When Ratchet walked into the medbay with Ironhide at his back, the collected medical staff froze, all of them looking like the proverbial turbofox in the road. Ratchet sighed as he looked around, processor jumping from idea to idea as he surveyed what he had to work with. One of the staff moved, taking a tentative step towards him and breaking him out of his thoughts. It was the femme, Forcep, the one Jazz had told him about.

"Is there... something we can help you with, sir?" she asked.

Ratchet scowled. "I told you not to call me sir. I'm a doctor, not some military bot," he said and Ironhide's engine rumbled behind him in barely contained annoyance. He turned to the red mech and said, "And just because I'm helping your sorry operation out doesn't mean I'm joining it, got it? Call me a civilian professional if you want to, I'm not a slagging Autobot."

Ironhide's optics narrowed slightly. "Mech, you haven't earned that honor," he rumbled, but Ratchet largely ignored him, even though his armor plates clanked quietly, bristling at the sleight.

Forcep's lips quirked up in barely contained amusement before she straightened her features out. "Is there something I can help you with, Ratchet?" she amended.

Ratchet walked over to the line of crated supplies, looking over the unorganized stacks. His optics went out of focus as he thought, one finger idly tapping against his chin. After a long moment, he pointed to the stacks and said, "I want a full list of your inventory and recruit some strong bodies to help move this."

Despite the various short-comings of the medical facilities and its staff, Ratchet learned that following orders wasn't one of them. All six mechs that were currently on duty and not aiding one of the three injured soldier in the bay jumped to help, obeying his every order to the syllable. Delegating the work between them, he had them sorting out essential supply kits; laser scalpels, tubing, patches, line clamps, med-grade energon, coolant and hydraulic fuels- basic supplies for quick or temporary repairs. He helped the mechs stack the kits on the far side of the medbay for now, though they wouldn't stay there for long if he had anything to say about it.

He managed to catch all of the medical staff right as the shifts changed. In total, they had 23 mechs, not including himself, all of which had at least basic medical training, while only five were of a higher qualification. Ratchet soon learned that "basic" meant just that- they knew how to seal a line and slap a patch over an injury, but with more than 450 Autobots in Charr, almost 100 of which were directly on the front lines and getting hit the hardest, it was not nearly enough. Apparently, there were two other mechs in the trenches- mechs that actually had their stripes, but Ratchet had yet to see them.

"Alright mechs, listen up!" Ironhide bellowed, turning the head of every medbot in the bay. "This is Ratchet. He's deigned to help out our cause here, so I want yeh to give him the same attention and respect you'd give me."

A chorus of "yes sir"s echoed in the small room and Ratchet winced slightly at the racket. Ironhide looked at him expectantly and he realized that he was supposed to say something, and with 23 plus Ironhide staring at him, he suddenly felt like a spotlight had been flashed on. He blinked as he looked at the red mech, even as a small smirk spread across Ironhide's face. That more than anything snapped him out of his momentary stage fright and he stubbornly turned his optics to the group of mechs before him.

"Okay," Ratchet said through a sigh. "Here's the plan." He pointed over towards the neatly stacked supplies. "Earlier today, we gathered these med kits. They contain basic supplies for quick fixes, temporary repairs and emergency stabilizations. Now... we just need to train you how to use them."

He paused to gather his thoughts and heard a quiet scoff from one of the mechs in the back. His optics sharpened as he looked towards the group, trying to pinpoint who it had been. The last of his nervousness evaporated like condensation on a hot day. "You think this is a joke?" he asked. The medbay fell silent, and when he spoke again, his voice cut through the quiet like a knife. "Or maybe you think you know it all?" He gives a short, humorless laugh. "Do you think your higher ups would have asked a civilian to come here to train your sorry afts if they didn't think you needed it?" He shook his head as he looked at the group of mechs, seeing that none of them were scoffing now. "Who's in charge here?" he asked.

Ironhide cleared his throat. "Traction, our last Chief Medical Officer, was killed five days ago," he said. "His second was killed the day after. The chain of command was broken- Ultra Magnus hasn't had the time to assess a proper replacement."

Ratchet snorted. "Well, I'll save him the trouble," he said and looked over the group. "Who can tell me how long it should take to administer an energon flush to a mech with severe shrapnel damage?"

