::::Author's Note:::: I am, again, suggesting a rating of PG-13 for mild language. Also, helpful tip, the chapters of this story are serialistic, not episodic. If you have not read the prologue or the first chapter I would highly recommend doing so. Other than that, brief mention of the usual proprietorial disclaimers, which, I'm sure everyone has memorized by now so I won't bore you all by typing it on here again. Simply to be put, 'No they're not mine!!!' Hehehe!!! :) Oh just get on with the reading and enjoy!!! :)

In twenty minutes Hound was passing the junction where Highway 78 merged with Highway 95. There were still thirteen miles before the turnoff on Wanton Road that ran parallel to the Owyhee River, and then another eight and a half miles before turning down a back road leading to the trestle bridge. Not many used this road; it was a little known pass across the river. But there were a few choice camping spots and, for the more untamed and adventurous at heart, canoeing, hiking and rock climbing sites on the other side. To Hound it was another unauthorized stop along his scouting tours. One of dozens in the area. He knew the Oregon wilderness like the insides of his piston chambers. Soon he detected, to the rear of him, the distant headlights of a small convoy of vehicles taking up position, and gaining steadily, approximately eighty yards behind. The uniformity of their spatial arrangement gave him assurance that the caravan was, indeed, Jazz and his team. Prowl wasn't exaggerating when he'd said they weren't far off.

Hound broke through the comm.-link on the Autobot frequency, now, as he eased off the accelerator to allow them to catch up. "Jazz, I'm just ahead of you!"

"I see you there, Hound. You enjoying the backwoods on this lovely winter day?" The Porsche returned.

"I could be, but then there's this little thing about a rescue mission."

"Yeah, I had to give up the mechanical snowman, would have been the highlight of my day. But hey, this is why we're the good guys!" To this he suddenly adopted the persona of a seventies action show narrator. "Commissioner Gordon, a.k.a. Prowl, sent up the Bat signal and we come flying in like the Caped Crusaders!" And he cachinnated at his own humor. Then Jazz added the same instructions he'd given the rest of his fellow Autobots. "Mirage is dealing the deck on this mission. So listen to what the man says."

"Understood."

"Hold on! I thought the Joker dealt the deck?" Wheeljack piped in. "He's the bad guy!"

"I see you've been sneaking satellite programming on TeleTran One with the twins again."

"At least it wasn't the after hours stuff this time!"

At this Jazz erupted into a wheezing set of unbridled giggles that caused his entire frame to shimmy. "I will never forget the look on Prowl's face when he caught you all, either!"

"Yeah!" Wheeljack agreed with a howling laugh of his own. "Especially when Sideswipe told him to "analyze that!'"

"I think that's the part that got Sides and Sunny the two days doing inventory of the entire base, too!" Hound remarked.

"Well, wait a minute, the whole thing was Sideswipe's doing, wasn't it?" Bluestreak interjected now. "How come Sunstreaker got punished?"

"I don't know. And the watching of what it was they were watching was purely accidental! They stumbled upon that channel and went totally dumbfounded because . . . well, we'd never actually seen a human doing that before! And as luck would have it Prowl and Jazz stumbled upon us after they stumbled upon that, and that was it. Anyway, the only thing Sunny said was "I guess we're not so unlike humans after all,'" the Ligier recalled and chuckled again as the fiasco replayed itself in his memory circuits.

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind." Wheeljack replied to the young silver gunner before continuing on the train of thought that was now open. "Anyway, I heard a rumor that it was something good "ol Sunny said to Prowl while they were in his office afterward that got his tailpipe in trouble. And I believe," he paused his wording with an exaggerated clearing of his air intake, then unmistakably accentuating his next set of words, "Jazz was present during that little discussion."

There was momentary silence, in which, one could almost hear the unspoken, yet communal, "oooh's' and "ahh's' in the anticipation saturated atmosphere as the gossipers awaited a response from the mechanoid who held the truth. They didn't get it.

"Well Jazz?" Hound persisted.

"Hey, now, I'm in good with the brothers at present time and I would prefer to keep it that way," the black and white mech declined.

Hound chortled at the proclamation.

"Ah well. In any case, I still say I could design and build a better-"

"Wheeljack! Not now!" Ratchet censored.

