TF2007/WW2 Fic - Ch.1
Title: (Series is untitled thus far)
Chapter: Ch. 1 - A Section 8 [1]
Fandom: Transformers 2007 movie
Rating: PG (for now, rating will likely go up)
Summary: What's there to say? This fic is the end result of an argument between me and a friend of mine as well as my own overactive imagination. What if the transformers had landed on Earth sixty years earlier than they did during their search for the Allspark? They would have landed smack in the middle of one of the largest and most devastating conflicts of the 20th century.
Notes: Nothing terribly exciting in this chapter, just a couple of NPCs who are helping set the stage. They may or may not appear again.
August, 1942 A.D.
England
Dr. Thomas Harding swore that one could tell how the war was going by measuring the size of the stack of cases on his desk. It was perhaps not a good sign for England that the stack of case folders had grown so high he was afraid that the slightest breeze would send it spilling over onto his desk in an avalanche of paper.
War seemed to bring out the worst in men’s minds and the worst of those (or at least the most disruptive) inevitably made their way to his office for psychological assessment. In the past few years he’d heard some strange stories but this latest case was bidding fair to rank among the oddest.
Sgt. Walter Smith was a heavy-set man in his mid-forties, married, with two children at home. He didn’t fit the profile for the usual army head-cases; he’d never been posted away from the home front and hadn’t seen any active combat, he hadn’t lost any family or close friends, and there were no previous reports of mental instability. In fact, he was considered by his peers and his superiors to be a good, steady - if slightly dull - soldier.
“So tell me, when did you start hearing voices?” he asked Sgt. Smith. The man shifted uneasily in his seat, making the chair creak slightly. “Look Doctor, I know how all this probably looks on paper, but I’m telling you that I haven’t gone ‘round the bend,” he said defensively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
When it came to patients, Harding reflected, soldiers were the worst for letting go of their pride and admitting that they had a problem. “I understand Sergeant,” he said soothingly, “How about this: you tell me your version of what happened and I’ll judge you fairly based on your testimony,” he dropped the case folder back onto the pile, “How does that sound?”
The sergeant looked rather mulish at the psychiatrist’s slightly condescending tone, but he finally nodded, “I suppose that sounds fair Doctor. I guess this whole mess started a fortnight ago, I was sent with the rest of my motorcycle platoon to investigate an explosion reported near Duxford Aerodrome.”
Dr. Harding nodded; he recalled reading about the incident in the paper. The press was calling it attack by one of Germany’s new rocket weapons.[2] “Then what happened?”
“Well the engine of my motorcycle was giving me trouble so I took ‘er in for repairs and put in a request for a replacement. Well the next day I had a replacement alright, it was the nicest, shiniest motorbike you could imagine, not a scratch on it!” The soldier was clearly warming up to his story, “Well the next morning I went into the bike shed to get things ready for the patrol that morning when I heard a voice. It was the funniest sounding voice - it was quiet and shy-sounding but it sounded almost ‘tinny’ I guess you’d say. Like the person was talking into a tin can.”
“Now sir, I looked up and there wasn’t a soul in there with me, and I checked that shed, inside and outside, twice. At first I thought it was some of the younger lads trying to pull one over on me, but the voice kept talking, talking to me, asking me who I was and telling me not to be afraid. I followed the voice and I swear to God it was coming right from that new motorcycle I’d been assigned the day before!” Smith’s face had gone pale and he swallowed hard and shook his head as if disbelieving his own words. “I didn’t believe it at first - I still thought it was some prank or maybe some kind of Nazi spy-device. But it started asking the strangest questions like what this ‘planet’ was called and why there was a war going on.
It took an effort for Harding to keep his incredulity from showing on his face. Well he’s exhibiting some of the classic signs of schizophrenia he reflected, making mental notes on a figurative pad of paper. “Did it say anything else?” he pressed. Sometimes delving into a patient’s madness would reveal the root of the illness.
