TransFans: Bunch of Buggers

[Predabot]

Huh. And here we thought Impy's war-life couldn't get much worse...I suppose Rebis has remedied that illusion.

[IronHide]

was that one member of the brass who was least capable of stopping and thinking.

*sigh* Now I get crap from the guy who writes fan-fics.......

[Aaron Hong]

Lunchtime was over at the TransFans barracks, and A Company had been given a bit of breathing time before their next big gig.

'Gig' was going to be the new buzzword, since none of the recruits really knew how to classify up-and-down stair-runs, fifty bunny-hops, one hundred pushups and five-lap camp runs under one word - one that wouldn't bounceback on the swear filter, at any rate.

"Hey, anyone seen Predabot?" asked Tired Tracks.

"Sulking in the corner," said Nameless Recruit 1, while thumbing at said corner. "Gotta give him some credit, he knows when he's not wanted..."

"Tracks, what are you doing?" asked Laser Rod OP, noticing the things TT was unloading from his duffel.

"It's called planning ahead, LROP," Tracks replied. "When we survive the physical training, the actual military training comes next. The one with the helmets and boots and guns and rolling in the mud. Didn't you ever read Aaron Hong's war journals?"

LROP went quiet for a bit, as he realised he hadn't.

"...so it stands that we should prepare some stuff on our own, instead of waiting for the quartermaster to run out of vital supplies," Tracks continued, as he pulled from his duffel a roll of toilet paper nearly two feet wide. "Say what you want about Impy, he knows where to find the good stuff," Tracks added, as he pulled a can of Java from the hole in the middle of the toilet roll, and sorted them accordingly.

LROP suddenly felt his taste for Java skydive.

"Not bad at all, TT," shaxper commented, as he sifted a little into the duffel. "You even got some boot wax in here... holy god," he said through his coughs, while fanning away the smell. "What is this, Luftwaffe Black?"

Tracks took the can and sniffed at it. "Oh boy. My Brunei Black Gold coffee preserve," he said. "I thought it might have expired by now. Ah well, it'll keep the mosquitoes away."

Not to mention some people, thought LROP.

Predabot was indeed sulking in the corner - he was sitting on the floor, completely quiet as he tried to think for himself, how to get through all this on his own. Ishin's right... this is the military, and I can't expect anyone to stick up for me, I gotta do this on my own... He tried to remember everything he ever heard about the army, and hoped to uncover some kind of gameplan his simple mind could comprehend...

"...way I see it, it ain't that hard bein' in the army - you just have to remember to make your bed every morning, always shine your shoes, always stand up straight, and always remember to answer with 'YES SERGEANT!!'"

***

It was time for an imposing drum solo in the background, as Brigadier General IronHide inspected the TransFans Air Corps.

Fortunately, Rebis and Metal Vendetta had made it on time - they'd even had a bit of time for EmVee to shine up his boots, and Rebis made it to his position alongside IronHide as part of his guard without anyone noticing - apart from the fact that he was the only animal in the parade.

IronHide stopped in front of EmVee, which made everyone hold their breath.

"Good luck on your first test flight, pilot," said IronHide. "Colonel Smooth tells me you prepared all night for this."

"I'm sure he did," EmVee replied.

"You might wanna zip up before climbing into the plane, though," said IronHide as he turned and left - EmVee wait a little too long to glance downward, and see that he did indeed need to zip up, which he managed to do quickly enough.

"Oh shut up," he grumbled to a sniggering Rebis. "You're the one whose only job is to sniff his arse."

Rebis didn't even bother to acknowlege that as he followed IronHide back to his seat, to the left of the podium. On the podium itself was Colonel Smooth, who took one sweeping look at the line of pilots - stopping for a bit at Metal Vendetta - before deciding it was time for Phase 2.

"COMPANY!... MOUNT UP!"

The pilots turned to the left and stepped in time (Metal Vendetta was about half a second behind them), then marched three steps - Jetfire wound up bumping into EmVee as the others stamped once and fell out, turning and running to the line of aircraft parked on the tarmac behind them.

"Dammit, Emvee, weren't you paying attention last night?!" Jetfire grumbled as they ran towards their aircraft and started climbing up the ladders hanging from the cockpits.

"Nobody told me marching was a part of this!" Emvee retorted, as he vaulted into his cockpit and landed in the seat - and let out a loud yelp of pain.

"Geting used to that steering column, Rob?"

"Shut up."

As mentioned earlier, Emvee would be test-piloting a new aircraft, and currently the only one of ots type on the tarmac. The other pilots were all flying a model called the Zogan PWN-3D, a thing that resembled a stylised Spitfire, with a single jet engine below the nosecond and leading out the back below the tailfins. They also had the operationally-ready paintjob, sky blue on the undersides with forest camouflage colors on the top, and each pilot somehow found the time to add personal touches like their TransFans handles on the sides of the cockpits, and a few girly pictures thrown in for good measure.

Emvee's aircraft, the Dthunder BS-1, was a heavier version of the PWN-3D, with a huge jet engine, a two-seater cockpit, bomb bays and wider wings. Emvee reasoned, and quite accurately too, that the numbers in the planes' names had something to do with the stages of developement - the PWN-3D not only went through three stages of redesigning, but in its final stage was further refined four more times. As for the BS-1 - well, it would be fair to say that Emvee was flying on two wings and a prayer. They didn't even think it was worth the bloody paintjob, Emvee murmured to himself as he lowered the black visor on his helmet, to shield from the glare of the BS-1's bare steel fuselage.

"BS-1, this is Smooth1. You're up last, so take some time to familiarise yourself with the controls and instruments, over," said Emvee's helmet radio.

"Smooth - you're not driving anything, why the hell do you need a callsign?" Emvee replied.

"...you don't have the first clue how to use military radio, do you?" Smooth replied. "You have to give out your own callsign first, and end each transmission with 'over'. Jeez, I bet you sleep through movies as well..."

"Emvee here, and no, I don't," Metal Vendetta replied. "I have my handphone ringer on maximum volume for that reason, over."

Smooth went quiet for a bit.

"Smooth1, your callsign will be BS-1 since you're the only guy who's flying one," said Smooth. "Next time you hear this voice, it will be telling you to lift off, so be ready. Over."

"BS-1, that's a ten-four," EmVee replied. "Over and out."

"...That's police, Rob."

Crap. Metal Vendetta decided to return to his controls, starting with the steering column - he knew well enough to stay away from any button that needed a cover, and instead tilted the steering column back and forth, looking over his shoulder to watch the flaps move in time with him.

Looking back at the airstrip, he saw two of the PWN-3D aircraft taxiing onto the runway - their engines were burning away, making them a bit painful to look at as the intense heat bent the light around them. Looking back at the podium, he noticed that Smooth was gone - he was sitting beside IronHide now, with a headset connected to a large signal set that sat on the ground, while politely refusing a handful of IronHide's popcorn.

"...is EmVee still working out how to fly that thing?" IronHide asked.

"Umm..." Smooth had to think fast. "He's just making sure the controls respond properly. It's part of the pre-flight procedure. Like kicking the tires and so on."

"Oh... okay," said a properly satiated IronHide.

"You'll want to keep an eye on Jetfire and Fwiff, however," Smooth added without missing a beat, "they're piloting the PWN-3Ds, simple but effective air superiority fighters, very highly maneuverable, and..."

Smooth's voice was lost in the roar of jet engines as two PWN-3Ds made their big run up the tarmac, going faster and faster - pilots Jetfire and Master_Fwiffo had been through their G-force drills, breathing and swallowing in time, but the roar of the engines and burning air made them go nearly deaf...

...the sounds became a little easier to endure as the rumble of the tires on the tarmac cut off, the moment the two aircraft left the ground, and started climbing.

"Red leader and Red 1 successfuly took off," said Lieutenant Colonel saysadie, seated at a mobile radar console.

"And not a moment too soon, dammit my head's still ringing," Jetfire grumbled over the radio.

Smooth touched the button on his handset. "Red leader, this is Smooth1, do you read, over."

"Red leader here, go for it," Master Fwiffo replied.

"Smmooth1 - your boys have ten minutes to complete your maneuvers and clear the skies before Emvee lifts off, and I hope I don't have to tell you why that's important, over."

"Red leader, roger that," Fwiff replied. "Over and out."

The two PWN-3Ds started pitching upwards, going into a near vertical climb as Fwiff and Jetfire felt the G-force pulling their brains into their throats - it was of course impossible for those on the ground to tell, but to his credit, IronHide started to look concerned.

"You sure it's okay for them to do that?" he asked.

"Oh, that's to show the PWN-3D's capabilities," Smooth explained, "its afterburners can give it the driving power of aircraft several classes above them..."

