Transformers: Legacy, Chapter 12

Transformers: Legacy, Chapter 12


Twelve hours had passed since the ambush in the massive mountain range known, to the humans, as the 'Himalayas'. The topography of Earth, still so unfamiliar to the aloof Decepticons, had proved a dangerous, and very nearly fatal weakness. The Nemesis still listed nearly twelve degrees to the left, but the bulk of the visible damage had been - at the very least - covered up, with some of the heavier, internal damage under control. Still, it flew slowly, and their time estimate was rated to be nearly four hours off - leaving ten hours until their anticipated arrival at the detected shard of the AllSpark. Megatron paced, in agitation, his silhouette visible in the low, red lights which dimly lit the bridge. Soundwave, however, was perfectly still, half-veiled by the deep shadows that pooled in the corners of the vast control room, unmoving and implacable as a statue. Occasionally, a low, shuddering creak would resound throughout the ship, and it'd shift a few degrees in one direction or the other, as its' ailing hull groaned in protest at the renewed pace of movement. Early on, attempting their normal speed, they had shed a section of hull nearly a hundred feet long, which peeled away like dead skin from the blistered undersurfaces of the massive ship.

Vehicons swarmed about the hull of the ship, equipped with a vast array of repair tools and equipment. The time limit had lent their work a hurried air, with an emphasis on functionality of essential systems, over general repairs.

Glancing over at the onboard sensors, Thundercracker realized that nearly half of the ship was still dark, the localized sensors too badly damaged to give any reliable information on the extent of the damage. He stood, impassively, as Starscream saluted, and began his report to Megatron.

He and Starscream had been taking turns with the other remaining Seekers, flying in pairs, in or out of Trine, to compensate for the downed sensors, watchful against further attack. Several of the Vehicons were similarly put on patrol, with the surviving Seekers giving them hasty lessons in preparation for the attack on the spark fragment. In the corner of the control room, KnockOut and Chaff discussed repairs, in hushed, harsh tones. "If we can get the onboard sensors back up, we can better direct the efforts of the vehicons," Chaff said, reasonably. KnockOut frowned, and shook his head, "You don't understand. There's so much integral damage in the area, even if we did get them back up, there's no guarantee they'd stay that way. Damnit, Chaff," he murmured, "I'm a doctor, not a shipwright!" Chaff seemed confused, briefly, by the exclamation, but KnockOut simply chuckled to himself, and shook his head, "Fine, fine," he sighed, "We can start with..."

Thundercracker abruptly came to attention, as Megatron addressed him directly. "... good work you did in combating the autobot scum. We would have carried the day, it is certain, but we cannot know how much damage you preserved us from, by your action. That should put quite a dent in the Autobot's offensive force, for some time." "Sir, yes, sir," Thundercracker replied, distractedly, his intakes fluttering, slightly, as he attempted to properly address the situation. "Ah, thank you, sir." "Is something wrong?" Megatron asked, querulously, as he turned to face Thundercracker fully. "Watch yourself," Starscream hissed, quietly, to him. "No, sir, Megatron," Thundercracker replied, his tone measured, "I was simply contemplating what challenges may lay ahead."

"Yes, of course," Megatron replied, his tone thoughtful, calculating. "Due to our recent misadventure in the mountains, I've decided to rethink our long-term strategy. I'm going to send out patrols with the specific goal of understanding the tactical implications of various forms of terrain. We do not often take terrain into consideration; a failing which the autobots have proven willing to exploit, time and time again. We'll not let this happen again. Pursuant to this, I've decided upon a mission for you two, and a handful of others. A trial, for some of our Vehicons. It involves breaking into a fleshling military base, and recovery of their datastore."

Thundercracker managed to restrain the sudden jerk of his head, to a slight tilt. He held himself still, unwilling to betray any further reaction. "Where's the objective?" Starscream interjected, his head reared back, haughtily. "A Military base on the west coast of the north American continent, in a dead area they call the 'Mojave Desert'.  We have reason to believe that this place acts as a stationary headquarters for the training of their military forces; for this reason, we believe that, even if it does not hold the information we desire, it will direct us to it. We need this to be a swift, clean strike. For that reason, I have carefully chosen the team for this attack. Starscream, Thundercracker, Chaff, Soundwave, Blitz, and Scatterblast. You will be accompanied by Vehicons fourteen through eighteen for this mission. You are all mission-capable, yes?" He glanced around amongst them, as if daring one to speak up. Chaff seemed startled, but simply frowned, unspeaking. The vehicons nodded passive acknowledgement, though Seventeen seemed almost enthusiastic for it, murmuring a, "Yes, Megatron," in response. Thundercracker hid his unease with a sharp, "Yes, sir."  A swift system diagnostic showed him to be at eighty four percent capability, but he knew that any dissenting voice would be harshly punished; More than that, he didn't want to chance Starscream's displeasure.

