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“You’re sure?” Jazz listened intently to the comm officer’s reply before sighing and nodding. “All right, thanks for the heads up. Radio the outpost with an update and estimated one groon delay.”
The comm officer sputtered but Jazz cut the line before they could protest, lodge a complaint or do anything else. Then he turned to the tiny medical convoy he was escorting with a frown.
“What’s going on?” Triage asked, hand drifting downward to the blaster he kept holstered on his hip.
“One of the scouts found a sniper nest up ahead on our route. We go through and we probably die.”
“We go around and all the people at the medical outpost die.” Triage frowned. “Pit of a choice.”
“Yeah,” Jazz agreed. “S’why I’m choosing option three. I’ll go down the road, draw their fire, and then you use my rifle to take them out while they’re distracted.”
“Seriously?” Triage’s reply was almost drowned out by the other two medics protesting vehemently.
“Yeah. I’ve seen you shoot before.” Jazz pulled his rifle, not as high powered as Prowl's or Bluestreak’s but it usually got the job done, from his subspace and held it out. “It’s got enough charge for ten shots, so you’ve got a little wiggle room. Should be three snipers out there.”
“Long as your sigh’s not fragged up, I won’t need wiggle room” Triage took the rifle solemnly. “Let’s do this.”
Jazz nodded and dropped into his alternate mode. “Triage, follow me to the edge of the foliage. Remedy and Patches, wait here for the all clear.”
“Sir,” Patches said, as Triage dropped into his own alternate mode, “I formally protest this action!”
“Great, file the paperwork once we’re at the outpost. And wait here.” Jazz pulled away before the other mech could say anything else.
-_-_-_-
“Would you like to tell me how you managed this?” Pharma reached into the wound on his shoulder and pulled out a bit of shrapnel with more force than Jazz thought was necessary. At least the mech wiped up the blood energon immediately instead of letting it trickle down his back and onto the floor.
“No,” Jazz replied honestly, thinking of the grenade that one of the snipers had thrown right before Triage had shot them. “I absolutely would not.”
“And this?” Pharma sprayed antiseptic along the scrape across his back, from the place where one of the snipers had gotten a little too lucky.
“Nope.”
“If you were anyone else,” Pharma slapped a bandage over the cut, again with more force than necessary but not enough that he could really call him out for it, especially since Jazz wouldn’t answer his questions, “I would be filing a report and requesting a formal reprimand. Ratchet always said you were more trouble than anyone could predict.”
“Yeah, that’s true enough.” Jazz grinned. “But I got you your supplies and your staff, didn’t I?”
“And they are alive.” Pharma sighed. “Thank you, for that. But if you come in here with obvious shrapnel injuries again, I might just make you suffer until Ratchet can treat you.”
“Wouldn’t even be the first time I had to go from Polyhex to Iacon full of shrapnel.” Jazz shrugged his uninjured shoulder. Then he hissed as Pharma attacked another of his injuries with the antiseptic.