Never Give Up - Part 5 of 12
Title: Never Give Up
'verse: G1
Rating: T/PG-13
Length: 50k, 12 chapters
Characters: Jazz, Prowl, ensemble
Warnings: angst, cybertronian profanity, mild Prowl/Jazz, violence
Chapter 5
The large mech cowered on the ground in front of the throne, plating dented and faceplate downcast in submission. It was, Soundwave mused, a familiar sight.
On the throne beside him, Megatron snarled, as much in rejection of his own, similar thought as in response to Shockwave's obeisance. Soundwave could perceive the patterns passing through the warlord's processor. Lord Megatron would never admit to a certain nostalgia, or the momentary glitch that placed an image of vivid red and white wings before his optics rather than dull purple plating.
The telepath considered the overheard thought, wondering whether it was time to arrange for Starscream's return. Megatron seemed ready for it, and for all his arrogance, Starscream was a good bit more predictable and easier to manipulate than the purple-clad Cybertronian who'd replaced him. Shockwave was too skilled at resisting Soundwave's probes, too much a blank slate for comfort. Already, the telepath's ignorance of Shockwave's plotting had almost cost him dear.
Soundwave resisted the urge to vent a sigh, sending a wave of comfort and reassurance through his resting cassettes. His preferences didn't matter here. Only one voice held any weight in this throne room. Only one mech's will would prevail.
Megatron leaned forward in his throne. His red optics burned with anger and impatience, but his voice was a level growl.
"You promised me results, Shockwave. You promised me all the Autobots' secrets in my servos."
"I stand by my words, Lord Megatron." The Decepticon commander of Cybertron would never whimper, Soundwave gave him that much credit. His refined accent stopped his voice short of begging but, even with his thoughts concealed from view, a note of desperation ran through his obsequious tone. "I ask your indulgence only a little longer."
Megatron's helm set his features in a permanent scowl. Now the line of his lips and the fire in his optics turned the expression from intimidating to truly threatening. Shockwave might be a blank slate, but Megatron was an open book - his rudimentary defences against telepathy useless when set against his deep familiarity to his communications officer. Soundwave scarcely needed to listen to his Lord, to know that he was fuming. The dictator had shot Starscream for shorter delays than this. The audacity of the Seeker's plans had never been an excuse. Decepticons delivered or they paid the price. Shockwave was no exception to that rule, and the mono-opticed mech knew it.
"Already the Autobots are shaken, demoralised and irrational - as I intended." Shockwave paused, glancing in Soundwave's direction when the cassette host took a step forward, fists clenched. Megatron glared at them both, raising a hand to still his angry communications officer and beckoning for the grovelling lieutenant to continue. Shockwave lowered his helm. "My Lord, I am ever your obedient servant. Have I not served you loyally through all the long vorns, holding true to my Lord and his cause? Have I not fought the Autobots on Cybertron - "
"Pah!" Megatron cut through the recitation with the wave of one hand. "Dregs! Empties! Do not compare those pitiful remnants with the warriors under Prime's command." He frowned and his finger-servos rapped out a harsh rhythm against the arms of his throne. The enemy was underestimated at their peril… as Shockwave was learning.
Soundwave shifted from his frozen stance. The movement drew Megatron's attention, and he half-turned to see his lieutenant gazing thoughtfully between the protagonists in this familiar drama. Soundwave frowned behind his blast-mask. With Rumble's report cycling through his processor, he took a chance.
"Autobot Jazz: formidable adversary."
Shockwave hissed, his mask of submission faltering for a moment as his single optic flicked up to meet his rival's visor. After his long efforts to keep all but his leader ignorant of his activities, the mech's frustration was unsurprising.
Where Shockwave fumed, Megatron smirked. Cybertron's long-term commander might not recognise Soundwave taking a shot in the dark, but the warlord knew his lieutenant better. Soundwave was pressing for information and pressing hard. The dark blue telepath's demeanour didn't change, but one hand rose until servo-tips rested on his chest compartment. He never pretended to be as stoic as his voice suggested. He could be volatile when his cassettes were injured, and after the debacle at the generator plant, he would have his answers. Here and now, very few secrets were safe on the Nemesis. Breaking Shockwave's was only the first and most satisfying step.
