Orns of a tactician 7
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Prowl or anything recognizable.
Beta: Starfire201 and taralynden
Summary: Jazz to the rescue! - Or not.
Note: Longest chapter yet. :)
7. Allegation
Relaxed, Jazz leaned against the decrepit wall and watched with a seemingly bored attitude as Smokescreen sent his agents onto missions. The room was small, barely enough for a chair with a single port, the many required computers and two big blue screens, that served as the only source of light. So far it wasn't going too badly. Here, an officer had been eliminated; there, a few strategically placed bombs. Jazz' bots did more than just their share to keep Typhern safe.
While he kept an eye on the Praxian to avoid any disastrous errors during his first serious operation for SpecOps, he wished nothing more than to be in the midst of the action. On the front maybe or - even better - far behind it, in enemy territory. He missed the burning ecstasy of being in the face of danger, the deep satisfaction when he took an enemy in his sights and astroseconds later watched them fall as a grey husk.
But sadly, this was more important. Until now, he had known that Prowl considered and calculated with the special needs and problems which his agents had. Smokey, on the other hand, was new and untested. Still, his agents profited from the extra attention of the tactician. Not only were they able to play through more scenarios in simulations, but they had a way to better secure most of their communications, because they didn't have to use the same frequencies as the tactical headquarters. They had gained psychologically, too. His agents were calmer, because their tactician was one of their own - and that meant he was safe.
Smokescreen looked up for a moment and presented the four chosen spies for the latest mission. Their abilities as stated in their reports made them the best for this job, but in Jazz's department reports sometimes had even less worth than a good lie.
"Boot out Turnabout, his last mission didn't go well." If you could call capture and torture as such.
"Roger that," answered Smokescreen and replaced the agent. This time Jazz waved it through.
Prowl hadn't promised too much on that orn long ago. But Jazz hadn't expected differently anyway. He sincerely doubted, that Prowl could lie convincingly about anything. He was just too straight-forward. For the good of the Autobot army the tactician didn't need to. Most of the time his facts and incorruptible logic were enough that everyone did as he ordered. Especially Prime.
Jazz, on the other hand, was a genius in the art of lying and proud of it. He would have taken Smokey in for nothing, just to get one over on those petty lieutenants, but to get a favour on top of it had been sweet triumph.
A cool and composed voice cut through the small room: "Prowl to Smokescreen. It has begun."
"Copy that and out," answered Smokescreen without missing a beat in his own orders and calculations. The SpecOps missions had begun nearly an orn before the battle.
Jazz crossed his arms and forced himself to be calm. It was strange to be so far from the battle. Repeatedly he caught himself thinking about excuses to go with this or that team. What wouldn't he have given to blow up one of those bridges.
As the Decepticons advanced, they changed tactics from sabotage to reconnaissance. Soon, they got more and more sightings of tagged mechs with a special attribute: They were part of a combiner.
Smokey looked grim as he read the newest reports. Voice connections to their agents were deemed too much of a risk. “There has been a second sighting of Onslaught, one of Vortex, one of Brawl, and five of other combiner members.”
"Looks as if Bruticus is joining the party," commented Jazz lightly. He met the look of his newest subordinate, who simply sat there. "What are you waiting for? Call Prowl. A combiner is nothing we can handle alone."
Obviously relieved, Smokescreen turned to his work again. Jazz behind him made a mental notice that they would need to talk about this. Did Smokey really think, that he would prevent him from calling Prowl with information? That was their job! And arguments, even if said arguments involved corpses, had no influence on that.
"Smokescreen to Prowl. We have sightings of mechs that are probably part of a combiner. Among them members of Bruticus."
"Thank you." A small thread of amusement weaved through the saboteur's thoughts. Prowl was the only mech he knew who took the time for polite phrases in the middle of a battle. "Could you eliminate the teamleaders?"
"We'll try. Out." With growing confidence, Smokescreen chose suitable agents and sent them on their way.
The battle continued, but the SpecOps ignored it more or less and concentrated on their own orders.
"Any sightings of the Big Four?" Jazz's name for Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave.
"No."
Not good. Of course, the highest officers on the Autobot side - Prowl and Jazz - weren't actively participating in the fights either, but the Decepticons had another doctrine: If you want to lead, you have to prove that you're strong enough to lead from the front, always. So, where were the Decepticions' beloved psychopaths?
"Jazz, I've got a Green-Black here!"
The head of intelligence turned away from his own, suddenly boring reports and to Smokescreen. Green-Black was a rare Code, that could be translated to: We have here a gigantic problem, that is still under control. It never stayed under control.
"Which agent and what's the problem?"
"Lightflash and his team found a bomb in Sector Two, south-side of the Vector Prime-bunker." The tactician scanned the datapad. "Seems like it was hidden very well."
Jazz wrenched the datapads from him. Bypassing all unimportant statements as guesswork, he cut right through to the photos of the bomb. And a wave of burning fury lit his spark.