As they stood on the Nemesis' launch deck, he looked down at the scars of battle. The floodlights that had broken were still covered over, protected from the elements, until the lights and glass could be replaced properly. Flickering lights dimly covered the length of the flight deck, leaving the preparing seekers as little more than hushed silhouettes against the distant dawn, which came from behind and to the right of the Nemesis. "We'll be striking with the dawn," Starscream lectured, his strident voice easily carrying over the light wind which caressed the deck, "Chaff will provide broad-band jamming which should prevent any non-hardline connections the fleshlings will attempt, as well as confound their ability to counterattack with any coordination. Long-range assessment of their defensive capabilities implies the strong presence of conventional arms, including solid-projectile weapons with primitive radar guidance, and conventional explosives with primitive liquid fuel. We should be able to outmaneuver their defensive armaments, and those which do strike should do little appreciable damage. Those of you, however," he looked over them, with disdain, "Who have lighter defenses, fly carefully. If you fall, no one will save you. Defeat is your own fault. If you cannot fly back with us, you will be rendered to scrap, to prevent the fleshlings from learning anything of you. And remember... No one touches ground save Soundwave." He inclined his head toward Megatron's second. "The only reason you should touch the ground is if you don't intend to come back up again. Is that clear?"

A chorus of 'Yes sir's' resounded across the deck, to Starscream's evident satisfaction. He glanced, however, over at Soundwave's still and silent form, imposing by its' slender presence. Almost reluctantly, Starscream turned his back on Soundwave and the others, and leapt out into open air, where his body rapidly shifted into his jet form, and his plasma-blue engine flare lit the side of the battle-scarred deck, as he leapt off into the night. The other Seekers launched swiftly after him, leaving the shadowed hulk of the Nemesis far behind.

As they neared the coast, the sun's reach had just begun to caress the mountains off to the north and east, and turning the water below them an emerald shade. Sunlight flickered off the wavetops, foam tossed into the air by the surge of heat and the turbulence of their passage. One by one, they chimed in recognition of the lit target. Chaff, flying far above, projected a nearly invisible infrared beam onto the primary targets within the military base. "Jamming ready," Chaff advised, "Reaching the edge of search radar range. At your command, Starscream."

Starscream slowly lifted the nose of his fighter, and the sun shimmered from the leading edges of his wings, and the slightly heat-warped chrome of his guns, still untended-to from the previous battle. "Commence jamming."

Abruptly, like a white screeching inside of his head, he closed his eyes, and held himself in steady ascent, until he tuned it out.

A dozen miles ahead of them, panicked men and women ran around the base, scurrying to their defenses, as the jamming blanked out every communication channel, and every radar screen came back littered with targets, like snow falling across hazy green displays. Landlines were picked up, handed off, dialed in, as they desperately tried to reconnect the disparate edges of their defenses, point-to-point transmissions carrying rapid, sharp commands, and dozens of hungry throats lifted toward the sky, prepared to speak at the first sign of danger. Starscream and the other Seekers leapt upward, sharply, and released missile after missile streaking off into the sky. Scatterblast tilted back, and loosed two large, ungainly missiles from under his fuselage, which sluggishly chased along after the others. The first explosions struck the outer edges of the defensive net, shattering heavy structures like they were made of fine china, scattering bits of concrete like hail. Still, upward arced the two bulky projectiles, lifting far up into the clear, blue sky.

Starscream split left, and Thundercracker clung to him, as the other three pairs split off in different directions, each following a specific beam, and striking out at their targets simultaneously with powerful strafing blasts of energy. Soundwave leapt down into the center of a city-like collection of buildings, and struck outward with sharp lashes of his tendrils, cleaving stone and metal as though it were paper. A tank, nearby, hardly half the height of his knee, turned its' lengthy barrel, and fired a single, heavy round into his torso. The armor barely buckled beneath the heavy impact, but the throaty roar of the tank was met by a shrieking hiss, as tendrils severed metal. In the sky, hundreds of rounds arced upward, chasing after the impossibly agile Seekers, which swarmed back and forth, cutting to ribbons the horrendously outmatched defenses.

Far, far above, the projectiles reached the apex of their flight, engines sputtering, and, with a last gasp, failing. Much weighted toward the front, they immediately tipped over forward, as the electronics kicked into gear. The Decepticons scattered outward, sharply, from the main of the base, as they each received a tiny, warning chime. The base beneath, however, had no warning. Two tiny puffs of white, hardly more noticeable than one cloud amongst the fog, followed by hundreds of tiny silver darts, that shimmered as they fell, and caught the sunlight. Every single one of them had almost dainty white fins, which caused them to spin, as they homed in on designated targets, nearly a dozen little darts to every chosen target. Soundwave skittered forward, silent as a shadow, drifting between buildings and vehicles, striking out at anything in his past, and carving a path of destruction through the center. The ground shook under the vast force of hundreds of explosions, falling like raindrops, across the base. At that point, the token resistance fell apart, left in smoldering wreckage, strewn across the vast emptiness of the desert.

When the Decepticons finally returned to the Nemesis, their mission completed, their actions were already rippling across the country, with an unexpected result.


In her sleep, Oracle's rudimentary systems picked up on a broadcast. In the emptiness of the MedBay, no one noticed the tiny spike in activity, as her mind noted down the words which once meant so much to her.

"... fellow Americans, on this day, there has been so great a tragedy as has scarcely been seen in this country. Hundreds lay dead in an unprecedented, unprovoked attack by some outward force, which possesses technology far beyond what we have in our capabilities...

... Far from being disheartened by this cowardly strike, we are, instead, driven. Far from being afraid, we are, instead, incensed. We have been struck once, my fellow Americans, from darkness and shadows - But it will not happen again."

Somewhere, deep inside of her, she felt a shudder of apprehension, but her sleeping mind felt nothing.