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Killarn Strike: Refinement

Who: Fusillade, Shrike
IC Year: 2025
Location: Training Room - IHQ - Nightsiege - Cybertron
TP: Operation: Killarn

While fussing over the plans for the Killarn attack, Fusillade avails herself to the use of a tapebot that also serves as one of Galvatron’s primary stores of information.

IHQ Training Room

This large, heavily armored chamber lies between the Troop Hall and the Officers Hall. Large double doors lead to either hall, so that the high command might enter at their leisure to watch the training bouts. Two small stairways lead to armored observation areas, one above each of the entryways. A standard training drone waits next to the troop entrance until activated. The walls, while heavily armored and shielded, also contain holo-projectors, weapons mounts, shield generators, and cameras, allowing for any opponent or environment to be simulated, while also allowing those present within the armored observation area to watch and record what goes on beneath them.

"Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, NINETY." Fusillade's alto voice ticks off her paces. She's currently in the middle of a field of metal debris, hands planted on her hips as she sizes up the surroundings. "Hrn," she muses, before pulling out the holofoil that makes up her data padd. A few notes are typed in quickly, before ignites heelboots, and leaps skywards. Concentration is writ large upon her features as she sizes up the layout of the scenario laid out before her, the recycling scrapyards now below her, and the layout of the factory proper itself to her southwest. The femme requests, "Populate with double guard complement." Her grey and white frame remains suspended approximately a hundred and fifty feet in the air.

Shrike has been here since this little exercise began. The holograms have hidden him quite convincingly. His perch in the rafters is not visible due to the holographic skyline of Cybertron, but his interest in Fusillade's activities are mild at best. He's an analyst, and he knows the odds of the success of this proposed mission, but he's rarely consulted on such things. That's why Galvatron is leader. He knows when something is worth risking time, resources, and effort on. It's Shrike though, who can tell you down to the last drop of energon, exactly how much of those three an operation will cost the Empire.

Flitting over to one of the larger crags of a starship's hull, Fusillade drapes herself atop it, reclining as she requests, "Scroll through all entered laborer defense configurations?" She rests one pearlescent cheek atop a balled up hand, and mm-hmms to herself as the different orientations of unsheathed cannons and guard positions flash up in three second intervals. Fusillade keeps up a running monologue under her vented air intake, "Shards, Catechism why did you have to get assigned to a different duty shift than me?" More clearly, "Please insert typical Autobot response party." Several individuals, complete with apporpriate battle data compiled from eons of conflict, and pulled straight from the IHQ databases, pop to life. Among them are Ultra Magnus, Jazz. Fusillade grunts to herself, absently clawing the bulkhead plating. "And add in the others most likely to arrive if the response force was also doubled." Hound, Rodimus, and a few aerial units pop into existance. "Frak," utters forth from Fusillade, who dives down off her aerie, and plunks herself down in front of the frozen still of the running candy apple red Autobot leader. She circles him once, likely recalling the outcome of the Olympic grudge match. Then, plunking down on her skid plate, she shakes her head, staring down at the metallic ground before tossing her head back up, and uttering toward that canary yellow spoiler. "We're so dead," she concludes. "The Autobots are going to kill us. And if that doesn't happen, we're dead when we get back home."

The avian glides silently off his perch down near Fusillade, landing atop one of Ultra Magnus' arm pylons and taking in the battlefield. "Given the current state and fitness of Autobot response teams this is inaccurate. Computer, remove unit: Hound." Hound's image vanishes. "Replace with unit Grimlock." Grimlock appears in his dino-mode. "Now add unit Swoop" Swoop appears in his dino-mode, flying high in the air. "Finally, add unit: Streetwise." Streetwise appears, and Shrike nods to himself. "Their core response team from the past several encounters. Elita One has apparently returned, and must also be considered. In short, any attempt to carry out your mission with fewer than 3 members of High Command present will result in cataclysmic failure and possible death."

