Transformers: World War II

[Dark Silver]

Drake furrowed his eyebrows, a sight unseen by Dr Killian and those on her ship, and spoke evenly, "One moment..."

Drake set the handset to his shoulder, before speaking into one of the comms, "Overload, This is Drake, I need you in the Comms room ASAP."

[LadyTevar]

Pathfinder was the one who entered, not needing to duck to walk the hallways. Absently, he wondered just what 'Cons had been here to build the doors big enough. "Overload's busy unloading... will I do?"

[Dark Silver]

Drake looked up as the tank-bot walked into the comms, easily fitting through the large double doors.

"You'll do Pathfinder, we have someone on the horn that needs to talk to a Autobot...apparently we mere humans dont cut it."

With that, Drake offered the larger war-machine the handset.

[LadyTevar]

The Autobot took the mike and set it on his head. "This is Pathfinder. SitRep?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Hello. This is Stephanie Killian, yes I know you've never heard of me. I can get you air support in the form of a Cybertronian flyer and some experimental weapons in half an hour, give or take."

[LadyTevar]

Pathfinder's face took on a look of surprise. "Well, that sounds promising. We were just discussing a mission to delay arrival. Whom shall we be expecting?"

As SATCOM relayed the message, Pathfinder looked down at Drake. "Shes' got a flyer who can give us airsupport onboard. He can be here in 30 minutes with extra weapons. I'm guessing you want him?"

[Cynical Cat]

"That's the tricky part," said Stephanie. "I don't want anyone shooting at him. He's a former Decepticon." Well, not exactly, but quibbling about the details was something that could be done later. Right now the priority was making sure that he didn't get shot to scrap by the people that were on his side.

[LadyTevar]

There was a long pause as Pathfinder worked that through. "Say again? And give his name?"

[Dark Silver]

"Have her bring him in, use the latest set of allied codes...they should have them. We'll make sure the AA doesn't take him out."

[Cynical Cat]

"I said the flyer is a former Decepticon," replied Stephanie. "His name is Deathstrike."

[LadyTevar]

There was another long pause, as Pathfinder had to work that through his CPU and anger management routines.

"Lady, I am finding hard to believe that a 'Con who took a vicious pleasure in shooting my tailpipe off would be wanting to aid us now. Talk fast. Who are you, why do you have him, and why in Primus' name would he want to be helping." Even with the anger management routines, Pathfinder's voice held a definite tone that said he was not amused nor happy.

[Cynical Cat]

September 8, 1938

The buzz and static of radio transmission had drawn him toward the blue-green world. They had the technology necessary to broadcast radio waves and, more importantly, the power generation infrastructure to support and sustain such activities. Other industry, metallurgical and chemical, undoubtedly existed. Here he could rebuild his battered body and recharge himself.

He descended through the atmosphere in a plume of burning air, streaking across the sky. Before him stretched a continent dotted by the glowing lights of sprawling cities. His battered frame cracked and groaned under the stress of reentry. A brief burn corrected his course. He banked three degrees.

There was a great rending tear and then a snap as a stress fatigued wing snapped around the poorly repaired wound burned into it millenia ago. The fighter began to tumble. He alternating firing his thrusters to stabilize his flight and broke the spin, stabilizing himself momentarily. Then a fuel line to the left thruster burst.His repulsor flight system was rudimentary and has ceased to function a long time ago. There was nothing he could do.

Fire streaked across the sky of northern Canada.

May 17, 1939

Stephanie Killian looked up from her desk as there was a knock at her door. Her office hours didn't start for another half-hour, so it probably wasn't a student. She got up and opened it. Michael Karlson was standing there, along with a young man wearing a lieutenant's uniform.

"Michael, my God, it's been nearly a year," she said. "How are you?"

"Good," he said smiling and holding out his hand. Michael Karlson was on the other side of fifty, with greying hair and beard. He was never tall and he had been putting on weight for the last decade. It was adding up. The young woman took it. "This is Lieutenant Byrd, he's with the Army."

"Lieutenant," she said, extending her hand. He was in his early twenties and certainly handsome enough.

"Ma'am," he replied. "I though science departments were supposed to be full of dodgy old men. If I had known there were woman as beautiful as you here I might have headed that way."

She smiled warmly, but she didn't feel it. She knew what effect her looks had on men and she knew what effects that learning she had a brain had on them as well. "Thank you."

