Soldier On
I must exist for some reason.
You would think that I would have bigger things to worry about while staring the instrument of our destruction in what could only be its face. But like so many other times, I can somehow only think of myself. It’s only at a time like this that I would realize it. After I know that I will be dead at any moment.
I tried to look beyond the reprogrammed Guardian staring down at us, but could not remove my gaze from its featureless facemask. I wanted to stare it down, but it had little intelligence left. All it could do was stare thoughtlessly at its captives and wait for its Autobot masters to tell it to deliver the killing blow. I wanted to shower the Autobots with looks are fearlessness in the face of eminent death, but they paid little attention to me. They instead continued to taunt my mission commander between arguments amongst themselves. Upon capture, they had simply laughed at me, the scared little Decepticon all dressed up like a soldier.
And they were, of course, right. What was I? I was a data courier, shuffling information from one place to another, dreaming of making a difference. So I go out and procure some fancy armor and a helmet and expect it to change what’s inside? I was fooling myself, despite what I would tell myself everyday when I was out on patrol. I will always be a data courier. And I’ll die here with barely lifting my rifle in combat.
I wanted to meet the optics with my fellow Decepticons. I wanted to apologize for not doing what was expected of all Decepticon warriors. They don’t deserve a soldier in their ranks that panics and wastes ammunition shooting at shadows and specters. They don’t deserve a soldier that would drop his gun at the first sign of a surprise attack. They deserved a warrior more fitting of the name Macabre. A warrior that could cause the Autobots to hesitate before they attack. A warrior who will fight courageously to the very end. Slag, even warrior that could just hold the line. Even that would prove more helpful to our cause. I know that they try to be understanding. They tried to tell me that being a fighter takes time and experience. What they never had to tell me is that most warriors that need to have time to develop rarely last three battles. And they never had to tell me that they thought that I am a likely candidate of just such a fate.
I looked at none of these things. Instead, I stared at the gun arm of the Guardian, waiting for it to fire and end my waste of a life.
‘You’re an idiot, Macabre,’ I told myself. Maybe I was trying to motivate myself into action. Maybe I was just telling myself the truth. ‘The only difference between those Autobots and you is that they are psychotic murderers. They have no special powers. They have no greater capacity for courage. They have nothing that you cannot have.’
But instead of rising up to be the hero, I sat still at the back of the group of captive Decepticons and continued to stare at the Guardian’s gun arm. I wanted to at least stare at the true cause of my pending death rather than the instrument of it, to show the Autobots that I will defy them to the very end of my existence, but to no avail. All I could do was open my mouth and, quickly and quietly, close it again. I squeezed my optics shut, trying to drive my fear away. Ashamed, but relieved that none of my fellow Decepticons could see the terror on my face, I turned my head away. I steeled my resolve enough for the sob that was rising within to die at the back of my throat. I wanted to cry out, to release the frustration that was continuing to build within me. I wanted so badly to prove myself in battle. So many Decepticons were able to put aside their pacifism and pick up arms. So many could ignore the pain and fear and continue to fight on. Why could that not happen with me? What perverse reason could the universe have to give a being such a need to help his comrades but fail to give the faculties to follow through with those actions? The others told me that the desire is enough. I know that it is not.
I opened my optics, intending to look forward again, towards my fellow Decepticons. They were facing their death bravely. I could at least put on a brave face. Acting like a warrior was what I did best, after all. But before I could turn my head, I stopped. I blinked. There, so nearby, lay my particle beam rifle. Like my armor, I had purchased that as well. And, like the armor, I quickly found out that a strong weapon did not make a strong soldier. What a fool I was.
I slowly turned my head and stared at the Autobots without seeing them. The Autobots had taken all the weapons the Decepticons brought with them. But somehow, they had neglected the one lying within diving distance of the cowardly Macabre in the back of the room. Perhaps they thought it would be useless to me, considering that I had dropped it in alarm upon seeing the Guardian looming over us when we entered the room. Perhaps they simply did not see it lying so near the battle’s debris.
My optics darted around the room suddenly, as if seeing for the first time. To the left, there were a few storage containers that could offer cover from enemy fire. To the right was the door that they had entered into this trap and, more importantly, the cache where their captured weapons were being stored. Perhaps, if I could reach my weapon and dart for the storage containers, the others would be able to make their escape. Perhaps. It sounded so weak as I thought it. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would be enough. Perhaps. Perhaps, it would. Even if the plan failed, how could it possible be any worse than waiting for those Autobot monsters to decide for us when we were to die?
I moved to tap the shoulder of the Decepticon before me, but stopped. Cybertron below me, I couldn’t even think of his name. Did he know mine? Were we all so anonymous? Would any of us really be remembered when this was all over? I watched the Autobots’ argument become more heated, watched as their attention turned less and less towards their captives and more towards themselves. Finally, I pulled closer to the soldier in front of me and told him my plan.
If I lived to see another moonrise, I knew I would never forget the look on his face when he finally looked at me for that split second. It told me that my plan was crazy, but brave. It told me that they would probably all fail, but it was better than waiting. Most of all, it told me what I most wanted to hear: that I was a soldier. Over the next half-breem, word of the plan spread. My unit’s commander looked at me and shook his head, telling me that it was unacceptable. I simply looked at him. I don’t know what I must have looked like. Maybe I looked crazy, maybe I looked resolved. Maybe he realized it really was their only chance. Whatever it was, the commander did not reinforce his assessment of the plan.
