Sharp End of the Stick (One Shot)

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by GC Rust, Apr 3, 2011.

  1. GC Rust

    GC Rust The Shield and the Sword

    Jul 5, 2008
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    The roar of high powered engines filled the twilight sky like the herald of doomsday. For some, it was.

    "Hit the Deck!" A Green and White mechanoid hollered as he went from full sprint to a baseball player's slide into a ragged torn hole in the metallic ground at his feet. Not more then a second later, the location he had been running through exploded in the bright yellow and orange of explosive ordinance.

    "Heya Streets, what's the good word?" A black and green mechanoid asked the newcomer in the impromptu foxhole.

    "Half-Pack?" Streets' visor blinked. "How the slag did you get here? I thought you were with the heavy weapons, not fighting on the line."

    The bot who gloried in the name Half-Pack let out a half-hysterical laugh. "Yeah Streets, and you're supposed to be a lead scouting elements to this little smelting party."

    Streets took in Half-Pack's meaning. "We've been pushed back that far?"

    "Farther." Half-Pack pulled out a data pad and keyed the holographic display to life. Almost instantly in the air before the bots a line graph representation of the current area appeared. "We've been driven completely out of the industrial complex all together. We're in what used to be the loading docks."

    "Dross." Streets said wordlessly as another round of fire came in from the Decepticon fliers. "This is bad."

    Half-Pack keyed off the hologram and tossed the display away, he then hefted a pair of optic enhancers and shrugged. "Could be worse."

    Streets shook his head as Half-Pack dared Decepticon fire to take a quick peek at the line. "How, pray tell, can it get any worse?"

    Half-Pack scurried down the hole just as blaster fire began pummeling the area. "We could not have any heavy weapons." Half-Pack said and keyed his mic.


    "Alright listen up! We have acquisition of target!"

    The white and gold commander named Vanguard was a harried spark. Tasked by Ultra Magnus to retake a key production facility, what had started out a simple field engagement was headed straight for a rout. He'd taken horrific causalities when he stumbled into the Decepticons pre-planned ambush. While his scouts were pushed back in the front, his heavy weapons had been pushed forward from the back. The result was his entire command slammed into one another and causing as much chaos as the Decepticon fire. But thanks to one intrepid spark, he at last had an outlet for his frustration.

    "Barrage!" He pointed a finger at the dark blue mech - the soul survivor of Vanguard's twelve bot Heavy Weapons team. Barrage nodded at the gesture and transformed into a impressive piece of battlefield artillery. The cannon barrel elevated slightly, circled on its axis to readjust, and let fly a gout of purple flame as the plasma round whistled through the air to detonate far away.

    The detonation must have hit something vital, because smaller explosions suddenly rippled around the horizon. Vanguard let out a cheer and brought his hand up, then down in a vicious slashing motion. Barrage - living up to his namesake - went into rapid fire mode.


    "When you care to send only the very best." Streets muttered as the world outside the foxhole went mad.

    "Barrage is a showboat." Half-Pack complained, hefting a large mini-gun. "Just you watch, we're going to have to slagging carrying him back to Iacon."

    "The scrap I am!" Streets complained, rigging the foxhole with demo charges dispensed from his lower arms. "I already kept Tailpipe from killing him after that one party."

    Half-Pack laughed in memory, his optics locked on the ridge of the foxhole. "Yeah, that femme was a little mad, wasn't she?"

    "'A little mad' he says." Streets grumbled, finishing his task and hefting a small pistol which looked comical next to Half-Pack's monstrous weapon. "Put me in the body shop for a week! Don't mess with Femmes that know Metallinko!"

    "I'll take your word for it." The pounding from the distant artillery bot was beginning to slacken. Either to commander had told him to ease up on the throttle, or he was running out of juice. Either way...

    The Decepticons knew there were Autobots in the foxhole, Half-Pack had exposed himself to them in order to get a bearing for artillery. Which meant they likely weren't going to entertain the notion of being pounded by artillery again. The first Decepticon to poke his head over the ridge was met by over a hundred depleted uranium slugs traveling at near sonic speeds in the span of three seconds. His companions were smart enough to back away, which was the only opening the two Autobots needed.

    Erupting from the foxhole in their vehicle modes, they beat a hasty retreat towards Barrage and their commander just as the charges Streets had laid out detonated, causing the Decepticons to be dazed for a moment. Unfortunately, none of them realized the explosion was a bright green color - a tracer blast designed to suck in artillery. Barrage's next plasma round landed right on top of the section leader of the Decepticon skirmishers.


    "Well, somehow I don't think this mission will be labeled a success." Vanguard remarked mildly.

    "At the same time, we have given them the Pit sir." Half-Pack pointed out quietly.

    "Oh I'm not saying we didn't do that, 'Pack." Vanguard nodded towards the rapidly approaching, and very angry, Decepticons. "But somehow, breaking through ambush lines with our motor between our axles is not the way I wanted this day to end. Especially not since we're going to lose more bots breaking free."

    "Well sir, you can't win every toss of the dice." Streets remarked, leveling a pistol shot at the enemy that went wide at this distance. "Besides, you know the old saw: 'Those who fight and run away...'"

    " to die another day." Vanguard finished grimly.

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