Mirage and the group raced headlong into Hound's trail until they were running parallel with the olive green Jeep. And Hound dropped back into formation, taking up the fifth point after Mirage, Jazz, Ratchet and Hoist. Everyone fell into a hushed contemplation as they continued speeding toward the next turnoff, allowing their CPU's to settle on the upcoming mission, speculating over the circumstances since not many details had been available when Prowl had first sent them. The night was closing in quickly as the sun slowly set in the west while the forecasted blizzard front neared from the northeast. And both of these variables would surely complicate the mission. No one knew for certain how many people were involved or how long they had been there and if any of them were injured. Hound had been given the briefest of descriptions and was bothered by how much he didn't know. He hated being unprepared and under pressure at the same time; but in a way, he recognized, it was his own fault for having cut Prowl off during his explanation earlier. He hoped Jazz and Mirage knew something more. The group came upon Wanton Road and veered around the corner as the tracker broke into the airways again.

"Prowl didn't give me all the details. What are we up against?"

As to his current charge, Mirage was the one who responded. "There are civilians trapped inside their vehicles on the bridge. They caused a jam in their panic to get off when the support structure gave way."

"Are there any injured?"

"We don't know that yet, we'll find out when we get there."

Hm, so much for preparedness, Hound brooded silently.

Getting there was soon at hand. Mirage and his entourage of Autobots rounded and dipped through a small hollow. Coming up over the other side they could see the bridge off the main road. Into a sparse strip of black hemlocks between the highway and the river, a crude two-track was the only point of access to the worn and weathered span. It had been one of the roadways blocked in the closures due to the weather and had, clearly, been unobstructed by the travelers; a sawhorse barricade with flashing lights had been pushed to the side of the two-track. The parade of vehicles slowed in their turn onto the rugged dirt pass that sloped delicately through the hemlock trees. And they had to make their way cautiously as the snow packed beneath the first series of vehicles had quickly solidified into an icy top layer hidden beneath a thin sheet of powdery snow.

The Owyhee River Pass was a good stretch across the water; the old wood trestle bridge covered a distance of ninety-six feet across a turbulent portion of the river. The slushy waters churned and bashed its rage against the cement moorings and lapped up over them to soak the timbers of the base structures. The damage was foremost to the opposite side where several of the cross members had caved in from the stresses of the elements, deterioration and subsequent weight it'd been forced to endure, and was now a severed and sagging slump of splintered and cracked beams. The left side of the roadway was completely disengaged from the landing where it had torn away, dropped and wedged precariously into the softer sediment of the wall of the gorge.

The travelers must have all been in fairly close proximity when the wooden beams surrendered. Only two of the six vehicles escaped the collapse, the rest were trapped within the fissure, unable to drive forward or backward on the angled, frost covered roadway. The latter two vehicles had stayed their position; one to the fore, which may not have moved for fear of furthering the damage, and one to the rear that had lodged its front bumper under the rear quarter panel of the car before it which had also ended up in the crevice. The humans that could be seen appeared to be relatively unharmed as they waved madly and hollered for help to the approaching convoy. Most dangled partway out of their stranded automobiles, while a few others abandoned the warmth and safety to try to calm others.

The trestle bridge could be heard creaking threateningly as the Autobots closed the gap, emerging from the line of trees now and getting a close and unobstructed view of the calamity. Just another few hundred feet to go.

Mirage absorbed the situation from his position in the lead. An alarming twinge of unsettlement flitted through his CPU. Already he was racked with indecision, overwhelmed with course actions. And wondering if they were all wrong. This was not his place! Up here in the forefront calling the shots. He was not designed to lead; not programmed to "sort and make judgment purely through logic', as Prowl had once explicated to him. Not after Tiras. Especially not after Tiras! He'd exhausted his capability to reserve emotion while playing the role of command. Being forced to make the call of who needed attention before another and knowing the possibility the latter may die before help could return. He doubted he could do it again as the panic rose. He found himself to be much better at following rather than leading. He could follow an order to the letter with nothing less than perfection! He could even anticipate directions before they'd been given. But to be the one giving them . . . and in a crisis such as this, with such fragile lives hanging in the balance and depending upon him as to whether they lived or died. Not again.

Five seconds away from their destination, Mirage cracked into Jazz's private comm.-link. And he fought to conceal the shudder, which rattled through his frame, from being exposed in his voice synthesizer.

"Jazz, are you certain about this? About me?"

Quickly and confidently came the reply. "You bet! And don't you worry your little self "cause I'm right here with you!"

No more time for protest. They arrived at the west end of the bridge.

The convoy of Autobots screeched to a halt. Bluestreak, in his habit of edging closely when gripped with tension, bumped Wheeljack lightly and immediately offered up a sheepish apology. In unison the group transformed.

