Ep. 1.5 - Diplomatic Cooperation - Closed
May 4, 2013 21:17:33 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 4, 2013 21:17:33 GMT -5
Smokescreen hit the ground running.
He loved exiting a ground bridge in his vehicle mode. Loved it. You hit the earth on all four tires and flooded your lines with fuel. Your engine roared and you were off, tires squealing, blasting from that tunnel of green energy like a stone from a sling, dragging a tail of dust behind you.
What a kick.
Normally when he carried a passenger with him he drove sedately. Obeyed most of the rules of the road, sped modestly, and used his signals whenever he remembered to.
But today his passenger was not Mrs Darby, a teenager, or a Vegas drunk. Today he carried with him a combat controller from none other than NEST itself. An air force man with a long service record in the fields of Iraq and Afghanistan. A six-foot military man who looked as if he he could run all day across the desert with a fifty pound pack on his back and an assault rifle strapped to his chest and still have the reserves to break a knife in half and take down an opponent with a firm boot to the throat.
So that meant one thing:
Off-road patrols!
Ground-bridging an Autobot to a precise location was a fine science, one that anyone on monitor duty knew inside and out. The length of highway that this particular bridge deposited Smokescreen upon was therefore clear of civilian traffic when he hit the asphalt, his tires smoking on contact. Beautiful.
Without pause, the dirty blue Subaru peeled off the highway and hit the soft shoulder with a thump and a cloud of dust. He launched into the desert and roared off, blasting across the flats. You wouldn't find the Decepticons commuting on the roads, soldier! If you were hunting for this enemy you had to look elsewhere, in the tucked away little places where they patrolled, searching for energon. Or for Autobots.
A cactus shot past the driver's side window. Smokescreen felt sage brush and big rocks bashing against his reinforced undercarriage. Inwardly, he grinned. This was what his car mode was made for. To speed over open terrain. Through dirt and brush and rivers and scree. To race jackrabbits, the shadows of clouds on the desert.
"Don't know if we'll find anything at the co-ordinates I've been given!" he said as he drove. His was a cheerful voice, full of laid-back good humour. "We've only had a few largely unconfirmed reports from our aerial patroller, who flagged the location via GPS but was unable to get down low enough to investigate the supposed Eradicon ground units without being spotted. But what the hell - even if we find nothing, it's a nice day! Good for a drive either way!"
He loved exiting a ground bridge in his vehicle mode. Loved it. You hit the earth on all four tires and flooded your lines with fuel. Your engine roared and you were off, tires squealing, blasting from that tunnel of green energy like a stone from a sling, dragging a tail of dust behind you.
What a kick.
Normally when he carried a passenger with him he drove sedately. Obeyed most of the rules of the road, sped modestly, and used his signals whenever he remembered to.
But today his passenger was not Mrs Darby, a teenager, or a Vegas drunk. Today he carried with him a combat controller from none other than NEST itself. An air force man with a long service record in the fields of Iraq and Afghanistan. A six-foot military man who looked as if he he could run all day across the desert with a fifty pound pack on his back and an assault rifle strapped to his chest and still have the reserves to break a knife in half and take down an opponent with a firm boot to the throat.
So that meant one thing:
Off-road patrols!
Ground-bridging an Autobot to a precise location was a fine science, one that anyone on monitor duty knew inside and out. The length of highway that this particular bridge deposited Smokescreen upon was therefore clear of civilian traffic when he hit the asphalt, his tires smoking on contact. Beautiful.
Without pause, the dirty blue Subaru peeled off the highway and hit the soft shoulder with a thump and a cloud of dust. He launched into the desert and roared off, blasting across the flats. You wouldn't find the Decepticons commuting on the roads, soldier! If you were hunting for this enemy you had to look elsewhere, in the tucked away little places where they patrolled, searching for energon. Or for Autobots.
A cactus shot past the driver's side window. Smokescreen felt sage brush and big rocks bashing against his reinforced undercarriage. Inwardly, he grinned. This was what his car mode was made for. To speed over open terrain. Through dirt and brush and rivers and scree. To race jackrabbits, the shadows of clouds on the desert.
"Don't know if we'll find anything at the co-ordinates I've been given!" he said as he drove. His was a cheerful voice, full of laid-back good humour. "We've only had a few largely unconfirmed reports from our aerial patroller, who flagged the location via GPS but was unable to get down low enough to investigate the supposed Eradicon ground units without being spotted. But what the hell - even if we find nothing, it's a nice day! Good for a drive either way!"
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