More Autobots and rockets

[koilungfish]

31/5/07 - Quiet, pt 6

         I'm sorry, Prowl, Jazz rehearsed in his mind as he hung from the rim of the crater. Somewhere to his right was a Bluestreak on the rocks. Back in the woods, Hound was sitting pretty, sending holographic Autobots racing back and forth across the burned ash-paddock to keep their sniper busy.
         At his side, most of his weight on Jazz's shoulder, Prowl made a quiet creaking sound as he mimed out boosting an invisible Autobot up onto the side of the downed cruiser. There was a soft clank as Mirage grabbed onto the ship's side, and he was gone. Prowl leant back, and Jazz felt like he was supporting all of the tactician's weight along with his own before Prowl got a grip on the rock face.
         "Hey, you got a plutonium ammo-pack in your trunk?" Jazz asked, soft as a feather.
         Prowl ignored him, using the handholds and footholds Jazz had made to lower himself down to the saboteur's level.
         "Hey," Jazz protested. "I asked you a question."
         "Sorry, I didn't hear you," Prowl said quietly, leaning out to look past Jazz at the half-mile of vertical stone that separated them from Bluestreak.
         "Never mind," Jazz, sighed. "T'wasn't important."
         Prowl? I'm sorry I pushed you.
         "Let's move then," Prowl said. "The less time that sniper spends shooting at holograms, the less chance of him realising it."
         "Sure thing," Jazz said, leaning out from the cliff, making Prowl swing himself back and away to avoid a collision. Jazz looked carefully over the rock face, examining its protruding features. Most of the rock was sheered straight off, where the cruiser had rammed into the ground. Odd, it ain't melted or nothing. That's strange, Jazz thought. Three hundred feet away, a spur of rock jutted out. That's the ticket!
         Clinging to the cliff one handed, Jazz reached out with his left arm, retracted his hand, and fired off his grappling hook. He felt Prowl flinch at the sound; they were so close to the ship, the sniper could just drop the rockets on them rather than firing them.
         Prowl, I'm sorry I got us into this mess.
         The grappling hook looped three times around the spur, caught its own cable neatly, and held firm. Jazz gave it a good tug; the rock didn't budge.
         "Nice shot," Prowl whispered.
         Overhead, the dark sky flashed red as a rocket exploded, raining dirt and ash and cinders on them. Then came the scream of pain.
         Prowl, I've got to tell you. I'm sorry I got Hound and Smokescreen killed.
         "Hound," Prowl said. "Imitating."
         "Yup," Jazz said, the nagging rust-itch of worry growing deeper in his fuel tanks. He looped the wrist-end of his grappling cable over the outcrop they were clinging to and turned to Prowl, "You gonna hang on to this?"
         "If this spur breaks and we're both holding the cable, we'll both go down," Prowl pointed out.
         "And if it breaks and only one of us falls?" Jazz asked.
         "Then the one who falls finds Smokescreen, and the one who doesn't rescues Bluestreak," Prowl replied coolly.
         Jazz looked down. It was easily a mile and a half to the bottom of the pit, and he could hear something swirling and lapping wetly down there. "Smokey ain't sayin' much," he said, wondering where their sixth man was.
         "Smokescreen understands the necessity of quietness," Prowl said, and Jazz flinched despite himself.
         Prowl, I'm sorry I screwed up the entire mission.
         Jazz looped the wrist-end of his grappling cable over the length that was strung between the two spurs, and, fuel-pump in his mouth, let go of the rock to slip his right hand through the loop. He half-fell and Prowl caught him under the arm to support him. The impromptu safety-strap held tight. Shifting along the cable with hitches of his hands, Jazz moved out far enough to free his right foot from the cliff and swing it up, hooking his leg over the cable.
         Stable.
         The cable held, swaying a bit. Jazz swung his left leg over the cable, hanging upside-down over the deep drop. His chest and shoulders were too big for him to look back to Prowl, but he was certain the tactician was waving him on.
         Prowl, I'm sorry I gave away our position.
         Jazz unhooked his right leg, braced it against the cliff face, and gave himself a good shove. Happily, he slid along the cable, more line unspooling from his wrist and slithering around his left hand as he moved. Okay, it works! With measured pushes of his foot, matching his kicks to the swing of the cable, Jazz slid along the cable as swiftly and as easily as a cable car.
         Smooth and easy does it, he thought, the exhilaration of the silent ride temporarily masking his jarred nerves.
         He reached the far end in less than a minute and scrambled around the spur. Once he had a grip, he tied the wrist-end of his cable around the grapple and released it, freeing the cable from his body. Sliding his hand back out of his forearm, he beckoned to Prowl. The tactician swung himself onto the cable with slow, cautious, steady motions, and began to pull himself hand-over-hand along the gently bouncing wire.
         Jazz clung to the rock, bumper pressed into the stones, trying not to jiggle in the slightest, and felt sick with worry.
         Prowl, I'm sorry I pushed you in the mud. I thought we needed to relax. I'm sorry I made everyone laugh and gave away our position to the enemy because I thought there was no enemy. I'm sorry I put us in danger. I'm sorry I didn't think twice. I'm sorry.
         Prowl to him crawled upside-down and frowning with concentration. His damaged legs were snagging on the cable, leaving him unsteady. Jazz shifted around the spur, holding out his hand to help. Prowl reached out to him, clinging to the cable with his right hand and both feet. Jazz could see Prowl's legs dragging, the pieces of shrapnel scraping at the line, and realised the tactician couldn't hook his legs right over the cable for fear of slicing it.
         Jazz leant out as far as he dared, offering his hand in help.
         "Careful," Prowl whispered, reaching out for him. Jazz's grabbed his hand and pulled, swinging Prowl out from the cliff. The cable bounced, Prowl lost his grip on the cable with his legs and was hanging from the wire with his right hand and from Jazz with his left.
         "Prowl," Jazz blurted, trying to pull Prowl in even as he saw the tactician's fingers slipping on the smooth cable. "I'm sorry."
         "Sorry for -" Prowl started as, with a twang of cable and an expression of shock, he slipped out of Jazz's grip and fell into the abyss.

Comments

[raisedbymoogles.livejournal.com]

Jazz...! *heartbreak*

[koilungfish.livejournal.com]

Houm? :: patpat::

[twilit-wanderer.livejournal.com]

I like the Prowl seen in the last two installments of this little... series-of-sorts a whole lot more. :)

Poor Jazz, starting a well-meant apology right before Prowl falls. That probably didn't look so good.

[koilungfish.livejournal.com]

I seem to have found a workable Prowl, hurrah.

I've decided to basically make "Quiet" an internet serial. Whenever I can't think of anything else to work on, I'll do another bit of it, and post it up, then collate the whole lot into a proper fic whenever it gets finished.

It probably didn't. What, I wonder, will Prowl think of that?

[ravenclaw-devi.livejournal.com]

Omigosh! I can't think of an intelligent comment right now, but it was a great read.

[koilungfish.livejournal.com]

Myarh? What? Why? What? :: confused by reactions to this so far::

[ravenclaw-devi.livejournal.com]

You're confused because I like this? *blinks*

[koilungfish.livejournal.com]

I'm confused because people keep saying they like it and not telling me why, so I'm not sure why they like it.

Aumph.