SMooth had to stop for a bit, as the roar of the next two PWN-3ds' jet engines drowned his voice, as they raced up the tarmac and lifted off.

"...and all without sacrificing on maneuverability..."

"On my mark, Jets," said Fwiffo over the radio, "...and... NOW!"

Red leader and Red 1 rolled outward, pitching back into a horizontal trajectory while rotating very tightly indeed around each other - with that same precise control, they made a single horizontal corcle before pitching back down again, just as Red 2 and 3 began replicating their vertical climb.

Flipping special switches on their steering columns set of smoke canisters on the wingtips of Red leader and Red 3, marking their path as they went into a descending double-helix flight path - with Red 2 and 3 directly below them and climbing fast...

"C'mon, you two have been trained for this, you can do it," Fwiffo growled through his teeth - it didn't matter much that his voice was lost to the roar of burning air around his aircraft, since his radio was off...

Red 2 and 3 were looking a bit unsteady themselves, their adjacent wingtips about two feet apart as they went vertical, sighting down the bore of the convenient smoke tunnel that Fwiff and Jetfire had created for them...

...and they passed clean through, spending a fraction of a second with Fwiff and Jets' aircraft about ten feet away, and shooting straight up without even touching the double helix of smoke.

IronHide had to clap at that, and so did saysadie, Smooth, and everyone still on the ground... all except for Metal Vendetta, who'd been busy trying to work out which latch from which seatbelt went into which slot.

"Smooth1 to Red wing," said Smooth into his headset, "five minutes remaining, Red wing begin landing approach now. Out to you." He stopped for a bit to look at Emvee's aircraft, just as red and green lights on the wingtips lit up and started blinking like indicators. "Although I'm tempted to activate that emergency airstrip, really..."

***

A Company, and apparently the other companies as well, had something big lined up for the afternoon.

By order of Colonel Eline Witkam, the recruits were being issued with some of their military equipment early. Crates of boxes of boots filled three trucks lined up below the barracks, and more boxes, different ones though, had been hauled upstairs. bobaprime watched as Tired Tracks was given the job of opening the box and distributing the contents.

Tracks took one and looked at it - it was a plastic bottle shaped a bit like a tortoise shell, with a screw-on cap connected with nylon string, all in army green. "How much does this hold?" he asked.

"One liter, as per NATO standards," said bobaprime. "Every one of you gets two. If you get some left over, pass 'em to another company - if you come up short, start hoping some other company passes some our way."

"We'll be using these right away, aren't we?" asked LROP.

"That's right," bobaprime answered. "Make sure you get the silica gel sachets out of them and rinse them a few times though. Keep one in your locker and have one full to the brim when you fall in downstairs. 3 pm sharp."

"Sir yes sir," said Predabot.

"At ease, soldier," said bobaprime. "I'm not so uptight about all that stuff - it's Leatherneck you want to be worried about, I'm just making sure you have all your protocol down pat."

"Fat lot of good it'll do," said LROP. "Not like any of the brass ever come by here."

"Funny you'd mention that," said bobaprime. "As you all know this is the physical training leg of your service - none of you have even seen a rifle yet. When the military training starts up - that's when officers three stripes and above will be coming around to see what the big fuss is all about - I'll be reassigned to a more active post, and Leatherneck will be in charge."

"AWW F***K NO!!"

bobaprime got a real shock from this - but not enough that he couldn't look around carefully, and notice how every single recruit was trying their best to look as if they didn't just say that.

"Excuse me?" he said, still eyeing every single recruit.

"Sir, aww f**k no, sir!"

Tired Tracks exhaled. Dammit, Predabot.

[Darth Aux]

Everybody keeps taking advantage of my young malable, fragile mind.
I sense the Dark side..close to me..the power..

Come with me young aprentice and I will show you the true power of the Darkside. Plus force lightning will save you a fortune on electric bills (Once you can control the power output)

[Predabot]

Heh. Who needs Crash Test Dummies when you've got EmmVee right?

Oh boy, it's sure going to be tuff with the military training coming up.. Heavy Metal Jacket everybody..heavy metal jacket... I'm a goner long before I get to see any action.

[Optimus Prime Rib]

wondering whats going on with Ishin and I

[Aaron Hong]

wondering whats going on with Ishin and I

Funny you'd mention that.
***

General IronHide and Colonel Smooth looked on (with some trepidation in Smooth's case) as Captain EmVee's aircraft taxiied down the runway, and rotated around for its big takeoff run.

"Captain Robert Leese Jones, callsign Metal Vendetta, is piloting the BS-1," Smooth explained. "Structurally larger than the PWN-3D, but with an engine twice as powerful, and three times the weapons capacity thanks to its stainless steel construction. It's safe to say that these will be seeing the most action - they're incredibly cheap to build and maintain, yet their simplicity is their greatest strength."

"That's good to know," said IronHide. "TransFans security is in the hands of a sky full of stainless steel BS."

"...yeah," said Smooth. Dammit, I got to talk to those R&D people about naming these planes...

Inside the cockpit, a place Metal Vendetta would normally be happy to be in, he was instead a complete bundle of nerves. C'mon, Rob, he told himself, this is the very reason you don't sleep through movies, I gotta recall every bloody thing I ever learned about aircraft from them now... "Where's the targeting computer? How many photon torpedoes are on this thing? Wait, this thing isn't outfitted for war yet, is it?"

Smooth didn't have the heart to say he could still hear EmVee over the radio.

"All right, here we go..."

EmVee worked the throttle and pulled on the flight stick... which caused the BS-1 to jerk and roll backwards on its landing gear for about ten feet.

"Oops. Had the bloody thing in reverse..."

Smooth had his face in his hands as Emvee got the BS-1 going the right way, rolling up the tarmac as the flames belching out the back end slowly went from red to blue, pushing the aircraft forward faster and faster - surprisingly there was not much of a rumble for Emvee, not only from the near airtight canopy, but from the tighter shocks on the landing gear.

Wow. Smooth ride. Emvee noticed the end of the runway, and remembered what he was supposed to do next. Pedals control the rudders, right, and...

"Not yet!" said Smooth on the radio. "You're not fast enough for lift! Give her more time to accelerate!"

"Are you sure? This thing here under the compass is redlining in both directions!"

Smooth paused for a second. "That's the waterline indicator, Rob."

"...Oh. I knew that."

The runway was insanely long, and upon reaching a certain distance, one could no longer judge the distance with the naked eye. Smooth had specifically told saysadie not to give out a progress report for Emvee, because he was afraid of what he might hear.

All right then, at times like this it's important for a man to ask himself one question, thought Emvee to himself as he looked at the final notch on the throttle, the one indicated in red. For some reason this last notch took up a third of the shifter slot, which indicated airspeeds in knots or something for all the ten notches below it.

...Have I taken my hemmorhoid medication lately?

Without any further thought, EmVee pressed the thumb button to unlock the throttle and pushed it all the way up the red notch...

...then felt himself being pulled into his seat, his organs and his spine jostling to the rear as the BS-1 tripled in speed, belching white flames all the way up the tarmac...

"Is that the afterburner?" said Smooth. "Did he just kick in the afterburner?"

"If that's not enough speed to gain lift I don't know what is," saysadie mumbled.

"WOOHOO!!" yelled IronHide, his officer cap hanging from a coatrack while a bright blue cap with the NASCAR logo now donned his head.

C'mon, Emvee! Pull up!!

Metal Vendetta couldn't hear anything now - the deafening rumble he'd been expecting now hit him in full force, and all his intestines were about to pass out his rectum in one go, as he inched forward with his toes, felt the pedals below them, and jammed with all his might...

...causing the BS-1 to lift off the tarmac and into the sky, missing the end of the runway by fifteen feet.

Smooth slumped back in his chair as IronHide cheered. "Good run, Emvee," he said into the radio.

"Thanks, and I ought to mention that stainless steel might not be the way to go," Emvee replied - he had nothing but sky filling his canopy now, he'd returned to a comfortable airspeed and could finally take a breather. "I had to kick in the afterburners just to get her to lift off. You might want to look into that."

"You heard me mention that?" said Smooth.

"Well, you're the one who gave this plane the only two-way radio," said Emvee. "I just said that 'over' stuff for fun. Part of the show, one might say. Cheerio for now. Next time you hear this voice, it'll be face to face."

Emvee had finally gotten the hang of it, and not a moment too soon - he knew he had Smooth to thank for the (mostly) idiot-proof controls, the BS-1 handled like a dream, and with his background as a golden aircraft to boot, there was only one way to describe Emvee's current sensation.

I'm home.

Smooth was the only one to duck as EmVee executed a low pass over the podium, with a shout of "METAL VENDETTA FLIES AGAIN!!"

It was hard to say if they could hear him.