The bomb was made from plutonium and created an incredible hot, nearly unstoppable force which was able to smelt its way through every shield. Whoever their bomber was, he didn't want to kill mechs, but destroy the base and, more importantly, the heavy weapons that couldn't be moved. But the location of the bomb was particular - someone had planted it beneath the floor, before the base had been built. Orns ago.
That was only possible with insider information or incredible luck. And Jazz didn't believe in luck.
"Call Prowl," Jazz ordered acidly while searching the bomb schematics for the one small signature that would tell him who built this baby. Not a beginner. Mixmaster? Maybe even Shockwave? And how did they get those information despite all of his counterintelligence? Under his tightening grip the datapad cracked ominously.
In the background, Smokescreen informed Prowl. He sounded tense and that was bad. The last thing his agents needed on a hazardous mission was a nervous tactician in their audios.
"Understood. Check all other vulnerable sites," answered Prowl.
Why did Prowl always try to order his people around? Fissures appeared on the pad and he put it away. Control. He needed control. At least, they both seemed to agree about the biggest problem with this mysterious bomb: Where one was, others could be there, too.
Smokescreen confirmed the order and terminated the connection. Before he could say anything, Jazz stepped away from his spot on the wall.
"You coordinate the teams. I'll check the surroundings."
Smokescreen's optics widened a bit: "Here?"
The probability was low; for their room they had used all secrecy available. But Jazz had to do something or he would lay into his newbie agent when the next confirmation about a bomb came. Second, he knew that objective probabilities counted for almost nothing if sabotage was involved.
"Yes, here. You've heard our genius tactician."
Smokescreen nodded. He didn't even think about questioning Prowl's orders. In a few vorns he would hopefully have the same blind trust towards Jazz. "Okay."
"Don't mess up, Smokey. I trust you."
With a faked cheery wave he stepped out of the base into an old, grey supply tunnel full of rubble, which was illuminated by a single lamp a fair way off. Long deep shadows concealed the door and a few emergency kits he had hid there for good measure nearly perfectly.
Following the riots that later led to this endless waltz of a war, somebots had barricaded this tunnel and never opened it up again. Once, it had been a lively trade route, with small maintenance rooms every two kilometres or so. One of them was now the HQ of the SpecOps, which conveniently made it possible to operate directly from beneath the battlefield.
Quietly humming, he took his vibro-knife out of subspace. It was an old weapon, smooth in his servo and in its use, without any fancy tricks. The familiar weight and its sharp certainty were soothing his nerves. Twirling the knife, Jazz began to search systematically.
But there was nothing. Maybe they really were safe. Maybe there really had only been one. As if!
The saboteur's sight fell onto the lamp. The one location where he himself would have hidden the bomb. Nobody wanted to contemplate, that the one thing sending out light, was possibly the one thing that would kill you.
Feeling dead certain about his hunch, Jazz used his magnetic grapplers to climb the wall, until he was next to the ancient, dirty lamp. Honestly, it was a small miracle that it was still functioning. Not for much longer. The agent stabbed his vibro-knife into the small gap between lamp and wall. He expected resistance and leveraged with all he had. Instead a soft crunching and the whole thing crashed violently onto the floor.
Only darkness remained. And the two, yellow blinking lights right in front of him.
`Found ya,` Jazz thought with a satisfied smile.
The infrared spectrum of his visor took over and the saboteur began to dismantle the device very carefully. One wrong decision and the tunnel, their base, Smokey and himself would be nothing more than a nice memory. And he really had better things planned than being reduced to a golden plate with his name engraved on it.
"Jazz to Smokescreen. How many bombs have we found so far?" he asked, while removing the timer with steady, practised servos.
"Four, but I'm expecting more to come. All of them were in air defense bases."
"Take the count up to five. We have received our very own surprise gift." The bomb had been built for its destructive potential. Simple, but effective. He would put his money on Mixmaster.
"What?" Shock coloured Smokey's voice. "But that would mean..."
"That we have a traitor," finished Jazz grimly as he deactivated the device. "A traitor that is very intelligent and resourceful."
His previous anger had cooled, until it was edged and merciless. A perfect sharpening tool for only one task: He would find them, wherever they hid, wherever they run to and kill them, painfully. As was his duty.
"But only five bots knew about this base. Five! And I swear, I haven't told anybody a thing!"
"Relax, Smokey, I know." Not only was Smokescreen not one for suicide, Jazz had also hacked him as a part of his SpecOps training against torture - and to check if he was a spy for Prowl. Smokescreen wasn't. "I'll have to inform Prowl about the traitor. Nothing I want to send through the air. Do you know a flier somewhere, who can fly me over?"
It was a risk to leave Smokescreen alone, but a controllable one, and as good their communication with the tactical HQ was, it wasn't perfect. Especially so far into the battle. Not only could the enemy hear that they were unto him, but a curious Autobot reacting the wrong way was just as disastrous. Most mechs panicked too easily, especially at the suggestion of traitors. Particularly if they were as high-up the command chain as this one appeared to be.
