Fanfic -- Common Cause (2/6)
Sep. 21st, 2007 04:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinTitle: Common Cause (2/6)
Rating: PG
Fandom: GI Joe and Transformers
Author's Note: Originally started for Caring Combaticons back in June 2006; takes place in approximately 1993. This story is in the same universe as my other main Transformers universe (which is not the same universe as my other GI Joe fics). Uses a mix of GI Joe cartoon and comic canon as well as my usual cherry picked Transformerly goodness.
Thanks to: CalyhexInmate, ChaosAngel, EagleEyeJoe, Newsy, Amykay73 and Nightfire99201 for beta-reading services.
Common Cause: Chapter One
Common Cause: Chapter Two:
General Hawk strode into the briefing room, heading for the podium at the front. Once there, he looked over the assembled Joes and fought hard to keep his displeasure in check.
Fourteen Joes, fifteen with me and double that many Greenshirts; plus the MOBAT and Rolling Thunder’s crews. It's not enough. We're not ready.
He snorted. Like that’s ever stopped us before. We’ll do this for the same reason we do anything, because we're the only ones who can.
"Alright," Hawk said, calling the room to attention. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. We have a Decepticon attack underway in Rhode Island. This is not a drill. We will be going in locked and loaded.” He paused. “And we’ll be going in solo.”
A murmur ran through the room. "I know, I know," Hawk said. "Orders from on top, we've got to prove we're worth the money the taxpayers have spent on us. The Autobots were told they're to stay out of this one. We're on our own, but that's nothing new. Now, for the nitty-gritty."
Behind Hawk, a viewscreen turned on, showing footage of a group of robots surrounding an office building.
"This is the Havefam toy company's corporate headquarters," Hawk said. "We're not sure why they've been singled out. They're not an energy producer and they don't have any special secret projects that would interest the Decepticons."
'Maybe Megatron wants a Mr. Tomato Head?" A chuckle ran through the room at Mainframe's joke.
"Well then, he needs to hit Toys R Us like everybody else." This time, the collective chuckle was louder. "Alright, listen up," Hawk said and the room came to attention. "It's 'know your enemy' time."
The image on the screen changed, tightening up on the robots.
"These five individuals are the Combaticons," Hawk said. "Preliminary reports have them first appearing on Earth approximately seven years ago. Apparently, they were created during an internal power struggle between the Decepticon higher-ups back in '86."
"Nice guys," Sci-fi drawled from where he slouched in his chair. "Real cuddly."
"Oh they're sweethearts alright," Hawk said, as the image of a large teal and grey robot appeared on the screen, "This is Onslaught, their leader. His alt-mode is a missile trailer. He's their strategist; he calls all the shots and as such, he'll be our primary concern."
The image on the screen changed, this time showing a reddish brown robot with a strangely flat face.
"We're lucky; current reports indicate this guy's still on the ground," Hawk said. "Blast Off is a space shuttle. In orbit, he could fry an egg on the sidewalk, which is why the Defiant is on standby just in case. Luckily, he's physically the weakest of them all. He's our secondary concern; if he tries to take off, I want him grounded, ASAP."
The next slide was a tan and purple robot with an open, friendly face.
"Do not let the smile fool you," Hawk said. "Swindle's one of the nastier of the bunch. There are rumors of him selling Decepticon technology on the international black market; we're pretty sure he's the one we have to thank for Cobra getting its hands on rail gun technology. Cover Girl, I’d like you and Grand Slam to make sure he knows just how much we appreciate that.”
Cover Girl grinned. “You got it, General. We’ll make sure he knows exactly how happy we are about that.”
Chuckling, Hawk switched slides, showing an image of a grey and black Super Seasprite helicopter. "Wild Bill, Lift-Ticket, this is your target. We'll do what we can to back you up but I think you can handle Vortex," Hawk said as the slides changed again. “Armadillo, Steeler, I want you to focus on Brawl. His alt mode is a Leopard I main battle tank. Like Onslaught, he's big and strong, but all reports I have indicate he's only slightly smarter than this podium."