***

A Company didn't need any sergeants snapping at their heinies to fall in on time. They'd followed the age-old tradition of peeking out the windows to see if the other companies had started pouring down the stairs yet, and then started off themselves, some taking those industrial lifts as they went down to the quadrangle at a leisurely pace.

"Anyone seen Predabot around here?" asked Tired Tracks.

"I thought he was in the bunk a while ago," said Laser Rod Optimus Prime,

"Maybe he took the elevator," said shaxper. "You gotta admit, for a Swedish guy he's kind of hard to pick out in a crowd..."

"Unlike some Southerners," said Tired Tracks, raising a finger - shaxper and LROP followed his gaze towards the quadrangle and saw, not surprisingly, Optimus Prime Rib waist-deep in B Company as they milled around, chatting amongst each other in that indistinct murmur typical of background characters.

"Hello, A Company. I'm surprised you even showed up today," said Ishin no Ookami, already standing at the head of his fellow soldiers.

"Dude, this is in the unit schedule, we're all supposed to be here anyway," said shaxper.

"Whatever," Ish replied. "Funny you'd mention the schedule, I bet you have no idea what those bottles are for."

shaxper and his lot looked at each other, then brought out their water bottles - whoever thought of the tortoiseshell design had obviously intended for the bottles to be carried on one's person, as Tracks pulled his bottle out of a corner of his pants that nobody really considered.

"Tracks, don't you have the thigh pockets in your cargo pants?" said LROP.

"Is that what they're for?" Tracks replied. "I dunno, I keep my field-ration chocolate in there. One bar half-melted in a mug of coffee, now THAT is the way God intended. Heh."

"Whoa. I gotta try that sometime," said OP Rib, before Ishin whacked his arm.

"TEN-HUT!"

In an instant every soldier was back in rank and file (Optimus Prime Rib took up two files though), and standing at attention. The sergeants had finally arrived - bobaprime for A Company, Blacksword for B, and Powermaster Optimus Prime for C - and each immediatedly rushed to the heads of their respective block of soldiers. Something else was going down this time, as every soldier in B and C brought out their bottles and opened the caps.

"Come on, you lot, open those bottles," said bobaprime. "This is Water Parade - everyone has to have his bottle filled to the brim with water before we start. Let's look at those bottles now."

"We do?" said TT, before LROP nudged him into action.

Soon everyone was standing at attention with left hands raised and holding the bottles. bobaprime looked quickly from one end of the front row to the other - he'd been hoping to make this a quick one, but what he saw left him with a disapproving look on his face that some of A Company had learned to dread by now.

"Not a very good turnout at all, is it?"

bobaprime froze as he recognised that voice - he didn't even start turning around until a couple of seconds had passed.

"...Not really, Sergeant Leatherneck."

"Mmm-hmm. I'll take over from here, sergeant," said Leatherneck, glaring at bobaprime for a second before walking first to the right of A Company, then inspecting the bottles one by one. He didn't say a word as he passed by each soldier - some thought he'd only look for the reflection from the water near the bottlenecks, but the way he stopped to look right into some of the bottles caused a few hearts to arrest.

"You, refill this now, double time. Go," said Leatherneck, thumbing one soldier towards a row of taps outside the barracks. "You too, follow him - you - you - WTF IS THIS, SOLDIER?!"

shaxper's eyes flew wide open when the smell reached his nostrils. He didn't even need to see the steam come his way to know who it was that had gotten Leatherneck's attention.

"Sultan of Brunei Royal Blend. Was in season this year, I got five cans of this stuff," said Tired Tracks.

"YOU USED A STANDARD-ISSUE WATER BOTTLE TO MAKE F*CKING COFFEE!!??"

"It sets the mood, yes," said Tracks - whose mind seemed to drift off for a bit, as if some past memory was invoked - but quickly returned to earth. "I knew about the long run, sarge, and I figured that simply hydration wasn't enough, with an exercise like this you need energy too... heh, energy..."

A vein popped up on Leatherneck's forehead.

"I want all of you jackoffs to run down to the taps and fill your bottles RIGHT NOW!" he yelled. "MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"

Rank and file rapidly disintegrated as A Company ran around Leatherneck and headed for the taps, shoving and jostling all the way - one could now make out 'Tired Tracks' amidst the indistinct background murmur, even as LROP made his way towards the soldier in question.

"Here. use this," he said, passing a second bottle to TT.

"...Dude, why?"

"I know you need your caffeine to keep your system going. Just fill this one with water and show it to Neck, he won't make a fuss," LROP explained.

"Thanks," said Tracks.

"Of course you now owe me your other bottle."

"Hey, no prob," Tracks replied. "I'd like to see how Ish rides through this though, I hear Blacksword is even tougher than Neck."

Tired Tracks' smile blinked off when he saw the current look on shax and LROP's faces, and knew that something new had caught their attention, and turned to look...

At this point in time, Sergeant Blacksword was just about done inspecting his troops, when he stopped in front of Ishin.

"Six of you don't have your bottles," said Blacksword. "You'd better have a good reason, bub."

"We had to add our water to everyone else's bottles to make sure we were all full to the brim," Ishin explained. "It's certainly smarter than making everyone run down to the taps," he added, with a derisive look in A Company's direction, as they returned to rank and file.

The indistinct background murmur changed to include the words 'cocky bastard.'

"Oookay," said Blacksword. "And where's the bub with your bottles, eh?"

"Coming right up..."

Tired Tracks, Laser Rod OP and shaxper were still staring, as another recruit to rival the freakishness of OPRib walked past them - an average Caucasian male like everyone else, but for his six long arms that carried B Company's bottles, and handed them back to Ishin and his people.

"Whose drug-induced nightmare did HE come out of?!" said TT to himself.

"Those arms can extend, god crappit," LROP noted.

"At ease, soldiers," Blacksword ordered, and B Company's rank and file loosened up, allowing Ishin to address A Company in his usual manner.

"Before you ask, it was not that easy to keep my new friend under wraps, I assure you," said Ishin. "Allow me to introduce Kasei no Kumo."

"Spider from Mars," Tracks translated.

"I always preferred that name meself. Cheerio," said spiderfrommars, waving with two right hands, looking oblivious to the tension Ishin was creating.

"This is a run, Ishin," said shaxper, "and if anything you should be angling for people with the better legs - not the better arms."

"First of all," Ishin began, "you will kindly address me as Ishin no Ookami or not at all. By butchering my name you remove its meaning. I am the Wolf, not the Pride..."

"Coulda fooled me," Tracks murmured.

"So we can call you Oh Cammy from now on?" LROP also murmured.

"...and secondly, the military is not just about these runs. You will find in future that upper body strength will have its place in the equation... not so vital a place as intelligence and craftiness, of course," said Ishin, drifting off for a bit as self-indulgence took over.

"TEN-HUT!"

A Company had to stand at attention again, as Leatherneck did a much quicker inspection of the water bottles this time. Someone else had appeared from behind the barracks, and it seemed that the sergeants had to rush things quickly in order to give this person their attendance reports.

"Hey, that's Prowl Pants," said LROP. "I was wondering when he'd show up."

"C Company all present, sir," said PMOP with a salute.

"He's an OFFICER?!" Tracks shrieked. "That's not ***ing fair!!"

"Ssshh!" said (well, shushed) LROP, as Leatherneck and Blacksword reported similarly to Prowl Pants. This was indeed going to be a unit event, involving everyone from the Training department. With the higher officers at the airstrip, it was up to the remaining officers here to supervise the regimental exercise - it was vital in its own way, as more elaborate regiment-level exercises awaited the recruits in the near future. The kind that would officially replace the title 'recruit' with 'soldier'.

TT wasn't prepared for a second surprise, as Prowl Pants himself had to about face and march, to report to an even higher officer. TT wasn't expecting this at first, but he figured on his own that one had to have an officer of considerable rank to be in charge when all three companis were involved.

He just hadn't counted on who that officer would be.

"Good evening, recruits," said Colonel Eline. "Are we ready for our run?"

[IronHide]

"WOOHOO!!" yelled IronHide, his officer cap hanging from a coatrack while a bright blue cap with the NASCAR logo now donned his head.

http://www.bustedtees.com/product.php?name=boringnascar

[Aaron Hong]

"WOOHOO!!" yelled IronHide, his officer cap hanging from a coatrack while a bright blue cap with the NASCAR logo now donned his head.

http://www.bustedtees.com/product.php?name=boringnascar

Nascar was the first name I thought of when the opening for a rip on motor racing popped up. If you know of a bigger motor racing league I could go back and change that...

[Optimus Prime Rib]

Heh me and Spiderfrommars are considered "freakish"

[Best First]

thats because you actually read these things.

[Optimus Prime Rib]

OI! Dont hate! I really enjoy Aarons stories

[Best First]

See? Freakish.

