Got a bit behind
May. 30th, 2007 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
koilungfish28/5/07 - Fail
29/5/07 - Ill
30/5/07 - Quiet, pt 5
The explosion threw Prowl backwards along the ground, pelvis and shins gouging up the burning ground, and smashed him against a mass of boulders and tree-stumps with a painful crash.
Am I damaged? Prowl asked himself. No? Right. Move!
He shoved and scrambled out of the dirt and half-jumped, half-rolled into the shelter behind the boulders.
Where are my team? was Prowl's next check. Down in a crouch, he crept along behind the boulders until he found a low gap where he could poke a launcher up and see over the rock formation.
The open field of burnt ground was white with ash, the semi-circle of surviving trees swishing their blue branches against the brightening sky, dusting the air with their shining pollen. Beyond the trees, the edge of the sky grew pinker, the green band rising higher. It was almost full daylight.
Jazz? Check; still feigning serious injury and/or deactivation right in the middle of Decepticon Number 3's field of fire. Action? Get him out of there and/or disable Decepticon Number 3.
The saboteur was coated with a fine layer of white ash, speckled with golden pollen. He was silent, totally still.
Bluestreak? Check; flat on his back on precarious ground, probably out of Decepticon Number 3's field of fire. Action? As previous, second in priority to previous.
Prowl could see Bluestreak's feet clearly; the gunner was quiet, the pebbles below him making treacherous crunching sounds.
Smokescreen? No check.
Hound? No check.
Mirage? No check.
Not seeing Hound and Mirage was a given. Not seeing Smokescreen was worrying. Prowl ducked down to think.
I face two, possibly three Decepticons, one with a multi-purpose launcher. My troops are scattered, two are disabled, one is missing presumed disabled and two are missing presumed camouflaged.
Presuming that Hound and Mirage are active and uninjured - and there is no reason to presume that they aren't - they are most probably under camouflage undertaking an impromptu operation to shoot Decepticon Number 3. Highest probability; Mirage will attempt to snipe the sniper with assistance from Hound.
What can I do to improve their chances of success?
Prowl crouch-crawled to the end of the boulder pile furthest from the crater and the ship. The sniper's airlock was almost a mile away now, still in perfect range. Gently sinking onto his abdomen, Prowl crawled to the very edge of the pile and stuck a launcher-tip around the edge of the rocks.
Pleasantly enough, he wasn't shot at.
Edging himself gingerly over noisy branches and awkward stones, Prowl stuck the launcher around far enough to see Jazz.
The saboteur was in the same position, back to the airlock, legs crooked, arms loosely flopped around his head. Prowl shifted his launcher slowly, trying to get a look at Jazz's face, but his arm was in the way.
Options? Prowl thought. Options are three; either I wait for Hound and Mirage to accomplish their presumed plan, or I attempt to rocket-snipe the sniper, or I attempt to save Jazz and/or Bluestreak.
Prowl sighed, clearing excess hypothetical paths from his battle computer. The paucity of data on his team's status was frustrating. I could radio them, however, any competent sniper can track radio signals, especially at this range.
Could Smokescreen's missile have hit close enough to have jammed our sniper? Prowl pondered that and deemed it unlikely. The radio remained unsafe. Could Hound have covered Jazz with a hologram in order for him to move? If so, how can I tell?
Wait. Jazz would be unable to tell unless he moved, and he can't move for fear of being shot, hence the hologram possibility is irrelevant.
Our sniper hasn't fired on Jazz. Interesting. Why? Prowl lifted himself slightly, peered a little closer. Jazz remained statue-like on the ground. The airlock remained open, and Prowl's passive targeting scanners were just good enough to pick up the irregularity of its shape caused by the sniper's presence.
A Decepticon sniper with a rocket launcher not firing on an enemy known to be alive and uninjured? Prowl wondered.
Bait.
Our sniper is using Jazz as a lure. He hopes to pick us off as we are drawn into the open to rescue Jazz. Ergo, he can't pick us out amongst these trees and rocks. Ergo, either his targeting sensors are jammed, or...