“We want to keep the individual Combaticons harassed and harried. If we bother them enough, maybe, just maybe they’ll get tired of the fight and leave. If not, we may be facing this.“ Hawk paused, and then brought up the next slide. There were gasps and muffled curses from around the room as the assembled Joes looked up at the image of a giant robot, grappling with a water tower.
"As if the individual Combaticons weren’t bad enough," Hawk said. "They're also a gestalt team -- what the brain boxes at MIT and JPL call a -- what's the word, Mainframe?"
"Fusilateral-quintrocombiner," Mainframe said. "The five of them are able to combine into a larger robot -- kind of like the Protectobots, but I doubt Fugly here ever stops to help kittens out of trees."
"Hardly," Hawk said. "If they're allowed to merge into this form, our chances of survival are approximately nil. And chances are high that they will attempt combination."
"Great! Do I have time to write my mom first?" Steeler yelled, "I want to explain to her why I couldn't wear clean underwear today."
"Why should today be different from any other day, Steeler?" Cover Girl asked innocently.
Nervous giggles ran around the room, easing some of the tension.
"If they do merge," Armadillo asked, "what's the plan?"
"Stop the merge at the source," Hawk said. "Onslaught forms the torso, so if they start to form Bruticus, we'll hit him with the Rolling Thunder and the MOBAT. It may not stop them, but we can at least try to discourage them."
Hawk paused, looking out over his soldiers for what he hoped would not be the last time. "Any questions? No? Good, head out and load up. We leave for Pawtucket in fifteen minutes. Yo Joe!"
"Yo Joe!"
# # #
Onslaught surveyed the scene, feeling a certain amount of smug pride in his teammates.
So far, his plan was working splendidly. Vortex was keeping a lookout for the Joes, while Swindle and Brawl busied themselves clearing human vehicles out of the parking lot and stacking them into barricades. Blast Off stood guard near the office building, ensuring no humans were foolish enough to try to escape.
And Onslaught watched over them all, trying to contain his excitement. He hoped the Joes would arrive soon. He wanted this fight so badly his relays ached for it. The Combaticons’ last encounter with human fighters had not gone well, but this battle would prove finally that that had been only a fluke. Their victory would wash away the stain of failure.
That it would also please Megatron was a not-inconsiderable bonus. Their status was slightly more stable now, thanks to Bruticus, but anything that would keep them in Megatron’s favor and show their worth as individuals would help insure that survival.
Onslaught felt his shoulders slump slightly. Politics was an exhausting game, but there was no way he could stop playing.
# # #
General Crowther sat in his office, studying an aerial photograph of the Autobots' primary base in Oregon. The photograph had been taken using a spy satellite that only a handful of people knew existed; one with imaging equipment so advanced it could read the fine print on an insurance policy from the Moon. It should have provided a perfect opportunity to capture detailed images of the Autobots' compound with them being none the wiser and yet, the damned pictures were blurry and out of focus as if something had deliberately interfered with the cameras. Either the Autobots were on to them or they had someone truly paranoid in charge of their security.
Scowling, Crowther picked up the written report that had accompanied the photographs and skimmed it. The analysts at the Intelligence and Information Institute had done their best to make sense of the jumbled images but their best had consisted largely of guesswork and conjecture. None of which did anything to improve Crowther's mood.
The phone rang. Glancing at it, Crowther saw that it was his private line. He let it ring a second time before picking it up. "Crowther," he said. "What is it?"
"You sound cranky, Thurston." Forrest Forsythe, director of the III, sounded consolatory which only served to annoy Crowther more. "What's the matter? Gotten some bad news?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Crowther snapped back. "I've been looking at that report your people prepared for me. I could have gotten better results if I'd sent in a pack of Boy Scouts on tour."
"I've got something that should make up for the bad pictures" Forsythe chuckled. "You have a TV in that office, don't you, Thurston?