A short silence. "A shuttle is free at troop rally point nine."
"Thanks. I wont answer any communication while I travel."
"Copy that. Good luck."
Luck? Luck had nothing to do with Jazz' job.
He raced down the tunnel and across the plain towards site nine, always careful not to be recognised. Secrecy was his best and only protection.
Five Autobots, five possible traitors. Smokescreen and himself he could count out.
Mirage, his best scout, had known about the base, because he had found the tunnel nearly a deca-orn ago. But since then he was behind enemy lines and had no way to discover the locations of the air defense bases.
Audiowave knew about all the bases in question. He had created their communication lines and maintained them. There was just one small problem - Jazz hadn't trusted him and had had him shadowed since he came to Typhern by some of his most faithful agents. Audiowave hadn't been alone for one astrosecond.
Who was he trying to fool? There was only one bot who knew about all the bases and had more than enough chances to betray them all. Only one bot he hadn't had watched: Prowl.
As the shuttle, that unfortunately knew who his passenger was, swiftly departed with him in it, he quietened his rampant thoughts.
There were other possibilities. More than one traitor, bad luck on their part, a weakness in their security… Anyway, he needed to talk with the Senior Battle tactician mech to mech. Maybe he had told someone else those details in a sudden drop of intelligence?
During the flight, he thought back to the failed negotiations and the Chrome tower. The SpecOps had had hints and signs that among the councillors was a traitor, but he couldn't provide proof. Proof Prowl would have demanded. He had said nothing, but was sure that this one hidden Decepticon was manipulating all the other councillors behind the scenes and was delaying the negotiations for as long as possible. With every orn Prowl was senselessly occupied in the Chrome Tower, more vital information was passed on.
And then that last demand. Outrageous! It was the straw that had broken Jazz' patience. He had to do something, and if he had to blame the enemy - so be it. Still, he had asked Prowl, what he thought, what they should do... and to his amazement Prowl had agreed with him. At that time Jazz had been happy.
But now... what if Prowl had been the one doing the manipulating and delaying? As the single representative of the Autobot side, he would have been in an ideal position for it. And then Jazz would have played right into his hand by killing all the witnesses.
A possible ruthless move that he could nearly admire in a strictly professional way.
"ETA in three breems," said the bright yellow shuttle. Jazz hadn't bothered with learning his name.
"Thanks." They would land remote from the HQ, to avoid giving the enemy any hint.
Suddenly the shuttle rolled over, engines spluttering and then plunged. Jazz' systems flared and illegal security drives jumped up howling. EMP, a part of him distantly recognised through the agony. How... there was no way they had run into a trap. He manually onlined his most important systems through more than questionable subroutines, ignoring the many warnings and errors. With a sense of panic, he noticed that the shuttle was still falling. Were they crashing?
"Hey, soldier, are you alright?"
"Y-yes, sir." They transitioned into a less steep flight angle until they glided along normally again. "My armour has shielded us from most of it."
"Really?" Jazz knew that shuttles had a special, very strong armour to protect them against cosmic radiation, for example, sun storms, or particle beams that black holes fired into the universe. But this EMP had felt anything but weak or shielded.
"Yes." A short silence. "There was a gigantic explosion behind us. It looked like an exploding star! Do you know what it was?"
Probably Shockwave's new weapon. Bombs really seemed to be the theme this orn. He bumped the scientist up a few places on his mechs-I-wish-to-kill-list and answered:
"Afraid not." No reason to spread speculations. "Can you still fly?"
"Of course, sir." The shuttle spoke stiffly as if he were insulted by the very notion, that a mere EMP attack could stop him.
From how the shuttle described the explosion they hadn't been very near to it. And they were shielded at least a bit. Just how bad was then the situation among the soldiers? Yet, worrying was useless. He couldn't do anything for them.
Or at least this was what he told himself.
In front of them the landing site appeared. It was a simple open spot that once had been a small crystal park for the surrounding suburbs. Now, there were only shoulder-high ruins and this place littered with scattered grey crystal rocks left.
"Prowl to all soldiers: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack," sounded across the seldom used open commline. Prowl's voice was miraculously composed for such a message.
Jazz cursed. "Land! You have to land!"
"I'm doing it!", answered the shuttle tremulously. His manoeuvre was more akin to a free fall.
"I repeat: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack."
It hit them, when they were still a few metres above the ground. The Autobot crashed and slided over the gravel before stopping as a quivering giant. Even forewarned, Jazz' systems halted for a crucial moment. Before he fully came back to consciousness, he already received the next order:
"Initialise retreat! I repeat, to all Autobots, initialise retreat towards the east!"
A small, defeated growl escaped Jazz.
Was it really that bad, that the Autobots had to retreat for the third time in the whole war, both times before with horrible consequences, or...? Better to hurry, in any case.
