“Decepticon forces have engaged the Autobots in Rubigen, sir.” Battletrap reported.  His voice came through the powerful speakers flawlessly, as did the background hum of the Nemesis’ bridge.  Soundwave was rather proud of the setup, as he had designed and installed it himself.

     “Acknowledged.” He replied, reaching out and locking out the comm line.  He knew how this would play out, and did not want to have to listen to subordinates keeping up a running tally of friendly and enemy casualties.

     “So, the Autobots took the bait?”  As always, the watcher in the shadows was with him.  Not that Soundwave minded, of course.  He was often good for conversation, or spotting holes in Soundwave’s strategies.  Of course, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it, after all.

     “It would appear that way.  Honestly, I am a little surprised they swallowed it so easily.” Soundwave replied.  Reaching out, he ran his fingers down along Ravage’s back, the cassette glancing up at him with one eye before returning to sleep.  A low growl escaped his lips, replaced by a steady hum a moment later.

     “And why would they not?” the other asked.  “Those Terrans weren’t completely
incompetent, and we certainly made it look real.  No, even if he had his doubts, Optimus would still move his forces in.  He could never stand the idea of us mowing down his people.”

     “It is fortunate he reacted that way.” Soundwave replied.  “Polyhex and Viridia were nearly emptied of front-line troops for this.  Had Optimus sacrificed Rubigen, he could have decimated either of those cities.”

     “Optimus is weak.” Soundwave’s guest shot back.  “He has always lacked the warriors courage, the strength to sacrifice some for the greater good.  In the end, it will be his downfall.”  Ravage looked back as the figure let out a deep laugh, shook his head a couple of times, then dropped his head back to his paws.  Some bots you just couldn’t understand, he thought to himself.

     “We shall see.” Soundwave replied.  “For now, however, we must concentrate on the more immediate future.”  Punching a few keys, he brought up a couple of charts, and a satellite feed of the battle below.  “Estimates are that, if everything goes our way, we will still lost approximately forty percent of the troops involved.  At worst, that number can climb as high as seventy three.”  Another graph popped up, this time superimposed over a map of the Cybertronian city states.

     “As you can see, the Autobots leave more reserve troops in their sectors than we.  Which means  that, even if we are successful at Rubigen, our rear forces will be in no shape to resist a concentrated counter-attack from Autobot reserves.  And should the Rubigen force incur catastrophic losses, the Autobots may be handed a free reign.”  On the screen, each of the five major Cybertronian city-states were represented, each with a number.  That number corresponded to the total strength within the city, as a fraction of the standard strength.  The two Decepticon cities, Polyhex and Viridia, had seventeen and twenty-one, respectively.  The numbers under Cybertropolis and Crystal City, however, were much higher; thirty-three and forty, respectively.

     “Don’t put such stock in numbers, Soundwave.  When we crush Rubigen, the Autobots will be too demoralized to strike back.  We will be free to consolidate our gains.”  Soundwave sat and thought about this for a moment.  While there was a good chance that his friend was right, it could be that the Autobots, enraged over the destruction of Rubigen, would launch an all out attack.  That would be disastrous for the Decepticon forces, and the war as a whole.  The last thing Soundwave wanted was another protracted engagement.  The last war had been over four million years; he didn’t want a repeat of that fiasco.

     “Hopefully, you are correct.” Soundwave said at last.  Getting up out his seat, he walked over to a cupboard and withdrew his energon store.  He returned to his desk and sat back down, connecting the liquid energon container to the attachment, and the attachment to his arm.  As the fluid seeped into his body, he let out a breath.

     “I will never understand how you can enjoy that.” The voice said.

     “With all due respect, that is because you cannot appreciate the finer things in life.” Soundwave replied.  “Though perhaps you should try.”

     “Commander, early reports are coming in.”  Ultra Magnus, commander of Cybertropolis in Optimus Prime’s absence, turned to look at the speaker.  It was Wheeljack, one of Optimus’ most trusted advisors.  Magnus wasn’t really sure why Optimus had left him here, actually.  “And?” Ultra Magnus prompted.

     “Decepticon forces are much greater than anticipated.  The Autobot military force is outnumbered three to two, and the border has collapsed in several areas.” Wheeljack reported.  It was obvious that the advisor was distressed about the news he was forced to deliver.