Karlson chuckled. "I'm afraid you've put the wrong foot forward lieutenant. Professor Killian gets rather annoyed when people pay more attention to what she looks like than who she is. And the latter is why we're here."

"This is something for the military, isn't it? That whatever that took you away a year ago?"

"Yes," said Karlson. "As you've notice, we're at war. The . . . project got more urgent. We need new eyes, eyes that are used to seeing unconventional solutions."

"I take it this is asking nicely."

"Yes," said Karlson.

"Well then, let's go."

May 22, 1938

The hanger door rolled open. Bright lights lined the ceiling, making it as bright as day inside. A variety of equipment ranging from voltmeters and oscilloscopes to wrenches filled tables and shelves surrounding the object at the center of the hanger. It was blackened and battered and pieces of its skin had been removed to expose its internal workings, but there was no disguising what it was.

"My god," Stephanie said as she stepped inside. She walked close to the partially disassembled plane. "This isn't German is it? It seems too advanced, even for them. There's no props. Are those jet engines at the tail?"

"No," said Karlson, "it isn't German. It's alien."

"Alien. Really?"

"Yes," said a man wearing coveralls. He was at one of the tables, examining a set of plans. "It fell out of the sky last year."

"You're serious."

"Deadly. This an authentic alien space craft. We're trying to analyze it and reverse engineer it's technology."

"That's going to be extremely difficult," said Stephanie. "This craft must be far in advance of our technology. It's unlikely that we'll have the knowledge base to do more than the simplest guesswork about how it functions, let alone be able to duplicate it. We probably lack the machines to make the machines to make the machines to make the parts for this." She walked up to the nose of the craft and tapped the nose. There was a dull ringing sound.

"Is this armour plate?"

"Nearly indestructible armour plate," said Byrd. "Our best guess is that this baby's been through some hard times. There are a number of patches of inferior materials."

"What about the pilot?" she asked.

"There was no pilot. There's a cockpit like structure, but that's it."

"And you think we can really come to grips with how this thing works."

"We had better," said Byrd. "This doesn't leave the base, but we think the Germans have access to this technology. That's what's given Cobra Commander the fuhrer's seat."

"Christ," she said. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," said Byrd. "We need to learn everything we can about this technology as soon as possible.


October 7, 1939

Stephanie looked down again at the plans. "So this is some kind of fuel tank?"

"We think so," said Cowen. The blond man's hair was perpetually rumpled. "Its armoured and sheathed in some kind of highly conductive material. We think there's an insulating layer underneath and it keeps its contents at a very low temperature. McIntyre thinks it stores compressed hydrogen slush for the thrusters."

"Fusion thrusters?" said Stephanie. "God almighty, that's real Buck Rogers stuff right there."

"Not the only thing," said Cowen, pointing to another set of plans. "That big nasty gun in the nose? It doesn't have any way of loading ammunition or a magazine." He traced a a line.

"If those are capacitors, or whatever they use instead of capacitors and those are some kind of fuel cells or whatever. . ." said Stephanie. She looked up. "A death ray?"

"Yeah, that's our guess. And a belly with a couple of rockets in it. We took one apart. Couldn't get it to work but if this thing uses nuclear fusion for thrust . . . ."

"Christ," she said. "And the Nazis might have it."

"At least we can both pass as Aryans if they win."

"Yeah, I can so look forward to being some SS officer's prize of war," said Stephanie. "Fuck."

"Such language, from a woman."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said. "These indicators here," she said tapping the plans. "More of those crazy multifunction parts? I thought the memory materials were weird enough."

"No," he said. "There's a bunch of them." Cowen went through a pile of schematics. "Ah, here." He put it down on the table. "We mapped them. They're tiny, they're everywhere and they seem to plug into all sorts of things. We tried taking a couple and powering them up, using a voltmeter. Nothing."

"But electricity works?"

"It didn't seem to hurt them. We took them apart. Couldn't make heads or tails. They have tiny circuitry inside. Needed a damn microscope to tell it was there. They're tiny things to begin with."

"Hmm," she said, tapping the table. "We're desperate, right?"

"Right."

"And we know what current and voltage those tiny robots need?"

"Yes. They don't do anything."

"They don't do anything here," she said, heading over to the steps leading to the plane's fuselage.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Good money says those little robots are part of the plane's maintenance system and they draw power from the plane. That's why we were able to charge them up."

"Yeah, that's the leading guess."

