officers to deal with the European situation. Even so, he was concerned by how quickly Sideswipe had distracted him from the upcoming confrontation. His processor was flitting from subject to subject, long algorithms truncated by semi-regular low-energy warnings and by his automatic attempts to prioritise new sensory information. Forcing his specialised and parallel-mounted battle computer back online would override any such concerns, but he didn't need Ratchet's warning to be certain that was a very bad idea.
The best he could do was choke down the rest of this cube and try to use the energy boost to maintain his concentration.
And right now, that meant concentrating on Bumblebee's suddenly tense posture and distracted expression.
Reaching out with his limited connectivity, Prowl felt his way across the network to the wireless hub and reopened it. Only then did he power up his radio frequency receivers, scrolling through the wavebands and tuning in to the main combat frequency in time to hear Lennox barking out an order for Jolt and his supporting humans to deploy eastwards. A hurried acknowledgement was virtually lost in the thunderous roar of combat joined. It meant nothing out of context, and Prowl's engine growled in frustration as he tried and failed to pull a decent volume of tactical information over the base's human-built wi-fi network.
"Prowl?" Bumblebee jolted out of his distraction as Prowl stood abruptly. The yellow scout chased him into Ratchet's office, albeit not without a hesitation on the threshold. Prowl felt no such compunction intruding on the medic's inner sanctum. He strongly suspected his fellow officer would find more to rebuke him for than merely making use of the nearest computer terminal.
The NEST tactical system was a strange hybrid, attempting to merge both human and Cybertronian standards and managing to be marginally comprehensible to each. Prowl's optics brightened as he hacked into the control centre's main screens and scanned the information he was able to access from Ratchet's terminal. Battle status updates were overlaid on a combined map and static satellite image of a small Polish town, the layout apparently intended to cater for human visual-based analysis rather than Cybertronian coordinate processing algorithms. Pulling up additional information on any given battle unit or individual required an inordinate amount of typing, and Prowl snaked a wrist-cable into the data-port Ratchet had installed, bypassing the slower keyboard input entirely. He shifted constantly from report to report as he tried to get an over-view of the skirmish, pulling up windows, shuffling and minimising them quicker than a human would have been able to follow, let alone read and comprehend.
He was caught up enough that he barely noticed when a second monitor screen appeared beside the first, Bumblebee carrying it over from an unused med-berth. He merely nodded an acknowledgement and expanded the human projections and Cybertronian data-files onto the new pixel space. He didn't even acknowledge the third and fourth screens, and didn't ask where the scout had found them, dragging the main map up to the top-left screen, the personnel files – both human and Cybertronian – to the top right, keeping the feed of human targeting data and analysis in the bottom left and freeing up the bottom right for his own notes.
Both wrist-cables were engaged now, information flowing through Prowl and to the screens as quickly as his over-strained processor could manage. Bumblebee was at his side, an unnoticed hand supporting his back between the door-wings as Prowl focussed entirely on the comms coming in from the battle-field, and the supporting information that allowed him to process them. Gradually though, the picture became clearer to them both.
Prime's team weren't exactly outnumbered. In terms of sheer physical strength, three large Decepticons, a single Seeker and a handful of drones racked up fairly evenly against the combined forces of NEST's humans, Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Jolt and the young twins, Mudflap and Skids. Where the Decepticons held the upper hand was in their air support and in their total disregard for both human life and human property. It was enough to make the difference.
The NEST forces were scattered, their coordination limited to occasional shouted attempts at partial reports from the various fighters and group leaders as opportunity allowed. The control room at Diego Garcia was trying to maintain an overview, but its staff hampered by incomplete information being fed to them and a fundamental difficulty with interpreting the conflicting Cybertronian signals and infrared flares.
There were plenty of those. The night-darkened streets of the Polish town were littered with hazards, everything from rough cobbles to entire stepped streets, from empty market stalls to domestic dumpsters left out for collection the following day. The Autobots worked around them, trying to cause the minimum amount of disturbance and leave little evidence of their presence. The Decepticons didn't, ploughing through with as much noise and chaos as it was within their power to make, targeting humans – both NEST forces, and the few foolhardy civilians venturing out to investigate – whenever the opportunity presented itself.