"Yes," Crowther said. "Why?"
"Turn it on and turn to CNN," Forsythe said. "There's something there that I'm pretty sure will cheer you up."
Crowther reached into a drawer for the remote and turned the TV on, leaning back in his seat as the image came into focus. On screen, a good-looking Hispanic man was sitting behind the newsreader's desk with an appropriately professional expression of detached sympathy on his face. A caption identified him as Hector Ramirez.
"Members of the GI Joe special missions team are currently engaged in a stand-off against several Decepticons," Ramirez was saying. "The Decepticons, positively identified as members of the Combaticon combiner team, initially landed at the Havefam Toys corporate headquarters. Reports from inside the building say that there are casualties but no fatalities currently."
"RAAT will be a reality before we know it," Forsythe said, sounding almost zealously smug. "And then, the robots will be handled properly. No more treaties. No more hand-outs. No more secrets."
"And the Joes will be a distant memory." Crowther chuckled. "You're right, Forsythe, this does cheer me up.”
# # #
"Prime!" Blaster turned back from Teletraan-1. "We gotta Decepticon attack on the East Coast; Combaticons are hitting an office building in Rhode Island!"
"Protectobots're in the area," Ironhide said. "We can send 'em in to help back up th' Joes. They were the team worked closest with th' humans anyway."
"No." Optimus shook his head sadly, bracing himself for the inevitable outburst and trying not to feel sick. "We've been asked to stay out of this fight.”
“What?!” Ironhide stared at Prime, open-mouthed. “Prime, that’s crazy! Th’ Joes are good but they can’t stand against the Combaticons alone! What if they merge? Never mind the Joes, we could be lookin’ at thousands of casualties!”
“The Americans do not want us getting involved,” Prime said, turning toward the viewscreen with an effort. “They want the Joes to prove themselves.” Prime held up his hands as if to ward off the others' protests. “I don’t like the idea any better than the rest of you do, but I cannot overstep my authority without seriously damaging our position.”
“Politics.” Ironhide scowled as he said the word. It wasn’t a curse; Ironhide enjoyed cursing. “It’s dirty, Optimus. Just plain dirty. The Joes deserve better’n that.”
“Need I remind you, Ironhide, we’re a minority on this planet,” Red Alert said as he stepped into the command center. “Violating this request is just the sort of thing that fuels anti-Cybertronian rhetoric. Would you really like to find yourself fighting the humans as well as the Decepticons? They’ve already shown a willingness to toss nuclear devices at each other, would you like them to start lobbing them at us?”
“You know I damn well don’t.” Ironhide’s scowl deepened. “But how’s it gonna look if we just stand back an’ let the Joes get pasted?”
“The Joes seemed perfectly capable of holding their own in the exercises I watched,” Red Alert said. “In fact, I think we taught them too much. That sort of knowledge has a way of migrating, like a virus. Just because we can trust the Joes doesn’t mean we can trust other humans.”
“So we should let ‘em die?” Ironhide looked to Optimus, his face pleading. “Let me go; you can tell ‘em I didn’t hear the order, that I went rogue. I’ll take full responsibility for what happens, Optimus, but please let me go help!”
Red Alert sniffed before Prime could answer. “Hardly acceptable,” he said. “You’re a member of our high command -- publicly known to be one of Optimus’s closest advisors -- and only a fool would believe you weren’t aware of the order.”
Ironhide’s fists clenched and Optimus knew his old friend’s temper was at the end of its tether. “He’s right,” Optimus said, reaching out to put a restraining hand on Ironhide’s shoulder. “I hate it as much as you do, but Red’s right.”
“On the other hand,” Red Alert said, continuing as if this were a normal conversation. “Hot Spot and the Protectobots are rather low-ranking soldiers. Their orders will be to observe and assist local rescue units in the area. Of course, should they rashly decide to assist the Joes rather than follow those orders, that would be a matter for internal discipline for us to handle as per the Swiss Treaty of 1986. Though I hardly think anyone could fault them for wanting to assist our adopted planet, now could they?”