"Well, if they are, that explains why they didn't do anything. They had power, but no instructions and weren't inside the plane."

"So? How are they going to get instructions? The plane's dead."

"The plane's robot brain," said Stephanie. "Get me the leads."

"The brain, if it has one, is powerless. Dead. And we don't know how to charge it."

"Yeah, but these little guys might. I'm going to hook up a bunch and then we'll give them some current and see what they do. They plug into the plane. If they're getting power from outside and the inside is powerless, they might send some to the brain or sub brain or whatever and power it up. If they're the self repair part of an advanced war machine, they'll have redundancies and procedures to handle extensive damage."

"You're gambling."

"Yes," she said. "Now hand me those cables."

October 8, 1939

"Still nothing," said Cowen. "It's been four hours."

"Nothing we can see," said Stephanie. "If different systems were higher priority, power may have been diverted to them. Given the size of these things . . ."

"Okay, okay. We wait some-holy shit!"

"What?" asked Stephanie.

"Huge current spike." He ran towards the edge of the hanger and slammed a red button. Alarms began to wail.

"It's alive," Stephanie whispered. Time seemed to freeze. The the hanger doors swung open and soldiers poured in, pointing rifles. Several more were pulling up some kind of field gun. "It's alright," she shouted. "It's alright! Don't shoot!"

There was grinding sound, as if unlubricated metal parts were moving against each other and the plane shuttered. The sound continued and the nose collapsed and the wings folded and ohmygod its transforming, its standing up. A blackened metal giant stood before her, wires and internal workings exposed over half of its body. It's head brushed the high ceiling.

She held up her hands and took a step forward. "We aren't enemies. We aren't here to hurt you," she said calmly. The metal titan knelt down and extended it's hand. It said something in an unintelligible garble. She stepped forward, onto the hand. "Friends," she said touching her chest. "Friends."

"Friends," the giant repeated and took her closer. Its optics flared a bright red and as it studied the creature before it. Organic. Pale skinned, wearing protective clothing. Hair slightly darker than burnished copper. Eyes the same blue as an Autobot's. Trembling, but not bowing.

Deathstrike put her down gently. He lived and he owed this fleshling a debt. So be it. He would pay it in full, no matter what it cost

[Cynical Cat]

"I'm the woman who restored him to function after he crashed," said Stephanie. "And he's the one who swore a debt of honor that he's given every indication he intends to pay. Does that answer your question?"

[LadyTevar]

Pathfinder spouted off a string of Cybertronian curses, the tone of his voice hinting at what was said before he got himself under control.

"Deathstrike is a vicious, passionless destroyer as bad as the rest of them," Pathfinder started to say, within easy hearing of Drake and Wireline. Then the Autobot sighed heavily. "but the blasted 'Con always kept his word and honor. I'll warn the others not to shoot him, but don't expect a happy homecoming."

He set down the headset, his optics glowing blue. "We're going to have company, a ..." Pathfinder snorted. ".. A *former* Decepticon called Deathstrike. Trust him no further than you can throw me, although if you can get him to give his word to you, he'll rust before breaking it. I'll give the flying deathtrap that much." With that, Pathfinder stalked off through the hallway, anger and annoyance in his every stride as he went.

Emerging back into the courtyard, he opened a private channel to the other Autobots. "Heads up -- we have more fun coming." For once, the idea of 'fun' did not make Pathfinder's audio sound happy. "Some of the human allies found a Cybertronian and repaired him. They're on another supply ship heading this way, but they just said he could get to us with some new weapons in 30 human minutes."

Pathfinder's eyes were glowing bright blue as he looked around at the others. "The problem is ... it's Deathstrike."

[rhoenix]

Crosswind was shocked enough to almost drop the crate he was carrying. He replied through the same radio frequency after a moment. "That old bucket of wingnuts glued to a thruster? And he's coming here?"

He was silent for a few more moments before setting down the crate carefully. There was a smile on his faceplate as he did. "It's been a while, but last I checked I was ahead on points." He chuckled as he began opening the crate to set up another AA gun emplacement. "This could be fun!"

[Charon]

Hunter was working on a bunch of wires when Pathfinder came back out and proclaimed that Deathstrike was on his way.

"Ok. At this point in time I'm just gonna smile, nod, and assume that since his name is Deathstrike that he's very good at killing things. So, the problem is what exactly?"

[General Havoc]

"Are you kidding me?!"

