The Decepticon soldiers were just recovering from the carnage caused when Punch and Backstreet burst out, weapons blazing, in their vehicle modes, when Dogfight followed suite.  He scattered the few who had ventured close, and his and Kobal’s weapons managed to drive back anyone else.  Unfortunately, due to their relative sizes, Dogfight was unable to get Kobal into his cockpit.  Which meant that the badly wounded Autobot was forced to hang off the back of Dogfight.

     “How you holding up back there, Kobal?”  Dogfight asked.  To tell the truth, he was a little worried about the bot.  That wound had looked pretty bad, and the last thing he needed was to be hanging on for dear life.  Dogfight only hoped that there were no airborne Decepticons around who could take advantage of this problem.  A hope that was shattered in a few moments.  Behind him, he could see a trio of aircraft lifting off, two jets and a helicopter.
They were vicious looking, and he had no doubt their temperament matched their appearance.  “Hold tight, kid.” he said, before wheeling madly to the left.

     Beneath them, the ground seemed to rush up at them as Dogfight pitched left and right, up and down, in a desperate attempt to avoid the lasers and missiles the three pursuers were launching at them.  He was thankful that Viridia was built rather crowded, as he could use buildings to break up the trio for most of it, but he always had at least one bogey behind him.  On his back, he could feel Kobal desperately wrapping his legs around Dogfight’s tail, and his hands digging into the metal of his hull.  Usually he would be upset, but this was a special case.  He only hoped the kid could hold out until he got them back.

     With a shudder, Dogfight barely dodged a rocket, which streaked past under him.  However, this had been anticipated, and he was now directly in the flight path of a stream of laser energy.  He banked frantically to the left, but he could still feel the armour on his underside bubble and melt.  His landing gear, he just remembered, was down there.  Swell.

     “You alright, Dogfight?” Kobal asked.  He was worried that his added weight was slowing him down, perhaps dooming them both in the process.  If only he’d gotten an alternate mode earlier!

     “A little scraped, not that bad though.” Dogfight replied, taking his mind off his pursuers for a second to respond.  “But we could be in trouble if we don’t get out of here fast.  Hold tight!”  Barely giving Kobal enough time to comply, Dogfight turned his power plant up to full, his exhaust port beginning to soften a little from the unprecedented power he was routing into his thrusters.  He rocketed ahead, leaving all but one of his attackers far behind.  The last one, a lack and grey jet, tried the same move, managing to keep pace with Dogfight.  However, it seemed that he was inexperienced at moving at such high speeds.  Trying to pull up to avoid a low hanging piece of rubble, he lost control, spiralling back and down to slam into the ground far below.

     “Looks like we lost ‘em, kid.” Dogfight said, throttling back a little now.  Kobal, however, didn’t respond.  Worried, Dogfight slowed even more, and diverted extra power to his scanners, doing a sweep of Kobal.  The news wasn’t good.  That extra burst of speed had thrown him back against the fin, pinning him there and crushing his left hip actuator.  At the same time, the stresses of the flight had added to the damage he’d suffered, his interior damage control quickly forcing stasis lock.  His hold now was precarious, and Dogfight would have to be very careful not to toss him off accidentally.

     “Just hand on, kid,” Dogfight muttered as he flew along, keeping low to decrease the risk of being spotted. “I’ll get you home safe.”  For the first time, Dogfight realised just how truly dangerous his thinking style was.  Kobal had been shot after he rushed into an unknown situation with his weapons blazing, something Dogfight was rather notorious for.  He couldn’t shake a disturbing feeling that it was simply blind luck that had led Kobal into that room first, and not him.  It was a sobering thought, he found.

     Back at the Terran/Transformer outpost, Cable, Chamber, Backstreet and Warpath were lounging around the main gate.  After their return, Ironhide had chewed them out for at  least half an hour, and then had Punch spirited back to Cybertropolis.  He had then suspended the quartet from duty, and warned them that Optimus might do even worse when garrison duty was complete.  Feeling just a little dejected, they had trooped out to the entrance, watching the horizon for any sign of Dogfight and Kobal.

     “So, assuming we’re still free bots when this is over, what are you guys going to do?” Cable asked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat.  The absence of Dogfight and Kobal left them feeling rather sombre, especially considering Kobal’s condition when Backstreet last saw them.  “Me, I’m going to go back to my studies.  I’m working on a comparison of Transformer and Terran societal development.”

     “Odds are good that this won’t be the last time Optimus needs troops.” Backstreet said.  “I’ll probably stick around, work with the Military.”  He was leaning against the wall, his fingers laced behind his head.  “Same here.” Warpath said from beside him, looking up from polishing his gun turret.  “I just hope the next time we can get some backup.”  The others signalled their agreement; a mad dash from enemy territory with no one to watch your back wasn’t exactly their idea of a good time.