It was a constant, running battle. No, it was a series of them, each one a struggle to take a Decepticon down with as little collateral damage as possible. And, Prowl's years of battle experience told him with increasing certainty, it was a battle that the isolated, uncoordinated and hobbled Autobots were going to lose.
"Frag it!"
Bumblebee's expression spoke eloquently for his shock at his superior's outburst. The scout stood frozen as Prowl leaned down and reached blindly for Ratchet's lower-most, right-hand drawer. The tactician's hand closed on the expected cube and he glanced down for just long enough to confirm the vivid sheen of high-grade before knocking it back in a single, burning draft.
His fans kicked on at once. His entire fuel processing system seemed to spasm, the need to purge almost overwhelming, and agony spread through his frame carrying on a wave of the highly caustic fluid. His optics flared, and in that dizzy, everlasting moment before the overcharge wreaked its havoc on his depleted systems, Prowl kicked his battle computer online.
His energy levels plummeted as abruptly as they'd risen. His frame was still shrieking in agony, but both pain and error warnings were easy to set aside as his processor flooded with new analyses, tactical projections and the hard statistics to back up his instincts.
Tension remained but the fear was gone as he reassessed the display and the information it contained. He let himself sink into the familiar clarity of pure numbers and probabilities, aware of the myriad of simulations running in the tactical computer's independent cores and building up in its vast databanks, but only caring about the top level analyses. He noted a confirmed identity for one of the 'Cons drop out of the tactical archives that even he couldn't access without his battle firewalls active. A flicker of his optics and the information was transferred to NEST's system and set aside for the more immediate tactical situation. Watching carefully, he waited for a brief lull, catching the few moments when his Prime was disengaged and not under immediate assault.
"Prime?" Prowl's voice was utterly calm as he pinged in to the Autobot officers' encrypted channel. He reviewed his findings with confidence and satisfaction, updating them second by second. The battle computer could provide the numbers he needed, the statistics, projections and alternatives. It could suppress his emotional reaction and all its associated logical flaws. The decision making though, that was all Prowl. The even tone of his voice was as familiar over a battle com-net as Prime's encouragement and Ironhide's enraged roar. "A few suggestions?"
"Make them orders!" Prime's harried tone made his own assessment of the situation clear. Optimus flipped to the general NEST frequency without hesitation. "Prowl has tac-com."
"Jolt: disengage. Withdraw three blocks east, one north. Cover gamma division. Lieutenant Walters, gamma division: relocate one block to your left as soon as possible. Lay defensive cordon across St Wurthem's Plaza. Ironhide: hold your current position. Mudflap, Skids: Ironhide is zero point eight one kilometres northwest of you in the old town. Converge on his location. Prime…"
The orders streamed from Prowl in a smooth stream, his tone never varying. There was no hint of satisfaction in his voice as Ironhide's cannon dealt with a hulking rotary mech who'd been harassing the young twins, while Mudflap and Skids in turn dealt with the five fast-moving drones who'd been out-manoeuvring the large armoury officer. He didn't let his emotions register when he got Prime and Jolt in place to cover a human unit who'd been under heavy assault, or managed to manoeuvre Ratchet through the chaos to assist their medics with a withdrawal. His instructions didn't falter when Lennox's alpha squad managed to put themselves directly in the path of the Seeker's strafing run, merely bringing Prime forward to cover and shield them, while advising them on ordinance and targeting to ground the flier.
It was almost half an hour before the first critical system warnings started to compete with his battle computer's output in terms of priority. His only concessions to his own weakness were to package a quick précis of his overall strategy for transmission to Prime, and to lean his frame a little more heavily against Ratchet's desk as he checked on his preparations. There was only one more thing he needed before he closed this trap – a fast, agile mech he could rely on to hold their nerve.
His first thought – Jazz – sent a spasm through his spark that not even the battle computer could entirely suppress. His second – the twins – carried its own concerns and was equally impossible. Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder at his third-choice mech and tried to focus on identifying a fourth, rather than railing about Primus's dark humour.