The wide-opticked expression was one he had seen many times before, during his residency, and he had to admit that he felt a strange satisfaction of being the one to cause that panic for once, instead of just experiencing it. For a long moment, none of the mechs moved. Ratchet didn't offer them a thing except to drum his fingers with growing impatience against his arm. Finally, one mech's hand slid into the air, up in the back.

"What's your name?" Ratchet asked as he pointed to him.

"Rift, sir," the mech said and Ratchet rolled his optics at the honorific. "A proper energon flush shouldn't take longer than a breem. Any longer and you risk a system shut down from lack of fuel."

"Correct- at least partially. Who can tell me what he's missing?" Ratchet asked.

Tentatively, Forcep raised her hand. "The shrapnel damage factor," she said quietly. "There's a risk of cut lines and cross-contamination of fluids. You need to do a thorough scan before you start the flush to be sure there are no major leaks. Hypothetically, the overall process takes longer, though the flush still shouldn't last more than a breem."

Ratchet nodded, a small grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Good," he said before looking at the group again. "Now, you come across a mech who's seizing, has a visible laser round through his chassis- what do you do first?"

For the most part, the mechs avoided his optics, staring at the ground rather than at him, but Forcep's hand shot up once again. "Check for a spark casing breach- the fluctuating energy from a cracked or scorched spark casing could be causing the seizures. If the spark casing's intact, search for head trauma from when the mech fell."

Ratchet nodded. Jazz had been right about her- she knew her stuff better than the rest of these so-called medics. "Good," he says and points at Forcep. "You're in charge. You're going to help me train the rest of these mechs."

Forcep looked like she had suddenly swallowed a cog, optics wide and expression slightly sick. Behind him, he heard Ironhide's quiet chuckle. He turned to look at the red mech, seeing something like respect on the red mech's face. "Ironhide, I need a favor."

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Ratchet disabled his audios, feeling the sound wave of the explosion rock through his frame. He unshuttered his optics to particles and dust floating everywhere and coughed the residue from his vents. He cautiously turned his audios on again and stepped forward, waving dust out of his face as best as he could.

"Structural integrity's intact- the ground's holding up and we're just far enough underground that any artillery won't be able to hit us unless it packs a helluva punch... Primus, this might actually work," Ironhide said as he looked at the hole they had created. Ratchet cautiously looked through the hole, having to stand a little higher on his pedes to be able to reach it. It was big enough to fit a good sized mech and the hole opened up directly into the front lines, hidden near the bottom of the trench. If this worked right, the travel time would be cut down from breems to mere kliks, and when it came to battle injuries, time was a worse enemy than the Cons shooting at them.

Currently, Ratchet, Ironhide and a demolitions mech named Hardhat were just below the front lines, tucked into another vein that ran concurrently with the one above. After searching until late into the afternoon, they'd finally managed to find a small crack in the wall- enough to discover that the connecting vein ran just below the front lines. They'd had to blow a hole to actually make it accessible, but the vein was big, comparable to some of the ones he and Perceptor had traveled through before the Autobots found them.

Ratchet's optics were bright as he walked down the echoing path. "Alright," he said. "I want to find where this branches off- as long as this tunnel runs along the front lines, I want holes like that blown every 100-150 steps- however often we can manage without fragging with the structural integrity. These things are solid metal—but you know more about that sort of stuff than I do," he said and Hardhat chuckled. "As soon as this tunnel starts to branch too far, as soon as it's too big of a space for us to blast through, I want a barricade set up. Primus knows there's enough scrap lying around for us to use it, and the last thing we need is someone sneaking through the tunnels and finding us here."

Ironhide looked at the hole, the late sun shining through and making his armor gleam. "How are you going to get injured mechs down here?" he asked.

Ratchet grinned at that. "Got some thick sheet metal?"

Ironhide looked at the setup in disbelief, a quiet whistle escaping him. Hardhat had been busy, blowing holes through into the front trench, giving warning pings and coordinates to the soldiers above. Ratchet had recruited a few mechs to weld down big pieces of scrap metal into smooth ramps before having them welded to the metal walls of the vein, just below the newly-made holes.

"This is the most rigged slag of a setup I've ever seen," Ironhide said.