Prowl brushed the golden pollen from his chest and rubbed it between his fingers. A faint current of static ran through his hull. The pollen is ionized and is interfering with the sensors ... which must include ours, which is probably why Smokescreen missed and also why Mirage has yet to shoot.
I see.
That substantially reduces the probability of success of either Mirage or I shooting the sniper. Ergo the only logical option is to break the stalemate by rescuing Jazz.
Prowl sighed again, sliding back behind the boulders and getting into a crouch, ready to spring.
It's amazing sometimes, he mused, reflexively checking his rifle and his launchers, how the most logical course of action according to one frame of reference is so often the most reckless, foolish and illogical in another.
He took half a second to review all the available data and recheck his plan, then jumped over the boulders, blind-firing a missile at the sniper's airlock, transformed and hit the ground at speed. His engine ripped the silence open with a full-throttle roar as Prowl tore across the mile of open ground towards Jazz.
At two hundred yards out, a rocket slashed past his rear tyres and blew him bumper over bonnet into the air. Prowl transformed in unwanted flight, fired his gun in the general direction of the ship, transformed again and landed on his tyres, gunned his engine and went for it.
The second rocket whooshed over his roof, the explosion tossed him sideways, spattering his right side with hot metal, he spun and straightened and accelerated, tyres throwing up great clouds of ash and cinders. The air was white and full of pollen, hot embers thrashed in the dust in his wheel-bays and bathed his underside. Prowl aimed himself at Jazz, tree stumps hammering his undercarriage and stabbing his wheels.
Jazz wasn't moving.
Prowl shot forwards, eight hundred yards and five seconds from the shelter of the boulders and the third rocket hit the ground under his rear bumper, catapulting him into the air and raking him with shrapnel.
Prowl transformed, pain flaring through his torn legs and feet, turning in the air as the blast lifted and threw him high over Jazz. He saw his own shadow passing across Jazz's face, and with the shadow came movement. Jazz rolled, pulling his gun from its cocoon of dust, turning and aiming his photon rifle.
Prowl hit the ground on hands and knees as Jazz fired. He saw the fleeting smatter of dismay on Jazz's face, and together they transformed and raced for the tree-line.
A fifth rocket screamed after them, blowing Jazz around in circles. Prowl transformed as he reached the trees and dove into cover, glancing back to see Jazz reach the trees in a total spin. The saboteur slid backwards between two trees, hit a rock, transformed and landed in a crouch.
The silence fell. For a motionless second, they froze, waiting, listening.
No more rockets. Jazz looked at his gun, bewildered. Prowl clicked at the saboteur, beckoning him into the deeper cover of the leaf-litter beneath the pollen-dusting trees.
"Sorry, man," Jazz whispered glumly, wriggling down amongst the leaves. "I missed."
"This pollen," Prowl replied, waving a golden-coated hand, "is naturally ionized."
"Aw, screws!" Jazz said with a sigh. "And here was I thinkin' the 'con had a jammer on."
"Possible, but unlikely," Prowl said. "A-" He stopped as the trees shifted, the leaf-mould stirred and two dirty forms faded into visibility.
"Ionized, you say?" Mirage said, voice soft as the rustle of the trees in the breeze. "No wonder I couldn't get a lock on him."
"Exactly," Prowl said, before Jazz could make an irrelevant remark. "Both our passive and our active targeting sensors are effectively jammed, but as long as we're covered in pollen, we ourselves cannot be accurately targeted within more than five meters." Close enough to turn a fatal hit into a bearable wound, Prowl thought, feeling the sting of the shrapnel in his legs. "With no bait, I expect our sniper will start firing into the trees in the hope of flushing us out."
"So what, we're just gonna run up and down the tree line until he runs out of rockets?" Jazz said, which from the smile on his face was meant to be a joke.
Prowl wished he'd brought Red Alert and left Jazz behind. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Seriously?" Jazz asked, visor bright with surprise.