Wait, Rodimus is still there. Damn. Fusillade sprawls on her back on the ground, optic ridges arched upwards as she laces fingers across her cockpit. "Oh, I know," she says dourly to the assessment. "I've been granted access to some of DCI's records for this. That's kinda neat. But useless if I don't make better use of it." Belatedly, a "Thank you" rasps from her. She's gotten past the pride thing for now, but it'll likely return to unbearable levels if anything resembling success comes of the raid and destruction. Ignoring the fact that she could make a scrap angel right now if she so desired, Fusillade instead discusses the scenario. "I just managed to get everything placed properly. The programming is so... literal." She frowns slightly, and tears her horrified gaze away from the Autobot Commander to stare up at the blackness of space. "Catechism, Bandit, Cinderblock, and I are definite gos for this. Talk about rank and file." She flicks her optics shut in dissatisfaction. "We've made a request for Astrotrain, and I'm sure Shockwave would be more than happy to show up and shoot me midway through. As long as we can keep people off of me, I can at least trash the place, get Astrotrain to bring in a few of the Constructicons, I'm sure Bonecrusher could be asked to help, and then Astrotrain can collect some goods and workers for the Warrens..." A resigned 'tch' escapes her, "But we'd still need some sucker, err, volunteer to place the EM munitions. This is what I get for showing up with a rough draft." A faint shrug escapes her. "But even now the reality of the scenario has been improved by your intervention."

Shrike would shrug, if he had shoulders. "My intervention is a matter of need, not of desire. I have superior capabilities in the determination of success in battle via statistical analysis of all available records on file." He pauses, then continues with his analysis. "Shockwave would keep the Autobot Leader busy for a short time, but even he is not capable of standing up to Rodimus Prime for long. Cyclonus or Scourge would meet with even smaller margins of success in this task. My recommendation would be for a transport unit to bring the Constructicons, all of them, to battle, along with your Aerospace group to provide cover. Devastator would keep the Autobots busy, and unless the Autobots are able to field a gestalt warrior of their own, would force a withdrawal in under 30 earth minutes. Further, once Devastator has finished his job the Constructicons could dissolve into their component forms and salvage the factory before it is irradiated. The only issue with this scenario is the proximity to Iahex. The strike must be done with all due haste, or you risk reinforcements arriving and a possible gestalt combination to oppose Devastator, or worse, the Junkion Cityformer might be dispatched to reinforce the position. Any such delay will result in failure, and heavy casualties on our side."

Shrike would shrug, if he had shoulders. "My intervention is a matter of need, not of desire. I have superior capabilities in the determination of success in battle via statistical analysis of all available records on file." He pauses, then continues with his analysis. "Shockwave would keep the Autobot Leader busy for a short time, but even he is not capable of standing up to Rodimus Prime for long. Cyclonus or Scourge would meet with even smaller margins of success in this task. My recommendation would be for a transport unit to bring the Constructicons, all of them, to battle, along with your Aerospace group to provide cover. Devastator would keep the Autobots busy, and unless the Autobots are able to field a gestalt warrior of their own, would force a withdrawal in under 30 earth minutes. Further, once Devastator has finished his job the Constructicons could dissolve into their component forms and salvage the factory before it is irradiated. The only issue with this scenario is the proximity to Iahex. The strike must be done with all due haste, or you risk reinforcements arriving and a possible gestalt combination to oppose Devastator, or worse, the Junkion Cityformer might be dispatched to reinforce the position. Any such delay will result in failure, and heavy casualties on our side."

Fusillade continues to clasp hands atop her chest, nodding as she absorbs the information, looking for all the world like a therapy patient on the couch. "I've been duly informed that making a strike with overwhelming force, or retreat, are the favored options when it comes to combat. A protracted engagement will not end in our favor, that is most certain. We're still in need of a munitions officer to place the units. AND they still need to be made, actually." She seems a bit miffed at what she seems to perceive as an unacceptable delay. "I may need to make my requistions in person," she says airily. "I'm sure that will go over like a lead balloon. But I've been given clearance, so..." A thin smile crosses her hematite lips. "I suppose if one mech could do it all themselves, they'd be a god."