The intelligence chief swayed as he stood and slowly moved out of the flier. At least the shuttle seemed alright. Had a few bumps and scratches, but alright.
"Soldier," he ordered as firm as he could, while a few systems still recovered. "Report to the following coordinates and help the bots you find there retreating. Speak with no one on your way. Understood?"
A affirmative ping. "Does that mean I'm now part of SpecOps?" came the enthusiastic question.
"Not really. But you have make it to those coordinates without being spotted." And considering a whole army was retreating, that shouldn't be too difficult.
"I will!"
"Great." He found himself smiling. "What was your name again?"
"Gold Bug, Officer Jazz."
The base, he sent him to, was the interrogation room for captured Decepticon officers. The agent in charge would use the shuttle in the retreat and then keep him further around, until it was clear that the information where Jazz was or had been wasn't important anymore. It was simple standard security, that prevented unwelcomed rumours.
He patted the hull of Gold Bug reassuringly and transformed.
As fast as he could, he drove around the ruins, on streets covered with debris and a few others things, towards the headquarters. All his communication lines were wide open, waiting for information about the retreat, for new orders - but there was only silence.
At first, he thought that the tacticians were giving all the troops separate orders on channels apart from the main one, but when he switched to them, he still only encountered silence and a growing confusion among the soldiers. Not long and it would grow into panic. An uncoordinated retreat was a worst case scenario no one wanted to experience.
What in Primus' name were the tacticians doing? Were they having a midbattle break? Where was Prowl? He couldn't really be...
For the first time in a long time ago, Jazz felt true dread. Fearing what he would find, he slowed down into stealth mode and stalked carefully forward.
From afar, he could already see two big transformed mechs - shuttles. But the guardians of the tacticians had no shuttles, only normal soldiers and a few tanks. They had to be Decepticons.
His worst thoughts found their way into reality as he drove nearer and made out heaps of grey corpses in front of the door of the round black headquarters. Every one of them had only one injury, exactly above their spark.
This hadn't been a fight, but a mass execution.
It was obvious what had happened: The Decepticons had used the bombs to create a way for the seekers to attack and for those two shuttles to cross deep into Autobot territory. There they waited until the EMP bomb was dropped and then, killed the stunned and vulnerable bodyguards. When the second blast hit, they probably were already into the base and overwhelming the tacticians.
The timing, the mission, all pointed towards a perfectly trained elite troop.
At second glance, he discovered a few Decepticons near the shuttles. Outside, without protection. At least another EMP blast wasn't likely. But the damage was wrought and Jazz was alone.
The door glided open and a group of mechs with two dark green stripes around their upper arms came outside, all silent and in perfect formation. In their middle - Prowl. His doorwings leaked energon, he limped, even though that wound had been temporarily patched up. His face was utterly devoid of any emotion or thought.
Disturbingly enough, Prowl wasn't shackled.
Did he receive the wounds through the other two tacticians, as they realised that they were betrayed? Were those Decepticons a protection detail?
Either Prowl was a traitor of the worst kind or Soundwave had already hacked him. With most mechs it would have been easy to identify which answer it was at a distance, thanks to the detached and emotionless look on their face. But Prowl didn't have the nickname 'drone' for nothing.
The last mech to step outside was Soundwave with a pistol in his left servo. Jazz could almost feel the smugness radiating from him. For a moment the saboteur contemplated just jumping out and trying to shoot his counterpart, but a rational part of his mind pointed out that he would be killed before accomplishing anything.
“Mission: Completed. Board the shuttles,” ordered the Decepticon spy master, not deigning the corpses around him a single glance.
Trembling from repressed rage and helplessness, he watched as Prowl was led towards one flier. The tactician showed no resistance.
Across the commlines Smokescreen took over the tactical leadership of the retreat. Jazz would have applauded the bot for his fast and daring thinking. The orders lacked quality and detail, without a doubt Prowl's ex-student was overwhelmed, but they came and the retreat continued.
Whatever Prowl had intended with his last order, it had been right. It was the only possible conclusion after two EMP-bombs and the loss of nearly all tacticians.
They had lost. Epically.
Jazz gripped his weapon tighter. But this was not the end of the war.
If Prowl was a traitor, he had to die before he could talk some more. If he wasn't one, the highest priority was to get him back - or to kill him before Soundwave had achieved access to the incredibly valuable source of information that Prowl's memory banks were.
An assassin surely was the safest and most sensible course of action, or as Prowl would say: logical. Yet, he wasn't Prowl. He didn't leave Autobots behind, just because it was logical.
But was Prowl still an Autobot? And wouldn't such a death in the hands of the enemy be poetic justice?
While the shuttles started up and Jazz hid in the shadow of a broken down building, he realised that he had to decide fast. Rescue mission or assassin? Fundamentally, it came down to one very simple question:
Was Prowl an Autobot that Jazz wanted to save?