Optimus felt some of the tension leave Ironhide’s frame and heard his friend let out a low chuckle. “Red, I’m glad you’re on our side,” Ironhide said. “’Cause I’d hate it if the bad guys had a mind like yours on their side.”
# # #
"Hot Spot, what's your status?" Red Alert sounded agitated, but then he almost always sounded agitated about something.
"We're just outside New Haven, Connecticut, taking a breather," Hot Spot said. "Groove wanted us to take in more of the scenery on the way back so him and Streetwise are plotting a new course for us. I'll be submitting it once they get it worked out."
"Correction," Red Alert said. "We need you to divert to Pawtucket, Rhode Island. The Combaticons are attacking."
"Not a problem," Hot Spot said. "We can take those grease balls down and still be back in time for X-Files."
"No, you're not to engage the enemy," Red Alert said. "The Joes are on scene; let them handle it. That's what their leaders want."
"That's crazy!" Hot Spot said.
"So I've been told." Red Alert's tone was dry. "Still, for the time being you are to let the Joes handle things themselves. Should the situation get out of hand, then you can step in. In the mean time, you are there only as observers and to assist any civilian law enforcement or emergency aid agencies that are on site. Is that understood?"
Hot Spot didn't answer. The Autobots weren't overly strict, but Hot Spot was pretty sure that telling Red Alert just how monstrously unfair and idiotic his orders were would rate disciplinary action. "Aye-aye, sir," he said.
"I leave it to you to determine how in control the situation is," Red Alert said. "I feel I can trust your judgment in this."
Hot Spot's optics blinked. Red Alert? Trusting him? Trusting anybody? The same Red Alert who once held Optimus Prime at gunpoint when the big guy had failed to give the right response to a security challenge? "Uhm, th-thanks Red," he said.
"You're welcome." Red Alert chuckled. "Just make sure you don't wait too long to help the Joes, understood?"
To Be Continued
Rating: PG
Fandom: GI Joe and Transformers
Author's Note: Originally started for Caring Combaticons back in June 2006; takes place in approximately 1993. This story is in the same universe as my other main Transformers universe (which is not the same universe as my other GI Joe fics). Uses a mix of GI Joe cartoon and comic canon as well as my usual cherry picked Transformerly goodness.
Thanks to: CalyhexInmate, ChaosAngel, EagleEyeJoe, Newsy, Amykay73 and Nightfire99201 for beta-reading services.
Common Cause: Chapter One
General Hawk strode into the briefing room, heading for the podium at the front. Once there, he looked over the assembled Joes and fought hard to keep his displeasure in check.
Fourteen Joes, fifteen with me and double that many Greenshirts; plus the MOBAT and Rolling Thunder’s crews. It's not enough. We're not ready.
He snorted. Like that’s ever stopped us before. We’ll do this for the same reason we do anything, because we're the only ones who can.
"Alright," Hawk said, calling the room to attention. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. We have a Decepticon attack underway in Rhode Island. This is not a drill. We will be going in locked and loaded.” He paused. “And we’ll be going in solo.”
A murmur ran through the room. "I know, I know," Hawk said. "Orders from on top, we've got to prove we're worth the money the taxpayers have spent on us. The Autobots were told they're to stay out of this one. We're on our own, but that's nothing new. Now, for the nitty-gritty."
Behind Hawk, a viewscreen turned on, showing footage of a group of robots surrounding an office building.
"This is the Havefam toy company's corporate headquarters," Hawk said. "We're not sure why they've been singled out. They're not an energy producer and they don't have any special secret projects that would interest the Decepticons."
'Maybe Megatron wants a Mr. Tomato Head?" A chuckle ran through the room at Mainframe's joke.
"Well then, he needs to hit Toys R Us like everybody else." This time, the collective chuckle was louder. "Alright, listen up," Hawk said and the room came to attention. "It's 'know your enemy' time."
The image on the screen changed, tightening up on the robots.