[Optimus Prime Rib]

you make my insides cry

[Best First]

don't forget your outsides.

ew. sweaty.

[Optimus Prime Rib]

don't forget your outsides.

ew. sweaty.

no, those are strangely unaffected.

[Aaron Hong]

Obfleur was tied up with a few problems of his own.

"Things have come to a rather disturbing pass," Ikijigoku had told him the night before. "We already got Prowl Pants pulling double duty as an officer-in-charge for one company of recruits and IronHide's babysitter. The need for more soldiers needs to be addressed before sergeant major Papa Snarl throws a fit and starts cussing all over the place. It's our job to keep the brass pacified with some very glowing progress reports, Ob - and as senior TransFans, the real leaders when a crisis starts up, it falls to us to provide these glowing progress reports."

So it was the Obfleur, with foil stickers on his lapels to indicate his hasty promotion to Captain, had been given the job of executing a mock mission that would be evaluated by said brass. The mission involved one of the abandoned warehouses within the city limits, enough explosives to fill his cargo pants, and a bulletproof vest, a knife and a pithy little handgun for defence.

"I hope the dolme in charge appreciate what we're doing here," Obfleur growled, as he curled up and hid behind a dumpster.

"And I'll just pretend I don't understand a word of Swedish," said Ikijogoku from behind the next dumpster. He stopped for a second as Ob appeared to be adjusting something in his mouth with his left pinky. "Ob, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Obfleur, pulling a tiny brown thing from under his lip. "It's called snus. A permeable sachet filled with tobacco. Keeps my nerves sharpened for all-nighters, figured it'd be perfect for this. Want one?"

"I'll pass," said Iki as politely as he could, then tried not to look as Ob shoved his snus back in. "Right... we have to wait for the transport to leave through the front door, then slip in from around the left, behind the guard. Don't worry, I'll lead us through this one step at a time..."

"Which is the same way you're planning this mission, I bet," Ob complained. "You never even told me what all this putty in my pockets is for."

"Shh!!!"

Ob reflexively went quiet as the rolling door on the building opened - it was daytime so there were no telltale headlights, but the sound of an engine from behind the door gave Ob and Iki a fair idea of what to expect.

Sure enough, there was a vehicle rolling out - Magna Prime's truck form, as it turned out, navigating the driveway easily enough as it passed the dumpters on the way out.

"I thought turning in our badges disabled all transforming for TransFans!" said Obfleur.

"They must have found some other use for the tech spec cards then," Iki commented. "Didn't you see the person driving that thing?"

Obfleur shrugged his shoulders.

"Never mind that, the door operator's returning to his post," said Iki. "GO! NOW! MOVE!"

Iki and Ob didn't rise to their feet, but ran anyway - their bodies half folded and arms outstretched with guns already in hand, running in an odd pace as they slipped behind the rolling door operator, who was busy watching the massive steel doors as they descended, and locked in place...

***

"Company, ten-HUT!" yelled Leatherneck, and watched as A Company stood at attention. "Present - BOTTLES!"

"Is he f**king serious?" said Tired Tracks under breath, as everyone raised their bottles and opened the caps.

"They're just making sure everyone's had their water before we start," said LROP.

Leatherneck took a quick look around to make sure everyone was ready - and everyone was. "Company..."

"ONE FOR THE ROAD, RRAAAHH!!"

Everyone got a bit of a shock as B Company decided, probably beforehand, to mark their drinking procedure with a cheer of sorts. Tired Tracks thought he saw a derisive sneer from Ishin before the chugging started.

"Oh boy, look at Eline now," said LROP. "She probably expects all of us to do that..."

"Not really," said shaxper. "She'll be expecting some sort of originality."

C Company was currently tied up because of that very reason, but their sergeant, PMOP, was already on hand to rally the soldiers in an impromptu huddle, and sure enough they agreed on something.

"INTO THE MOUTH AND PAST THE GUMS, LOOK OUT TUMMY, HERE IT COMES! RRAAAHH!!"

Oh holy god, thought shaxper.

"Well, what next?" asked Tired Tracks. "Look at Leatherneck, he probably didn't know about this beforehand."

"Then I suggest we lend him a hand," said shaxper. "Tracks - are you legal age for Irish coffee?"

Leatherneck was trying not to look in Colonel ELine's direction, in fear of the current look on her face. He didn't have that much to fear, in fact - she was merely looking on curiously and waiting for what A Company was about to come up with.

The sight of LROP, TT and shaxper wrapping their free arms around each other's shoulders should have been indication enough.

"...ooohhhh.... di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii!" they went.

"Oh di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii!" went the rest of A Company obediently.

We've been enlisted in TransFans
And thrown into Boot Camp
Where nobody is a hero
And nobody is a champ
We're all just plain old soldiers
Doing the best we can
With rifles on our shoulders
And our guns in our hands

Oh di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii

There's jogging every morning
And pushups every night
And when it's time for beddybye
You'll go out like a light
The food is made by Sheba
And Nebbie is really sweet
She'll talk to you in Southern
Which beats speaking in l33t

Oh di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii

Leatherneck is our sergeant
His balls are made of steel
Whoever spread that rumor
Probably copped a feel
The army doc is Dylan
He'll check your ears and eyes
With torchlights and thermometers
And sometimes with french fries

Oh di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii

We're training to be soldiers
And fighting for TransFans
If somehow we don't make it
We'll find someone who can
Tell Mama I can't come home
Keep Sis out of my stuff
Tell my girl that I love her
And all that other stuff

Oh di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii
Oh di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-di-dy-dii...!

[Kup_1]

This has got to be the weirdest thing I've ever read.



Honestly.



I love it.

[Aaron Hong]

The time has come at last to drag out the story even more...

***

Obfleur had been following Ikijigoku through the worst kind of urban terrain - up and down several flights of stairs, through open windows and between dozens of oil drums filling what looked like a car shop. The real icing on the cake was a rappel from a skylight down some five storeys, landing as quietly as possible behind a row of wooden crates on pallets.

"Couldn't we just enter through that car shop? The doors were wide open!" Obfleur growled.

"The stereo playing machine noises and background chatter was meant to simulate body work in progress. Ergo, the area was not clear," Iki explained. "Now, the terrorists are holed up in this office here, your job is to head into the door on the left, down the corridor while I cover you. You'll take charge of the hostages."

"You never said anything about hostages!"

"Shh," said Iki for the last time, and Ob went quiet. The crates made a good hiding place as Iki listened in on the barely audible voices, of their 'terrorists' no doubt, or possibly another tape recorder. They'll have some kind of targets set up, I'm sure, thought Iki. Well, nothing else to do now, but...

"Go. Now," Iki ordered, and Obfleur started sneaking down the corridor as Iki watched his back. The blinds were down in the office windows and silhouettes could be seen moving around - which gave Iki an idea.

Obfleur on the other hand reached the end of his corridor and ducked behind a water cooler. He'd never been this nervous before in his life - Ikijigoku was taking this all too seriously, for a dude who mostly frequented the Toy forum, and he'd had a close call once when he spat out his snus in the wrong place.

Taking a deep breath and psyching himself up, he pulled out a fresh snus and stuck it under his lip, then clenched his mouth and let the bag work its debatable magic on his nerves...

I can hear them inside... two people walking around, and some others sitting in the middle - those must be the hostages. Obfleur stopped to take a look at the door, which was locked. I could never kick that down, and if I waste a shot on the door I'll just alert them one step earlier...

Aren't these boots built to hold out against landmines?

***

Obfleur had been right about the two terrorists - they were your generic non-posting TransFans, walking back and forth aimlessly ever since whoever registered with them as IDs got up and left. Someone had thought of dressing them up in your generic terrorist garb and rifles just for this exercise, just for kicks, as it were.

There was no term in existence, as it turned out, that was more fitting.

With a deafening BLAM the door blew inwards, flattening one 'terrorist' in an instant, giving the other just enough time to turn and look as Obfleur himself stormed into the room, and execute his most hideous facial expression.

The discarded ID had no defence against it. Even the soulless were reported to come alive in pure fear at one of Ob's faces. And some of those were when he was still sober.

And not a single shot fired, Obfleur thought to himself, using the water cooler to soak his smoking boot, thanks to a pinch of plastic explosive, as the remaining 'terrorist' collapsed and curled into a fetal state. Damn, I rock.

***

It was all Ikijigoku could do not to jump in shock when he heard the blast - but the real concern was what the rest of the terrorists were about to do, when they heard it themselves and started rushing for the door.

Opening the door turned out to be a little harder than they thought, due in part to Iki having stacked all the crates in front of it beforehand.

"Happy Easter, bitches!"

Iki hurled his only hand grenade through the glass window, creating even more confusion as he dove for cover behind the last remaining crate, as the chaos finally culminated in a BOOM that shattered all the windows.