"Bumblebee, tell me about Jolt."
A new warning from his frame pinged his HUD as the young scout spoke. Prowl filed it with the others and put it out of his processor. He had too much work to do to worry about such things now.
The air vibrated. The mingled notes of a dozen heavy engines and a pair of jet turbines blended to form a solid wall of sound. William Lennox felt it to the core of his bones. His jaw-bone ached from the pressure of his clenched teeth and he could feel the pounding headache waiting in the back of his skull to ambush him when he had a moment to spare.
A series of blinding flashes split the darkness from somewhere to his left. Debris filled the air, flying shards of brick and stonework clattering against his body-armour. Crouching, waving his men to pause and seek cover, Lennox blinked away the after-images as fiercely as he could. The town's power grid had been an early casualty of this battle, and Lennox's squad had become accustomed to fighting in the scant moonlight. Brighter lights meant mechs engaged in battle, and those short-lived beacons erupted far too often around them.
It was only because of Prowl's steady litany of instructions and commentary that he knew the mech on the street to his left was Ironhide, and that he was facing down a tank-former named Destrier. Just as he knew that Prime was on the other side of the plaza they were approaching, and that Ratchet and the newly re-grouped beta squad were converging on the same point from somewhere to his right.
His vision finally clear, Lennox rose from his crouch. His hands automatically checked his weapon for damage even as his eyes checked each of his men.
"Evans, Fusilli," he waved the two men forward to take point, hand-gestures instructing the rest of his squad to follow them. The NEST alpha squad moved forward in a wary, ducking and turning run.
Approaching the end of the street, Evans and Fusilli pressed themselves against opposite walls, each covering the main plaza while the rest of the squad hurried to throw up a temporary barricade for cover without restricting firing solutions across the open square.
Dropping behind the barricade, Lennox rested the barrel of his hand-gun against the shell of a large metal-shelled dumpster, ignoring the sour smell of rotten food that spilled from the upturned container and the question of where his men had found it. He'd smelled far worse on battlefields the world over, and unless he'd misunderstood Prowl's plan, the plaza-fronting restaurant it belonged to was about to have worse problems than a busted back-yard gate. Glancing from side to side, Lennox checked his men, sheltered behind a motley assortment of compact Polish vehicles, woodwork and anything else they could lay their hands on.
Unable to resist a scowl, Lennox tapped his ear-piece and spoke aloud to the mech who'd been manipulating this entire battlefield like his personal toy-set for something close on the last hour.
"Alpha squad in position."
"Understood." Prowl's far too calm voice murmured in his ear, and not for the first time Lennox had the urge to snap out a counter-order, to break free of the tactical command Prime had entrusted to the unfamiliar mech and do his best unaided. No one directing a battle – even from half a world away – should sound so detached, so emotionless. It was… inhuman.
"All units," Prowl spoke again, this time on the general battle frequency. "Prepare for incoming targets. Ironhide: I need you to push Destrier forward in ten nano-clicks from… now. Jolt: you have your orders. Go."
There was no time for any more doubts. Lennox sighted through his weapon's viewfinder, scanning for targets and jerking his finger away from the trigger as the familiar form of Jolt's alt-mode shot into the centre of the plaza along its single reasonably straight approach road. The deep throb of Decepticon engines followed him, the aggressors just barely visible in the dim moonlight, barrelling along the road behind him. A bright rain of plasma bolts and laser fire flickered around the young warrior, coming close to scorching his vibrant blue plating.
It fell instead on the grey-clad shell of a huge Decepticon – Destrier staggering backwards into the centre of the plaza under the force of a bombardment from Ironhide's cannons. For a moment it seemed that pursued Autobot and unsighted Decepticon would inevitably collide. Jolt swerved hard… hard enough to rock him up on two wheels until he threatened to tip into a catastrophic high-speed roll. At the last possible moment, Jolt's electro-whips snapped out, tangling around the Decepticon's legs, and it was Destrier who toppled instead, at the same time providing the stabilising force Jolt needed to complete his ninety degree turn and shoot into a side-street past a startled Mudflap and Skids.