~silber
Beta: Starfire201 and taralynden
Summary: Jazz to the rescue! - Or not.
Note: Longest chapter yet. :)
7. Allegation
Relaxed, Jazz leaned against the decrepit wall and watched with a seemingly bored attitude as Smokescreen sent his agents onto missions. The room was small, barely enough for a chair with a single port, the many required computers and two big blue screens, that served as the only source of light. So far it wasn't going too badly. Here, an officer had been eliminated; there, a few strategically placed bombs. Jazz' bots did more than just their share to keep Typhern safe.
While he kept an eye on the Praxian to avoid any disastrous errors during his first serious operation for SpecOps, he wished nothing more than to be in the midst of the action. On the front maybe or - even better - far behind it, in enemy territory. He missed the burning ecstasy of being in the face of danger, the deep satisfaction when he took an enemy in his sights and astroseconds later watched them fall as a grey husk.
But sadly, this was more important. Until now, he had known that Prowl considered and calculated with the special needs and problems which his agents had. Smokey, on the other hand, was new and untested. Still, his agents profited from the extra attention of the tactician. Not only were they able to play through more scenarios in simulations, but they had a way to better secure most of their communications, because they didn't have to use the same frequencies as the tactical headquarters. They had gained psychologically, too. His agents were calmer, because their tactician was one of their own - and that meant he was safe.
Smokescreen looked up for a moment and presented the four chosen spies for the latest mission. Their abilities as stated in their reports made them the best for this job, but in Jazz's department reports sometimes had even less worth than a good lie.
"Boot out Turnabout, his last mission didn't go well." If you could call capture and torture as such.
"Roger that," answered Smokescreen and replaced the agent. This time Jazz waved it through.
Prowl hadn't promised too much on that orn long ago. But Jazz hadn't expected differently anyway. He sincerely doubted, that Prowl could lie convincingly about anything. He was just too straight-forward. For the good of the Autobot army the tactician didn't need to. Most of the time his facts and incorruptible logic were enough that everyone did as he ordered. Especially Prime.
Jazz, on the other hand, was a genius in the art of lying and proud of it. He would have taken Smokey in for nothing, just to get one over on those petty lieutenants, but to get a favour on top of it had been sweet triumph.
A cool and composed voice cut through the small room: "Prowl to Smokescreen. It has begun."
"Copy that and out," answered Smokescreen without missing a beat in his own orders and calculations. The SpecOps missions had begun nearly an orn before the battle.
Jazz crossed his arms and forced himself to be calm. It was strange to be so far from the battle. Repeatedly he caught himself thinking about excuses to go with this or that team. What wouldn't he have given to blow up one of those bridges.
As the Decepticons advanced, they changed tactics from sabotage to reconnaissance. Soon, they got more and more sightings of tagged mechs with a special attribute: They were part of a combiner.
Smokey looked grim as he read the newest reports. Voice connections to their agents were deemed too much of a risk. “There has been a second sighting of Onslaught, one of Vortex, one of Brawl, and five of other combiner members.”
"Looks as if Bruticus is joining the party," commented Jazz lightly. He met the look of his newest subordinate, who simply sat there. "What are you waiting for? Call Prowl. A combiner is nothing we can handle alone."
Obviously relieved, Smokescreen turned to his work again. Jazz behind him made a mental notice that they would need to talk about this. Did Smokey really think, that he would prevent him from calling Prowl with information? That was their job! And arguments, even if said arguments involved corpses, had no influence on that.
"Smokescreen to Prowl. We have sightings of mechs that are probably part of a combiner. Among them members of Bruticus."
"Thank you." A small thread of amusement weaved through the saboteur's thoughts. Prowl was the only mech he knew who took the time for polite phrases in the middle of a battle. "Could you eliminate the teamleaders?"
"We'll try. Out." With growing confidence, Smokescreen chose suitable agents and sent them on their way.
The battle continued, but the SpecOps ignored it more or less and concentrated on their own orders.
"Any sightings of the Big Four?" Jazz's name for Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave.
"No."
Not good. Of course, the highest officers on the Autobot side - Prowl and Jazz - weren't actively participating in the fights either, but the Decepticons had another doctrine: If you want to lead, you have to prove that you're strong enough to lead from the front, always. So, where were the Decepticions' beloved psychopaths?
"Jazz, I've got a Green-Black here!"
The head of intelligence turned away from his own, suddenly boring reports and to Smokescreen. Green-Black was a rare Code, that could be translated to: We have here a gigantic problem, that is still under control. It never stayed under control.
"Which agent and what's the problem?"
"Lightflash and his team found a bomb in Sector Two, south-side of the Vector Prime-bunker." The tactician scanned the datapad. "Seems like it was hidden very well."
Jazz wrenched the datapads from him. Bypassing all unimportant statements as guesswork, he cut right through to the photos of the bomb. And a wave of burning fury lit his spark.