Ratchet decided to take that as a compliment. "But it'll work," he pointed out. "We can go up the ramps, grab injured mechs and bring them to safety for repairs. We'll only be spending moments up there, we'll have as close to a sterile environment as we can manage and we'll have space. We won't be tripping up soldiers and we'll have the room and the supplies to patch mechs up or stabilize them enough to be loaded onto a convoy and taken back to base for further repairs."

Ironhide nodded as he listened to him. "It'll work," he says. "I'll find some of our bigger mechs to serve as the convoy and we'll get the barricade set up. We should be good to go by sundown."

Ratchet nodded through his yawn, vents letting out a long exhale. Ironhide gave him a look. "You don't need to be here for this- they can finish up without you," he said.

Ratchet shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Ironhide grabbed his hand, pulling out a hookup from his wrist. Ratchet jumped and halfheartedly tried to pull away. "What are you doing?"

Ironhide just ignored him and plugged into the port on his wrist. A request popped up on his HUD and Ratchet scowled, glaring at the red mech. His medical overrides didn't detect anything malicious and after spending a long day of work with Ironhide, he didn't really suspect him of foul play.

"Just open th' darn thing," Ironhide muttered.

Ratchet scowled before doing as he was asked. Automatically, the program ran and with a quick burst of data, his GPS was given permissions to synch up to the base's system. "Oh," he said in surprise.

Ironhide snorted, though it sounded slightly amused. "Yeah, 'oh.' Last thing we need is you gettin' lost in the tunnels tryin' to get back to base from here." A red dot appeared on Ratchet's HUD. "We're here," Ironhide said. A red line scrolled out from the dot, weaving its way through the tunnels. "Follow that route and you'll make it back to base. At least go get some energon and take a break. Go check on yer friend if yeh need an excuse."

Ratchet had half a mind to protest, but the thought of Perceptor stopped him. He checked his chronometer and realized it had been nearly a full day since he'd had a chance to check on his friend. "I... yeah, that's a good idea," he said at last.

"Also, Jazz had teh leave earlier today- he wanted me to say he's sorry that he didn't have a chance to say goodbye," Ironhide added, though Ratchet could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

"Thanks," he said and looked at the mech hesitantly.

Ironhide crossed his arms over his chassis. "And I wanted to... thank you. For agreeing to help," he said at last. "After Rung went over your friends memories, he vouched for the both of yeh. He's trying to respect his privacy as much as he can, but he told me enough teh know that you two are both strictly non-affiliated. And we- I appreciate you trusting us with the information yeh did."

Ratchet swallowed and rubbed the back of his helm. "You're welcome," he said quietly, not knowing what else to say. Having Ironhide thank him was strange enough- it had obviously taken a bit of pride swallowing on his part to be able to do it. He realized there was something else he wanted to say and before he'd really given himself permission to talk, it was spilling out. "Ironhide, I'm so sorry about Backdraft- I-I panicked. I didn't even realize that he was there until-"

Ironhide held up a hand to stop him, his face serious. "Kid, Backdraft was a soldier. He knew his duty and he knew the risks that came along with it." He sighed quietly. "We all do."

Something about the way he said it, the weight behind his words made Ratchet pause. He studied the red mech and realized that the mech not only knew exactly how he would leave this world, but he was prepared for it every time he came out of recharge. He was a solider, and until now, Ratchet had never understood what that really meant.

It meant putting your duty above yourself, no matter what the cost.

Ironhide clapped him on the shoulder before heading off into the vein, his voice booming out over the sounds of the battle above. Ratchet watched him go, doubting he was capable of that sort of dedication. He was devoted to his profession and the people he served, but as he heard another explosion tear through the sky above, he doubted he could ever believe in a cause with such conviction as Ironhide did—enough conviction to be okay with the fact that your cause would eventually claim your life. In a world where things could change so quickly- where cities could be destroyed in a night and terrible things could happen to good mechs, how could anyone find that such conviction?

Ratchet sighed and ran a hand over his helm, turning towards the black maw of the tunnels. As he stepped back into the darkness, he pushed the thoughts aside. It was no use thinking of loyalties, of convictions when he held none but to his friends who remained broken and scattered still. Until they were safe, he couldn't begin to think of where his loyalties could lie.