Moonhunter had had his suspicions about Crosshare ever since a short conversation in the command center. He supposed he could not blame the scout for his loyalty to his friend. He could understand wanting to give someone the benefit of the doubt. But Streak had done unforgivable things at this point, and his sins continued to compound. Moonhunter had given him his chance and the former Predacon had crossed the point of no return with no signs of remorse. Friendship obscured the facts in Crosshare's mind, and Moonhunter made a mental note to go easy on him when this was all over. But co-commander of Colony Zeta had greater things at stake than any personal feelings he held toward anyone.
As soon as it had been reported that Crosshare had left the compound in a suspicious manner, Moonhunter ordered a spy drone be sent out to track him. Sure enough, Crosshare made a beeline toward the southern tips of the claimed territory. Moonhunter instantly mobilized any and all members of the security forces he had available, even drafting the Wingblades to aid in taking Streak down. Diodemedes had volunteered almost too eagerly for Moonhunter's tastes, as had some of the human members of the security team, but he couldn't afford to quibble over personal vendettas until after Streak was either incarcerated… or slain. At this point, he didn't really care which, so long as they put an end to his murdering streak (no pun intended).
After mobilizing his forces, he ordered them to hang back just outside of Streak and Crosshare's scanner ranges while he went in alone. He didn't owe Streak any more chances, but giving him one anyway would be the Maximal thing to do. And he wanted to get Crosshare out of the line of fire. He emerged from the brush, announcing his presence by maximizing into robot mode. No weapons drawn, not yet. "It's over, Streak!" he called out, pointing at the rogue. By the Matrix, how had he gotten so big? "We've heard about your attack on the Predacons. Surrender now, before you start a war and get everyonekilled."
The echo of Moonhunter's voice ripped at Crosshare's spark. A cold chill ran down his spine. He had been followed! Snapping around, Crosshare dashed back toward the clearing, mind racing faster than his feet could ever carry him. He had betrayed Streak. He should have been more careful! It was his fault that Moonhunter had found him! Primus knew the force Moonhunter would bring out if it meant bringing down Streak. But maybe he could prevent any fighting! He had to try! By the time he would get to the clearing however, it would all be too late...
Streak heard Moonhunter's voice booming through the forest. Saw him now with his enhanced optics. He intended to respond, reply in some way that might alleviate the situation, but he was caught off-guard by something inside. He was compelled to look up, and saw the Wingblades hovering in the distance. The thing inside of him toggled his memories concerning the Wingblades, as well as his former leader's earthbound forces, and calculated their power to be sufficient to destroy him if he held back, if he hesitated.
The presence in him wanted to move forward and remove the threat. Such a force could easily dispatch him if it caught him unawares... if Moonhunter did not announce its presence next time. Streak wanted to refuse, but he understood the rationale... the thing inside assured him that they could survive a confrontation. For a moment, when it directly accessed his higher functions to convince him that they could win together, he became closer and more familiar with it. In that moment of closeness, he saw a memory... this thing had been carried on the crystal that had pierced him that day with the miners and Taurius. This thing... this immensely powerful thing, must have been very small for no one to have noticed it. Streak's wings unfurled, and exploded into motion. A hurricane of wind tore at the trees, and the deep blue bot shot straight upward, into the air.
Moonhunter expected Streak to come back with a witty retort, some defiant crap, as he had once been prone to do. But this was not the Streak he had once known, he realized. Instead, he saw Streak's attention shift away from him, as if he wasn't important. Moonhunter took a nanosecond to analyze his options. He could attack Streak while he was distracted, hopefully take him down now while he had the chance. Of course, those chances seemed slim. Finally, Moonhunter looked up himself, trying to see what had caught the rogue's attention. "NO!" he bellowed as Streak took off after the Wingblades. He opened his comm., transmitting to the Diodemedes even though he knew it was too late, "Frag it, I told you to wait for my signal!"
Now, there was no more chances to reason with Streak. This day could only end in either his death or theirs.
Diomedes was still in formation with his eleven Wingblades, prepared for anything. They had been briefed on Streak's new abilities, how he had become much faster and much, much stronger. Nonetheless, those things didn't matter that much in a firefight. Allegedly, lasers still burned holes in him, so he would go down eventually. He had certainly grown faster, but he had seen Streak fly before. His fighters knew to expect high agility, but relatively low top speeds. Strafing would be the best tactic, but they all knew to break into evasive maneuvers once the dragonfly employed his missiles - the only thing he really had going for him, as far as the albatross was concerned.