It wasn't possible for a featureless faceplate to scowl. Shockwave's anger was written through his body language and in the flare of spark-resonant emotion that escaped through his interference algorithms.
"The Autobot will yield his secrets! Nonetheless," he conceded with obvious reluctance, "he continues to resist. Such spark-deep strength of will is… unexpected."
"Jazz: third in command, Head of Special Operations." There was a certain smugness to Soundwave's drone and Megatron stifled a harsh laugh, amused by the sniping between his subordinates. Soundwave folded his arms across his chest. "Resistance to torture: unsurprising. Interrogation plan: flawed."
The reaction to his assertion was unexpected. Shockwave seemed, if anything, satisfied. Megatron was uneasy, the uncharacteristic doubts Soundwave had sensed since Shockwave's arrival coalescing and escaping the warlord's firewalls. For the first time, Soundwave saw an image of a metal box, of a naked spark chamber and the small cluster of crystalline personality components mounted beside it. A choked cry escaped him, part-horror and part-revulsion.
He didn't care for his Autobot counterpart. He'd lost companions and suffered more injuries than he could count at the hands of the saboteur. Twice, those losses had come at a price to the Autobot too; Soundwave had presided over capture and interrogation of his own, and knew better than most the strength that lay at Jazz's core. He'd happily extinguish the mech on the battlefield, with respect and the honour at the heart of the Decepticon cause. But to see that bold warrior's spark so exposed…?
The confused thoughts of his cassettes clamoured for an explanation of his turbulent emotions, Rumble's touch still tinged with pain. Soundwave stilled them with a silent order, letting no other hint of his dismay show beyond a brief flare of his visor.
Shockwave's anger faded into a cold pleasure, evidently guessing what Soundwave had overheard. The purple mech still knelt before his Lord's throne, but his optic was on the telepath.
"On the contrary, Soundwave, my strategy is extremely effective."
Soundwave forced down his anger and disgust, red visor turning towards their angry leader. "The evidence suggests otherwise."
Shockwave growled at him, glancing up at Megatron before lowering his single optic. "The Autobot will yield. I will force his spark to stabilise and decode his memory storage crystals, to read at my leisure." He glanced up again as their warlord shifted on his throne. "I refer, of course, to your leisure, my Lord. Please, I only ask for a short time longer…"
Megatron frowned, his expression dissatisfied but his optics bright with avarice. "Do not fail me." Shockwave's back-struts stiffened with relief, and Soundwave's with disappointment. Neither mech made a sound. "I expect results, Shockwave, not excuses," Megatron warned. A slender grey hand waved in dismissal, before arresting his subordinate's movement with a single sharp gesture. "My patience is not inexhaustible, Shockwave. Test it much further and I will end this… abomination once and for all."
Shockwave nodded, fleeing before Lord Megatron could change his mind. Soundwave's exit was more graceful but very nearly as rapid. He reached out as he stalked the halls, summoning the absent cassettes back to his side. Letting them roam a base where the purple scientist worked without restraint was no longer an option.
The call to battle stations was not unusual. To arrive in the control room to find Teletraan-I quiet and the airwaves free of distress calls - human or Autobot - well, that was. The mechs of the Ark's crew milled around, their officers waiting until all were assembled before speaking. The lack of urgency was telling. Excitement rose between the mechs like something tangible and infectious. Sunstreaker crossed his arms, scowling to stop his own from showing.
If they weren't responding to an urgent call for help, then they were initiating something themselves. That had happened far too slagging rarely since they reached Earth in Sunstreaker's opinion. Sure, he understood the officers' reluctance to go on the offensive. It was hard even to take a step on this world without stepping on a native organic. Every battle risked more collateral damage than even Sunny could swallow. That didn't mean he had to like the situation.
That Optimus Prime was prepared to take such a risk now said louder than words what Jazz had meant to him.
