Work Text:
It’s a gorgeous afternoon on the planet Earth.
The sun is shining, the trees rustle with wind.
And as soon as she escapes enemy fire, she might even be able to enjoy it.
“Get after her! She has intel!!”
If Windblade looks over her shoulder, she’ll freeze in fear.
Instead, she leaps into the air, transforms, and darts off.
“Windblade to mission control! I’ve got the goods!”
“Eyes on the skies, sweetie; I’ve got your six once you turn on your rearview.”
“Don’t call me sweetie, buster.”
She hears the clattering of metal shifting behind her.
She onlines her camera.
“Are they close?”
“Not yet. Just move fast; they’re not that gifted in the brains department.”
“Visual on Things 1 and 2?”
“Thundercracker’s still in root and has not engaged takeoff sequence.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Eh, he’s got a hand on his comm; probably on communications duty for now.”
That’s one of them out of the picture.
She does not like the sound of Skywarp vopping closer.
“Don’t get intimidated; he’s trying to spook you.”
“What happens if he teleports in front of me?”
“He won’t.”
He does.
“OHHH! ‘HE WON’T!’”
“Will you calm down? Pull into a Cobra; he can’t shoot you from that high.”
“A what?”
There’s silence on the line.
...Not good.
“THEY NEVER TAUGHT YOU THIS?!”
“Taught me what?!”
“We are going to lose this war.”
“Just tell me how to do it.”
“You can’t just— Primus, whatever; raise altitude.”
“Slipstream! I kinda need help!!” Thundercracker wails into his comms.
“She got past you?!”
“She’s beating the slag out of Skywarp up there!”
“Send in two full squads and a cassette; I smell foul play.”
Optimus pops into the call just for a moment, only get snarked at.
“Hey Prime, how come your air units don’t know basic Dogfighting lingo?”
“I—?”
“Don’t worry about him, Optimus.”
“Windblade, status report: have you got the pamphlet?”
“Yep! And I’ll be back right quick!”
“Optimus I am going to grill you when I’m done here, got it?”
“Uhh, Mission Control? There’s a jet coming at me!” Windblade calls out.
“Lemme get a read on him; I think that’s one of my boys.”
Windblade hopes it is.
“Nacelle,” he finally mutters under his breath “I’ll get you out of there, but you have to listen to me, okay?”
“What do I do?”
“Pull to a slow, but don’t stop. Let him approach; he’s not gonna hurt you.”
“What?!”
“Nacelle is a poor flier; there’s no way they sent him alone. If he’s here then the other two are not far.”
“So why am I slowing down?”
“You can shake him if his guard is down. Just let him catch up to you and try to initiate contact.”
“What do I say?”
“Just relax; I’ll tell you.”
“Greetings Red Bogey, you have traffic at 3 o’clock,” Nacelle’s voice cuts into her comms as he pulls up alongside her. “I’m going to need your designation and faction.”
“Tell him your name, and that you’re a NAIL. Say that you’re bingo-fuel, so you were taking a shortcut to get home.”
Windblade does exactly that.
“All right, Windblade, just give me a moment to pull up the compendium and check you out. I’m sure you’ll be good to go, but it’s just protocol.”
“Wait until he’s said ‘okay’, and then firewall his aft.”
“Huh?”
“Okay—”
“Get out of there!”
Windblade speeds off.
“He-hey!!”
“Hotlink coming in from behind, prepare for aileron roll.”
“A what?”
“FRAGGING—ugh, just Loop-de-loop.”
Windblade dodges before the pillars of flame have a chance to lap at her wings.
Hotlink’s efforts are not thwarted so easily.
“This guy isn’t giving up!!”
“Get as high as you can; he can’t shoot fire if there’s no oxygen in the air.”
Windblade pulls up, adrenaline spinning her head around.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’m not going to be disappointed if the answer is no. Do you know what an Immelmann Turn is?”
“Yes!”
“Atta’ girl! Trip him up once he realizes his flamethrower’s not going to work.”
Windblade executes quite a lovely Immelmann turn, in her opinion.
Her instructor is not as impressed.
“Oh god that was sloppy,” she can practically hear him burying his head in his hands.
“Not helping!”
“He’s still recovering; bank left.”
“What now?”
“Gimme a second, I need to figure out where the third one is.”
“Hotlink? What’s wrong?” Bitstream's voice enters the air.
“My flamethrower’s shot!”
“We’re Angel 10! There’s no oxygen up here!!”
“Oh, nice. Make your exit while they’re occupied.”
“That was easy,” Windblade sighs, head still reeling.
“Yeah, well don’t get too comfortable. There’s three more behind you.”
“What?!”
“Bring it in, Autobot! You can trick Nacelle but you can’t trick us!” Novastorm shouts out, wings glinting gold in the sun.
“Rainmakers. You know how I said to get as high as possible?”
“Yeah...?”
“Go higher.”
“My fuel will cut out! I could drop!”
“Do you want to live?”
“Yes—”
“Then you’re going to have to hold your breath for a moment.”
Windblade grumbles, flicking her ailerons.
“Tip that nose.”
She does.
“...What if my comms cut out?”
“They won’t.”
“You said Skywar—”
“They. Won’t.”