“I’m not sure but it started asking about ‘automobiles’ and ‘deceptions’ or something like that, I bloody well didn’t stick around to find out! I turned around and ran the hell out of there and alerted the MPs. [3] When we got back, I couldn’t believe it, but the motorcycle was gone! The MPs thought someone had stolen it but when I tried looking up the serial number it wasn’t even listed.”
Harding pursed his lips; Sergeant Smith’s illness was more sever than he’d previously suspected if the soldier was also experiencing full-blown hallucinations. It was odd that there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the delusions. Smith’s voices weren’t telling him to kill someone and they weren’t goading him towards some other inappropriate behavior. Instead it all just sounded like a load of nonsense.
Smith had stopped talking and was giving Harding an incongruously pleading look, “I know it sounds crazy as all get out, but I’m telling you the God’s honest truth sir, it wasn’t all in my head, it was too real to be all in my head.
Giving him a practiced smile he normally reserve for children and the severely handicapped, Dr. Harding said soothingly, “Don’t worry soldier, I’ll see that you get the help you need.” You never could tell what would cause a man to snap like that, he thought sadly, especially in trying times like these. “Just out of curiosity, did you recognize the voice at all?” he enquired, “Did it sound like you or anyone you know?”
Smith shook his head, “I can swear I’ve never heard it…her speak before.”
“Her?” Harding blinked in surprise.
“Yes sir, she sounded like a right proper lady too,” Smith seemed quite emphatic on that point. “She told me her name was Arcee…”
[1] Section 8: A discharge from the military service due to being psychologically unfit. If you've ever watched the old tv show M*A*S*H a Section 8 was what Klinger was trying to get by wearing women's clothing. XD
[2] Germany's new rocket weapon: This weapon actually did exist; it's in reference to the V2 rocket. It and its predecessor, the V1, were created by German scientist Wernher von Braun who is probably better known for being involved with the U.S. Space Program after the War. The V2 wasn't actively used in combat until late 1944. Why is it appearing two years earlier in this fic? Well, you'll just have to see. :)
[3] MPs: Military Police, the part of the military responsible for keeping order among the troops.
Chapter: Ch. 1 - A Section 8 [1]
Fandom: Transformers 2007 movie
Rating: PG (for now, rating will likely go up)
Summary: What's there to say? This fic is the end result of an argument between me and a friend of mine as well as my own overactive imagination. What if the transformers had landed on Earth sixty years earlier than they did during their search for the Allspark? They would have landed smack in the middle of one of the largest and most devastating conflicts of the 20th century.
Notes: Nothing terribly exciting in this chapter, just a couple of NPCs who are helping set the stage. They may or may not appear again.
August, 1942 A.D.
England
Dr. Thomas Harding swore that one could tell how the war was going by measuring the size of the stack of cases on his desk. It was perhaps not a good sign for England that the stack of case folders had grown so high he was afraid that the slightest breeze would send it spilling over onto his desk in an avalanche of paper.
War seemed to bring out the worst in men’s minds and the worst of those (or at least the most disruptive) inevitably made their way to his office for psychological assessment. In the past few years he’d heard some strange stories but this latest case was bidding fair to rank among the oddest.
Sgt. Walter Smith was a heavy-set man in his mid-forties, married, with two children at home. He didn’t fit the profile for the usual army head-cases; he’d never been posted away from the home front and hadn’t seen any active combat, he hadn’t lost any family or close friends, and there were no previous reports of mental instability. In fact, he was considered by his peers and his superiors to be a good, steady - if slightly dull - soldier.
“So tell me, when did you start hearing voices?” he asked Sgt. Smith. The man shifted uneasily in his seat, making the chair creak slightly. “Look Doctor, I know how all this probably looks on paper, but I’m telling you that I haven’t gone ‘round the bend,” he said defensively, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
When it came to patients, Harding reflected, soldiers were the worst for letting go of their pride and admitting that they had a problem. “I understand Sergeant,” he said soothingly, “How about this: you tell me your version of what happened and I’ll judge you fairly based on your testimony,” he dropped the case folder back onto the pile, “How does that sound?”