~Too slagging right~
Sideswipe's thought came sharp through the bond between the twins. His brother's optics followed Sunstreaker's, and he could feel the anger, pain and excitement spilling from Sides' spark in equal measure. The red warrior was bouncing on his pedes, his weapon already in his hand as he anticipated the clash ahead. Sunny echoed his brother's roiling emotions, but beneath them a shiver of concern was starting to grow. The yellow-clad twin would deny it if asked, and fight anyone who so much as suggested it, but he knew his brother wasn't dealing well.
He wasn't the only one. Prime's masked face showed nothing, but Ironhide looked grim, and Ratchet's scowl was deeper than Sunstreaker had seen it since Sideswipe was last laid out on the medic's table. If anything, the two officers looked more sombre even than they had in the Rec Room over the last few days. Perhaps the comfort they'd taken in sharing their memories and stories of Jazz had drained away with the high-grade. Or maybe prospect of battle was simply bringing the gap in their ranks home to them.
Sunstreaker shuttered his optics as the extent of their loss struck him once again, and ricocheted through him to make Sideswipe gasp. Anger and disbelief still dominated over the grief for them both. Jazz was more than a well-respected commanding officer to the twins. He had been Sideswipe's partner in crime almost since they arrived in Prime's unit, a friend to them both without agenda or expectation. They'd lost comrades before, sure, but the twins picked their friends carefully; losing one now hurt more than they'd ever expected. Jazz was one of the most dangerous mechs in the Ark - one of the few even Sunny wouldn't pick a fight with. He shouldn't have gone so quickly or so quietly. He shouldn't have died alone, and he sure as slag wouldn't have expected his death to be hushed up, leaving the twins frustrated and wondering, each scenario they imagined worse than the last.
Sunstreaker's art was a well-hidden secret, and Sideswipe always made his pranking seem effortless, but the imagination that lay behind both was far too vivid for comfort.
Sideswipe growled, the subsonic note rumbling through his twin brother's armour. Some of the mechs in the room shifted, instinct making them uneasy, and the empty area around the twins spread a little wider. Even Prowl glanced in their direction, his faceplates impassive but his door-wings held high and tense. Cursing the reversal, Sunstreaker caught his brother's arm, holding tight and pouring every calming thought he could muster into their bond.
The twins were used to hitting the front of battle with wild abandon, allowing their violent emotions free rein. They couldn't afford that today. Jazz had been one of the officers who taught Sunstreaker that his smouldering anger could be a weapon for him to shape and wield. The blind fury and desire for revenge that spilled off Sideswipe now, and came close to overwhelming Sunny himself at times, was too powerful to be controlled like that. It could get them both killed.
~Not going to happen~
Sunstreaker nodded in response to his twin's curt assertion. At the least it meant that his brother was still thinking coherent thoughts, and that was more than he'd suspected a half-breem before.
Sideswipe rocked back on his pedes, his shoulder nudging his brother's chest-plate. It was a gesture Sunstreaker was more accustomed to giving than receiving, a reminder of the promise they'd made to each other back in the gladiator pits: if any sparks were going to pay the price for their screwed up lives, it wasn't going to be theirs.
Sideswipe banked his emotions, stilling the spillover into his twin. Sunstreaker didn't relax, he knew his brother too well for that, but he took the hint. His restless optics roved the room, his own battle-urge rising as the need to balance out Sideswipe's faded.
The crew were restless, the temperature rising as weapon systems warmed and mechs fumed quietly amidst the crowd. Every mech aboard had to be here. Or at least Sunstreaker assumed so until his automatic scan of the room for his brother's horribly-clashing minibot came up empty. A moment later, he realised Mirage was missing too, although the arrogant spy could be standing at his shoulder smirking at him for all Sunstreaker knew.
He was still frowning over the curious absences when Prime stepped forward. At least Optimus spared them the speeches today. His bald statement that they were going to draw the Decepticons out contained no hint of why, or statement of their ultimate goal. He left the crew to fill in the gaps for themselves, but the motive behind this assault was all too easy to guess.