Earth’s atmosphere is thick and humid.
So the thinness of the air as she soars up is enough to be disquieting.
“I want that pitch borderline vertical, Windblade...not that vertical!!!”
The Rainmakers are still trailing her.
“They’re still after me.”
“Let them have their fun.”
“Who’s side are you on?!”
Windblade’s plating trembles at the turbulence.
And most certainly not out of fear.
“I’m nearing 49 thousand feet.”
“Make it to 50 angel.”
“Don’t call me ‘angel’ either, sport.”
“I didn-...Just get to 50 thou, okay?”
“Your slang is weird...”
“It’s how the three idiots chasing you can cooperate so fast.”
She finally breeches 50 thousand feet.
Are those stars, or is she just dizzy?
“Are they seriously still after you?”
“Looks like it. What are they going to do?”
“They’re actually going to try and cap you on height.”
“So, what now?”
“Time to dive.”
She was afraid of that.
“I—...I’m scared.”
“I was too, my first time. Get ready.”
As soon as her proximity alarm goes off, she cuts her engine.
“Pitch down at 80 degrees; keep it steep.”
“But—”
“You are not going to crash.”
Windblade streaks towards the ground.
“Adjust that yaw, match it with your drop-off coordinates.”
“Roll?”
“If you even think about adjusting your roll I’m going to throttle you.”
“Just say ‘no roll’.”
“Tell me when you reach 30,000 feet.”
Windblade tries not to focus on how fast the ground is approaching.
“I’m there.”
“Pitch 75, aim to reach zero by the time you hit 40 feet.”
“What if I hit the side of the outpost?”
“You won’t.”
“Gonna need more proof than that, Mission Control.”
“You are not allowed to land until I am positive you can stick it.”
The whirling of fields of grass and trees gets louder as she angles up, slowly but surely.
“Are the rainmakers still on my case?”
“Too far behind and too high up for their outliers to work; if they give chase, they’ve got a rude surprise in store.”
She ruffles her plating, mentally prepping for the upcoming landing.
“I...I think I can stick it.”
“Wait until you have a visual on Ironhide.”
As soon as she sees the red speck, she flips out of alt-mode and somersaults across the grass.
“Wh-Windblade! I said wait until you have a—”
“Good enough; I can run,” she gasps into the comm once she gains her footing, pedes pounding against the earth as she tries to duck into the thicket.
It turns out to be the right move, whether or not her mentor berates her, because the seekers chasing her realize there’s no way they can make it through the woods in alt-mode.
When they do land to transform, the turret fires up.
“Thanks, Ironhide!!” Windblade calls out, ducking amongst the trees.
They’re welcome to contend with a big angry truck if they want.
Windblade is as quick on her feet as she is on the wing, so she’s in the elevator and on her way to the shuttle to base in no time.
“This is Windblade, reporting in; packet secured, and on our way back to HQ!” she shouts.
Acidstorm scrambles back, running in the opposite direction as Ironhide peppers their rudder.
“Novastorm to Thundercracker and Slipstream; Target escaped.”
“Can you trail her?”
“Negative, chief; Infantry packs a mean punch—”
She yelps as a shell clips her wing.
“Nova!!” Acidstorm barks.
Ionstorm bounds in front of her to fire off at Ironhide.
“Fall into retreat, Rainmakers.” Slipstreams voice is stony on the line.
“Got your packet, Jazz,” she waves the datapad about before depositing into his eager hands.
“Very nice, thanks Windy,” he gives her a thumbs up as he walks away.
That intel will go to help the Autobots plan their strategies out. It’ll help them protect the humans that dot this strange planet’s surface, and give them an edge against the Decepticons.
More than that, it’s proven that she can handle herself in a dogfight.
Maybe now they’ll start letting her go on more missions; since Metroplex was benched, she’s been going stir-crazy in this base.
<<Windblade to Meeting Room C. Windblade to Meeting Room C.>>
That’s good! That means they want to evaluate her, and probably tell her the good news about being able to go out more often.
It’s going to be fine.
“Slipstream, I’m sorry, I—”
“Can it, Nacelle,” She puts a hand to her comm. “Buzzsaw, did you get all that?”
Nacelle shifts on his feet.
“Good. Send it over.”
“I...I really thought she was a NAIL.”
“Mute your vox.”
Slipstream pulls her tablet from her belt and hits play.
She snaps her fingers in his face and points at the clip of their target.
“Do you see that?”
“See what?”
“Look at that dodge. Notice anything?”
“It...it’s fine.”
“Look again. That Immelmann was pathetic.”
“...I mean, it was enough to throw off Hotlink—”
Slipstream grabs him by the fin.
“Nacelle, I am going to ask you a question, and how you answer that question is going in the battle report.”
That shuts him up.
“F...fire away...”
“Do you think —honestly think— that someone this sloppy could organize nabbing that intel and escape us?”
“N...no...?”
Slipstream rolls her eyes, releasing him.
“Thundercracker, addendum to the report,” she barks into her comms, “Target’s flight movements were erratic and poorly executed despite recovery team’s failure to secure intelligence.”
“Wh...what do you think it means?” Nacelle asks once she turns off the comm.
“I don’t think, I know.”
“Oh...well, what do you know?”
“She had help.”