     Last to answer was Chamber, and he took a while before saying anything.  The massive Autobot was content to sit here and soak up the sun, but in time, he spoke up.  “The army, I think.  I was never suited to peace.  To much the old war-horse, I suppose.”  Backstreet nodded, feeling a little kinship with Chamber right now.  It seemed there were those who just couldn’t let it all go.

     None of them spoke again for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.  In the end, it was Backstreet who broke the silence.

     “It’s hot.”

     “Slag them!” Motormaster thundered, backhanding an soldier who just happened to be nearby.  “Not only did they succeed in taking Punch out from under our noses, but one of them killed Dead End!  Now I’ve lost the status Menasor afforded me.  I’ll destroy them!”  He was beyond enraged, and not simply at Dead End, and by extension, Menasor, being destroyed.  He could easily have been the target of that assassin.  In the blink of an eye, he could have been dead, wiped from the face of the planet without the chance to fight back.  It was disturbing to him to know he was so vulnerable, and that fear transferred into rage.

     “Send a message to Hook and Snaptrap.” he said, calming down slightly.  “Tell them that we will be launching a counter-strike against the Autobot forces camped with the Terrans outside of Viridia.  Make sure you use those words, ‘counter-strike’.”  The young soldier he had been talking to saluted and hurried away, anxious not to take another shot from Motormaster.

     “But what about Soundwave?” Breakdown asked, stepping forward.  The Stunticon scout had been nearest Dead End when he exploded, and was covered in mechfluid and scorch marks.  “Shouldn’t you inform him as well?”

     “What would be the point?  All he ever does is float up there, cut off and unconcerned.”  Motormaster started back towards the command centre of Viridia.  “No, he’s lost his chance to be part of this.  He made his decision, now we will make ours.  Drag Strip?”  Another Stunticon hurried forward to stand beside his leader, his personal dislike submerged for the common good.

     “I want you to marshal the troops.  I will personally be leading the assault on the enemy base.  Be prepared to move within the next twelve hours.”  Without waiting, Motormaster transformed and sped off, with Breakdown trying to catch up with him.  Behind them, Drag Strip hurried to converse with the captains of the city’s forces.  Motormaster had asked something exceedingly difficult, and was not known for his understanding.

     “By now, Motormaster will have declared war, no doubt.” The shadowed voice said.  In front of it was Soundwave, sitting at his desk and watching a satellite feed.  It showed the events of Viridia, and was at the time when Dogfight had punched up his engine, outrunning all pursuing craft.

     “Indeed.” Soundwave replied, shutting down the playback.  “Utterly predictable, and totally foolish.  Had he simply waited for it all to come together… but of course, the Stunticons are far from patient.  Especially their leader.”  Pushing back, Soundwave stood and looked out at the ships within the spacedock.  The Gladiator and the Assail were now completed, and awaiting a crew.  The Nemesis was still a few days from being ready, with most of the software still being installed.  Though that might sound like a relatively minor job, people often forgot just how many routines and sub-routines ships had to have for even simple things like engine control and life support.  For capitol ships, extra programs were needed so that the commander could co-ordinate multiple ships at once, and for command vessels, whole extra computer banks were often needed.

     “And the Autobots will fight back, correct?”

     “Of course.  There are too many who remember the war days, too many who are ill at ease during peace.  Optimus will order forces out to the border, forces Motormaster will engage at will.  Like a tiny flaw in a calculation, the effects will spread, until Cybertron is engulfed in war.”  For the fourth time, he added to himself.  He wondered just how many more wars would be fought over this planet, how many commanders would order their men to die for Polyhex, or Viridia?  How many Autobots would his forces slaughter before they had slaked their thirst?  “I estimate that, within a month, major engagements will be fought along the border.  However, my calculations are rather unstable due to the Terran wild card.  I am unable to accurately deduce what they will do with more than an 86% accuracy rating.
Terrans are simply too erratic.”

     “Then we should remove them from the equation.  Signal your personal forces to make the elimination of the Terrans a prime goal.  Perhaps an orbital bombardment would be in order.”

     Punching up some calculations, Soundwave found a rather interesting side effect.  “Motormaster’s forces will be in the vicinity   An orbital bombardment, even assuming excellent execution, will result in at least 82% casualties, including Motormaster himself.”  If he’d had a mouth, he would have smiled quite evilly.  As it was, he contented himself with some gloating.  “It would seem that Motormaster may yet prove worthwhile to me.”