Hoist and Wheeljack rushed toward the rim of the riverbed and frowned in worry at the wilting wooden frame and the humans it dared to claim as its victims. They shared an uptight glance before simultaneously peering down the forty-eight foot vale to the river and its ever-gaining currents. The water was gradually rising as the temps further northeast were steadily climbing after the winter front left the area, melting the multitude of snow and adding it to the Owyhee's level. The sloshing, half frozen waters pummeled the moorings and lunged up at the splayed framework set in the cement there. The wooden beams seemed to sneer spitefully in its crisp, cracking noises at the pair of mechs. But above the racket of the bridge structure were the shouts of desperation from the people.

One man, who'd obviously familiarized himself with the identities of the Autobots through television news appearances over the years, recognized Hoist and Wheeljack, calling them by name. It tinted the situation personal, somehow, and Wheeljack winced.

"Hold on there!" He called back, but to the benefit of all the stranded. "We're on our way!"

Impatience was screaming across Ratchet's facial plating as he stood to one side of Jazz. On the other side stood Mirage.

The blue and white mech battled to harden himself into cool, calculating logic as he surveyed the circumstances. But the interference from vividly familiar screams and the thunderous roar of the water kept him from completely sealing off his distress. And then he caught a glimpse of Bluestreak; the haunting horrors of the young bot's life were constantly in those optics, if one knew what to look for. And although Mirage had never been particularly close to the silver gunner, their pasts were near mirror images and, in that, knew exactly the turmoil burning within. Because those same flames licked at the backs of his orbs and presented the potential of his breakdown in the face of leadership. As Mirage examined his younger charge, Bluestreak caught his stare and his optics flickered in agonizing acknowledgement. And the acting lead looked away before he lost it.

"Mirage?"

Jazz had taken a small sideways step and now touched shoulder to shoulder with his companion. It seemed to lesson the mental rigidity. Maybe what the Ligier needed to break into his role; he was ready.

"We'll glide to the other side," Mirage directed abruptly. "Wheeljack, make an assessment of the damage when we get there. Hoist, brainstorm a tether system. See if you can find a nearby point to rig a support line. Ratchet and Hound, start assessing injuries. Find out who needs to get off first. Now let's go!"

The powerful servomechanisms in their legs relayed the message to coil massive struts, and then release, projecting the group skyward. And they soared over the expanse of the Owyhee River.

"Let's give ourselves a bit of distance when we touch down!" Jazz suggested. "We don't want the tremors from our landing to add anymore stress to the structure!"

"Good point!" Mirage noted, sounding all the more in control. Maybe even confident, as all outward trace of doubt had vanished.

However, inwardly, Jazz could not tell. Mirage was, after all, a master at hiding himself. And often that held true emotionally as much as physically. But the Porsche refrained from raising the issue, lest it actually become an issue again if Mirage had, indeed, scattered the proverbial mechanical butterflies from his fuel reservoirs. He could only hope at this point.

"We'll clear the bridge landing by fifty feet!" The blue and white mech instructed. "And set yourselves down as cautiously as you can!"

"Got it!"

"Understood!"

"Roger that!" Sounded the replies of his team.

In the next moment they had glided the fair distance beyond the landing to touch down. And they did so as per instruction, crouching their bodies, flexing their leg struts and absorbing the impact as much as possible. Still the tremors, in the slightest, reverberated quietly off the frozen ground. Their technologically advanced optic sensors secerned the faintest quiver of the wooden framework and they all held a hesitant pause, motionless and fearful of the consequences, until it settled again.

The pleading squeals of the trapped humans urged them into action.

"Let's go!" Mirage commanded sternly now.

Ratchet, Hound and Wheeljack proceeded forward as rapidly as caution would allow, placing ginger steps across the fifty plus feet of snow covered sediment and closing the gap between themselves and the bridge.

Wheeljack reached the landing first. And the man that had called him by name did so, again, now. Over and over. It was sounding less like a person in distress than it did a frenzied fan trying to get the attention of a music or movie star. It felt so out of place, out of context. It was somewhat disturbing. Still, Wheeljack responded.

"Hang in there guy! We're gonna get you outta there!"

And he swore he recognized a satisfied smirk. Odd, indeed, he pondered.

"Who's injured?" Ratchet shouted to the mass.

In response he got frantic wails, incoherent chants and lubricant curdling screams. "I need to know who's injured!" The medic tried again, the volume of his rugged voice raised in irritation.

At the same time Hound was yelling above, both, he and the people to gain their attention, his thick arms flailing in emphasis. "Quiet! Please! You have all got to try to calm down in order for us to help you! Now, please, listen!"

And some form of order began to ensue as the cries gradually died down into whispered prayers, sobbing and moans. Finally Ratchet began a line of evaluating questions, starting off with the women and children, and ones who looked in more serious need than others. Those too distraught to answer right away were left to Hound's adept way of verbal allay. His seraphic voice was a cherished thing among the Autobots as it made him so approachable when in need of solace. Slowly the progress began.