The sergeant looked rather mulish at the psychiatrist’s slightly condescending tone, but he finally nodded, “I suppose that sounds fair Doctor. I guess this whole mess started a fortnight ago, I was sent with the rest of my motorcycle platoon to investigate an explosion reported near Duxford Aerodrome.”
Dr. Harding nodded; he recalled reading about the incident in the paper. The press was calling it attack by one of Germany’s new rocket weapons.[2] “Then what happened?”
“Well the engine of my motorcycle was giving me trouble so I took ‘er in for repairs and put in a request for a replacement. Well the next day I had a replacement alright, it was the nicest, shiniest motorbike you could imagine, not a scratch on it!” The soldier was clearly warming up to his story, “Well the next morning I went into the bike shed to get things ready for the patrol that morning when I heard a voice. It was the funniest sounding voice - it was quiet and shy-sounding but it sounded almost ‘tinny’ I guess you’d say. Like the person was talking into a tin can.”
“Now sir, I looked up and there wasn’t a soul in there with me, and I checked that shed, inside and outside, twice. At first I thought it was some of the younger lads trying to pull one over on me, but the voice kept talking, talking to me, asking me who I was and telling me not to be afraid. I followed the voice and I swear to God it was coming right from that new motorcycle I’d been assigned the day before!” Smith’s face had gone pale and he swallowed hard and shook his head as if disbelieving his own words. “I didn’t believe it at first - I still thought it was some prank or maybe some kind of Nazi spy-device. But it started asking the strangest questions like what this ‘planet’ was called and why there was a war going on.
It took an effort for Harding to keep his incredulity from showing on his face. Well he’s exhibiting some of the classic signs of schizophrenia he reflected, making mental notes on a figurative pad of paper. “Did it say anything else?” he pressed. Sometimes delving into a patient’s madness would reveal the root of the illness.
“I’m not sure but it started asking about ‘automobiles’ and ‘deceptions’ or something like that, I bloody well didn’t stick around to find out! I turned around and ran the hell out of there and alerted the MPs. [3] When we got back, I couldn’t believe it, but the motorcycle was gone! The MPs thought someone had stolen it but when I tried looking up the serial number it wasn’t even listed.”
Harding pursed his lips; Sergeant Smith’s illness was more sever than he’d previously suspected if the soldier was also experiencing full-blown hallucinations. It was odd that there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the delusions. Smith’s voices weren’t telling him to kill someone and they weren’t goading him towards some other inappropriate behavior. Instead it all just sounded like a load of nonsense.
Smith had stopped talking and was giving Harding an incongruously pleading look, “I know it sounds crazy as all get out, but I’m telling you the God’s honest truth sir, it wasn’t all in my head, it was too real to be all in my head.
Giving him a practiced smile he normally reserve for children and the severely handicapped, Dr. Harding said soothingly, “Don’t worry soldier, I’ll see that you get the help you need.” You never could tell what would cause a man to snap like that, he thought sadly, especially in trying times like these. “Just out of curiosity, did you recognize the voice at all?” he enquired, “Did it sound like you or anyone you know?”
Smith shook his head, “I can swear I’ve never heard it…her speak before.”
“Her?” Harding blinked in surprise.
“Yes sir, she sounded like a right proper lady too,” Smith seemed quite emphatic on that point. “She told me her name was Arcee…”
[1] Section 8: A discharge from the military service due to being psychologically unfit. If you've ever watched the old tv show M*A*S*H a Section 8 was what Klinger was trying to get by wearing women's clothing. XD
[2] Germany's new rocket weapon: This weapon actually did exist; it's in reference to the V2 rocket. It and its predecessor, the V1, were created by German scientist Wernher von Braun who is probably better known for being involved with the U.S. Space Program after the War. The V2 wasn't actively used in combat until late 1944. Why is it appearing two years earlier in this fic? Well, you'll just have to see. :)
[3] MPs: Military Police, the part of the military responsible for keeping order among the troops.