***

With the excessive preparations over with, the run could finally begin.

Predabot found himself near the back end of A Company as they started jogging towards the gate, and it wasn't till they were turning left that he realised what the big deal really was. They were jogging down a highway, one of over fifty six-lane roads that formed the veins and arteries of TransFans. From Predabot's view, it seemed to stretch right into the horizon.

"Don't worry so much, Pred, you'll like this," said bobaprime. "I mean, seriously. We'll get a couple of break times but the real focus of this run is all the sightseeing we'll get to do along the way."

"Yes, that fantastic view of the swampland on the south bed of teh river l33t should look positively icky this time of year," said Laser Rod Optimus Prime. "And we might come close to the city as well, where the diesel exhaust really spices up the atmosphere."

"You're not taking all this too well, are you?" asked Tired Tracks.

He never did get his answer though, as one by one the soldiers slipped into that familiar forced rhythm as they jogged - a pace that was not intended for actual exercise at all, but for the purpose of keeping everybody in formation and at the same speed. This could be said about pretty much everything in the military - the look of the thing usually took priority over everything else.

And just like with everything in the military, the recruits couldn't be bothered to raise a stink, and just took it in stride, as C Company finally left the gates, placing the entire regiment on the highway.

Now it was beginning.


(To the tune of 'Highway 61 Revisited' by Bob Dylan)

Sarge says to soldier, See that there tree?
Run there and touch it, then run back to me
Soldier says, What? Sarge says, STFU
You can't do whatever you like, punk
You're in the army now, and your ass is mine

Soldier says, What tree did you have in mind?
Sarge says, That one on Highway 69


Soldier spends the night at his sentry post
At half past one he meets this ghost
They played blackjack till half past four
But when he wakes up, it ain't there anymore
Looks like the end of his world, and I feel fine

Sarge says, You get off easy this time
Next time you stand guard at Highway 69


Now the army general he was very bored
Picked a point in the desert to start his war
Soldier and his buddies nearly fell on the floor
They said, we never engaged in this kind of thing before
But the general says, the creaps are very easy to find

Just grab some benches and stick them in a line
And camp out on Highway 69


Soldier and his rifle both roll in the dirt
A line charge goes off, and the captain gets hurt
Soldier grabs captain, and they run and hide
But a couple dozen soldiers all need a ride
Soldier says, what do I do, there's not enough time

Captain says, no need to get past enemy lines
Just get us as far as Highway 69


Soldier comes home at the end of the war
Half his best pals ain't here anymore
A woman says, Hi, my name is Sue
My husband Johnny told me everything about you
How do you tell her he took a dump on a landmine

Soldier says, he'll come home, and he's just fine
Just wait for him out on Highway 69

[Sheba]

ahhh the classics.

[Leatherneck]

haha, nice, i didn't know i was such a badass

[Aaron Hong]

Ikijigoku and Obfleur made it at last to the front gate of the empty office complex, where a lady in a khaki office-lady dress stood applauding - the mock mission was a success, they'd put on a good enough show for the brass, and Obfleur to his credit hadn't been hit too badly by snus withdrawal.

"Congratulations, officers. You've just ensured the longevity of your Black Ops unit," said the black-haired lady.

"What the - isn't the brass supposed to be watching this?" asked Iki.

"And who the heck are you?" asked Obfleur.

"WAC Kup_1, chief secretary," said the lady with a salute. "When the regimentalisation began, practically every longstanding TransFan showed some military aptitude, leaving us newbies with the administrative tasks."

"So how'd Sheba wind up in the kitchen?" asked Obfleur, but not too loudly.

"A joke on Besty's part, I'm sure," Iki replied, also not too loudly.

"This unit of yours was meant to be a secret from the very beginning," Kup_1 explained, "and that's why there aren't many people around to watch this. Problem is, we'd kept it so secret that hardly any of the admin staff knows about this, so we could only get one moderator out here."

"And which one is that?" asked Ikijigoku delicately, as if he was afraid of the answer.

"SWEET ****ING MOTHER ****ING *** OF ******!!" screamed a very livid Senior Warrant Officer Papa Snarl as he came rushing in. "You ****s are the ***ing ***!! With the *** and the **** and **** *******!! It was *******!! ******* ***** ******* ****** ******!!!"

Nobody really worked out just how Papa Snarl was able to pronounce all those asterisks through his mouthful of beer. Everyone just stared. Obfleur only blinked when it was all over. It was reflexive really, triggered by Kup_1 clearing her throat.

"...in any case, I'm here to report primarily that Iki has been allowed to exercise his rank of Colonel when requesting the transfer of TransFans to his unit. You'll have to think of your own excuses, though..." She saluted Iki and Papa Snarl, and left.

"What, I don't get anything?" said Obfleur.

"You never did give rank any regard yourself," said Iki, as they left the scene.

***

The red sun of TransFans descending slowly onto the horizon coincided perfectly with the sounds of over three hundred recruits collapsing on the floors of the barracks. Too fatigued to walk and too tired to care, the entirety of the TransFan regiment was not thronging the showers as expected, but lying all over the bare concrete floor, as if the war had already ended for them.

"If I see Predabot prancing around and trying to cheer people up, I swear he is getting the treatment," said Tired Tracks.

"Tracks?! God crappit, you're not thinking what I think yo're thinking?!" said shaxper.

"No, of course not," Tracks replied. "I meant, not from me, but at the rate he's going he'll have the entire company after his blood. You honestly want that?"

"That's the biggest glaring problem with the system right there," said Laser Rod. "Sure, the whole point of motivating your troops through stress is to squeeze the most extreme response out from them, but did they ever stop to think about where the excess stress goes?"

They all went quiet for another couple of minutes. Laser Rod OP thought he saw Predabot peering out the windows, trying to find that shiny jet fighter that'd swooped over them back on the highway.

"Maybe he's just handling it his own way," said LROP. "It's been theorised, you know, that some kids are born with a chemical imbalance that causes them to go all hyperactive and, well... n00bish."

"A new science for a new age," shaxper quipped.

"So..." said Tracks. "It's a stress reliever we need, eh...?"

***

Dinner that day was pretty run-of-the-mill, except possibly for the reactions to Nebbie's instant gumbo. She didn't understand why it didn't go over so well, just as she wasn't certain if Sheba was only expressing concern after she turned to notice her.

Tracks made sure that Predabot ate at their table this time. He'd been hearing rumors of Ishin no Ookami talking to Predabot several times, and wasn't prepared to take any chances. It said a lot that nearly everyone else in A Company left the table after Predabot sat down.

Ishin didn't know about that, of course. Nobody really noticed him during dinner anyways, but it was only after sundown that Ishin stood in the middle of the B Company bunk, calling attention to himself.

"I have here," he began, holding something wrapped in a blanket, "something that we should all know about well before the military training starts up..."

"You're a dad?" spiderfrommars guessed - wrongly, as it turned out.

"...no," said Ishin, unwrapping the bundle. "I have here..."

Anything else Ishin said was completely lost in the rising curiosity, as the item was unveiled - there aren't many ways to describe it without giving it away right off the bat, since there are very few items in the world that the trigger, butt stock, pistol grip and magazine housing are associated with. For the purposes of this fanfic though, we have recreated the remainder of Ishin's dialogue for your perusal.

"...the PR1M3 standard issue assault rifle, secreted from the TransFans regimental armoury and brought here for your exclusive sneak peek. Don't want my people shooting themselves on the first day, now. Measuring 3 feet 6, and weighing in at about 15 pounds, the M3 rifle is a .4 caliber, air-cooled fully-automatic projectile weapon, firing between 5 to 7 rounds per second, featuring a handy 10x telescopic sight. Can't imagine why they'd make it so big, but I bet Optimus Prime Cuts here can carry two if he had to."

"Beef," OPRib corrected wrongly. The sight of a 15lb automatic weapon was calling out to something in his Southern blood.

"And here's a bonus," said Ishin, whipping out something made of shiny metal. "The as-yet-unnamed standard issue survival knife - ten inches of cold hard steel, and that's just the blade, with suh interesting features as a sawtoothed edge, knuckle protector, even a hidden flint in the pummel and a triple LED light in the hilt. I'm thinking that's not all they're putting into it."

"Verily, tis a mastepiece in the making," said Poetic Knight as he waved it a few times - drawing several cautious stares from the others.

"Hang on a moment, guv," said spiderfrommars. "They can't already be issuing the hardware just yet - can they? I mean Blacksword said we'd be going through the obstacle course first before we even see the guns..."

"Lots of sergeants do this anyway," said Ishin. "To get their people prepared so they don't mess it up when the time comes. With firearms you can't be too careful. You're right in thinking that none of this is on the record, though."