Mirage had held back in position with the other three mechs, attempting to formulate the next course of action while the rest exchanged nervous glances amongst themselves and at the commanding presence. Jazz held the longest of regards over the blue and white mech as he considered what could be going through his companion's central processor. The urgency of the crisis demanded an immediate intervention, however, as Jazz himself did not have an immediate solution, suppressed the impulse to take charge.

Another moment. And another. Jazz opened the private comm.-link.

"Mirage?"

"I know . . ." the blue and white Autobot blurted aloud as he pivoted to face the group. "Hoist, do your best to give me some geographical readings. Find me some prospects for a point of contact to attach an anchor line. Bluestreak -" and he hesitated as his optics locked with those of the young gunner, the demons still present within his gaze. Mirage averted his view, casting a, suddenly, purposeful sidelong look at the trestle bridge. "Bluestreak, you're the lightest of our seven. I want you to hover above the damaged quarter of the archway. Work with Wheeljack to determine the safest location to hook that line."

The two mechs departed to carry out their respective orders.

Jazz waited a moment as Hoist and Bluestreak ventured further away from them. Then he sidled up to Mirage, shouldering him again. Lending his silent, yet poignant, support as he waited for whatever the mech would do. It was a tense moment, and from under the illusiveness of his visor the black and white mech shifted his view to Mirage's countenance. He was quite unreadable in the instant. Looking for all of Cybertron like he was actually in charge and at ease with the fact. Then the seconds passed and the façade faltered. His facial plating twitched slightly in futile resistance before crumpling into a muddled expression of varied negativity. And his body language read differently as well. Whereas a moment ago he'd been physically unresponsive, maintaining his rigid stance of indifference to the tactile contact initiated by Jazz, he now leaned tentatively into the proffered shoulder of his companion. And he took the show of support as an uneasy tremor rumbled through his chassis.

Mirage knew, immediately, Jazz had felt the quake he sent resonating into his arm. And he felt himself under the concerned scrutiny of his superior. Mirage dared a fleeting glimpse and looked away. Then he submitted himself to full optical contact for a processor-seizing stare. His reservation showed prominently upon his visage, his lack of confidence, his fears. And the Porsche translated it all, wincing and radiating commiseration.

Still, it was all the mech offered his command-in-training. Jazz understood, well, the apprehensions. He'd felt them himself when he'd been guided under his superior. It is an accepted, and for the most part, expected part of the process. As is the learning of how to overcome those apprehensions and to gain confidence, instill wisdom. Mirage would grasp this eventually, Jazz had no doubt.

They, both, were distracted now as Wheeljack called their attention.

"Hey guys! This ain't looking good!" The white, red and green Lancia announced as he scooted in reverse and pulled his frontage from the ground where he'd laid to peer over the edge of the riverbed. He continued as he stood and gently paced his way back toward Jazz and Mirage. "There are nine beams that are badly rotted. Six of them have splintered pretty badly and two of them have already snapped." He paused as he turned back toward the bridge, then communicated his next statement through hand gestures as well as words, intertwining his fingers as he said, "The only reason those two supports are still in place is because the weight bearing down on them has meshed the splintered ends together like this. Intertwined them, sort of. But it's not holding out long."

"We've got to move!" Jazz shouted to the team, now, under the revelation, not hesitating this time for his companion's authoritative presence. He was ready to step in and take command if Mirage didn't act now.

But Mirage did.

"Hoist! What have you found for me?"

"I think I've got a couple of good ones over here!" The mech called from beside a thick mound of sediment towering a fair sixty-eight feet tall. "Just a matter of angle! I need to know where the tether will be over there!"

Turning his attention back to the bridge, Mirage hollered to Bluestreak high above. "How is it looking topside? Anything with enough structural integrity to anchor to?"

"Not in my eyes!" The younger Autobot called back as he glided back to their position and landed. "There's really not much structural integrity to speak of. This pass was not very well maintained."

"Wheeljack! Go back up there with him and try to find us something!"

"You got it!" The engineer replied.

Mirage had broken off the physical contact with Jazz and now wandered gently to the landing. His stride was tense and his fists were clenched but his control seemed, again, in full force.

Jazz remained behind to aid Hoist when the signal came to affix the tether line.

"Ratchet?" The blue and white Autobot summoned, now, as he approached the medic. "What's the status of the people?"