"He's coming into our airspace, 'Blades. Stay in formation, everyone keep to your wing-man, and be ready to evade any missiles headed your way, or shoot down any headed for an ally. Those not targeted or covering your wing-man, go for the bug himself. Spare no mercy for the Predacon." Diomedes studied the blue blur streaking up into the sky, and brought his two side-cannons to bear. He had never respected the ex-Predacon, he had never seen any real strength there, just a lot of bluster and feelings of entitlement. He had to hand it to the annoying flyboy, though, he'd managed to bolster his strength impressively, according to the ground-troops. The great albatross respected Moonhunter both as a leader and as a soldier, and anyone who could dismantle him so easily was clearly a force to be reckoned with. Nonetheless, Streak was in the air now. Diomedes would give the new-and-improved flier fair odds against himself one-on-one, especially with those missiles of his, but there was no team out there that could match the Wingblades in the air. The idea of an individual holding out for more than a few minutes was out of the question.
Carrion felt the cool air of the night rush over his jet-black plumage and chill his fleshy red scalp; a condor among a vast menagerie of Terran birds. Of course, appearances were not his goal. He had chosen the form of a condor because it told his enemies exactly what was about to happen to them, they were going to die and he was their angel of death! Melodramatic? Perhaps. But it was the truth. Perhaps he enjoyed killing more than was really healthy but that was a non-issue now. His orders were to take down the traitor Streak by any means necessary. If it had been possible, he would have been smiling the whole time he flew alongside his teammates. Perhaps his Volt Cannon would get a real work out tonight? If not, he always had his backup weapon, something that really cut to the chase. And if anyone ever brought up the fact that he would make such a pun, they would learn something countless heretics often learned; chainswords kill things pretty well.
Pepper carefully adjusted the pinion feathers on her wings as the Airblades flew toward what would undoubtedly be one hell of a fight, assuming the reports on Streak were accurate. The small femme's thoughts were interrupted by Diomedes issuing orders. She quickly locked onto the now-airborne dragonfly mech, and with a whispered command, she shifted into her bot form and quickly drew her twin pistols, the energy blades igniting as soon as they cleared the holsters. She wasn't anywhere near the optimal range, but it always paid to be ready.
Tail feathers moved constantly, ever so slightly to keep the Maximal going in the right direction. Brown wings beat the air as Fever soared through the thick jungle air. Sharp eyes watched for signs of the target; the rogue that they would be destroying. His head moved in quick, jerky movements as he received the general plan from Diomedes. Simple enough,he thought, though he knew this wasn't going to be no cakewalk. The red-tail would wait until the said target, that filthy Predacon, was spotted before he transformed. He felt far more comfortable flying in beast mode. The hawk swooped down beside his wingman, or wing-woman as the case was. He turned his head to the femme, noting that she was preparing herself early for the fight. Maybe it was a good idea, just in case they were attacked suddenly, as they had been warned of Streak's speed. Fever dropped back and took his place behind and to the right of the femme. Maybe it was wrong to ride in her slip-stream, but she was the one prepared for battle. He'd be the gentleman and allow her to get the first shots when the scum appeared.
Flanking Fever - and abruptly corrupting the handsome view of him and his wingman, was a hideous and shady-looking carrion bird whose broad and opaque, chestnut wings cast an immense shadow on the forest's floor, enlarged by the height he soared. I bet 500 energon chips that we'll get this in under 5 cycles, Spitetalon said on the private comm-channel he held with his teammates. He had never concerned himself much with Streak before. Despite having engaged with him in conversations very few times, knowing of his past allegiance and having kicked his aft in a flight challenge the more feisty mech had set him, Spitetalon had never developed a certain feeling for him other than indifference. Even now that he had gained these new and unknown 'powers', the apathetic maximal had remained the same in terms of unconcern about Streak. For him, he was just another foe...another thing he could strip clean of flesh and pieces worth energon.