Maybe that's why Prowl's door-wings were twitching with the subtle flicks the twins easily read as disapproval? Perhaps Prowl really was noble enough to censure acts of revenge for Jazz's sake, even if Prime had yielded to temptation. Sunstreaker frowned, errant Ops mechs forgotten as the thought made his tanks roil uneasily. Their second had turned out revised schedules and duty rosters with a stoic façade that had half the crew convinced, but, one buttoned-up mech to another, it was pretty slagging clear that Prowl was beyond devastated. The twins had forced reactions from him too often and across too diverse a range of emotion not to recognise what they saw. Prowl knew Jazz, and what he would want, better than anyone. For him to be the one hesitating now…
Sideswipe's fury scorched his twin from the inside out, and Sunstreaker's fists tightened around thin air as if around a cassette's scrawny neck. Nonetheless, the subtle looks of frustration and outright anger Prowl threw Optimus Prime's way gave them both pause.
~What the slag?~ Sideswipe snarled the question through their bond ~Doesn't he want to avenge Jazz?~
~'Cause revenge is just such an Autobot thing~ Uncertainty translated as sarcasm. Sunstreaker forced air through his vents, his thought softer as he went on. ~Can't help noticing 'Bee and Mirage aren't first in the battle line either. Maybe they reckon Jazz wouldn't want it?~
~That's the thing, Sunshine. Jazz doesn't get a vote because he isn't slagging here
There was nothing to say to that. Sunstreaker just glared as Sideswipe put a few steps between them. Then Prime was ordering them to roll out. In the midst of the noise and rapid transformations, no one noticed Sunstreaker sidle closer to their officers, and no one except the front-liner overheard the uncharacteristic, fierce whisper from Prowl to his Prime.
"You should have let me go!"
Prime's response was firm, uncompromising. "You are needed here."
"Sunstreaker, Sideswipe!" Ironhide was taking the roll-call, his voice gruff and harsh where Jazz's had been smooth and melodic. Sunstreaker grunted an acknowledgement, his brother echoing him rather than making his usual cheery response.
Ironhide fixed them with a glare, sending a data-packet of orders their way before moving on. Still reeling from hearing their Prime and his second-in-command so at odds, it was several seconds before Sunstreaker bothered to check them out.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were silent well into the long drive, both mulling over the orders that assigned them as bodyguards, putting them close at their second's side through the battle ahead. Sideswipe's flare of irritation at being taken off the front-line faded almost as quickly as Sunstreaker's own. Prowl's whisper rang over and over through Sunstreaker's processor, echoing into his brother's.
You should have let me go.
It could have meant many things, and their processors dwelled on the possibilities, and on the constraints their bodyguard role would place upon them in the upcoming skirmish. It wouldn't be a comfortable situation. Sure, they couldn't afford to lose another officer, not so soon, but Sunstreaker couldn't help wondering just who they were meant to protect the tactician from: the Decepticons, or Prowl himself.
"Cliffjumper, Brawn, Windcharger: relocate two klicks at bearing eight-four degrees. Engage Decepticon forces threatening Wheeljack."
Prowl kept his voice level despite the urgency of his transmission. He didn't wait for an acknowledgement from the minibots before moving on, his optics constantly searching the battlefield for problems and potential solutions.
Away to his left, Optimus Prime was confronting Megatron, as normal. To his right, Wheeljack's position came under renewed threat as Soundwave moved forces to counter Prowl's. The Autobot engineer threw a worried glance in Prowl's direction, before bending back over the experimental device he'd brought from his lab, prodding at it in a way that made even the logical tactician wince.
Wheeljack's presence on the battlefield was always too unpredictable a threat for the Decepticons to overlook. Wheeljack fiddling with a device this large had even his fellow Autobots giving him a wide berth.