"These five individuals are the Combaticons," Hawk said. "Preliminary reports have them first appearing on Earth approximately seven years ago. Apparently, they were created during an internal power struggle between the Decepticon higher-ups back in '86."
"Nice guys," Sci-fi drawled from where he slouched in his chair. "Real cuddly."
"Oh they're sweethearts alright," Hawk said, as the image of a large teal and grey robot appeared on the screen, "This is Onslaught, their leader. His alt-mode is a missile trailer. He's their strategist; he calls all the shots and as such, he'll be our primary concern."
The image on the screen changed, this time showing a reddish brown robot with a strangely flat face.
"We're lucky; current reports indicate this guy's still on the ground," Hawk said. "Blast Off is a space shuttle. In orbit, he could fry an egg on the sidewalk, which is why the Defiant is on standby just in case. Luckily, he's physically the weakest of them all. He's our secondary concern; if he tries to take off, I want him grounded, ASAP."
The next slide was a tan and purple robot with an open, friendly face.
"Do not let the smile fool you," Hawk said. "Swindle's one of the nastier of the bunch. There are rumors of him selling Decepticon technology on the international black market; we're pretty sure he's the one we have to thank for Cobra getting its hands on rail gun technology. Cover Girl, I’d like you and Grand Slam to make sure he knows just how much we appreciate that.”
Cover Girl grinned. “You got it, General. We’ll make sure he knows exactly how happy we are about that.”
Chuckling, Hawk switched slides, showing an image of a grey and black Super Seasprite helicopter. "Wild Bill, Lift-Ticket, this is your target. We'll do what we can to back you up but I think you can handle Vortex," Hawk said as the slides changed again. “Armadillo, Steeler, I want you to focus on Brawl. His alt mode is a Leopard I main battle tank. Like Onslaught, he's big and strong, but all reports I have indicate he's only slightly smarter than this podium."
“We want to keep the individual Combaticons harassed and harried. If we bother them enough, maybe, just maybe they’ll get tired of the fight and leave. If not, we may be facing this.“ Hawk paused, and then brought up the next slide. There were gasps and muffled curses from around the room as the assembled Joes looked up at the image of a giant robot, grappling with a water tower.
"As if the individual Combaticons weren’t bad enough," Hawk said. "They're also a gestalt team -- what the brain boxes at MIT and JPL call a -- what's the word, Mainframe?"
"Fusilateral-quintrocombiner," Mainframe said. "The five of them are able to combine into a larger robot -- kind of like the Protectobots, but I doubt Fugly here ever stops to help kittens out of trees."
"Hardly," Hawk said. "If they're allowed to merge into this form, our chances of survival are approximately nil. And chances are high that they will attempt combination."
"Great! Do I have time to write my mom first?" Steeler yelled, "I want to explain to her why I couldn't wear clean underwear today."
"Why should today be different from any other day, Steeler?" Cover Girl asked innocently.
Nervous giggles ran around the room, easing some of the tension.
"If they do merge," Armadillo asked, "what's the plan?"
"Stop the merge at the source," Hawk said. "Onslaught forms the torso, so if they start to form Bruticus, we'll hit him with the Rolling Thunder and the MOBAT. It may not stop them, but we can at least try to discourage them."
Hawk paused, looking out over his soldiers for what he hoped would not be the last time. "Any questions? No? Good, head out and load up. We leave for Pawtucket in fifteen minutes. Yo Joe!"
"Yo Joe!"
Onslaught surveyed the scene, feeling a certain amount of smug pride in his teammates.
So far, his plan was working splendidly. Vortex was keeping a lookout for the Joes, while Swindle and Brawl busied themselves clearing human vehicles out of the parking lot and stacking them into barricades. Blast Off stood guard near the office building, ensuring no humans were foolish enough to try to escape.
And Onslaught watched over them all, trying to contain his excitement. He hoped the Joes would arrive soon. He wanted this fight so badly his relays ached for it. The Combaticons’ last encounter with human fighters had not gone well, but this battle would prove finally that that had been only a fluke. Their victory would wash away the stain of failure.
