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The operation had been a qualified success. They had managed to surprise the small insecticon hive whose members refused to leave with Megatron. The former Decepticons had been terrorizing the mountain villages for months, but had disappeared after each incursion, leaving no trace.
The maze of tunnels that had finally been located meant having to primarily rely on their human allies to set the charges, with mechs at various entrances to capture or deactivate those who escaped. It had already become far too clear that the hive would not surrender - not that Optimus had not attempted to contact them and give them an opportunity.
The terms of the treaty had been clear. The insecticons knew what they risked staying on Earth, but had spurned Megatron's orders and Prime's overtures alike.
Now the hive was cleared. None had allowed themselves to be captured--
--and they had lost three NEST rookies along the way when they'd failed to heed the warning Ironhide commed.
Ratchet knew such losses weighed heavily on his cohortmate.
It didn't help that it was the first mission the ancient-yet-new mech had commanded since his reformat, nor that he still blamed himself for the devastating NEST losses in Chicago - as though his presence could somehow have prevented them!
Ironhide constantly complained about the humans under his command. This had eased slightly after his reformat, but had now returned full-tilt. It was as though their fragility and lack of self-preservation were personal insults to the guardian-sparked mech.
"Fragging suicidal maniacs!" he roared, sending another searing blast up the canyon that had been set aside as an artillery range (Hound had carefully cleared all the wildlife first). "Slagging endoskeletal primates, don't retreat when you slagging-well call them back like they've got some kind of fragging deactivation wish!"
Ratchet waited. Ironhide finally whirled to face him, cannons still lit and spinning, just as Ratchet knew he would.
"Don't need repairs. Go be a fragging nannybot to someone else."
Ratchet cycled his optics. "As if I'm the nannybot," he grumbled. "It isn't your fault, Ironhide. Humans have minds of their own, and sometimes use them poorly."
"Rookies shouldn't have even been cleared yet for operations!" Ironhide spat.
"We don't have much of a choice," Ratchet reminded him, then grimaced. Ironhide did not need the reminder of just how many NEST veterans had been lost in Chicago. His own emotive equilibrium was off as well. The insecticons were... a unique frametype, perhaps not even originally indigenous to Cybertron. Their energon-conversion abilities were unparalleled. Every mecha lost was one too many. What if they had been the last of their class? Such a senseless waste!
Ironhide sensed something, whether in his field or along the cohort bond, and immediately shifted his focus, optics honing in on his anchoring partner.
"I'm sure they weren't the last... of frag it, come here," Ironhide growled, pulling Ratchet in gruffly, blunt digits deftly locating cabling in the comfort-language he knew best.
//Always the same answer for you,// Ratchet grumbled, dente catching the cabling in Ironhide's neck as both their frames cycled hot and made the distinctive sounds of chestplates parting.
"And you always bitch about it, just like Sarah does to Will, and yet you keep coming back," Ironhide rumbled.