~blah~ is comm-speak; blah is Cybertronian

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places, etc. belong to HasTak and other copyright holders. I make no profit from this.

Chapter 3: Extracting Ratchet

Blades hurried through the accommodation wing hoping no-one would see him and ask where he was going. Looking for First Aid in the room he shared with his gestalt was a last resort because he had run out of ideas of places to look rather than because he actually expected to find him here.

Everything would be a whole lot easier if Red Alert had been present rather than off on a trip to New York, he thought yet again. Or even if the paranoid security director would just let someone else into his security hub in his absence; that way they could have looked at the security footage to figure out where First Aid had disappeared to. But at this point the only way they were going to get in to that room was if Prime or Prowl unlocked that door, and that would only happen if they admitted to the senior officers that First Aid wasn't just off doing something important. Right now neither he nor his brothers were ready to admit to that. They were too new to this crew, and this situation was too serious: they didn't need everyone thinking First Aid was a coward as well as a pacifist.

Slag it all he knew his brother was not a coward. But he had seen the panic in First Aid's visor as the other mech had rushed past him down the corridor. And when he didn't come back after five minutes... ten minutes... twenty... it seemed like he wasn't going to come back at all if someone didn't go after him.

Opening the door he glanced inside not expecting to see anyone at all and yet there was his quarry, huddled on one of the recharge berths. Sending a quick message to Hot Spot, he charged inside.

"Aid! What're you doing? Everyone's waiting for you. Why're you here?"

The medic stared up at him, his expression confused.

"Blades? Oh. I... I was just... uh..."

"Why'd you run away? And why've you turned your comm off?" Blades demanded, intending to haul his brother back to the workshop immediately.

First Aid flinched.

"I needed to think."

"Think?"

"He... He told me a medic has to be confident and decisive and know what he's doing. But I don't. I don't, Blades. I don't know what to do. And everyone's expecting me to do this but I don't know how..."

"You have to keep calm." Hot Spot spoke up from the doorway, striding inside. "Panicking won't help."

"First step is getting them both to the repair bay, right?" Blades pointed out. "Then you can figure out how to do the next step."

"That's what I was doing. But I can't. I can't get him out."

"Why not?"

First Aid shuddered.

"There's a bit of debris. A support rod from a shelf, I think, or maybe... Oh it doesn't matter what it is, it's gone straight through his helmet. It must be in his central processor casing. When they started moving the rubble, his systems started to crash. If we move the wrong thing, he'll be gone in clicks. Just like that. But if we don't get him out, then I can't do anything. And even if we get him out without doing any more damage it might already be too late. He could be... it could be... I don't know what to do."

Blades shivered. No wonder First Aid was upset: Ratchet's spark might still be active, but damage to his processor would mean he would never be himself again. Hot Shot, though, did not hesitate.

"You need to move him. We'll do it carefully, and we'll tell everyone how dangerous it is so no-one thinks it's their fault if it goes wrong, and you can take whatever precautions you want, but we need to move him and it's got to be now. If it doesn't work it won't be your fault, but if you do nothing, if you leave him to die there because you didn't act, everyone will blame you. You have to try."

Harsh, but true. And it seemed to get through to First Aid because he raised his head and nodded shakily.

"Okay. You're right. I have to try. Lets go."

Sideswipe paced agitatedly around the repair bay, wanting to be anywhere but here. Or no, that wasn't quite true. He wanted to be wherever his brother was, and he wanted that to be wherever it had to be so that they could know what was going on.

It had been nearly an hour now since Perceptor had told them what was known: that Ratchet and Wheeljack had been caught in an explosion in the inventor's lab and were seriously injured. Prime was briefing First Aid, and the young medic was going to need every bit of help they could give him so they were to wait here and be ready for surgery. Then Perceptor had taken First Aid's toolkit and left.

Surgery. Slag it all to the pit, he was not a medic. Why had First Aid suggested him? Sure, he knew a little about anatomy, but that was focused on how to take mechs apart not how to keep them functioning. And yes he could crimp a line or weld a seal as well as the next mech, but not well enough to save a life and half the time he blocked off the wrong line or soldered the wrong wires. That was okay out in the field if it kept someone alive long enough for a medic to get to them, but it was completely different in here. This was the domain of the specialists.

What would happen if Ratchet did not make it? he wondered, then shook his head violently to push that thought away. The old slagger had to survive. He was too tough not to. This was all just ridiculous. Any click now Ratchet was going to walk through those doors and rail at them all for clogging up his bay. Maybe with a scratch or dent here and there, and with Wheeljack limping along behind him, moaning about the mess he had made of his workshop and begging Ratchet to come back and help him clean up. Yes, that's how it would be.

