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fandomweekly2020-06-29 08:56 pm
autobotscoutriella) wrote in fandomweekly2020-06-29 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
[#057] For Cybertron (Transformers)
Theme Prompt: 057 - Martyr
Title: For Cybertron
Fandom: Transformers
Rating/Warnings: PG / Emotions around death
Bonus: No
Word Count: 642
Summary: Elita has spent most of her adult life trying to deter her soldiers from heroic sacrifices. Now she has to make one of her own.
Once, Elita One had admired martyrs.
How could she not? The idea of heroically sacrificing oneself for someone's life or for a matter of principle had seemed almost appealing when she was a hatchling listening to stories. The heroes had died, sometimes, or been horribly wounded at least, but they had been remembered and honored forever. If one had to die, that had seemed like the best way to go.
It had only taken one battle to knock the shine off that idea. There was nothing glamorous or heroic about death, no matter what the reason--and as the war had dragged on, Elita had seen the futility of last stands and heroic sacrifices. One glorious death might end the battle for that day, but there would be another, and another, and now the people the unfortunate hero had died for were left undefended when the next attack came.
It hadn't taken long for her to start teaching it to new recruits and drilling it into her soldiers. Don't be a hero. Follow orders and protect your squadmates and trust them to protect you. Don't throw yourself in front of a bullet unless you have no other choice. It was a philosophy that had saved their lives, and the lives of those they protected, in hundreds of battles across millions of years.
And yet here she was, preparing to do the exact same thing she had spent so long trying to keep others from doing.
There truly is no choice, this time, she told herself. For the Ark to escape, someone must stay behind and defend the launch site. There is no other way.
She wasn't afraid of death. She had come too close to the Well of Allsparks before to have any more fear of that. No, it wasn't fear for herself.
It was the knotted, awful dread that whatever she did here would not be enough. That when she died, the Decepticons would sweep past her and take down the Ark, and no one else would be left to stop the launch. That this would not be the last battle, no matter how hard she fought.
"Commander." It was Chromia, standing behind her with a shoulder-load of explosives carefully balanced in a remarkably stable stack. "Where do you want to prioritize? We don't have enough to surround the entire platform."
Elita forced back her worries. The deed was as good as done. She had stepped forward when the plan had been raised. She had told the Prime and Autobot Command that she would be remaining to defend the launch platform, no matter what, and Chromia had stood with her over any protests. They had made their choice, and now the only thing left was to follow it through. If she had wanted to reconsider the wisdom of sacrificing herself, the time to do that had been before she volunteered.
"Focus on the bridges. That'll stop the bulk of their ground troops." The aerial squadrons would be harder to slow down. It would require direct intervention on their part, even with access to the remaining anti-aircraft artillery. "If we have any left, target the tops of the pillars. Some of the squadrons fly in low enough to clip the towers. Here--I'll take half. We have a few hours before the launch, and everyone is already in Iacon. We can start now."
"Copy that." Chromia lowered the stack carefully to the ground, and then paused with one hand resting on the top container. "We can do this, Commander. We will get them off-planet." The confidence in the words was not reflected in her posture, or in the slight ripple of her EM field.
"We can. We will." Elita straightened and extended a hand to Chromia. "One last time. For Cybertron."
Perhaps, after all, some part of her still admired the concept of martyrdom.
Title: For Cybertron
Fandom: Transformers
Rating/Warnings: PG / Emotions around death
Bonus: No
Word Count: 642
Summary: Elita has spent most of her adult life trying to deter her soldiers from heroic sacrifices. Now she has to make one of her own.
Once, Elita One had admired martyrs.
How could she not? The idea of heroically sacrificing oneself for someone's life or for a matter of principle had seemed almost appealing when she was a hatchling listening to stories. The heroes had died, sometimes, or been horribly wounded at least, but they had been remembered and honored forever. If one had to die, that had seemed like the best way to go.
It had only taken one battle to knock the shine off that idea. There was nothing glamorous or heroic about death, no matter what the reason--and as the war had dragged on, Elita had seen the futility of last stands and heroic sacrifices. One glorious death might end the battle for that day, but there would be another, and another, and now the people the unfortunate hero had died for were left undefended when the next attack came.
It hadn't taken long for her to start teaching it to new recruits and drilling it into her soldiers. Don't be a hero. Follow orders and protect your squadmates and trust them to protect you. Don't throw yourself in front of a bullet unless you have no other choice. It was a philosophy that had saved their lives, and the lives of those they protected, in hundreds of battles across millions of years.
And yet here she was, preparing to do the exact same thing she had spent so long trying to keep others from doing.
There truly is no choice, this time, she told herself. For the Ark to escape, someone must stay behind and defend the launch site. There is no other way.
She wasn't afraid of death. She had come too close to the Well of Allsparks before to have any more fear of that. No, it wasn't fear for herself.
It was the knotted, awful dread that whatever she did here would not be enough. That when she died, the Decepticons would sweep past her and take down the Ark, and no one else would be left to stop the launch. That this would not be the last battle, no matter how hard she fought.
"Commander." It was Chromia, standing behind her with a shoulder-load of explosives carefully balanced in a remarkably stable stack. "Where do you want to prioritize? We don't have enough to surround the entire platform."
Elita forced back her worries. The deed was as good as done. She had stepped forward when the plan had been raised. She had told the Prime and Autobot Command that she would be remaining to defend the launch platform, no matter what, and Chromia had stood with her over any protests. They had made their choice, and now the only thing left was to follow it through. If she had wanted to reconsider the wisdom of sacrificing herself, the time to do that had been before she volunteered.
"Focus on the bridges. That'll stop the bulk of their ground troops." The aerial squadrons would be harder to slow down. It would require direct intervention on their part, even with access to the remaining anti-aircraft artillery. "If we have any left, target the tops of the pillars. Some of the squadrons fly in low enough to clip the towers. Here--I'll take half. We have a few hours before the launch, and everyone is already in Iacon. We can start now."
"Copy that." Chromia lowered the stack carefully to the ground, and then paused with one hand resting on the top container. "We can do this, Commander. We will get them off-planet." The confidence in the words was not reflected in her posture, or in the slight ripple of her EM field.
"We can. We will." Elita straightened and extended a hand to Chromia. "One last time. For Cybertron."
Perhaps, after all, some part of her still admired the concept of martyrdom.