Shrike quirks a brow. "Unit Bandit is trained in explosives handling. He will be more than capable of creating the munitions you require. Time is obviously a factor." Shrike would frown. "Overwhelming force is a suggestion inherent to Shockwave, and it is short-sighted. Such a large assault force, even using transport vehicles, would be easily detectable by enemy sensor stations. Early warning of your attack will likely result in failure. Solution: Small force. Single transport containing all personnel. Rapid deployment from near-orbital position. Blitzkrieg style attack, retreat to happen shortly after arrival of enemy response team. Total mission time. No more than 40 minutes. Chances for success reduce exponentially as mission timer increases over that mark."

An obsidian finger darts skywards in triumph. "AH HA! Suborbital drop, I /WAS/ right!" The fierceness of that remark is quickly tempered as Fusillade sits back up, and crosses legs under herself Indian style, twisting around to give the bird a petulant look. "Well you two agree on the 'don't let it drag out' aspect. And I'm still trying to learn more about the units we do have available," she mutters to herself, narrowing topaz optics indignantly as she punches up the dossier for Bandit, hunkering defensively over the padd. "And I know enough that any kind of ground approach would be ridiculous. Slaggitall why I am stuck doing all of this?" Gee, we wonder, genius. Fusillade then takes another cooling draught of air over her vents. "Prioritize. List all the steps required for preparation, complete each one in turn..." she reminds herself.

Shrike corrects Fusillade quietly. "Orbital approach, sub-orbital drop." Shrike's expression is, as always, as blank as a condor's can be. "Shockwave and I agree on very little. For all his intelligence and raw power, he is offensive and overly posturing. I have little use for his input." No filter from thought to vocalizer. Shrike really doesn't give a rat's butt. Galvatron would smelt Shockwave for harming him in the least, and he knows it.

"And here I thought you couldn't be anal-retentive if you couldn't have an anus," Fusillade drawls out. Quickly, she snaps up hands, "S'not a bad thing, mind you. You're good with details. Wanna help out some more as this plan comes together, even after this run through? I'm looking at an execution date of approximately fifteen cycles. Execution of the plan, not me." Her processor tries to wrap around Shrike's assessment of the Master, but she can't quite get past 'scary f**k', so rolls the thought up and stores it in a corner to be unravelled later. And then, despite herself, she turns to the placeholder for Rodimus and Grimlock, and raspberries them. Oh Primus the taint was deep with this one.

Good thing Shrike doesn't study human terminology, or Fusillade might find herself hearing three very unwelcome words. 'Computer. Run. Simulation.' at which time, the Autobots would all see her <and likely him, but that's immaterial. He doesn't experience fear as most do> and the fun would begin. At the present range, a full-power shot from Rodimus Prime would likely knock her unconscious, and then Grimlock might be apt to just start chomping off armor and such for a snack. Again, it's a good thing he doesn't study human culture. "If Galvatron and Arachnae have no other use for me in the immediate future I see no reason not to aid you."

Despite Fusillade's desire to stay on good terms so that she will be supported by others during this initiative, she's still managed to not connect 'mouthing off' with 'offensive' just quite yet. She also fails at mind-reading! It's for the best, though. The moment for witticisms passes. She begins to pace through the mockup of Killarn's scrap yard which she enjoyed blowing up not so recently. Kicking a large bolt on the ground in front of her, she raises one hand to her chin, and mm-hmms, nodding to herself. "It pleases me to hear that, then. I will be in contact with you about it, if you aren't... already watching." She smirks at the cassette's earlier eavesdropping, looking upwards at the simulated stars, before stating, "Computer, save program, and close." She begins to sidle to the doorway.

--End--

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