That it would also please Megatron was a not-inconsiderable bonus. Their status was slightly more stable now, thanks to Bruticus, but anything that would keep them in Megatron’s favor and show their worth as individuals would help insure that survival.
Onslaught felt his shoulders slump slightly. Politics was an exhausting game, but there was no way he could stop playing.
General Crowther sat in his office, studying an aerial photograph of the Autobots' primary base in Oregon. The photograph had been taken using a spy satellite that only a handful of people knew existed; one with imaging equipment so advanced it could read the fine print on an insurance policy from the Moon. It should have provided a perfect opportunity to capture detailed images of the Autobots' compound with them being none the wiser and yet, the damned pictures were blurry and out of focus as if something had deliberately interfered with the cameras. Either the Autobots were on to them or they had someone truly paranoid in charge of their security.
Scowling, Crowther picked up the written report that had accompanied the photographs and skimmed it. The analysts at the Intelligence and Information Institute had done their best to make sense of the jumbled images but their best had consisted largely of guesswork and conjecture. None of which did anything to improve Crowther's mood.
The phone rang. Glancing at it, Crowther saw that it was his private line. He let it ring a second time before picking it up. "Crowther," he said. "What is it?"
"You sound cranky, Thurston." Forrest Forsythe, director of the III, sounded consolatory which only served to annoy Crowther more. "What's the matter? Gotten some bad news?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Crowther snapped back. "I've been looking at that report your people prepared for me. I could have gotten better results if I'd sent in a pack of Boy Scouts on tour."
"I've got something that should make up for the bad pictures" Forsythe chuckled. "You have a TV in that office, don't you, Thurston?
"Yes," Crowther said. "Why?"
"Turn it on and turn to CNN," Forsythe said. "There's something there that I'm pretty sure will cheer you up."
Crowther reached into a drawer for the remote and turned the TV on, leaning back in his seat as the image came into focus. On screen, a good-looking Hispanic man was sitting behind the newsreader's desk with an appropriately professional expression of detached sympathy on his face. A caption identified him as Hector Ramirez.
"Members of the GI Joe special missions team are currently engaged in a stand-off against several Decepticons," Ramirez was saying. "The Decepticons, positively identified as members of the Combaticon combiner team, initially landed at the Havefam Toys corporate headquarters. Reports from inside the building say that there are casualties but no fatalities currently."
"RAAT will be a reality before we know it," Forsythe said, sounding almost zealously smug. "And then, the robots will be handled properly. No more treaties. No more hand-outs. No more secrets."
"And the Joes will be a distant memory." Crowther chuckled. "You're right, Forsythe, this does cheer me up.”
"Prime!" Blaster turned back from Teletraan-1. "We gotta Decepticon attack on the East Coast; Combaticons are hitting an office building in Rhode Island!"
"Protectobots're in the area," Ironhide said. "We can send 'em in to help back up th' Joes. They were the team worked closest with th' humans anyway."
"No." Optimus shook his head sadly, bracing himself for the inevitable outburst and trying not to feel sick. "We've been asked to stay out of this fight.”
“What?!” Ironhide stared at Prime, open-mouthed. “Prime, that’s crazy! Th’ Joes are good but they can’t stand against the Combaticons alone! What if they merge? Never mind the Joes, we could be lookin’ at thousands of casualties!”
“The Americans do not want us getting involved,” Prime said, turning toward the viewscreen with an effort. “They want the Joes to prove themselves.” Prime held up his hands as if to ward off the others' protests. “I don’t like the idea any better than the rest of you do, but I cannot overstep my authority without seriously damaging our position.”
“Politics.” Ironhide scowled as he said the word. It wasn’t a curse; Ironhide enjoyed cursing. “It’s dirty, Optimus. Just plain dirty. The Joes deserve better’n that.”