"Sideswipe - have you de-ionised your hands yet?" Hoist called from the other side of the room, bringing him out of his fantasy and back to reality.

Hoist and Huffer were both out of their depth here too, he knew, but at least they knew a little bit about medical systems. They had set up two berths, surrounding them with various pieces of arcane equipment, most of which Sideswipe recognised from having been on the receiving end in the past. Reluctantly, he headed over to the small de-ioniser unit and put his hands inside.

"I don't think I'll really need to." he told them. "Aid'll be using you two for sure, I'll just be standing guard on the door or something like normal."

Huffer looked up as though he were about to argue, but suddenly the door burst open and there was chaos. Voices shouted conflicting commands and there seemed to be hundreds of mechs milling about, and a limp body was settled on one of the repair beds. Then Prime was there and his voice cut through all of it.

"Everyone out! Leave them to their work. Hoist, Huffer, Sideswipe - do what you can."

Someone pushed him closer, and the others were leaving, and suddenly he was standing next to the bed staring down at an offline Wheeljack. Hoist and Huffer were already moving, and he tried to back away.

"Maybe I'll just leave you two to it..."

"Crimp that line." Huffer ordered. "He's losing energon and if it's seeping out that slowly he can't have much left to lose."

True. And he could do that. Trying not to wonder what had caused the painfully nasty gash, or the scrapes which suggested some kind of struggle, he grabbed a pair of pliers and prayed to Primus that he would do nothing to make it worse.

The room was deathly quiet as they waited for First Aid to give the nod so they could begin. The medic had finally returned with an armful of some kind of soft padding which he proceeded to pack around Ratchet's head. Then he had explained the situation.

Bluestreak shivered, relieved he had not been asked to help with the actual excavation. What a responsibility that was, knowing that anything you touched might just kill their CMO. Not that it would be anyone's fault, as such, but still he knew he would have frozen in place.

In the end, most of them had been cleared out of the way for this last stage. Prowl had declared that it should be officers only taking this risk, but a couple of others had managed to argue the case so now Prowl, Ironhide, Jazz, Sunstreaker and Hot Spot were there. Optimus Prime had wanted to help, but was too large for the space they were working in. Sunstreaker was not much smaller, but was utterly determined. That surprised some mechs, but Bluestreak understood: the twins valued their medic.

"Alright." First Aid nodded finally. "Slowly. Try to always lift up and away - that should relieve the pressure. And be ready to stop if I call."

There was a little murmuring and gesturing as Prowl took charge, then Sunstreaker and Hot Spot began with the first piece. They raised it high and held it in place as a shield against other pieces which might fall from above. Then the shorter three began gently clearing away the remainder. Twice First Aid ordered them to stop, and rearranged the packing material. The second time he also did something under Ratchet's left hip panel. Gradually, it all became clearer and Bluestreak realised he could make out the pole that was causing the crisis. It was like a long metal spear, a cylindrical bar no more than a fingerswidth wide.

Fortunately, he could not see Ratchet's head or he thought he may empty his tank at the sight.

"Stop." First Aid called for a third time just as the last large piece was pulled away. "Okay I think we can get him out now. I need a laser cutter."

Someone passed the tool to Bluestreak and he handed it on to Bumblebee who passed it forward and eventually it got to First Aid. The little Protectobot looked at the others around him.

"It's securely attached to the shelf at the top. I need help: someone to hold the bit I'm cutting so it doesn't fall on him, and someone else to hold the rest still."

Bluestreak flinched. If the mechs holding the rod so much as twitched they could do huge amounts of damage. It should have been a tough decision to make, yet Prowl immediately went to his knees.

"Jazz, take the top. Ironhide, back off and give him some room."

The tactician settled himself carefully, checking his balance before putting his hands out and gently grasping the rod. Jazz looked down at him, clearly unhappy at the order, then gave himself a shake.

"Right you are, Prowl m'man. Here we go."

The tension in the room was palpable, and Bluestreak wondered faintly if he could bear it. And then, just as Jazz moved into position, an alarm sounded and an urgent message flashed across their HUDs.

Everyone jumped, startled, then there was a terrible shocked moment when everyone looked to Prowl.

The tactician's hands were still firmly wrapped around the bar. Had he moved it? Was it all over? Someone began to murmur a prayer to Primus and First Aid grabbed belatedly for the scanner.