In any usual battle Starscream would be buzzing the engineer's position by now, making a scientific assessment of the risk and telling the other Decepticons when it was time to vacate the area - if only by rapidly-fleeing example. In Starscream's absence, that role would have to be taken by…
Prowl's door-wings jerked upwards, quivering with tension as a large, purple-clad mech made his appearance on the battlefield. The Decepticon scientist strode towards Wheeljack's position like the onset of unstoppable doom. Shockwave's single, golden optic slid past the engaged armies with a disdain and dispassion that chilled the energon in Prowl's lines. The mech's gun-former alt mode was all too apparent in his blocky frame. Left to transform, Megatron's lieutenant could unleash a destructive power that rivalled the warlord's own, and unlike Starscream or Soundwave he could not be distracted by threats to others he cared about. It was widely rumoured that not even Megatron himself fell into that category.
To Prowl's knowledge, Autobot forces had lost sixty-nine point four percent of all engagements involving the Decepticon lieutenant, a fair fraction of those under his direction. The tactician should have been cursing the mech's presence and planning withdrawal tactics as a precaution. Instead a fierce smile spread momentarily across his faceplates.
Mirage and Bumblebee would be making their entry into the Decepticon base by now, their access brought within barely acceptable risk levels by the distraction of the Autobots' senseless attack. With even Shockwave drawn into the battle, lured there using Wheeljack as bait, the Ops mechs' chances of a successful ingress had risen to almost seventy percent. It horrified Prowl that, justify it as he might and threats to security and morale not-withstanding, he'd approved a plan with so low a probability of overall success. It angered and disgusted him that Prime had refused to even consider the nearly eight percent statistical boost his own presence on the infiltration squad would have afforded them.
Optimus Prime had repeatedly insisted that Prowl was needed to direct the diversionary battle, and Ironhide and Ratchet had backed him up on that. The fact that the tactician had assigned Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to Ironhide's battle command, only to find them back at his side as bodyguards before the enemy even engaged, strongly suggested his friends had other motives for keeping him in sight.
"Grimlock, Wheeljack is in danger."
The Dinobots' arrival on the field of battle was thunderous to say the least. Shockwave's steady progress faltered, his heavy pedes struggling to find their footing as the earth quaked beneath them. Grimlock led from the front, his monstrous, pseudo-organic alt mode snarling as he closed on the wide-opticed Decepticon scientist.
Prowl shook off Sunstreaker's steadying hand. His door-wings quivered, and not just due to the residual ground tremors. He pushed to his feet, standing above the parapet of the sniper post and reassessing the field in front of him.
Megatron was entirely absorbed by his conflict with Prime, his forces scattered and lacking a strong voice to command them. Soundwave was distracted, Blaster's cassettes and half the mini-bots occupying the casetticons and their host. Shockwave too had other concerns, his roar of anger echoing Grimlock's as the Tyrannosaur's claws slashed through one of his transformation linkages. Wheeljack was already on his way to take cover with Prowl, Bluestreak and the few other long-range fighters, the engineer pausing to pat Snarl's muzzle as he slipped around the angry Dinobots. The other Autobots were holding their own, sufficient depth and strength in their lines to deal with the surprised and unprepared Decepticon army.
Prowl nodded in satisfaction, firing off another dozen orders and provisional orders and then pinging Smokescreen and Trailbreaker with an updated battleplan. Even across the battlefield, he saw his junior tacticians startle, but both were too caught up in individual conflicts to break off now. As he'd planned.
Prime should have listened to him. Prowl had laid out the facts calmly and clearly. The chances of both Bumblebee and Mirage getting inside even a near-deserted base were already too low for comfort. Even if they did, the diversion the other Autobots were providing limited the duration of their stay. Without an information specialist present, the probability that they would be able to locate Jazz, and know what they were seeing when they did, was less than fifty percent. Those odds were far too small given what was at stake.
Over the last week, Prowl had produced schedules and tactical reports with his usual stoic regularity. Even so, without their Head of Special Ops to provide insight and counterarguments, without Jazz to distract him from minutiae and lighten the burden of his work, without his friend badgering him into refuelling and recharge, his efficiency had dropped dramatically. It was all too easy to project the long term impact of their third's absence - on Prowl, on Prime and on the Autobots as a whole.