We waited. I wondered if any of the veteran soldiers in the unit thought it ironic that they waited for a move of the one warrior among us that had never shown the slightest battle instinct until this moment. Surprisingly, I didn’t care. I simply waited with them, watching the Autobots for my opportunity to strike. After what felt like an eternity, it finally arrived. The argument had come to blows and the guards both turned to watch several Autobots fight one another. I slid across the floor and grabbed my rifle. I stood and fired at the two guards nearby. I hit them, my first two successful attacks in my young career as a soldier.
The rest of the battle was little more than a blur. I bolted for the storage containers, still firing rounds from my powerful rifle. I might have even landed a couple more hits; I can’t really be sure. Most of the others made their way to their own weapons and began retreating towards the exits. Many of them did not make it. Too many. But I could not take the chance to look at them. I continued to fire at the Autobots, forcing them back and away from the retreating Decepticon squad. The roar of the laser fire and missiles erupting around me was deafening. The Guardian was walking confusedly around the room, destroying as many Autobots as Decepticons before its masters finally deactivated it. More and more Autobot laser fire turned toward my location. My active sensors told me that the remaining Decepticons had exited the hangar. My laser core leapt. With the barrage of heat and missiles increasing around me, I was struck several times. I felt weaker, but I soldiered on. I smiled despite now realizing that I had no chance to live to see another moonrise. I smiled because my fellow Decepticons had escaped. I smiled because I knew why I existed.
I existed to die. So that they might live.
* * *
Epilogue:
Cerebros stared up at up at Headcase for several long moments. The tall warrior was quite a bit larger than his black and gray commander. But even still, he continued to shrink back slowly from Cerebros. Cerebros barely noticed. He was too busy assessing the information that had just been presented to him.
“Headcase,” Cerebros said, causing the tactician to flinch noticeably. The commander’s cold voice had broken the eerie silence that permeated the dark command room for the last several minutes. “You are a brilliant tactician. I’ve even heard Chromedome say that some of your plans are awe-inspiring.”
Headcase’s shoulders slumped slightly in relief upon hearing Cerebros’ words.
“However,” Cerebros continued, “what possible good is a tactician that is unable to follow even his own battle plans? What would happen if it were the devices of Chromedome or Point Blank that you were to follow? Would your actions be even more inept?”
“Cerebros, I—,” Headcase began to say before his commander held up one hand. The tactician stopped abruptly.
“I don’t want excuses. You had the Decepticons trapped and instead of finishing them off right then and there, you decided to gloat. Then, instead of destroying our enemy as your brain trust advised, you turned and began arguing with them. I need efficiency from my soldiers. I need them to listen to their advisors and analyze all of the information at hand. Do you think that I rose to this level by ignoring those around me and following blindly my own intuition? To come to blows in the middle of a successful operation because they offered sound military advise over your need to brag is a truly pathetic display.”
Seeing Headcase’s anger rising and knowing exactly what he was going to say in return, Cerebros spun on his heel and walked back towards his desk, cutting the lieutenant off before he could even begin.
“You would say to me that I am one to talk,” Cerebros continued, slowly turning back toward Headcase and leaning against his desk. “That I am about to come to blows with fellow Autobots in the middle of a seemingly successful war. You’re logic is faulty, as you well know. I am not proposing to gloat over our so-called Regency. I have looked over his plans for the Empire from every angle. I have analyzed and processed all given materials. More importantly, so have all of my advisors and we have come to one possible conclusion. I am not entering into this lightly. I know what is at stake: the future of the Empire, of the very galaxy, and Cybertron’s place in it. Ultra Magnus is dragging Cybertron’s good name through the mud that veritably covers all of those Imperial colonies. His every action weakens us. He is taking the name Cybertron and christening each new world with its name, to the effect that it will only spread us so thin that the very fabric will be rend. He is stubborn, arrogant, and oh-so-very wrong.”
Cerebros rose and crossed the room to Headcase again. He glared again into the tactician’s bright blue optics. Again, Headcase shrank away from his commander. Again, Cerebros did not notice.
“I need more than good tacticians. I need good soldiers, ones that I do not have to worry about letting a squad of captives go simply to argue with his own comrades. You are far too short-tempered and far too impatient for this. But most off all, I cannot trust you to do your job and do it well. I cannot waste my time wondering if you have turned your meager attention in another direction instead of focusing on the greater plan. I need my soldiers to be a cut above. You, I am afraid, are not.”
Cerebros pulled out an energon blade and sliced a deep gash across Headcase’s neck. The tactician dropped to his knees, clutching his throat. Energon seeped over his hands as he stared up at Cerebros with wild-eyed disbelief. After a few more seconds, Headcase fell.
Cerebros walked back to his desk and paused.
“Can I help you, Point Blank?”
The sub-commander stepped out of the shadows and looked down at the dead form of Headcase.
“I see the detritus has been swept away.”
Cerebros leveled Point Blank with an unreadable gaze. Of course, the red and blue Autobot meant more by that simple statement. Headcase and his leadership problems were the last hurdle that Cerebros had to face before diving into the larger operation. He had suspected that Headcase would be a liability, which the most recent battle had proved once and for all. Headcase was given a test and he had failed it. Cerebros turned and looked out at over the horizon in the direction of Axion. The filthy Decepticon scrounges that Headcase had let get away were likely already there, festering in the tunnels below the surface that the current warlord let stand rather than obliterating them. Decepticons like them still existed everywhere on Cybertron, but one would hardly notice it considering the way the Regency turned a blind eye to them in the name of Imperial expansion.
Without looking away from Cybertron’s regal surface, Cerebros said, “You have heard from Fastlane and Cloudraker?” It was not a question.
“They are in position.”
Cerebros turned, his blue optics glowing fiercely in the dark room.
“Get Chromedome. We begin now.”
The End.
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