The bomb was made from plutonium and created an incredible hot, nearly unstoppable force which was able to smelt its way through every shield. Whoever their bomber was, he didn't want to kill mechs, but destroy the base and, more importantly, the heavy weapons that couldn't be moved. But the location of the bomb was particular - someone had planted it beneath the floor, before the base had been built. Orns ago.
That was only possible with insider information or incredible luck. And Jazz didn't believe in luck.
"Call Prowl," Jazz ordered acidly while searching the bomb schematics for the one small signature that would tell him who built this baby. Not a beginner. Mixmaster? Maybe even Shockwave? And how did they get those information despite all of his counterintelligence? Under his tightening grip the datapad cracked ominously.
In the background, Smokescreen informed Prowl. He sounded tense and that was bad. The last thing his agents needed on a hazardous mission was a nervous tactician in their audios.
"Understood. Check all other vulnerable sites," answered Prowl.
Why did Prowl always try to order his people around? Fissures appeared on the pad and he put it away. Control. He needed control. At least, they both seemed to agree about the biggest problem with this mysterious bomb: Where one was, others could be there, too.
Smokescreen confirmed the order and terminated the connection. Before he could say anything, Jazz stepped away from his spot on the wall.
"You coordinate the teams. I'll check the surroundings."
Smokescreen's optics widened a bit: "Here?"
The probability was low; for their room they had used all secrecy available. But Jazz had to do something or he would lay into his newbie agent when the next confirmation about a bomb came. Second, he knew that objective probabilities counted for almost nothing if sabotage was involved.
"Yes, here. You've heard our genius tactician."
Smokescreen nodded. He didn't even think about questioning Prowl's orders. In a few vorns he would hopefully have the same blind trust towards Jazz. "Okay."
"Don't mess up, Smokey. I trust you."
With a faked cheery wave he stepped out of the base into an old, grey supply tunnel full of rubble, which was illuminated by a single lamp a fair way off. Long deep shadows concealed the door and a few emergency kits he had hid there for good measure nearly perfectly.
Following the riots that later led to this endless waltz of a war, somebots had barricaded this tunnel and never opened it up again. Once, it had been a lively trade route, with small maintenance rooms every two kilometres or so. One of them was now the HQ of the SpecOps, which conveniently made it possible to operate directly from beneath the battlefield.
Quietly humming, he took his vibro-knife out of subspace. It was an old weapon, smooth in his servo and in its use, without any fancy tricks. The familiar weight and its sharp certainty were soothing his nerves. Twirling the knife, Jazz began to search systematically.
But there was nothing. Maybe they really were safe. Maybe there really had only been one. As if!
The saboteur's sight fell onto the lamp. The one location where he himself would have hidden the bomb. Nobody wanted to contemplate, that the one thing sending out light, was possibly the one thing that would kill you.
Feeling dead certain about his hunch, Jazz used his magnetic grapplers to climb the wall, until he was next to the ancient, dirty lamp. Honestly, it was a small miracle that it was still functioning. Not for much longer. The agent stabbed his vibro-knife into the small gap between lamp and wall. He expected resistance and leveraged with all he had. Instead a soft crunching and the whole thing crashed violently onto the floor.
Only darkness remained. And the two, yellow blinking lights right in front of him.
`Found ya,` Jazz thought with a satisfied smile.
The infrared spectrum of his visor took over and the saboteur began to dismantle the device very carefully. One wrong decision and the tunnel, their base, Smokey and himself would be nothing more than a nice memory. And he really had better things planned than being reduced to a golden plate with his name engraved on it.
"Jazz to Smokescreen. How many bombs have we found so far?" he asked, while removing the timer with steady, practised servos.
"Four, but I'm expecting more to come. All of them were in air defense bases."
"Take the count up to five. We have received our very own surprise gift." The bomb had been built for its destructive potential. Simple, but effective. He would put his money on Mixmaster.
"What?" Shock coloured Smokey's voice. "But that would mean..."
"That we have a traitor," finished Jazz grimly as he deactivated the device. "A traitor that is very intelligent and resourceful."
His previous anger had cooled, until it was edged and merciless. A perfect sharpening tool for only one task: He would find them, wherever they hid, wherever they run to and kill them, painfully. As was his duty.
"But only five bots knew about this base. Five! And I swear, I haven't told anybody a thing!"
"Relax, Smokey, I know." Not only was Smokescreen not one for suicide, Jazz had also hacked him as a part of his SpecOps training against torture - and to check if he was a spy for Prowl. Smokescreen wasn't. "I'll have to inform Prowl about the traitor. Nothing I want to send through the air. Do you know a flier somewhere, who can fly me over?"
It was a risk to leave Smokescreen alone, but a controllable one, and as good their communication with the tactical HQ was, it wasn't perfect. Especially so far into the battle. Not only could the enemy hear that they were unto him, but a curious Autobot reacting the wrong way was just as disastrous. Most mechs panicked too easily, especially at the suggestion of traitors. Particularly if they were as high-up the command chain as this one appeared to be.