     “How long can they hold out?” Magnus asked, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.  He was flabbergasted that the Decepticons could not only have had such overwhelming forces, but that they had known to use them here.  There was only one answer that Magnus could think of, and it wasn’t misinformation.  No, he feared something much worse: a traitor.  Someone in the Autobot ranks, someone high enough to know what was being planned, had gotten word to the Decepticons.  The thought outraged him, though whether it was simply because of a traitor amongst them or because he hadn’t seen it sooner he couldn’t be sure.

     “By themselves, our forces could last for approximately one day.  With Omega Supreme to provide added power, perhaps a day and a half.” Wheeljack replied.  “However, that is using a best-case scenario, and represents only the time until all units are wiped out.  It does not take into account any fundamental shifts in battle tactics or a loss of Autobot morale.”

     “They won’t break, Wheeljack.” Ultra Magnus replied, his voice making it clear that he would tolerate no dissension.  “They know what’s at stake.  And besides,” he said, “Optimus is with them.”  Which, under normal circumstances, might have been enough.  But Magnus doubted that Optimus could do more than run up the casualty figures for the Decepticons.

     “That is what I am most sorry for, commander.” Wheeljack said.

     “Sir, we’re detecting massive energy levels on the planet.”  Commodore Ross had just been getting comfortable when the comm line woke him.  Rubbing his eyes, he turned the system to voice only.  It would never due for the bridge crew to see their captain in his boxers.

     “What kind of energy levels?” Ross asked.  Reaching out, he hooked a pair of pants and a tunic and began changing into them.  “And where?  Cybertron’s small, but that’s a little too vague.”

     “Sorry sir, of course.” the voice on the other end of the line said.  “We’re registering discharges equivalent to several companies worth of troop weapons.  The location is the city-state Rubigen.”

     Rubigen, Ross thought.  There wasn’t much he knew about the place.  Light industry, standard energon production plant.  Nothing special about it, really.  So why were essentially
one third of Cybertron’s population shooting near it?

     “I see.” Ross said, struggling into his pants.  “Keep your eyes, peeled.  I’ll be up in a minute.”  Shutting down the comm line, he finally managed to hop both legs into his pants, grabbed his comm badge and hurried out of his quarters, buttoning his shirt on the way.  Something big was happening, and he wanted to know what.

     It took Ross about three minutes to get up to the bridge from his quarters normally, but this time he did it in under two.  And, he was pleasantly surprised to find, he wasn’t even winded.

     “Any change?” he demanded, lowering himself into his customary seat.  The bridges of Hegemony starships had been designed similar to those from the fictional series Star Trek.  It had been decided that placing the commander in the middle, with his subordinates each equidistant from him, was the most effective construction plan.  Of course, these bridges didn’t resemble those of the Enterprise all that much.  For one thing, there were way more people.

     “Nothing worth mentioning sir.  The two forces appear to be exchanging roughly even shots, though the defensive forces is relying heavily on their fortified defenses.”  The speaker was a new officer, transferred off one of the other ships to replace a casualty from his.  Such reminders of the losses he had suffered often kept Ross up at night, wondering if he had thrown them away needlessly.

     “All right.  Get me a line to Colonel McQueen.” Ross demanded.  The Colonel was currently based in Cybertropolis, along with the majority of his marines.  Nobody was really sure why Optimus had pulled them back, and the Autobot leader hadn’t seemed interested in explaining it to them.

     After a moment or two, the comm tech signaled that the Admiral could use one of the headsets now.  Placing it over his eye and ear, Ross was greeted with the sight of a very grim Colonel McQueen.

     “Colonel, I won’t bother with pleasantries,” Ross said.  “I need your tactical opinion on something.  What is happening at Rubigen?”

     “Off hand, sir, I’d say it’s zero hour.”  Zero hour was a Terran military term, which referred to the time at which a battle reached its peak.  It was not applied lightly, and only the most intense clashes had a designated zero hour.

     “Then why didn’t Prime bring your marines, colonel?” Ross asked.  “If he knew how important this battle would be, why leave any troops behind?”  Ross was navy, and the tactics of the groundpounders (as the marines were known) weren’t really his concern.  Of course, the groundpounders thought the same way about the jarheads (a reference to spacesuit helmets, and by extension the navy).

     “Because he’s not sure if he’s coming back, sir.” McQueen replied.  “And he wants to make sure there’ll be someone to pick up the torch if he doesn’t.”