"But are we gonna get in trouble for this anyway?" asked Optimus Prime Rib.

"Way I see it," said Ishin, his eyes shifting in that way they always did, "it can't be worse than whatever meaningless, impractical gesture that A Company is planning to commemorate the next training phase..."

***

"...to those of you coming in from the head, welcome back," said shaxper, seated behind A Company's only table. "We're going to do one of the crowd favourites - Scenes From A Hat!"

A Company whooped and cheered for Laser Rod Optimus Prime, Tired Tracks, Shanti418 and sprukner, perched on four bar stools that quartermaster Hound had sneaked out of the Officers' Mess earlier. Tracks had broken out his portable espresso earlier, when it was agreed that everyone was unable to sleep from the aches and pains, and planned to turn this into an all-nighter they could agree with.

"Basically we've taken suggestions from the audience about what you'd like to see our comedians act out, then we pick out the good ones and put them in this army cap here, because we haven't been issued with helmets yet," shaxper explained, as he sifted through said cap with both hands. "We're gonna start off with... 'Rejected Ideas For Marching Songs.'"

After a couple of seconds, Tired Tracks stepped up, looking all official as he 'marched' in place, then...

"Where the hell are we going, I don't know this road... ARE! WE! THERE! YET! Sound Off!"

Heavens only knew how shaxper got his hands on a buzzer, which he pressed anyway to get Tired Tracks to wrap it up. Sprukner stepped up...

"Which damn bastard cut the cheese, doo dah, doo dah, Pray that there's a gentle breeze, all the doo dah day..."

Sprukner was buzzed off before he could provide any more details. LROP stepped up, taking a little inspiration from Aaron Hong by basing his on that White House marching music he'd once heard...

"Why - in - the hell - did - I volunteer - for this - sh**..."

Half of A Company was rolling by the time LROP stepped back. shaxper decided it was time to pick out the next one.

"Oh, here's a crowd-pleaser... 'Other Things Best First Could Hide His Face With'."

It looked for a bit like LROP and TT were both stepping up, but TT decided to let LROP go first.

"Welcome, TransFans staff, to our annual Thanksgiving dinner," LROP began, then pretended to pull something off his head, lay it on an imaginary table, and start carving it.

Next up was Shanti418...

"Hello again, Brendocon. Like the new headgear - No! Wait! Don't pull the chain! NO - glugglugglugglug..."

Shanti folded up on the floor as he pretended to drown, then crawled off when TT stepped up.

"I've been wearing my head in Omega Supreme's ass for weeks, and I've never looked better!"

"Right, that's more of that than we needed," said shaxper as he buzzed off Tired Tracks. "Next up... 'Dumbest Reasons For Going To Board War.'"

shaxper went quiet for a second as he realised what effect this one would have. They were all going to be soldiers after all, and it was only a matter of time before Best First decided to throw them into a conflict, making this suggestion a lot more relevant than he would have liked it to be.

I know we can handle this, he thought to himself. It's no big deal, really.

And shaxper was fortunately proven right, given some of the answers the four turned out...

"Ah bet him fifty bucks that he wouldn't," said Tired Tracks in IronHide's accent.

"Words of Mass Destruction have been sighted in the Archive," sprukner began, before being buzzed off early, but not before adding "We must control their bandwidth!"

"Brendocon pinched my bottom and called me Daisy," said LROP in a bad British accent.

"Brendocon pinched Compy's bottom and called him Daisy," said TT, with an angry glare at some point in space.

"Sattelite photos have shown Pinnacle bin Laden..." was all sprukner could say before the buzzer interrupted him.

All in all, Tired Tracks' idea had been a roaring success. There really was no backing out of a Board war for them, and while they weren't allowed by law to lament it, they could most bloody well laugh at it. shaxper wished he could see the faces of any officers who travelled past the barracks at this time of night, and hear the outbursts of howling laughter.

"...okay, next one... 'A Look Into the Mind Of Aaron Hong',"

LROP and TT went straight for the beds, each grabbing two pillows and stuffing them up their shirts.

[Predabot]

A COMPANY FOREVER!

Ok, I'll take my n00b-medication now...

Seriously, these two last chapters have been hilarious, keep up the good work, Aaron, sir.

Ah, I saw some things even, that might haveta go straight into my sig, gosh-darnit.

Oh, and people, please, don't give OPR the army-knife when they're serving steak, god knows what could happen..

[Optimus Prime Rib]

When God tells me, Ill be alot happier.

[Aaron Hong]

The long-awaited second chapter of TransFans: Bunch of Buggers kicks off after this long-awaited (except by Predabot) quick update...

***

The random outbursts of laughter had completely faded the moment someone hit the master switch, turning out every light in the building. It was a time-honored method of getting the troops to sleep at the right time, and like all time-honored methods, nobody really knew how well it worked.

Tired Tracks normally didn't need to sleep, thanks no doubt to the lack of blood in his Java level. Research conducted alongside the similarly sleepless Aaron Hong had taught TT a few things - he often found that he had to consciously close his eyes rather than let his eyelids fall, which was proof that he would not drop off rightaway. They'd also discovered that the right brain's shutting off during sleep meant that nobody could consciously remember the actual moment that they take the Z-train.

With all that in mind, dozing off became significantly harder - or at least seemed that way. Among TT's discoveries was the fact that the right brain could shut off after long periods of dormancy even when still awake, creating dream-like visions before an uncontrollable nod snapped it awake again. This, they surmised, was actual daydreaming as opposed to the common excuse males give when answering questions like "Does this dress make me look fat?"

Thus it was that Tired Tracks, nodding off as he succumbed to a lowered blood caffeine level, thought he saw hands reaching through the open window behind Predabot's bed, grab Predabot, bedclothes and all, and drag him clean out the window in a single stroke.

And Tracks dismissed it as part of his dream.

***

Predabot screamed in pain as he was dragged through the undergrowth of the camp backlot - nobody could hear him, not with his own bedsheet wound around the pillow in his face as well as his arms and legs, leaving him completely helpless as rocks and thorns ripped through the bedclothes, and him.

It finally stopped, and Pred thought he heard a 'heeeeave-HO!' as several pairs of hands pulled the side of his bedclothes, causing him to unroll and hit the bare, rocky ground.

"Are you laughing NOW, B-TCH?!" someone roared, and gave Pred a kick in the back. "We heard you all the way from..."

"Ssshhh," said a more sinister voice. "Lars Johansson?"

A tearful, whining Predabot tried to nod.

"I'd love to see what you lot would do if he said no, heh heh heh..." said a third voice, before being cut off by a thump. There was a certain elbow-in-ribs quality to it.

"Well, I'm awfully sorry about this, guv," said Voice 2, to the sounds of more cloth unravelling and some hollow metallic knocks. "It's no matter of luck at all."

And the treatment began.

***

Rebis was jolted awake, and stood in his battle stance, sniffing around. It said a lot that it wasn't a smell that awoke him - it might not have been a sound either, given that all the crickets that plagued TransFans on slow days would surely have done that already - but it was something that bypassed all of Rebis' known senses and stirred directly at something deep within him. And it made Rebis feel very sick indeed.

Regardless of that, the Insolent Dog decided to come out running from his armored kennel and go after it = he wasn't following a scent, or a sound, but a feeling, one so strong it pulled him from his designated post and made him run as fast and hard as he could, down the main street of Vector Sigma...

...And stopping as he reached the barracks. Despite the strangely damp atmosphere, there was a fresh scent for him to follow - a scent, probably of several large TransFans - or possibly dozens of small ones - or a bit of both, there was no telling with some people...

The trail grew stronger as he went off the road, with trails appearing in the bare earth as he kept going... and finally reached the source.

Where the smell of blood made that sick feeling deep within him even worse.

"Good god," said Rebis.

[Predabot]

I'm being molested!

Somebody help me, damnit!

[Señior's Covenant]

I've phoned the authorities. Their reply was as follows...

"Hahahahahaha....*click*"

Then they used caller id to call back and say something, but the lady on the line couldn't calm down enough to speak, so it was dialtone once more.

Stupid 911.

[Redstreak]

Hm, they asked me if they wanted me to have them come over and shoot him. It was hilarious.

Not to be a bother, but how am I still not in this thing yet?

[Aaron Hong]

Just a little longer...

***


Morning went about its thankless task of returning to TransFans.

Before the sun actually came up, it seemed like any other day - Sheba yelling orders across the kitchen, Karl Lynch going through his spreadsheet of announcements and reminders before he turned on the public address system, and General Best First, as he was known now, sitting at his desk while staring down at Computron and Ironhide.

"I'm not happy, Nathan," Best First began. "Not happy."

IronHide wasn't sure if it was all right to look up at BF yet, and didn't.

"Ask me why, Compy."