Nothing previously had induced Cavalier to switch forms, but this news did. In a flash, the T-34 had been replaced by a massive armored robot with a large-bore cannon running down the length of one arm, and an expression on his face as though somebody had just told him that the Autobots were surrendering unconditionally.

"Are you slagging kidding me?!"

Cavalier was livid, and he didn't care who knew it.

"Who the hell invited that mech-sucking slaughter-con to the party?!" he demanded from nobody in particular. "What in the Pits does Command have their heads shoved up, sending Deathstrike out here! Like we aren't gonna have enough to deal with without bringing a Primus-damned Decepticon in to 'supposedly' help us? What the hell's he planning on helping us do? Get shot in the back!"

He turned on Hunter as Hunter asked who Deathstrike was. "Yeah, he's good at killing things," said Cavalier. "Killing us. He's one of the Cons, you know, like the Germans and the Snakes? How eager would you be to drag a battalion of SS over here fully armed and ask them for help? What in the name of Sentinel Prime's skidplates is command thinking?!"

[SirNitram]

Overload, finally free of unloading, answered the comm. "Cut the chatter." His voice reverberated through the system to ensure everyone got the message. "This is Overload. You're clear, Miss Killian. Bring the big bastard down, and we'll have the camo ready for him." The Autobot veteran turned to the younger bots bickering. "Stick it in neutral, the lot of you."

Once there was a chance to speak, he laid out his peice. "Deathstryke's a bastard. I ain't gonna deny it. But he's a bastard who you can trust. When Starscream was backstabbing through the science staff, Deathstryke was up-front about his purpose and has always been honorable. If he swore an oath to this Earth lady, he will follow her through the fucking Void and into the Recycling Pits. Now. Enough of your bitching. He'll need camo, once he's down. So move it!"

[General Havoc]

"Honorable?!" said Cavalier, staring at Overload like he had grown another head. "Are you out of your Lasercore? He's a pits-damned Decepticon, one of the bloodiest I've ever heard of! And you want to bring him here, re-arm him, and trust him to shoot at his own kind because he said he would? I don't give a rusted pipe if he's the second coming of Orion Pax, what in the Pits makes you think we can trust him? Being less dirty than Starscream ain't exactly the biggest sell, you know. By those standards, Megatron's a Primus-damned saint.

Cavalier was upset, and clearly didn't care who knew it. Still, he switched to a private radio channel for the rest of the Autobots to spare the humans the gory details.

"He'll waste any human that gets in his way. Shoot us down like mad dogs. And he'll go into his next maintenance cycle with a clean conscience, because he thinks he's doing the honorable thing by it. A bot doesn't serve Megatron for a million years, and then get to turn around and cry 'just following orders' when the going gets tough. His side are the ones tearing the Energon out of the dirt of this planet, and helping the Germans do Primus knows what to their own kind. If he doesn't rip that Canadian apart with his own hands, he'll conjure up some excuse that lets him do exactly as he likes and justify it to his own spark. You want to be the one that put the gun back in his hands when he does, Overload? Because I don't need that, not when there's a war on and I've got shooting of my own to do. Command wants to bring him down here and make us treat him like one of us, fine. But he makes one move wrong by us, or by the humans, and I'm turning his head into a bracelet and using the rest of him to patch up the walls."

[SirNitram]

"Allow me to emphasize how little I care for your lectures." Overload transmitted as he knuckled down and released his connection with his battlesuit, allowing his smaller robot mode to enter comms.

"I'm not exactly new at this stuff. And I don't care how the emblem-plate looks; you learn some are on your side and some aren't, and damned what the word might be on their protoform. We're more complicated, and so are humans."

[Cynical Cat]

"Okay," Stephanie breathed, "we're en route. They won't shoot us down. Probably."

"Us?" said Stanfield. "You're not thinking of going."

"Someone has to show the boys how to use the new toys," she said. "And who else is going to fly in Deathstrike. We'll need three crates of MAWs and the practice one as well."

"That's half of them," said Stanfield. "Hell, that's half of them in existence."

"And they aren't going to do any good in the hold," said Stephanie. "Get cable as well." She rushed to her cabin and but on a heavy leather jacket lined with fleece and gloves. She didn't really need it, but she felt better with them. Funny how the human mind worked.

When she reached the cargo hold the door up top was open and gear was being shifted around. Red eyes glowed in the darkness. "Stephanie, what is happening?"