"We have a total of eighteen," Ratchet began from his position, crouched on his metallic haunches in front of the landing, and he turned to face the acting lead as he continued his report. "Two of them are fairly banged up with concussions and fractures, one of which is unconscious with a three inch gash across the right temple. The worst one, a forty-one year old mother, has severe contusions to the head, neck and upper chest, possibly a cracked sternum, difficulty breathing and a fractured right leg and wrist. We have a six-month pregnant woman, but she seems to be doing alright. The rest are just bruised and scraped. And they're all frozen and scared to death!" He finished off with a good measure of annoyance evident in his gruff voice; his patience was wearing thin through all the tedious preparation.

"We've got to move faster to get them out of here!" Hound insisted in his own anxiety.

"I know, Hound," the Ligier Autobot agreed with a controlled tension, giving his all to stay within that control. "But we have to stabilize the structure before we can attempt to move anyone."

"I think we've got a winner up here!" Wheeljack broadcasted loudly from above. Ratchet stabbed at him with a disdainful glare, fully not appreciating the sarcasm in the announcement.

Although the recipient never noticed as he and Bluestreak descended back to the snow covered terrain beyond the group. Then they joined Mirage at the pass.

"The third beam in the archway looks like it may hold up!"

"But it might not for an extended period so once we get it anchored-"

"We'll have to move like lightening!" Wheeljack finished the gunner's statement.

"Alright! Let's act like we have a purpose!" The medic urged. "We gotta get these people outta here!"

"Where are we aiming from?" Hoist shouted from behind.

"This one!" Bluestreak shouted back as he pointed to the specified portion of the archway.

"Alright!" The wrecker rig acknowledged. Then turning to Jazz, "Over here! We'll have to use this one!"

The two mechs ran to his second selected mound, shorter by only four feet but with a much wider girth. And the green and yellow Autobot wondered momentarily if the four feet would make a substantial difference. He hadn't the time to second-guess, however, and the trajectory to the bridge was what mattered most.

"I'll climb up to secure the line!"

"Roger that, Hoist!"

Then Prowl broke onto the Autobot frequency. The special operations mech flipped up the communicator on the back of his squared wrist in response.

"Jazz, how is the rescue operation proceeding?"

"We've assessed the damage and we're attempting to tie the bridge back up to dry land before ol' Mother Nature drops it in the drink!" Jazz reported.

"What is the status of the civilians?" The tactician continued.

"We've got a few injured, some badly, but no casualties."

"Hm . . . something to be divided over, indeed." Prowl went silent a moment before adding, "I've been in radio contact with local authorities. They've dispatched their own rescue and medical. I have notified them of your efforts and they should arrive to assist you within the next half hour to forty-five minutes."

"I copy that, Prowl."

"Prowl out."

Jazz lowered the communicator flush to his wrist once again as he surveyed the proceedings. It was a crucial transition moment, but in his opinion all looked to be going accordingly. Or, at least, as much as it possibly could be.

Hound and Ratchet were still playing it calm with the trapped and frightened people, doing their best to keep further panic from arising through soothing and encouraging words spoken in hushed vocalizations. Hound had taken the ploy a step beyond and was speaking to them on a more personal level, particularly the younger ones, the children; asking their names and ages, inquiring about their schooling and favorite activities, even about their pets. Anything to keep them talking and to distract their young minds from the peril. The mech could be remarkably empathetic. And he was utilizing that part of himself to the fullest extent now.

It also helped to preoccupy them from the more serious topic that Ratchet focused upon, the well being of the people. Every few minutes he launched into a series of questions, keeping mental note of whose condition was deteriorating and whose was remaining stable. The woman who'd revealed herself to be pregnant was among his top priorities along with the other seriously wounded. He didn't understand all of the finer obstetrical details, but he knew enough to know that she harbored a second innocent life. One who'd not even had the chance to live. Thus, a good portion of his attention was to her.

Meanwhile, Wheeljack had flattened himself to the ground at the edge of the river gorge once again, fingertips cinched tightly into the frozen earth as he dragged his frame, inches at a time, over the drop-off. Finally he stopped, his white, red and green chest plates suspended halfway out in the air, and hung precariously while he strained to get a better look at the wooden trestles and the cement moorings that were in danger of becoming submerged beneath the ever rising river water. And Jazz witnessed the slow, silent shake of the engineer's head. It was a sure sign that the situation was, perhaps, not as well within their control as he'd led Prowl to believe.

"Primus, help us," Jazz pleaded in a whisper, his own certainty beginning to falter. Then he forced himself into a mental shudder, shaking off the chilled presence of dubiety for fear it could become the jinx in the mission. And he wondered, now, how Mirage was holding up.

The blue and white mech had his broad back to the Porsche, conversing quietly with Ratchet as Hound continued palavering, his voice nearly enchanting the people. Their mutterings were too faint for Jazz to comprehend what was being discussed; it appeared as though Mirage was still enduring. But there was no way to know for sure.