“Need I remind you, Ironhide, we’re a minority on this planet,” Red Alert said as he stepped into the command center. “Violating this request is just the sort of thing that fuels anti-Cybertronian rhetoric. Would you really like to find yourself fighting the humans as well as the Decepticons? They’ve already shown a willingness to toss nuclear devices at each other, would you like them to start lobbing them at us?”
“You know I damn well don’t.” Ironhide’s scowl deepened. “But how’s it gonna look if we just stand back an’ let the Joes get pasted?”
“The Joes seemed perfectly capable of holding their own in the exercises I watched,” Red Alert said. “In fact, I think we taught them too much. That sort of knowledge has a way of migrating, like a virus. Just because we can trust the Joes doesn’t mean we can trust other humans.”
“So we should let ‘em die?” Ironhide looked to Optimus, his face pleading. “Let me go; you can tell ‘em I didn’t hear the order, that I went rogue. I’ll take full responsibility for what happens, Optimus, but please let me go help!”
Red Alert sniffed before Prime could answer. “Hardly acceptable,” he said. “You’re a member of our high command -- publicly known to be one of Optimus’s closest advisors -- and only a fool would believe you weren’t aware of the order.”
Ironhide’s fists clenched and Optimus knew his old friend’s temper was at the end of its tether. “He’s right,” Optimus said, reaching out to put a restraining hand on Ironhide’s shoulder. “I hate it as much as you do, but Red’s right.”
“On the other hand,” Red Alert said, continuing as if this were a normal conversation. “Hot Spot and the Protectobots are rather low-ranking soldiers. Their orders will be to observe and assist local rescue units in the area. Of course, should they rashly decide to assist the Joes rather than follow those orders, that would be a matter for internal discipline for us to handle as per the Swiss Treaty of 1986. Though I hardly think anyone could fault them for wanting to assist our adopted planet, now could they?”
Optimus felt some of the tension leave Ironhide’s frame and heard his friend let out a low chuckle. “Red, I’m glad you’re on our side,” Ironhide said. “’Cause I’d hate it if the bad guys had a mind like yours on their side.”
"Hot Spot, what's your status?" Red Alert sounded agitated, but then he almost always sounded agitated about something.
"We're just outside New Haven, Connecticut, taking a breather," Hot Spot said. "Groove wanted us to take in more of the scenery on the way back so him and Streetwise are plotting a new course for us. I'll be submitting it once they get it worked out."
"Correction," Red Alert said. "We need you to divert to Pawtucket, Rhode Island. The Combaticons are attacking."
"Not a problem," Hot Spot said. "We can take those grease balls down and still be back in time for X-Files."
"No, you're not to engage the enemy," Red Alert said. "The Joes are on scene; let them handle it. That's what their leaders want."
"That's crazy!" Hot Spot said.
"So I've been told." Red Alert's tone was dry. "Still, for the time being you are to let the Joes handle things themselves. Should the situation get out of hand, then you can step in. In the mean time, you are there only as observers and to assist any civilian law enforcement or emergency aid agencies that are on site. Is that understood?"
Hot Spot didn't answer. The Autobots weren't overly strict, but Hot Spot was pretty sure that telling Red Alert just how monstrously unfair and idiotic his orders were would rate disciplinary action. "Aye-aye, sir," he said.
"I leave it to you to determine how in control the situation is," Red Alert said. "I feel I can trust your judgment in this."
Hot Spot's optics blinked. Red Alert? Trusting him? Trusting anybody? The same Red Alert who once held Optimus Prime at gunpoint when the big guy had failed to give the right response to a security challenge? "Uhm, th-thanks Red," he said.
"You're welcome." Red Alert chuckled. "Just make sure you don't wait too long to help the Joes, understood?"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-21 10:22 am (UTC)looking forward to the rest of it
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-21 02:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-21 06:00 pm (UTC)Yo Joe! Go Protectos! XD
(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-23 06:40 pm (UTC)*snicker* Havefam toys? I wonder if they make morphing robots and war toys of some kind?