And the tactician was under no illusions: it was still the likeliest outcome. Their discussions had made it clear that the chances of recovering Jazz - and, even more so, restoring him to health - were slim at best. Prowl had held his grim facade in place throughout, sheltering his fragile glimmer of hope close to his spark rather than letting it show.
That had its consequences. His Prime believed he was self-destructive - that he'd already given up. Nothing the tactician could say or do was likely to change that belief, in the short term at least. The reality though was far simpler. Prowl's priority now was the same as it always had been: first and foremost, the defence of the Autobot cause. He valued his own spark no more and no less than he had an orn before. But nothing, in Prowl's considered opinion, outweighed the importance of finding Jazz and bringing the Ops mech home - not even his own life.
"Prowl?" Sunstreaker was a few steps away, his blaster firing at the few mechs foolish enough to try an assault on the sniper position. Sideswipe stood beyond his brother, still venting hard from his tussle with their last bold attacker. Both watched Prowl with wary suspicion, reading the determined set of Prowl's door-wings as few others could. "Prowl, you need to get back under cover!"
Prowl ignored the instruction, just as he ignored the chaos all around. Weapons fire passed far too close to his vulnerable door-wings, stinging his sensors. Sideswipe swore, firing around his superior as Prowl stood rock still amidst the chaos.
"Be ready."
The roar of the battlefield faded. Prowl's concentration was total as he shouldered his acid-pellet rifle and stilled his vents. There was no question of dividing his attention, of keeping track of the dozens of fighting mechs or even watching for threats to his own spark. As had been the case on only a bare handful of previous occasions, the risk of extinguishing, with its inevitable knock-on effects on the Autobot forces, wasn't the worst outcome possible here. Prowl was determined to do what he must for everyone's sake. That such a goal was in harmony with his own spark's impassioned desire was merely happy coincidence.
His first acid pellet sped past Grimlock's jaws to bury itself in Shockwave's side transformation seam, spilling its corrosive payload across the chest-plates directly above the mech's spark. His rifle snapped skywards and his second and third pellets took out Thundercracker's aileron controls, his fourth penetrating the blue Seeker's left thruster.
Prowl's left leg gave way and he staggered. Dispassionate reports informed him of damage, a painful sting registering regardless of the fact that he'd dialled his system sensors down to bare minimum before taking so exposed a position. Even on minimum, he clearly felt the impact as a yellow-armoured front-liner tackled him full force to the ground.
"Frag it, Prowl!"
Prowl shook him off, tucking his door-wings in tight and rolling clear of Sunstreaker. His servo was already reaching for his fallen rifle as he pointed unerringly at the faltering Seeker.
"Bring him here," he snapped.
There was no time for argument. Already the Seeker was struggling for height, steering away so as to crash clear of the battlefield. That couldn't be allowed. Prowl had done as his Prime asked, and brought the Autobots to the brink of victory, now he was working to a different battleplan.
The twins swore. Sideswipe fired his jet-pack at once. Sunstreaker reached out to give Prowl a shove that tumbled him into a startled Bluestreak, before leaping after his brother.
"Prowl! What are you doing? You're hurt!"
Bluestreak's hand dropped away as if burned by the heat of Prowl's glare. The young gunner shook his helm, snapping his own weapon up and firing at a Decepticon trying to take advantage of their distraction, before scowling back at Prowl. The tactician ignored him. He tried to stand, his left leg once more caving under his weight, but his acid rifle still clutched in his right hand. Bluestreak fired again, his blaster fire clipping Thundercracker's nose as the twins grappled the stricken Seeker in a tight circle through the air.
"Prowl, those shots were amazing, but you can't treat a battle like target practice! It's not safe!" Bluestreak's voice was a background murmur in Prowl's audios as he raised his gun again, focussed attention on the sky above.
Somewhere here… somewhere… There!
The black-and-lavender Seeker appeared from nowhere, screaming with rage and firing on the warriors riding his trine-mate into the ground. Skywarp's screams turned to fear as Thundercracker hit the deck hard, skidding along the rough gravel with a spray of sparks. The fear was replaced in turn, this time his screams rang with pain as Prowl's rifle found his new target's wing-joints, sending Skywarp tumbling ground-ward beside the other jet.