"Coldstaph is going to be attacked. We're going to reinforce them and we're taking some MAWs with us."

"They will be effective against human vehicles, but against Cybertronian tech or hybrid technology vehicles-"

"-you can make no guarantees," finished Stephanie. "I know. But even that new fancy composite armour you helped us make won't stop a shell from a Panzer IV."

"It is still inferior to Cybertronian materials."

"So you tell me. But every tank, plane, and eighty-eight that doesn't shoot at you is one less chance to die."

"That is true. I will deliver the material."

"Yes, we will."

"This will be a combat zone."

"You're going to need a trainer for those MAWs to be of any use. So I'm flying with you. No argument."

"As you say." The Decepticon flyer extended his hand as part of his torso opened. Stephanie stepped on his hand and was carried to his chest. She sank into a reclining couch and metal closed around her. Screens flashed into life in front of her. She was relatively well protected, but that didn't make her safe.

She felt Deathstrike rise slowly on repulsors, heard the overstressed mechanisms whine. The big Decepticon landed on the deck and grabbed the steel cable with had been securely wrapped around the bundle of crates. He hugged the bundle to his chest and rose up into the sky before transforming. The cable leads were taken into his weapon's bay, holding them securely. Thruster roared to life and the Decepticon raced through the sky at the fastest speed his cargo allowed him to take.

Stephanie's coffin became a cockpit. Deathstrike could take a small Cybertronian as a pilot, with the controls become live if the Decepticon willed it or their was damage to his mental or control functions. She had known the thrill of flight a few times, the deadly machine relinquishing control to her and she had, for a few moments, knew what it was to fly a plane that could reach the stars.

The sea rushed by beneath her. One day this would all be over and perhaps this wonderful technology could be used in peaceful exploration. But that day was a long way off. Her hands clutched the controls as the Decepticon killer rushed towards Estonia.

[Dark Silver]

"We got incoming," Wireline said, looking up from the comms panel, "SATCOM reports unknown object on vectored approach. Coming out from the Gulf."

Drake shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, "Have the guns on ready, but don't fire unless they fail to give the proper clearence codes. Wha's the ETA on that snake column?"

Wireline looked back at the console, bringing up a overlayed display, "SATCOM is still estimating just under three hours. No odd energy readings out of them."

Drake nodded, before turning for the door, "I'll go get preperations ready for our guest. Keep me informed Wireline. We have less than three hours before we got Krauts and SS and who knows what else knocking on our doors."

[Charon]

Hunter shook his head but didn't say anything. Whatever command had decided it was honestly none of his business. He'd be keeping an eye on the Decepticon turned rogue regardless, but for now he didn't have much choice but to follow orders.

"Right, well if you old senile buckets of rust are done complaining about having to do your jobs, we have a defense to set up yes?"

Hunter looked around, judging where the Decepticons and the Snakes would most likely be coming from. There was a path through the woods, that would be the most likely route they would come through. Hunter started loading up a Jeep with high explosives. "Hey! Hardtop! Grind! Loneshot! Come help me set up a couple surprises for our guests!"

The three other Joes turned to look at Hunter and saw the Jeep filled with explosives. Hardtop and Grind laughed while Loneshot just shook his head and chuckled. They came over and helped Hunter finish loading up the Jeep, then they drove up to the path to start setting up the party favors.

[Cynical Cat]

Deathstrike sent recognition codes ahead of him as he entered Estonian airspace. "You will not get a warm reception," he warned Stephanie. "The war between us is old and so are the grievances. I am the enemy and you are associated with me."

"I caught that much," she said. "Will you be okay?"

"I will serve."

"That's not what I asked."

"That's the best answer I can give. Watch the horizon. You should be able to see the base momentarily."

[LadyTevar]

"I've got the most reason to hate him, Cavalier," Pathfinder said in quiet bitterness. "Or don't you remember pulling my laser core out of what was left of me on the battlefield."

The Autobot watched Hunter and the Joes load up explosives for a few 'tricks', and for once didn't feel like going out to help. "The human female put him back together, she said. That means Deathstrike owes her his existence right now." Pathfinder looked to Cavalier and Crosswind, staring them down, still acting very out of character. "His stubborn honor will make him repay that debt in full."

The smaller 'bot then turned to continue unloading and setting up the base's defenses. "Don't expect me to be nice to him, Overload ... but I promise not to shoot him."