A short silence. "A shuttle is free at troop rally point nine."
"Thanks. I wont answer any communication while I travel."
"Copy that. Good luck."
Luck? Luck had nothing to do with Jazz' job.
He raced down the tunnel and across the plain towards site nine, always careful not to be recognised. Secrecy was his best and only protection.
Five Autobots, five possible traitors. Smokescreen and himself he could count out.
Mirage, his best scout, had known about the base, because he had found the tunnel nearly a deca-orn ago. But since then he was behind enemy lines and had no way to discover the locations of the air defense bases.
Audiowave knew about all the bases in question. He had created their communication lines and maintained them. There was just one small problem - Jazz hadn't trusted him and had had him shadowed since he came to Typhern by some of his most faithful agents. Audiowave hadn't been alone for one astrosecond.
Who was he trying to fool? There was only one bot who knew about all the bases and had more than enough chances to betray them all. Only one bot he hadn't had watched: Prowl.
As the shuttle, that unfortunately knew who his passenger was, swiftly departed with him in it, he quietened his rampant thoughts.
There were other possibilities. More than one traitor, bad luck on their part, a weakness in their security… Anyway, he needed to talk with the Senior Battle tactician mech to mech. Maybe he had told someone else those details in a sudden drop of intelligence?
During the flight, he thought back to the failed negotiations and the Chrome tower. The SpecOps had had hints and signs that among the councillors was a traitor, but he couldn't provide proof. Proof Prowl would have demanded. He had said nothing, but was sure that this one hidden Decepticon was manipulating all the other councillors behind the scenes and was delaying the negotiations for as long as possible. With every orn Prowl was senselessly occupied in the Chrome Tower, more vital information was passed on.
And then that last demand. Outrageous! It was the straw that had broken Jazz' patience. He had to do something, and if he had to blame the enemy - so be it. Still, he had asked Prowl, what he thought, what they should do... and to his amazement Prowl had agreed with him. At that time Jazz had been happy.
But now... what if Prowl had been the one doing the manipulating and delaying? As the single representative of the Autobot side, he would have been in an ideal position for it. And then Jazz would have played right into his hand by killing all the witnesses.
A possible ruthless move that he could nearly admire in a strictly professional way.
"ETA in three breems," said the bright yellow shuttle. Jazz hadn't bothered with learning his name.
"Thanks." They would land remote from the HQ, to avoid giving the enemy any hint.
Suddenly the shuttle rolled over, engines spluttering and then plunged. Jazz' systems flared and illegal security drives jumped up howling. EMP, a part of him distantly recognised through the agony. How... there was no way they had run into a trap. He manually onlined his most important systems through more than questionable subroutines, ignoring the many warnings and errors. With a sense of panic, he noticed that the shuttle was still falling. Were they crashing?
"Hey, soldier, are you alright?"
"Y-yes, sir." They transitioned into a less steep flight angle until they glided along normally again. "My armour has shielded us from most of it."
"Really?" Jazz knew that shuttles had a special, very strong armour to protect them against cosmic radiation, for example, sun storms, or particle beams that black holes fired into the universe. But this EMP had felt anything but weak or shielded.
"Yes." A short silence. "There was a gigantic explosion behind us. It looked like an exploding star! Do you know what it was?"
Probably Shockwave's new weapon. Bombs really seemed to be the theme this orn. He bumped the scientist up a few places on his mechs-I-wish-to-kill-list and answered:
"Afraid not." No reason to spread speculations. "Can you still fly?"
"Of course, sir." The shuttle spoke stiffly as if he were insulted by the very notion, that a mere EMP attack could stop him.
From how the shuttle described the explosion they hadn't been very near to it. And they were shielded at least a bit. Just how bad was then the situation among the soldiers? Yet, worrying was useless. He couldn't do anything for them.
Or at least this was what he told himself.
In front of them the landing site appeared. It was a simple open spot that once had been a small crystal park for the surrounding suburbs. Now, there were only shoulder-high ruins and this place littered with scattered grey crystal rocks left.
"Prowl to all soldiers: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack," sounded across the seldom used open commline. Prowl's voice was miraculously composed for such a message.
Jazz cursed. "Land! You have to land!"
"I'm doing it!", answered the shuttle tremulously. His manoeuvre was more akin to a free fall.
"I repeat: Seekers are turning back, prepare for EMP attack."
It hit them, when they were still a few metres above the ground. The Autobot crashed and slided over the gravel before stopping as a quivering giant. Even forewarned, Jazz' systems halted for a crucial moment. Before he fully came back to consciousness, he already received the next order:
"Initialise retreat! I repeat, to all Autobots, initialise retreat towards the east!"
A small, defeated growl escaped Jazz.
Was it really that bad, that the Autobots had to retreat for the third time in the whole war, both times before with horrible consequences, or...? Better to hurry, in any case.