"Oh, absolutely," Prowl said without changing his expression. "This is my plan..."
29/5/07 - Ill
30/5/07 - Quiet, pt 5
The explosion threw Prowl backwards along the ground, pelvis and shins gouging up the burning ground, and smashed him against a mass of boulders and tree-stumps with a painful crash.
Am I damaged? Prowl asked himself. No? Right. Move!
He shoved and scrambled out of the dirt and half-jumped, half-rolled into the shelter behind the boulders.
Where are my team? was Prowl's next check. Down in a crouch, he crept along behind the boulders until he found a low gap where he could poke a launcher up and see over the rock formation.
The open field of burnt ground was white with ash, the semi-circle of surviving trees swishing their blue branches against the brightening sky, dusting the air with their shining pollen. Beyond the trees, the edge of the sky grew pinker, the green band rising higher. It was almost full daylight.
Jazz? Check; still feigning serious injury and/or deactivation right in the middle of Decepticon Number 3's field of fire. Action? Get him out of there and/or disable Decepticon Number 3.
The saboteur was coated with a fine layer of white ash, speckled with golden pollen. He was silent, totally still.
Bluestreak? Check; flat on his back on precarious ground, probably out of Decepticon Number 3's field of fire. Action? As previous, second in priority to previous.
Prowl could see Bluestreak's feet clearly; the gunner was quiet, the pebbles below him making treacherous crunching sounds.
Smokescreen? No check.
Hound? No check.
Mirage? No check.
Not seeing Hound and Mirage was a given. Not seeing Smokescreen was worrying. Prowl ducked down to think.
I face two, possibly three Decepticons, one with a multi-purpose launcher. My troops are scattered, two are disabled, one is missing presumed disabled and two are missing presumed camouflaged.
Presuming that Hound and Mirage are active and uninjured - and there is no reason to presume that they aren't - they are most probably under camouflage undertaking an impromptu operation to shoot Decepticon Number 3. Highest probability; Mirage will attempt to snipe the sniper with assistance from Hound.
What can I do to improve their chances of success?
Prowl crouch-crawled to the end of the boulder pile furthest from the crater and the ship. The sniper's airlock was almost a mile away now, still in perfect range. Gently sinking onto his abdomen, Prowl crawled to the very edge of the pile and stuck a launcher-tip around the edge of the rocks.
Pleasantly enough, he wasn't shot at.
Edging himself gingerly over noisy branches and awkward stones, Prowl stuck the launcher around far enough to see Jazz.
The saboteur was in the same position, back to the airlock, legs crooked, arms loosely flopped around his head. Prowl shifted his launcher slowly, trying to get a look at Jazz's face, but his arm was in the way.
Options? Prowl thought. Options are three; either I wait for Hound and Mirage to accomplish their presumed plan, or I attempt to rocket-snipe the sniper, or I attempt to save Jazz and/or Bluestreak.
Prowl sighed, clearing excess hypothetical paths from his battle computer. The paucity of data on his team's status was frustrating. I could radio them, however, any competent sniper can track radio signals, especially at this range.
Could Smokescreen's missile have hit close enough to have jammed our sniper? Prowl pondered that and deemed it unlikely. The radio remained unsafe. Could Hound have covered Jazz with a hologram in order for him to move? If so, how can I tell?
Wait. Jazz would be unable to tell unless he moved, and he can't move for fear of being shot, hence the hologram possibility is irrelevant.
Our sniper hasn't fired on Jazz. Interesting. Why? Prowl lifted himself slightly, peered a little closer. Jazz remained statue-like on the ground. The airlock remained open, and Prowl's passive targeting scanners were just good enough to pick up the irregularity of its shape caused by the sniper's presence.
A Decepticon sniper with a rocket launcher not firing on an enemy known to be alive and uninjured? Prowl wondered.
Bait.
Our sniper is using Jazz as a lure. He hopes to pick us off as we are drawn into the open to rescue Jazz. Ergo, he can't pick us out amongst these trees and rocks. Ergo, either his targeting sensors are jammed, or...