"...why?" asked Computron.

"Why what? Be specific now," said Best First, in tones that could cut diamonds.

"...why are you not happy?" IronHide was glad he was sticking with Compy's 'let me do all the talking' plan.

"Your handling of the recent 'situation' makes me unhappy," said Best First. "Very unhappy indeed. I want to know how this was allowed to happen, Nathan. I want to know what is being done about it. And most importantly of all..."

Without any warning Best First pulled a folded printout out of nowhere and slammed it hard on his desk, with a snap that shook everyone to their senses.

"...I WANT TO KNOW HOW TFARCHIVE GOT TO KNOW ABOUT IT BEFORE I DID!!!"

The only reason that IronHide and not Computron was the one unrolling the newspaper and looking at the printout of the TFArchive index page was because Computron already knew what would be in it. IronHide put the paper down in shock, then realised that all the blood was part of the picture and looked at it properly.

LATEST NEWBIE DEATH A MIDNIGHT BLUDGEON[tm]

"...how in the..." IronHide remembered Compy's plan, and shut up.

"Dragged out a window at the A Company barracks and dragged into the woods," said Best First. "They even know what kind of rods were used. How in the hell did TFArchive get this far into our system AFTER we went military?!"

"They could be grabbing at straws," said Computron. "Brutality in the service is practically a fixture. It's ritualistic, you see, that's why they only used rods, but it can get out of control sometimes, like those company dinners you hear so much about, and..."

Best First responded by plonking another printout on the desk. "Dylan's forensic report," he explained. "I see where you're going, Nathan, and if it was that simple I would have left it be, but the truth is that someone saw fit to finish the job on Recruit Lars Johansson. In a very terminal manner."

This time Computron picked up the document and studied it.

"A Ban Script Bullet to the back of the head," he read out loud.

"The BSBs would have been our best shot, pardon the pun, at winning the next Board war," said Best First. "But now it has gotten out of our hands. There iwll be outrage. Posters will leave. Our sponsors will need to be appeased, and to do that I may have to ban all weapons. We would be reduced to rocks and fists. PinnaclePaladin would have a field day! DO YOU CONSCIOUSLY WANT THAT TO HAPPEN?!"

"...whoever did this is a pro," said Computron, forgetting Best First was there for a moment. "Newbies and punks don't think this far ahead. This clearly says the shot was fired long after the bludgeoning ended. Someone else came in after the actual prank ended. Someone they didn't know was even there."

"Killsteal," said IronHide.

"The bastard," BF growled. "That just makes things even worse..."

"Then we should start hunting him down!" said Computron. "Seal all the exits, have Aaron or Iki or somebody go out there and sniff him out..."

"It's too late for that now," said Best First, looking towards the window behind him. Computron and IronHide followed his gaze out the window, which overlooked a few buildings, the fields of General Discussions, and the thick vegetation that indicated the edge of the training areas...

***

A Company did not start the day at the cookhouse as per normal, but in the quadrangle, lined up in rank and file with Leatherneck yelling at them. Quite a commonplace scene in a military installation, of course, but everthing was different this morning. Everything felt different. It didn't matter if you heard the rumors or saw Impactor Returns mopping up the blood - you could feel it in the atmosphere.

Someone had the living IP beaten out of him. And answers were needed.

Thus it was that A Company were all on their hands and toes, stuck in push-up position as Leatherneck paced back and forth in front of the block of recruits. There was no other way about it. Predabot had been in the same bunk as them when it happened, and A Company sealed their own fate when they said that they had no idea what happened.

"You are a UNIT! You cannot function without the one! Yet you allowed some punkass faggots to drag one of your own out the window of your own barracks! What the sam hill is going on here?!?!"

"Yeah, that should have been us administering the treatment," mumbled Shanti, before Tired Tracks could hush him.

"Who said that? WHO SAID THAT?!" Leatherneck roared. "Who's the erectile-dysfunctional garbage troll who just signed his own death warrant?!"

Without any warning Leatherneck grabbed Shanti by the shoulder strap of his sleeveless, collarless vest and dragged him to eye level with just one hand. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Sir, recruit Shanti418, SIR!"

"Did I hear that right? Ashanti?! Are you telling me you're A Company's rising queen of R&B, soldier?"

"Sir no sir!"

"You plan on outselling Alicia Keys by the end of the year, don't you?!"

"No sir, it's Shanti, it's not even the same word..."

"ARE YOU IMPLYING THAT I AM DEAF, SOLIDER?!"

Shanti didn't say anything this time.

"Are you suggesting that I can't hear someone saying something within five feet of me? I am your sergeant! I am your immediate superior! I can hear your pre-fart coming out of your pansy ass from outside of ten feet, and when I do you will find me standing right next to you with your own boot so far up your own ass you will fart out of your ears! ARE YOU UN-DEAF ENOUGH TO HEAR THAT, SOLDIER?!"

"Sir yes sir!"

"Now back on the tarmac!" Leatherneck snapped as he shoved Shanti back to ground level. "Hell, I don't even like Alicia Keys," the sergeant murmured to himself. "Now I know someone in these ranks knows what happened. Someone who might have heard something, or might have been looking his way, or got up to take a half-decent piss that actually makes it in the bowl. Or are you suggesting that you don't even know when one of your own is dragged into the woods and turned into Swedish meatloaf?!"

Something stirred within Tired Tracks. He knew it wasn't his Java - he hadn't had a cup since last night, but there was something else within him, igniting his nerves in a way he wasn't familiar with. His usually caffeine-livid eyes were now alight with something else.

"...I saw it."

Leatherneck stopped talking and turned around slowly, as Tired Tracks daringly rose to his feet.

"Four long arms reached through the window and grabbed him, bedclothes and all," said Tracks. "It was over in a blink. There was nothing we could have done. Nothing at all."

Leatherneck stared back at Tired Tracks - it was the first time TT's eyes drew attention away from his eyebags. Leatherneck could see right away that something inside Tracks, something not related at all to his caffeine addiction was making him act. Something that Leatherneck almost mistook for genuine strength of will.

"You were a witness to this event, and now you stand there and tell me that as the only one who saw what happened, you chose to stand by and do nothing?" said Leatherneck.

"That's enough, Leatherneck."

Everyone went quiet as the sound of boots clopping against the sidewalk began to approach them - Laser Rod Optimus Prime could make out the sounds of rivets in the steel toecaps of the boots (which were most certainly not regulation), and shaxper saw from the corner of his eye the red specks in the person's uniform, but Tired Tracks knew already who it was - he'd been driven to speak up thanks to a slight touch of the Fury Empath.

And if that wasn't enough, the clink of a gunblade in its scabbard as Aaron Hong rested it on the sidewalk should have been enough.

"...Master Warrant Officer," said Leatherneck as he identified the rank insignas correctly.

"Thanks, 'Neck, now maybe you could identify this for me," said Aaron, raising a finished redwood cane with hexagonal brass caps on both ends, held down with single rivets smack dab in the middle.

"Holy crap, he made Regimental Sergeant Major?" LROP whispered.

"While I appreciate the attempt at maintaining... order," said Aaron, who'd been around long enough to listen in on Leatherneck's proctology lecture, "I'd like to take it from here. Please? As a favor."

"...but Papa Snarl's orders were..."

"Only valid till military training begins," Aaron pointed out. "It's time for the recruits to learn actual soldiering now, and they're not going to get a lot of work done on their hands and toes."

Aaron's voice dropped to his seldom-used conspiratory whisper. "This incident has gone as far as the Archive. People are pointing fingers and other appendages. The populace is growing restless. That war Besty keeps talking about is only a matter of time, and I'd really like for our people to be ready to fight when the time comes, wouldn't you?"

"...all right, I guess," said Leatherneck at last. "Hey, is Annie with you...?"

"Now, sergeant," said Aaron as he turned Leatherneck around and pushed him towards the nearest doorway, and the very air around them seemed to loosen up - shaxper and the others had a good feeling this would happen. A different level of regimentalisation was required now that the recruits had been allowed to carry weapons, and the heightened security and raised tensions that came with it obscured the truth - that the welfare of the troops was now a greater issue than before. The safety of the Board was in their hands, after all.

"A COMPANY! ON YOUR FEET, UP!"

In a well-timed instant, the soldiers rose to attention with their boots performing a synchronised crunch.

"And you lot might as well come down here," said Aaron in the general direction of the second-floor windows. "I know you're watching all this, B Company, but the show's over. This rivalry is senseless. You're all in this together. So get down here and we can get this over with properly."

It turned out that Aaron was quite right - B Company's best-known dignitaries, like spiderfrommars, Optimus Prime Rib and Ishin no Ookami were peeking through the steel shutters and watching A Company get the treatment the whole time. Only Ishin showed no reaction at all when Aaron looked up directly at them.