"Jazz!" Hoist summoned from high above, jarring the Autobot from his musings. "Catch!"

The green mech tossed down a heavy titanium cable from the winch that he'd removed from his boom and secured tightly about the column of ancient sediment. Jazz raised his wide hands skyward and caught the wound loops of cable. Carefully he began to uncoil it as to ensure it would remain taut once affixed to the archway. Slowly he paced backward toward the river gorge, laying the line out as straight and flat as possible.

"Wheeljack! Bluestreak! Get ready!" He shouted as he closed the gap.

"Whoa-!" Wheeljack huffed in sudden distress!

His fingers had crumbled their handholds in the sediment when he'd attempted to push himself back and was now teetering at the crest of the deep ravine!

"Pull me back! Someone!"

Instantaneously two sets of metallic hands snared him, a pair around each of his stout white ankles, and yanked his chassis in reverse! His smooth chest plates scraped without forgiveness along the jagged ground and catching on a sizeable rock where his midriff dipped into the rounded abdominal windshield of his alternate Lancia mode. The blow coerced a sharp cry from his synthesizer and he doubled over onto his knees in torment.

In the next moment Mirage and Bluestreak were crouched to either side of him, the silver mech apologizing profusely while the Ligier inquired if he was alright.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Wheeljack grunted painfully as Mirage took his elbow and aided him in standing, and he emitted a shallow groan. And in a raspy, agonized voice he insisted, "Let's just get this over with!"

Jazz moved in behind him and tapped out a short tinny cadence on his left shoulder. Wheeljack spun to face a pair of black hands with a two and a quarter inch thick cable looped around them. He reached out and took the offering. Then with a nod to Bluestreak, the pair leapt back into the air to begin securing the line.

"Just a little bit longer, everyone!" Hound was reassuring the people, mostly for the benefit of the children as the inflection in his voice mirrored that of an elementary school teacher's. And he cast a serene smile to reinforce the effect.

By now, most of the humans had fallen into silence except to answer Ratchet and Hound's questions, when asked. They were succumbing to the cold, their shivering and teeth chattering draining them into exhaustion. Some were just too mentally and emotionally stunned to carry on with their diminutive cries. A select few simply fell into the lull of confidence that the Autobots were indeed going to save them from their predicament, and that was that.

At this point everyone, human and Autobot alike, shifted their attentions high above to the duo of Wheeljack and Bluestreak as they skillfully wound and knotted the titanium cable to the upper junction in the archway fifty-six feet above. They could be heard conversing as the engineer instructed the younger mech in their procedure. It was getting more and more complicated since the two were forced to center more of their concentration on remaining in position as the winds from the next weather front began to arrive in force, delivering more snow and hindering their vision as well.

Ratchet took advantage of the interlude and stood, turning to Jazz.

"Get the thermal sheaths out of my emergency medical stores," the medic instructed as he transformed and opened his bay hatch. And he initialized his engine, allowing his radiator module to begin warming his interior. Then he continued as his companion knelt and reached inside to gather the specified items, "Priority distribution to the injured and the children. And make sure the pregnant woman gets one too!" He added firmly.

"Got it, doc!"

"Okay, we're all set!" Wheeljack declared.

Mirage stepped forward and set forth the next in his series of orders. "Wheeljack! I want you to remain next to the tether connection, keep us updated on the condition of the archway!" The Lancia gave a single definitive nod. "Bluestreak, get back down! Lower yourself between Jazz and I, we'll ease your landing!"

"Alright!" The silver Datsun called back.

Jazz set the bundles of thermal sheaths atop Ratchet's roof, upon hearing this, and moved into position near Mirage. He readied himself, arms raised and angled perpendicular to the mech adjacent to him. And both, now, bent slightly at the waist and knees to help absorb the impact. Bluestreak huddled himself in a similar manner and began descending as gingerly as possible. He attempted to adjust the slant of his door panels to buffer the velocity even more. Seconds later, two pairs of strong, metal hands grasped him about the waist and, instinctively, he stretched his lower limbs, coiling his leg struts in the motion, in synchronicity with the buckling of his knee joints, as his feet made contact with the icy ground and softening the landing to the best of his ability. Then all three straightened in unison.

"Now," Mirage commanded, "you and Hound slide as carefully as you can across the landing and start pulling the people across!"

"Yes, sir," Bluestreak responded with the slightest hint of relief.

"Hurry!" Ratchet barked in his alternate ambulance mode, still warming to accommodate the victims.