The intelligence chief swayed as he stood and slowly moved out of the flier. At least the shuttle seemed alright. Had a few bumps and scratches, but alright.
"Soldier," he ordered as firm as he could, while a few systems still recovered. "Report to the following coordinates and help the bots you find there retreating. Speak with no one on your way. Understood?"
A affirmative ping. "Does that mean I'm now part of SpecOps?" came the enthusiastic question.
"Not really. But you have make it to those coordinates without being spotted." And considering a whole army was retreating, that shouldn't be too difficult.
"I will!"
"Great." He found himself smiling. "What was your name again?"
"Gold Bug, Officer Jazz."
The base, he sent him to, was the interrogation room for captured Decepticon officers. The agent in charge would use the shuttle in the retreat and then keep him further around, until it was clear that the information where Jazz was or had been wasn't important anymore. It was simple standard security, that prevented unwelcomed rumours.
He patted the hull of Gold Bug reassuringly and transformed.
As fast as he could, he drove around the ruins, on streets covered with debris and a few others things, towards the headquarters. All his communication lines were wide open, waiting for information about the retreat, for new orders - but there was only silence.
At first, he thought that the tacticians were giving all the troops separate orders on channels apart from the main one, but when he switched to them, he still only encountered silence and a growing confusion among the soldiers. Not long and it would grow into panic. An uncoordinated retreat was a worst case scenario no one wanted to experience.
What in Primus' name were the tacticians doing? Were they having a midbattle break? Where was Prowl? He couldn't really be...
For the first time in a long time ago, Jazz felt true dread. Fearing what he would find, he slowed down into stealth mode and stalked carefully forward.
From afar, he could already see two big transformed mechs - shuttles. But the guardians of the tacticians had no shuttles, only normal soldiers and a few tanks. They had to be Decepticons.
His worst thoughts found their way into reality as he drove nearer and made out heaps of grey corpses in front of the door of the round black headquarters. Every one of them had only one injury, exactly above their spark.
This hadn't been a fight, but a mass execution.
It was obvious what had happened: The Decepticons had used the bombs to create a way for the seekers to attack and for those two shuttles to cross deep into Autobot territory. There they waited until the EMP bomb was dropped and then, killed the stunned and vulnerable bodyguards. When the second blast hit, they probably were already into the base and overwhelming the tacticians.
The timing, the mission, all pointed towards a perfectly trained elite troop.
At second glance, he discovered a few Decepticons near the shuttles. Outside, without protection. At least another EMP blast wasn't likely. But the damage was wrought and Jazz was alone.
The door glided open and a group of mechs with two dark green stripes around their upper arms came outside, all silent and in perfect formation. In their middle - Prowl. His doorwings leaked energon, he limped, even though that wound had been temporarily patched up. His face was utterly devoid of any emotion or thought.
Disturbingly enough, Prowl wasn't shackled.
Did he receive the wounds through the other two tacticians, as they realised that they were betrayed? Were those Decepticons a protection detail?
Either Prowl was a traitor of the worst kind or Soundwave had already hacked him. With most mechs it would have been easy to identify which answer it was at a distance, thanks to the detached and emotionless look on their face. But Prowl didn't have the nickname 'drone' for nothing.
The last mech to step outside was Soundwave with a pistol in his left servo. Jazz could almost feel the smugness radiating from him. For a moment the saboteur contemplated just jumping out and trying to shoot his counterpart, but a rational part of his mind pointed out that he would be killed before accomplishing anything.
“Mission: Completed. Board the shuttles,” ordered the Decepticon spy master, not deigning the corpses around him a single glance.
Trembling from repressed rage and helplessness, he watched as Prowl was led towards one flier. The tactician showed no resistance.
Across the commlines Smokescreen took over the tactical leadership of the retreat. Jazz would have applauded the bot for his fast and daring thinking. The orders lacked quality and detail, without a doubt Prowl's ex-student was overwhelmed, but they came and the retreat continued.
Whatever Prowl had intended with his last order, it had been right. It was the only possible conclusion after two EMP-bombs and the loss of nearly all tacticians.
They had lost. Epically.
Jazz gripped his weapon tighter. But this was not the end of the war.
If Prowl was a traitor, he had to die before he could talk some more. If he wasn't one, the highest priority was to get him back - or to kill him before Soundwave had achieved access to the incredibly valuable source of information that Prowl's memory banks were.
An assassin surely was the safest and most sensible course of action, or as Prowl would say: logical. Yet, he wasn't Prowl. He didn't leave Autobots behind, just because it was logical.
But was Prowl still an Autobot? And wouldn't such a death in the hands of the enemy be poetic justice?
While the shuttles started up and Jazz hid in the shadow of a broken down building, he realised that he had to decide fast. Rescue mission or assassin? Fundamentally, it came down to one very simple question:
Was Prowl an Autobot that Jazz wanted to save?
~silber