"What does he want with us?" asked OPRib.

"RSM briefing. He's required by procedure to talk to the entire regiment before we carry on with the program," said spiderfrommars.

"A reminder of our place in the food chain, no doubt," said Ishin. "Still, I'm glad that they've considered an Asian for this post. Score one for the brass. We should get along nicely."

"Why's that?" asked OPRib.

Ishin sighed. "The strict, conservative nature of Asian culture has served, in fact, to create a highly disciplined and superior people. I've spent the greater part of my life in Hongkong and I have tasted what they can offer, and now... now I count myself among the betters of this paltry planet..."

"Right, whatever," said spiderfrommars. "Who's coming to the water cooler with me?"

"RSM PARADE BEGINS NOW, SOLDIERS!!"

No one could have predicted what would have come next, not even those among A Company as they watched the bulging veins in Aaron's right arm feeding his hand, making it grow to its full dragon form. LROP and Tired Tracks had a pretty fair idea what was about to happen though, and risked an extra guard duty on the weekend by ducking and covering their heads while A Company stood at attention...

...as Aaron Hong raised his hand and slapped the side of the bulding so hard that plaster fell and shutters rattled, grabbing the attention of B Company by the manparts.

After a couple of seconds, B Company came stampeding down the stairs and falling in beside A Company, aligning themselves into rank and file as fast as they could. Aaron relented a little and lent them a hand, pulling some recruits out of file to insert them in some gaping spaces in the ranks.

"Good, very good," said Ishin no Ookami, strutting in behind everyone else while clapping his hands in that infamous fashion that was designed for the look rather than the sound, with one hand still as the other hand clapped downward on top of it. "I'm glad to see that the regiment is in good hands."

"...and you are?" said Aaron, moving only his eyes towards the recruit.

"Ishin no Ookami. The Proud Wolf. Good to meet you," said Ishin. "You know me better than you think, Aaron Hong - we are both the products of a proud and righteous Asian society. Destined for far greater things than this... but for now, we'll just have to worry about getting this one unit into shape, won't we?"

Aaron nodded in agreement, but not too obviously - taking just enough attention away from his hands as he drew his new cane and delivered a backhanded chop across Ishin's knees, bringing him to the ground in a blink.

"Are you telling me you crawled out of your crackwhore of a mother's uterus through some puke-laden storm drain in Hongkong just to tell me HOW TO RUN MY ARMY?!" Aaron roared. "I am your Regimental Sergeant Major! I will run this army for ten laps up and down your spinal column if I feel like it, AND YOU WILL THANK ME FOR IT!!"

Oh holy hell, thought LROP. They've created a monster.

"Do you even know what the hell Ishin no Ookami means, soldier?!"

"As a matter of fact I..."

Aaron's next swing took Ishin's hands out from beneath him as he tried to stand. "When you decide to get the balls up to address me, the first and the last words I want to hear coming out of your .50 caliber piehole will be SIR!" Without bothering to wait for any response, Aaron stuck his cane through the armholes of Ishin's sleeveless vest and dragged him to his feet. "Hell, if you can't explain to me what the hell Bishi no Cummy means, I'm just going to have to call you Recruit Yaoi!"

Someone made the fatal mistake of chuckling at that.

Aaron turned around slowly, giving everyone their first good look at his eyes. They were red, not bloodshot, but with red irises the way some people had baby blues. Aaron's were angry-old-fart red. And the lava blood running through his every blood vessel meant that his retinas were aglow with volcanic plasma, giving Aaron a permanent redeye that wasn't obvious from outside of fifteen feet.

"That was funny, wasn't it?" Aaron asked. "Oh, this is all straight out of The Internet's Funniest Webcams or something, isn't it? Only you lot already had the pleasure of seeing A Company stuck on their hands and toes for close to half an hour before they even had breakfast, so the sight of one bright blonde buttburgler getting screwed the one way he didn't want just doesn't do it for you, does it? So how come nobody thought of bringing the breakfast here so you could all eat at the same time? Huh?"

Without even turning to look Aaron whipped his cane upwards and leveled it between Optimus Prime Rib's eyes. "You eyeballin' me, soldier?"

"Sir no sir!"

Good response, thought Aaron. You get off easy this time... Without any warning Aaron took a swing at OPRib's calves... but Optimus Prime Rib was one of the few people whose calves were more like prime steers, and the cane simply rebounded off. It was all Aaron could do not to lose his balance.

"I'm not going to go on about queers and steers so I'll make this simple. Your job now is to run to the cookhouse and bring everyone's breakfast here. Can you do that, soldier?" Aaron asked.

"Sir yes sir!"

"Go!" OPRib took to his heels and ran as fast as he could down the road. "I want one volunteer to go with him."

Three hands were raised.

"I said one, not..." Aaron went quiet when he realised that all three hands belonged to the same person. "Right. Go."

"Sir yes guv," said spiderfrommars. "Thanks, this is..."

"I SAID GO, RECRUIT!" Aaron snapped, as spiderfrommars started running. "Now! Or I'll make you drop and give me twenty at every turn you make! Hell, you got six arms so I'll make it sixty!"

Tired Tracks relaxed a little when he felt Aaron easing up. This was just a taste of what was to come, he knew that much, and while Aaron's role was one of the most stessful - he was smack dab between the brass and the troops, and nobody wants to be the middleman in a transaction like this - it said a lot that Aaron's normally volatile temper had been kept well in check. For one thing, he hadn't touched his gunblade.

"Good morning, soldiers," said Aaron. "I've never been one for speeches of any kind, but I'm glad to say that General Best First didn't pick me for this role because of that. I won't tell you what I'll do if I see you turn and run in the battlefield. I won't tell you how much you remind me of the last regiment I've turned out. And I won't tell you which one's your rifle and all that. But I will tell you this..."

Aaron picked up his gunblade and hitched the scabbard to his belt.

"If I find that one of you, just one, is incapable of being a soldier, or fighting this war, I will have you all banned just so I can fight it myself."

There was a few random thwacks as several jaws hit the ground.

"See that man over there?" said Aaron, ******* his head in the direction of the approaching Optimus

Prime Rib, who appeared to be carrying ten times his weight in food. "I picked him to get your sustenance for the morning, not because it's an easy enough task, but because I knew right away that I could trust him to complete it. And I'm not getting the same feeling from any one of you. Not a single one."

Way to rally the troops, man, thought Tired Tracks.

"Good work, soldiers," said Aaron to OPRib and spiderfrommars as they started putting down the numerous cardboard crates. "You. Umm..."

"Sir, recruit spiderfrommars, sir," said the six-armed one.

"...I can't remember all that so from now on your are Recruit Spidey," said Aaron. "Start distributing. We're going to eat here."

"...in the middle of the quadrangle?" asked a doubtful spiderfrommars. Aaron just looked back at him for a few seconds - it probably wouldn't have mattered if spiderfrommars had eight eyes on top of his eight limbs. Aaron had gotten the burning stare down to a fine art.

"...all right then, gather round blokes, it's mealtime..."

Aaron didn't bat an eyelid as the entire regiment broke rank and crowded around Optimus Prime Rib and spiderfrommars. Everyone was reaching for the little styrofoam boxes that looked like knockoffs of those McDonalds Hot Cakes boxes, which did indeed contain steaming pancakes with pats of butter already included. Syrup came in sachets from another crate, along with those plastic knives and forks.

Soon everyone had found a spot on the tarmac, and was busy eating.

In a way, Aaron was taking the opportunity to push the regiment in his own direction - his time with Singapore's Volunteer Corps taught him a few things that the army had gotten wrong, and here was his chance to make things right, in a way. It was all very well sitting at a round table with al the chairs the same length, but to truly establish the sense of equality that real caramaderie developed from, one had to start from the ground up.

"...and this one's for you, sir," said OPRib, handing a subsized box to Aaron.

"...what's this?"

"Specially commisioned by assistant chief cook Nebbie," said spiderfrommars. "Dessert, or something."

"Dessert for breakfast?"

Optimus Prime Rib just shrugged. "Back when we were growing up, I got ten pancakes and two bowls of cereal every morning, and a couple of apples for dessert. It was peaches on Sundays. Now my woman at home keeps up the tradition, but it's just not the same with commercial pancake mix..." OPRib heaved a sigh.

Yes, I can see where it all went, thought Aaron. "You have a... woman?"

"Yup," OPRib replied. "The sweetest thing this side of the Mason-Dixon line... when I get home after this is over, we'll have another kid and..."

"WHOA WHOA WHOA. Hold it right there," said Aaron, raising his cane to OPRib's lips. "Nobody who talked about stuff like that ever survived a war."

"...sir yes sir."

[Predabot]

......

I'm dead.

{Dreams of Angels}