The Decepticon tank-former sprawled across the plaza, damaged and dazed by the combination of Ironhide's barrage, the shock from Jolt's whips and his subsequent tumble. He was certainly too dazed to move out of the way as two other ground-based Decepticons, a double handful of drones and one damaged jet sped into the plaza hot on Jolt's skid plate.
The crash echoed not just off the buildings of the old town, but off the mountains and hills all around. It vibrated through Lennox's head and chest, stunning every sense. He almost missed the quiet order that blended with echoes.
"All units: fire."
Destrier was struggling to his feet, pushing other Decepticons off him in a metallic avalanche. The combined blast of Ironhide's cannon, Prime's, Jolt's and a dozen sabot rounds sent him back down, and this time there was no getting back up. From somewhere to his left, Lennox could hear the whoops of the young twins, mingled with a vague rebuke from Jolt and the cacophony of all three's weapons. Beyond them, the inimitable whine of Ratchet's saw provided a counterpoint to the medic's battle cry. Lennox put them out of his mind and picked out another target, even as the two men he'd left in charge of his squad's rocket launcher did the same.
It was over almost too fast. Caught in the killing zone, the Decepticon forces had no chance. It seemed like only moments before the single jet amongst them took to the air, grasping the only other online mech in his hands as damaged thrusters struggled to lift them both. Weapons fire rose to follow them, streaking past the fleeing mechs.
"Let them go."
Prime's voice broke the spell. Silence fell, broken only by rolling echoes and the clink of cooling metal. Lennox squirmed past his barricade, weapon still held ready, but with nothing to fire at but two grey metal carcases and the broken shells of a dozen small drones. All around him, from side streets staggered around the plaza, Autobots and small groups of his own men were also breaking cover. All of them wary. All of them feeling the same vague disbelief.
Beneath his heaving lungs, aching limbs and thundering headache, Lennox could still feel the sick feeling that had settled in his chest when he realised it would take a miracle to get even half of them out of this one alive. Staring at the downed Decepticons, ears ringing with the echoes of gunfire, Lennox ran his eyes over each of his friends and soldiers, struggling to grasp the fact that they'd been given one.
It was Ironhide who summed up the emotion, raising his cannon and firing a single, exuberant plasma blast to rain sparks through the air above them.
"Primus, I've missed having a tactician around!"
Prime patted Ironhide's shoulder, his optics carrying a mild rebuke for the display, but not arguing with the sentiment behind it. His battle-mask folded back to reveal a satisfied expression. He took a long moment to survey his troops – Autobot and human alike – before speaking into the comms.
"My thanks, Prowl. Your intervention was timely and welcome." There were a few seconds of silence and Prime's small smile faded into a frown. "Prowl?"
"Ratchet!" Bumblebee's urgent call wiped the last smiles off the faces of every officer. "Prowl just collapsed…"
"Slagging tactician!" There was no surprise in Ratchet's exclamation. Only anger, resignation and an uncharacteristically audible concern. "When will you mechs learn that when I say 'ultra-light duties', I might actually have a fragging reason? Get me back there, Optimus. Now."
It was all Ratchet said before folding his arms, his optics dim as he focussed on a private com-conversation with Bumblebee. Optimus stared at him and then gave an almost imperceptible nod, gathering himself.
"Mudflap, Jolt, escort Ratchet back to the air-field. Take transport 1 and return to base." The named 'bots nodded, transforming and waiting with engines purring until Ratchet's focus flicked back to them for long enough to transform and peel out after them, lights flashing. Prime watched them go, before turning to the others. "Autobots, start retrieval operations and prepare for withdrawal."
Lennox waved his own soldiers forward to join the clear up and to intercept the civilians now spilling out onto the streets – as far as possible before they saw the giant robots hauling Decepticon carcasses into a neat heap. He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly as he moved to Optimus Prime's side, reaching up to pat his friend's ankle in a gesture of helpless reassurance.
"Will your guy be okay?"
Optimus Prime's engine rumbled. He crossed his arms across his chest, ageless optics gazing into nowhere.
"I wish I knew, Lennox," he sighed. "I truly wish I knew."