The two Autobots promptly took up position beside one another and lowered their chassis' flush to the ground, adopting the method Wheeljack had used earlier to assess the trestlework beneath the pass. And both began scooting their torsos across the length of the landing, slowly as their thick arms began weighing over the distressed wooden structure. The Datsun was particularly wary as his was the side that was disengaged from the landing. Slowly he inched, a little at a time as his chest plates hovered above the void before making delicate contact with the planks above the first trestle splay. Inwardly, Bluestreak cursed himself for not thinking to remove his shoulder-mounted rocket launchers before making his move as the muzzles were obstructing the fluency of his actions, and the fluency of edging across the crippled section of the bridge was critical. Still he persisted alongside Hound.

Beneath them they could both feel the strain of the wood, quivering in complaint, creaking and squawking in threat. Every minute movement they made compelled another splintering effect. The two mechs stilled their air intake as their close proximity caused their shoulders to brush and they paused briefly as they felt the roadway shuddering from beneath against their frames. Hound and Bluestreak shared an intense glance; the silver gunner's optics wincing while the tracker gave the faintest twist of his narrow head in a shake of disbelief.

A few yards beyond reach, now, the people's anxiety began to reawaken. Quiet murmurings escalated into shouts of encouragement and pleas to hurry. A few of them dared to attempt clambering up the icy slant, only to skid back into the crook of the bridge and perilously close to the fissure. Even more were pulling themselves through their car windows and flailing numb hands frantically, gripped with the exhilaration of knowing they were going to be saved. The added shifting of weight and vibration of their movements sent the wooden beams into a violent high-pitched shriek, and the screams of terror began anew! The commotion was soon to become chaotic if it wasn't curbed now!

"Oh no . . . " Bluestreak whispered as he cringed, bracing his upper body in a tight huddle with his elbows and forearms tucked against his midsection, and he froze; his optics squinting and nearing involuntary shut down.

Everyone on land heaved through their air intakes as they waited for the worst!

Hound took his chances before it was too late. His left arm darted out before him, palm outstretched!

"Wait!" He cried out! "Stop! Keep still where you are! Let us come to you!" And the rarely heard commanding tone elicited the desired effect as people stiffened and screams were cut short. What was left behind were the muffled sobs from the two youngest children and the lowered voice of a middle-aged man as he began praying in the Catholic religion. Now Hound quelled his own voice. "Now, as we reach out to you, slowly ... very slowly ... climb into our hands." And he paused as he resumed scraping his frontage across the roadway. "We're going to lift you onto our backs. And when we set you down, remain as still as you can until our friends get you."

The younger Autobot made one last movement with the tips of his heavy feet, pushing against the frost covered ground behind him to position his silver and red torso but a few feet from the crest of the fissure. His hands dangled over the inclined planks of the bridge as he expelled, through his air intakes, a slow steady breath. Aligning his mentality with the task at hand and cornering his trepidation. Then to Hound, he gave a quick flash of his blue optics to signal his readiness.

"Alright," Hound began as he redirected his attention. "You," he said simply as his arm extended toward the people in the nearest vehicle, and he laid the back of his hand gently beside the driver's side door.

The first of the four occupants, the pregnant woman, pulled herself through the opened window, careful not to squash her rounded belly against the slant of the window frame. And she unceremoniously dumped her shivering body onto the length of the mech's nearly four-foot long hand. She huddled as tightly as her condition would allow in his palm, staring into Hound's optics all the while through half-closed lids, as if she were somewhere between reality and the surreal. The woman's empty gaze made her appear incognizant of the danger, her face inanimately tranquil except for the quiver of her jaw when she shivered.

"How are you doing Gina?" Hound whispered tenderly, rousing her back into the here and now as her eyes flickered with sudden awareness. And the Autobot Jeep continued, "You're gonna be okay now. You and your baby. Just hold on."

After a brief pause, Gina nodded and forced a very weak smile. Then, as if her voice had been captured in permafrost, mouthed the words, "Thank you."

The olive green mech clutched his hand gently, but firmly, around her body and raised her up slowly over his head. Her weight shifted at the apex of his motion and he felt her prominent belly bump softly against the heel of his hand. Hound constricted his grip slenderly to keep her still and slowed the descent as his hand neared the lower middle of his shoulder armor. Then his knuckles brushed against his own metallic skin. He eased his stocky fingers apart until he felt Gina's hands and knees sliding onto his back. And the mech prepared to repeat the maneuver with the woman's companions as Jazz hovered over the backs of his legs and removed her.