No-one made a sound as the little handheld device beeped and whirred, then the young medic pronounced his verdict.

"No change."

Prowl carefully prised his fingers free and pulled his hands well away before letting his arms drop to his sides in stunned relief. Jazz moved to give him a brief hug, which the tactician was clearly too shocked to even notice.

"Hands of a surgeon, Sparkles!" he gasped, sounding on the verge of hysterical laughter. "Steady as a Guardian!"

"Enough." Prime interrupted the moment just as everyone started to babble in relief, reminding them of the klaxon. "Prowl, Jazz, Hot Spot, Sunstreaker - stay here and help First Aid. The rest of you assemble outside. You too, Ironhide. Lets roll."

Prowl willed his body to stop trembling, but the shock was taking its own time to pass. No-one had noticed yet, distracted first by Jazz hugging him and then by Prime's orders.

~You okay?~ Jazz asked.

~I nearly... Jazz, I could've...~

~But you didn't.~ his bondmate interrupted him. ~You could've, but you didn't. And for pit's sake, Prowler, Primus himself would've flinched when that alarm went off!~

~Blasphemy.~ Prowl growled, feeling the shock finally starting to wear off a little. ~And for the love of Primus don't call me 'Sparkles' where others can hear!~

~Don't think anyone was payin' attention.~ Jazz considered. ~Never made that slip before. Guess this morning's gotten to me a bit.~

Prowl could accept that; the morning had certainly been an emotionally chaotic one so far. Shaking his hands to loosen joints which seemed unnaturally stiff, he carefully returned his hands to the rod and held it steady. Standing firmly beside him, Jazz muttered something prayer-like and settled his hands much higher up. Prowl felt the rod shift fractionally as Jazz tightened his grip, but then it was still.

"Ready." he called, echoed by his lover.

First Aid still seemed to be a bit stunned by the near miss, but nodded and steadied himself.

"Okay. Whatever happens, no-one move."

Shuttering his optics, Prowl was determined to hold to that. He was not going to ruin this. He was not. Ratchet was relying on him, and the medic relied so rarely upon the assistance of others.

The rod trembled a little as the cutter touched it, then he felt a buzzing through the metal and a spatter of molten residue touch his fingers, but he did not move. Then it was done. Opening his optic shutters again, he saw First Aid cut quickly through the rod again above Jazz's hands where it was connected to a larger bit of wreckage leaning against the wall, then the section was completely free and Jazz pulled it away.

"Right." Sunstreaker nodded. "So now we move him?"

"Not yet." First Aid shook his head, turning off the cutter. "You can let go that go now. Uh, I mean, sir..."

"No offence taken." Prowl assured him briskly, carefully pulling away. "What's next?"

"Well, I need to know how far through it goes. If it's caught on anything under him and we move him too fast..."

Hot Spot made a soft noise of protest, but Prowl just nodded, having already calculated the probability of that very scenario.

"Understood. Can we help?"

"I need to do a scan, but if you can finish clearing that other stuff from above him it would help. Then Sunstreaker and Hot Spot could let go. And we need to find something to use as a stretcher."

Teletran's summation of the situation was simple: the Decepticons had attacked a nearby metal refinery, probably looking for repair materials. This particular factory had very high quality material, mostly working on commission for the Autobots, and was a frequent target. Usually this would be a routine mission, but given the shocks of the day Prime had decided to take with him everyone not already busy. Overkill, yes, but it would keep them occupied when they were brooding; give them something to do when they all felt so helpless; and hopefully give them all enough cover to keep them safe.

Prowl would probably disagree with his tactics of leaving the Ark's control room completely unattended and the Ark undefended apart from the mechs helping First Aid, but Prime simply did not care. Sometimes morale came first. And besides, he was leaving two of his officers and two of his best frontliners here: they could handle whatever came their way. Without them, he would need all the support he could get out in the field.

Striding outside, he paused to look over his soldiers who were all waiting anxiously for orders. It was so peculiar to be leading a force that did not include the twins or Prowl or Jazz. Of all the soldiers he had led those four rarely missed a conflict, but today they were engaged in a different kind of fight. Moving to the centre of the group, he raised his voice.

"My friends. This is going to be a tough battle. It will be difficult because we cannot afford to receive any injuries here. First Aid needs to focus on our injured friends, and we cannot pull his attention away from that. So. We will do everything we can to push the Decepticons away, but we will not chase them and we will stay in groups. Protect each other. Be aware. Be careful. And come back whole and healthy for Ratchet and Wheeljack's sakes. Autobots: transform and roll out!"