Gleamwing flew in by the side of his wing-mech, having to slow his pace so the less-fortunate Spitetalon could keep up with him. Despite the homeliness of the carrion-eaters, they were a glorious unit, as glorious as they were effective. And Gleamwing was the most well-kept of the unit. All the femmes fawned over him, and perhaps tonight while sharing the story of today's victory he would make one (or two!) of them lucky enough to see the inside of his quarters. Heh, it was good to be a Wingblade. They were the closest thing to heroes among these ragtag colonists. Just don't damage his staff weapon, if anyone can help it, he transmitted over the Wingblades' comm. as he and Spitetalon flanked right, moving into battle positions. I cleared a place for it in our trophy room back home.Gleamwing had taken the liberty of collecting the weapons of the Wingblades' more notable foes, and he was hoping to start a museum to the his team's glory aboard their roost in the Zeta-2. Streak himself probably wouldn't be an impressive kill, but the story of this day was certainly interesting enough to qualify for a place in their tome.
Streak flew through the air, straight up in a collision course with the Wingblades. His mind went toward the missiles in his chest. The one part of him that this new power hadn't touched... they had been near perfect already, and there had been no way to improve on them. The one thing which should always have been feared, despite the frailty of his body, despite his haphazard aim, despite his low top speed, despite his physical weakness... the missiles were the same as always. And the Wingblades underestimated them. Initiating firing protocols. Ports 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6: Fire missiles.The six hatches on his chest, which looked like distorted abdominal muscles, opened up, and the missiles poured out in rapid succession, soaring upward at twice his own speed. Each individual missile quickly correlated with its brothers, establishing different targets for each of them to maximize damage. They cork-screwed through the air, evading the first shots fired their way. One of the missiles was hit, but its outer armor protected its payload, and it stabilized itself and continued along its course.
"He's deployed his missiles," the great albatross said over the comm link even as his two cannons zeroed in and fired on the incoming artillery, trying to get a bead on their maddeningly confused trajectory. "Begin evasive maneuvers! Shoot them down if they're on your wingman. He's fired them all, so we've got no more coming after this batch."That was good. He thought one of his fliers might get hit, but there were enough of them to carry the wounded safely to the ground and still contend with the renegade. Diomedes was the biggest, followed by Carrion at his right. It was difficult to tell, given the projectiles' zig-zag flying pattern, but he didn't think either of them had been locked onto, meaning that they'd be there to catch any lighter mechs who needed a slowed descent down to the ground.
The albatross didn't begin to worry until he had successfully struck one of the missiles, and it kept going. They were closing in too quickly. They weren't going to reduce the barrage. In only a few seconds the situation had become deadly serious.
"Take evasive action, all of you, we're not taking these down. Moonsong, it's at your nine, dive, Sunsword, cover her!" Diomedes quickly turned his gaze over to the other side, where more missiles were cutting through the air, screaming toward their targets... Maximal soldiers... his soldiers. "Brine, dive!"Their formation was designed to give them all maximum range of motion and maximum coverage of their fellows, but these missiles weren't going down, and they were too fast to escape. The seagull's partner was the first to be taken; the missile detonated at the mallard's breast as he banked left, and left the burning ruin of that light and speedy mech plummeting into his final dive. Brine, one of his longest-running allies, was the next to die, struck as the missile cut a diagonal along his flight path, the explosion sheering him in half.
He banked hard himself, delivering cover fire to Moonsong, even hitting the missile twice, before it - and the owl Maximal with it - vanished into a cloud of fire. The missiles were all over them, and their maneuvers weren't outpacing the damn things. They had too much maneuverability! The owl's wingman, Jetstream, one of the team's most agile fliers, was clipped while pulling off a spectacular aerial somersault in defiance of the warhead's pursuit, and lost control as his wing disintegrated. The falcon began spiraling toward the ground, leaving a trail of metal shards and smoke in the wake of his tumbling descent.
Scoop had only barely managed to evade as well, but was still falling. He had been dazed by the blast, and had no flight control. Legs was nowhere in sight...Diomedes hadn't even seen him go. The Albatross roared over the comm. link as he dove down first for the pelican, and planning to cross over and pull Jetstream out of his dive thereafter. He had the wing power to carry them both safely to the ground.
"HIT THE DRAGONFLY. HE'S OUT OF MISSILES. TAKE HIM DOWN. CARRION, KEEP TO STRAFING. TEAM UP WITH GLEAMWING AND SPITETALON. I'LL BE BACK SOON."His voice was loud, but he was yelling to cut through any panic of theirs, not his own. He had been their trusted leader over these long years for a reason.
