Ep. 2 - Weird Scenes Inside the Gold Mine - (Closed)
Apr 28, 2015 0:05:18 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 28, 2015 0:05:18 GMT -5
Set on Day 1, Week 1, a little after 9am!
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As far as punishments went, it had been a mild one.
"We've been getting reports of strange lights northwest of Las Vegas these past two days," Fowler said. The big man stood outside of the hanger with a coffee in one hand, looking relaxed. "They've sent police helicopters over the hills in that direction and have come up with nothing. Not even idiots with laser pointers. Figured it couldn't hurt for us to step in and send someone like you out to take a look, someone with scanners actually worth a damn. Especially since we've seen MECH activity in that region in the past."
He sipped his coffee, and absently watched an empty ordnance truck drive past. "Consider this your last task for us before heading back to the Bots. I know I was supposed to send you back at the end of the day, but I'm cutting you loose early. Just don't tell Optimus. Do this milk run, see if you can find those lights or else whatever is making them, report back here with your findings, and then go fly around for a few hours. I won't tell anyone if you won't."
No lectures, no glares, no threats.
Much of Thundercloud's punishment had been like that.
It wasn't the deaths that chapped Agent Fowler's shorts, as he had put it. He wasn't going to cry into his breakfast cereal over a handful of dead MECH troopers. It was that it had been an accident. A deficiency of knowledge had led to a clumsy attack with the direct result being the destruction of an enemy helicopter. What if he had acted with careless disregard around a friendly American aircraft, out of a lack of appreciation for their equipment and tactics? Agent Fowler could put up with a lot of things - but blundering in ignorance was not going to fly with him. Not when his boys were on the same field as the Autobots.
What had followed had been an intensive, if informal, education into the workings of the United States Air Force and its equipment, with a little heavy lifting on the side.
And Agent Fowler had been determined that Thundercloud would learn something.
Fighter jets, transport jets, attack helicopters, reconnaissance aircraft, single and multi-engine, from sleek little twins to the massive fuel tankers, trucks and jeeps and ordnance loaders - their specifications had been drilled relentlessly into Thundercloud's head. Airspace, waypoints, fuel calculations, load outs, air combat manoeuvring, fighter tactics, weapons systems and navigational systems and radio commands - likewise.
"If Air Raid could learn this stuff, so can you," Fowler had said drily one evening, when he had stopped at the base to see how Thundercloud was doing. "And he once flew up alongside a Delta flight to Heathrow and did a barrel roll right smack in the middle of Las Vegas airspace. I got a lot of angry phone calls from the airport operations manager that day. I don't intend to see that sort of incident repeated. Not on my watch. If you can operate with my boys without stepping on a jeep or body-slamming a Globemaster, then I'm happy."
But sun and pleasant weather had reigned during Thundercloud's time at the Tonopah airfield at least, and its personnel had treated him with professional civility. One of the air traffic controllers had taken a shine to him, and flirted with him in a friendly manner whenever he was sent out on patrol. Most of the ground crews were entertained by his size and his crude, thuggish affability, and swapped stories with him when there were no officers looking.
And he had been allowed the use of an empty maintenance hangar to stay in. In the evening when the sun sank red and low over the western hills, the fading light shone across the desert and streamed through the open hangar door. Not a bad view at all.
Now, in the present…
It was a little after nine in the morning. The day was clear and bright. And somewhere outside of the city of Las Vegas, something lurked in the hills.
--------
As far as punishments went, it had been a mild one.
"We've been getting reports of strange lights northwest of Las Vegas these past two days," Fowler said. The big man stood outside of the hanger with a coffee in one hand, looking relaxed. "They've sent police helicopters over the hills in that direction and have come up with nothing. Not even idiots with laser pointers. Figured it couldn't hurt for us to step in and send someone like you out to take a look, someone with scanners actually worth a damn. Especially since we've seen MECH activity in that region in the past."
He sipped his coffee, and absently watched an empty ordnance truck drive past. "Consider this your last task for us before heading back to the Bots. I know I was supposed to send you back at the end of the day, but I'm cutting you loose early. Just don't tell Optimus. Do this milk run, see if you can find those lights or else whatever is making them, report back here with your findings, and then go fly around for a few hours. I won't tell anyone if you won't."
No lectures, no glares, no threats.
Much of Thundercloud's punishment had been like that.
It wasn't the deaths that chapped Agent Fowler's shorts, as he had put it. He wasn't going to cry into his breakfast cereal over a handful of dead MECH troopers. It was that it had been an accident. A deficiency of knowledge had led to a clumsy attack with the direct result being the destruction of an enemy helicopter. What if he had acted with careless disregard around a friendly American aircraft, out of a lack of appreciation for their equipment and tactics? Agent Fowler could put up with a lot of things - but blundering in ignorance was not going to fly with him. Not when his boys were on the same field as the Autobots.
What had followed had been an intensive, if informal, education into the workings of the United States Air Force and its equipment, with a little heavy lifting on the side.
And Agent Fowler had been determined that Thundercloud would learn something.
Fighter jets, transport jets, attack helicopters, reconnaissance aircraft, single and multi-engine, from sleek little twins to the massive fuel tankers, trucks and jeeps and ordnance loaders - their specifications had been drilled relentlessly into Thundercloud's head. Airspace, waypoints, fuel calculations, load outs, air combat manoeuvring, fighter tactics, weapons systems and navigational systems and radio commands - likewise.
"If Air Raid could learn this stuff, so can you," Fowler had said drily one evening, when he had stopped at the base to see how Thundercloud was doing. "And he once flew up alongside a Delta flight to Heathrow and did a barrel roll right smack in the middle of Las Vegas airspace. I got a lot of angry phone calls from the airport operations manager that day. I don't intend to see that sort of incident repeated. Not on my watch. If you can operate with my boys without stepping on a jeep or body-slamming a Globemaster, then I'm happy."
But sun and pleasant weather had reigned during Thundercloud's time at the Tonopah airfield at least, and its personnel had treated him with professional civility. One of the air traffic controllers had taken a shine to him, and flirted with him in a friendly manner whenever he was sent out on patrol. Most of the ground crews were entertained by his size and his crude, thuggish affability, and swapped stories with him when there were no officers looking.
And he had been allowed the use of an empty maintenance hangar to stay in. In the evening when the sun sank red and low over the western hills, the fading light shone across the desert and streamed through the open hangar door. Not a bad view at all.
Now, in the present…
It was a little after nine in the morning. The day was clear and bright. And somewhere outside of the city of Las Vegas, something lurked in the hills.