"Wings only!" Prowl snarled, aware of Bluestreak's fire joining his. Blue shot him a hard look, but complied, his aim changing from cockpit to wide-spread wing-tips. It was all Prowl could do to make his servos follow the same instruction. This was the Seeker that had taken Jazz from them - the only tool that had made Shockwave's plan possible. Nothing would please Prowl more than seeing Skywarp's spark-chamber as empty and broken as Jazz's. He suppressed the desire with an effort. He needed Skywarp just as much as Shockwave had, and he needed the mech somewhat intact.
Skywarp transformed as he fell, his pierced and ragged wings folding behind his back, and his optics crazed with pain. A blaster appeared in his new-formed hand. It wavered, the disoriented Seeker, searching for a target. Prowl was waiting. He stood, his damaged leg supporting him through force of will alone. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had rolled clear of the crashing Thundercracker and now stood either side of him, the two front-liners both moving forward until they formed a rough diamond with Prowl and the stasis-locked jet at either apex.
Skywarp landed heavily between them. He snarled, still on his thrusters, but just barely, and with his blaster already aimed at Prowl. Sunstreaker's, Sideswipe's and - Prowl was sure - Bluestreak's, aimed from behind him, were firmly fixed on the black Seeker. Prowl's wasn't.
The firing of his acid rifle was loud in the sudden silence that filled their corner of the battlefield. The pop and splatter as it spread its corrosive acid across Thundercracker's armour, just a little to the left of and below his cockpit, was almost drowned by Skywarp's anguished cry.
"Do not teleport. Do not move." Prowl's clipped tones were cold and clinical. He gave no sign of pain as he limped forward a few steps on his damaged leg, ignoring Sideswipe's hissed warning. "Without treatment, that acid will take approximately five point six breems to penetrate your trine-mate's chest armour and reach his spark chamber. If you teleport, or make so much as a move in his direction, my next shot will pierce his transformation seam and disperse below. From this range and angle, such a shot will bring about his inevitable, painful deactivation within half a breem."
Skywarp's blaster wavered. His optics flickered as he stole a worried glance at the unconscious Seeker behind him. "You wouldn't! You're an Autobot!"
"Skywarp." Prowl's level tones dragged the Seeker's optics to his impassive faceplates. Prowl met the frantic look and for once let everything he felt show in his flaring optics. "I know what you have done. I will fire the shot."
The twins stared at him. His wide-splayed door-wings told him Bluestreak was closing the gap behind him too, and detected the gunner's shocked trembling.
The blaster dropped from Skywarp's numbed finger-servos. The mech's voice rose, querulous and frantic. "It wasn't our fault! Screamer's not here! Shockwave…"
"Silence!" Prowl ordered sharply. Bluestreak and the twins didn't need to know what had happened to Jazz. Not here on the field of battle, perhaps not ever. He took another step forward, almost to within the Seeker's arm reach.
Casting one last look past Sideswipe to the battle beyond, Prowl nodded. Maybe he truly had been needed here. Now though, his place was elsewhere. His spark tugged at him with a pull that was almost painful. If Prime refused to accommodate the greatest need, Prowl would make his own arrangements.
"In three breems precisely, if you cooperate, Bluestreak will summon medical assistance for your trine-mate. Sufficient time should remain for Ratchet to save Thundercracker's spark. Any hint of resistance and there will be no such attempt." It was an empty threat. Blue had mostly likely yelled for the medic as soon as Prowl took damage. Even if he hadn't, nothing would stop Ratchet treating his patient the moment he became aware of the downed Seeker. Here and now, faced with the tactician's fury and bracketed by the shocked and angry twins, Skywarp didn't know that.
Prowl took the final step that put him in Skywarp's reach, only peripherally aware of Sunstreaker lunging forward to pull him back. Blue optics met scarlet with steely determination.
"Take me to him," he ordered. "Now!"