"Moonhunter, trouble in the air. It might be too high for you to make out details. His missiles have six of my men down. I'm bringing two of them back down into your care. I want your medic here before I get back down. My five remaining fighters are going to decommission your flyboy. I want to know what tech was in those missiles after this."
As soon as Streak's missiles, weapons of cowardice, came flying in, Gleamwing maximized, unfolding from a beautiful golden eagle into a nimble warrior of the heavens. His forearms quickly primed themselves with feather-shaped darts, each carrying a miniature explosive charge. Though he preferred to fling them one at a time, this battle called for efficiency and expediency, so he would have to use his launchers. He screamed in rage as he saw Sunsword die first. He had never given up his ambition to chisel his way through her icy veneer and romance her… and now he would never get that chance. He was helpless to do anything to save Moonsong either, a femme he had always regarded as a little sister. Diomedes flew down to catch the wounded and Gleamwing wanted to help, but Diomedes was the best of them and if any had a chance at catching them before they were crushed by impact into the ground, it was their leader.
Pepper was only slightly concerned when Streak launched his missiles, but that concern quickly turned into horror and fear as she watched helplessly as her team mates were ruthlessly blown into so much scrap. Diodemedes yelled commands broke through the fear, and Pepper immediately banked sharply to bring her own weapons to bear on the rogue bot. "Fever, cover my six, I'm going to try to disable his wings!" Pepper shouted over her own comm. Her fear had been replaced with cold calculation and anger. Streak had hurt and killed her friends, and she was determined to make him pay for it in spades.
The femme flier could feel her wings straining to make the alterations to her flight path, but she ignored it and pressed on. Less than a second later, she finally managed to get the dragonfly in her sights. Sharp reports told all that she had opened fire, and several of her shots were affected by her flight path, causing them to miss. Correcting for her previous error, Pepper fired another cluster of shots at Streak's wings. She let herself have an instant of satisfaction as the shots headed toward their target, but she squashed it quickly, so as not to allow it to cloud her judgment any more than her anger already was.
The red-tail hawk watched as a blue blur filled his sights. Fever had about half a second to be both shocked by Streak's speed and his sort of deadly beauty before death rained down around him. Burning-hot pieces of Maximal bounced off him, not big enough to cause any damage, but enough to shake him up a bit. He turned deadly serious as he transformed, loading his kestros as he swooped after his wingman. "Don't worry I'll keep any fire off ya!" He called back to the femme over his communications. Almost as soon as he had stopped speaking a large piece of debris fell towards Pepper. With a quick flick of his wrist and a single rotation of his weapon a deadly dart intercepted the junk and knocked it off course with the scissortail. Fever reloaded and stayed hard on the female's tail, eyes scanning the sky as he watched for anything else. He saw Pepper fire some shots at Streak, silently cheering her on. But this was no time for jubilations, so he kept one eye in that direction and the other on the sky. For a brief second he pulled a bit away from Pepper, getting a single opening for a shot of his energon tipped darts. He fired, reloaded, and fired again before zipping back to Pepper, closing the gap between them again.
Gleamwing's vision turned red. They had to make Streak pay. The air warrior bellowed in rage, moving in with Carrion to make a strafing run. "Rip into the son of a glitch!" he yelled. "Spitetalon, stay back until Carrion and I soften him up. There's still five of us and only one of him. Let's take him out in the name of the fallen Wingblades!"
The screams of missiles and the roaring of explosions were all that met Crosshare's ears upon reaching the clearing. Streak's missiles, finely tuned instruments of certain death, burned an unholy trail toward the approaching Wingblades. Streams of energy lanced out to defend against them. They did little good. In only a few moments, Crosshare witnessed the deaths of at least five of the airborne Maximal warriors. All at the hands of his closest friend. Was this how it was going to be? As he stood by, would he be witness to the massacre of his fellows? Would his nightmare once more take shape in the here and now? Crosshare froze.
Moonhunter's vision was keen enough to watch the horrific scene above him. Within seconds Streak had taken out half the Wingblades. If Moonhunter had a stomach, it would have lurched in horror. He realized that he was just out of his league - he was no tactician, no master of the battlefield. His previous career had been spent chasing down bad guys one on one. But he had no experience in leading a whole army. "What have I done?" he asked himself aloud, though there was no one near to here. He had become so obsessed with stopping Streak that he had lost sight of his reason for pursuing him: to prevent more death.