Prowl brushed the golden pollen from his chest and rubbed it between his fingers. A faint current of static ran through his hull. The pollen is ionized and is interfering with the sensors ... which must include ours, which is probably why Smokescreen missed and also why Mirage has yet to shoot.
I see.
That substantially reduces the probability of success of either Mirage or I shooting the sniper. Ergo the only logical option is to break the stalemate by rescuing Jazz.
Prowl sighed again, sliding back behind the boulders and getting into a crouch, ready to spring.
It's amazing sometimes, he mused, reflexively checking his rifle and his launchers, how the most logical course of action according to one frame of reference is so often the most reckless, foolish and illogical in another.
He took half a second to review all the available data and recheck his plan, then jumped over the boulders, blind-firing a missile at the sniper's airlock, transformed and hit the ground at speed. His engine ripped the silence open with a full-throttle roar as Prowl tore across the mile of open ground towards Jazz.
At two hundred yards out, a rocket slashed past his rear tyres and blew him bumper over bonnet into the air. Prowl transformed in unwanted flight, fired his gun in the general direction of the ship, transformed again and landed on his tyres, gunned his engine and went for it.
The second rocket whooshed over his roof, the explosion tossed him sideways, spattering his right side with hot metal, he spun and straightened and accelerated, tyres throwing up great clouds of ash and cinders. The air was white and full of pollen, hot embers thrashed in the dust in his wheel-bays and bathed his underside. Prowl aimed himself at Jazz, tree stumps hammering his undercarriage and stabbing his wheels.
Jazz wasn't moving.
Prowl shot forwards, eight hundred yards and five seconds from the shelter of the boulders and the third rocket hit the ground under his rear bumper, catapulting him into the air and raking him with shrapnel.
Prowl transformed, pain flaring through his torn legs and feet, turning in the air as the blast lifted and threw him high over Jazz. He saw his own shadow passing across Jazz's face, and with the shadow came movement. Jazz rolled, pulling his gun from its cocoon of dust, turning and aiming his photon rifle.
Prowl hit the ground on hands and knees as Jazz fired. He saw the fleeting smatter of dismay on Jazz's face, and together they transformed and raced for the tree-line.
A fifth rocket screamed after them, blowing Jazz around in circles. Prowl transformed as he reached the trees and dove into cover, glancing back to see Jazz reach the trees in a total spin. The saboteur slid backwards between two trees, hit a rock, transformed and landed in a crouch.
The silence fell. For a motionless second, they froze, waiting, listening.
No more rockets. Jazz looked at his gun, bewildered. Prowl clicked at the saboteur, beckoning him into the deeper cover of the leaf-litter beneath the pollen-dusting trees.
"Sorry, man," Jazz whispered glumly, wriggling down amongst the leaves. "I missed."
"This pollen," Prowl replied, waving a golden-coated hand, "is naturally ionized."
"Aw, screws!" Jazz said with a sigh. "And here was I thinkin' the 'con had a jammer on."
"Possible, but unlikely," Prowl said. "A-" He stopped as the trees shifted, the leaf-mould stirred and two dirty forms faded into visibility.
"Ionized, you say?" Mirage said, voice soft as the rustle of the trees in the breeze. "No wonder I couldn't get a lock on him."
"Exactly," Prowl said, before Jazz could make an irrelevant remark. "Both our passive and our active targeting sensors are effectively jammed, but as long as we're covered in pollen, we ourselves cannot be accurately targeted within more than five meters." Close enough to turn a fatal hit into a bearable wound, Prowl thought, feeling the sting of the shrapnel in his legs. "With no bait, I expect our sniper will start firing into the trees in the hope of flushing us out."
"So what, we're just gonna run up and down the tree line until he runs out of rockets?" Jazz said, which from the smile on his face was meant to be a joke.
Prowl wished he'd brought Red Alert and left Jazz behind. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Seriously?" Jazz asked, visor bright with surprise.
"Oh, absolutely," Prowl said without changing his expression. "This is my plan..."
