Tales of Assimilation Four

Terms
Dash 60 – flight line equipment used to provide electric power and bleed air to aircraft.
Blue Flame – when there’s flame in the exhaust (this can be a bad thing), indicates a possible fuel problem.
Hanger Queen – equipment waiting for parts so long, they start getting k-balled for parts.
K-Balled –parts stolen from one piece of equipment to fix another.

One wouldn’t think that humans could be dangerous, given their size, but after Mission City, Optimus Prime had quickly learned that humanity was a resourceful species, and not as predictable as his own troops.  For example, the Autobot commander could have predicted Wreck Gar watching what the military called a ‘Golden Flow’—a mass testing of human waste fluids.  After all, from all indications (most being reality shows and the innumerable ‘myspace’ sites on the internet) humans enjoyed being watched.  However, he would NOT have been able to predict that the Noncommissioned Officer in charge of the Orderly Room would take a jack hammer to Wreck Gar until he was dragged off, without struggle, by said human…

“…As I understand it, that isn’t procedure,” the Autobot concluded, as the Sergeant in question stood before him with their First Sergeant and Squadron Commander. The Sergeant hardly looked regretful.

“He wasn’t on the monitor’s list,” the Sergeant said, slipping the Junkion, who had by this time repaired himself, though the only indication was that he was ambulatory now, a menacing look.  

“Assaulting him seemed an adequate way of communicating this?” Prime wondered.

“He wouldn’t get off the ladder—I just used the jackhammer to knock it out from under him and turned it on by—accident.”

“I see,” the Autobot responded, glancing at the First Sergeant, who failed to mention at that point, that the NCOIC knew how to USE said piece of equipment.  Witnesses substantiated that the jackhammer had indeed been used as the Sergeant said—then, testimony got hazy.  All that was sure was that the chisel on the hammer got stuck in Wreck Gar’s hip joint and it went off after that.

“We all agree that perhaps the use of a jackhammer in this situation was a little—extreme, Commander,” the Major acknowledged, hardly pleased about his Sergeant’s actions, but themselves intensely perturbed.  Every sample obtained up to the discovery of the Autobot ‘peeper’ had been compromised; 100 out of the 300 that needed to test.  The Medical Squadron was livid, and the Base Commander wasn’t too happy either.  Had the Sergeant not done SOMETHING, more personnel would have tested and more samples lost because of the Autobot. “But under the circumstances, I’m sure you understand that, since your soldier seemed unable to comply with the Sergeant’s request to leave, for whatever reason—well…”

The Autobot commander knew what was coming; he’d had to deal with this problem before.  This Sergeant had given him—and to a greater extent, Prowl—difficulties before.  They were an intractable, crusty entity at best, self righteous and unrepentant at worst—glancing at Wreck Gar, Prime added destructive to that list.  They were however, an efficient entity, so little would change. Perhaps, Prime considered, this might become an excellent opportunity of achieving a bit of—attitude reprogramming…
***
“…Hey look—aren’t they the humans we beat in that farting contest about an hour ago?” Cliffjumper pointed to two Staff Sergeants, a Master, and an Airman, standing in front of a large piece of green equipment.  The Master Sergeant was speaking…

“…Okay, Airman, let’s see how you did—get it running…”

Ironhide, Cliffjumper and Sideswipe all moved closer to the humans, all of which were wearing sound dampening devices, unaware of their visitors, when the machine they were standing besides, revved with a sluggish, high pitched whine, working up to a dull roar.

Suddenly, the archaic – by Cybertronian standards – beast emitted what could only be described as a tremendous FOOPH’ing sound.

It was almost identical to Cybertronian—farting!

“That sounded like a challenge,” Ironhide grinned, happy to take them up on it.

Sideswipe got into position. “Have to at least hand it to them for persistence…”

The one Staff Sergeant shook his head as the Dash 60 coughed and sputtered.  “Pig is blue flaming,” they mouthed, pointing to the exhaust at the top of the unit, almost imperceptible tongues of flame spitting out of the darkness. “Somethings’ screwed in the fuel system I’ll bet.  Need to shut it down!” and they started giving the cut signal—catching something at the corner of their eye.  The others followed their line of vision, and the Master Sergeant hollered, “RUN…!”
***
“…I think I have a solution to your Sergeant’s need for learning respect of what they obviously see as just—‘equipment’,” Prime said, after some deliberation.

“I NEVER said that!” the Sergeant growled at the Autobot kneeling before them. “Equipment that doesn’t disrupt my proceedings, I can live—what the hell--?”

Suddenly, four mechanics came rushing into the hanger, the Master bellowing, “GET DOWN…!” before the foursome dove behind a blast wall, Wreck Gar already with them.

The First Shirt and the Major, who were at the edge of a set of hanger queens, parted like the Red Sea just as the air seemed to take on the substance of thunder, burning like lightning, and raining Autobots, Optimus scooping up the Sergeant and shielding them as a smoking Ironhide and heavy debris skidded where the human had been standing!

“You were saying,” Prime stared down at them, “About living?”

The Sergeant stared down at the ‘equipment’ they would have been ‘living’ with—and around, and through, in about as many pieces, and dryly responded, “The reports never mentioned that you had a sense of humor.”

“WHAT. IS. THIS!?!” The First Sergeant demanded, coming out from behind the firewall, surveying the scene filled with burning metal, smoking Autobots, the large hole in the hanger wall, and a growing audience.  Of the four mechanics, the only one to speak was the Master, answering “It—WAS—a Dash 60.”

Prime looked at his troops accusingly.  “Ironhide rose and shrugged.  “At least we’re still at the perimeter as ordered,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“You were supposed to be GUARDING it, not causing collateral damage, Ironhide.”

“’S not our fault their equipment can’t handle Cybertronian emissions,” Sideswipe spoke up, almost with pride, in their defense.

“He’s dead, dead, dead, Jim—DOA and darn Good Eats!” Wreck Gar garbled merrily.

The NCOIC, still several feet off the ground against the Autobot commander’s chest plate, muttered sardonically, “You were saying, about ‘respect for equipment’?”

“Don’t remind me.” Prime groaned.

So much for being able to do any ‘reprogramming’, at least—for the time being…