"Now," the Porsche teased warmly, "since we rescued you, you're gonna have to name your little bundle after one of us. That's the rule." Jazz settled Gina onto the ground near Ratchet and extracted a thermal sheath from the pile, still on the ambulance's roof. And he held it out to her as he continued, "And speaking of "bundle', you wrap yourself up nice and warm and have a seat in ol' Ratchet here."

Hound and Bluestreak were both hoisting the next pair of victims over and onto their backs now. Mirage positioned himself behind the young gunner to retrieve from him, standing with one foot straddled to either side of Bluestreak's ankles for better access.

"That's right," the acting lead encouraged as he lifted a teenage boy off the other mech's silver and red exterior, then lowered him to the snow covered ground. "Keep them coming!"

Bluestreak reached his hand toward the teenage boy's sibling, a trembling six-year-old girl. She had been perched atop the hood of the red Cavalier station wagon they'd ridden in. The girl shuddered uncontrollably as the enormously intimidating hand closed in on her, and she scrambled on hands and knees in reverse until her bottom flattened against the windshield. There she vigorously shook her little head in frightened protest and proceeded to shriek very loudly.

"Mom!" She yelped as huge tears dripped from the girl's panic-filled eyes. "I want my mom!"

"Chelsea!" The boy shouted from behind Mirage's thick leg, urging his adolescent sibling. "Come on!"

"No!" Chelsea cried, flattening herself sideways against the glass now. "I want my mom!"

Hound diverted his attention from his next rescue and called to the child, trying to subdue her fear.

"Chelsea! Chelsea!"

The mech leaned gingerly over the slick wooden planks, edging closer to get her attention.

"Chelsea, come to me!" Bluestreak added insistently now. "It's okay!"

"No!" Was her defiant retort.

"Come on!"

"Chelsea! Look at me!" Hound demanded as he edged even further over and crouched his chest plates to the roadway, placing himself right into her line of sight.

Hesitantly, the girl complied, piercing the mech with a clearly terrified glare. If he could have been able to scoot closer he'd nab the girl himself. But it was too much of a risk to add his weight to the damaged side of the bridge. All he could do was coax. Adopting the most motherly vocal possible of a mechanical being, he continued his effort.

"Now what did Hound tell you?" The Jeep crooned. "Hm, Chelsea? Hound said we were here to help. And that we need you to be very brave!" He paused to observe her reaction. She remained pasted to the windshield and completely standoffish. "Now we know that you know how to be brave!" And he looked to Bluestreak for help now. "Don't we?"

"Well, we sure do!" The mech replied, trying to mimic Hound's vocal pattern and failing ridiculously.

Still the effect was working as Chelsea drooped away from the glass and sat over her haunches on the hood again. And her tiny brown eyes were no longer swimming in tears.

"But what about my mom?"

"Don't you worry about her!" Bluestreak answered quickly and with a mocked enthusiasm. "We're gonna get her out of there too! Just as soon as we get you!"

"That's right!" Hound reinforced. "Now how about it? Are you gonna let Mr. Bluestreak bring you to Steve so we can help your mom?"

The girl hesitated in thought, looking back and forth between the two giant mechanoids as if measuring up their sincerity. The tension was excruciating and Bluestreak wanted to just snatch her up and get it over with, still he stayed his position. Thankfully she started moving of her own accord, sliding on her hands and knees across the expanse of the Cavalier's hood and into the silver gunner's direction. And without another peep she dropped her puffy, snow-suited self into Bluestreak's open palm.

"That a girl!" The mech cooed with a forced, pleasant grin as he cupped his hand, curling his fingers around her fragile form. "Now we're going for a ride!" He informed as he raised Chelsea over his head and settled her onto his back.

"You three!" Mirage called to a trio of young men near the station wagon as he picked up the girl and placed her next to her brother. They had been among several who'd already left their vehicles and had been aiding the group before the Autobots' arrival. "Very carefully, start removing the mother from the automobile!" The three men had begun to do so as the silver mech waited, hand offered next to the vehicle so they could easily transfer her limp body onto it.

Hound had continued with the rescue of the next victim and the mission was finally beginning to flow in a steady progression. Steve and Chelsea's mother was on safe ground, followed by the individuals who'd helped to get her out of the car. The three occupants of a rusty brown Ford Bronco, which had been to the rear of the six-vehicle pileup, were overseeing the distribution of the thermal sheaths.

All the while the wind and snow was coming with more power, gusting treacherously at the trestle bridge and its occupants. The battering of the structure produced more squeaks and moans as the wood shifted bit by bit from the added pressure. Below the river level rose, cascading over the moorings and churning menacingly from the wind currents. Ever present was the roar of the angry water, increasing in volume and rising in pitch as it fell belligerently under the possession of the chilly devil winds. The force threatened to rip the frail wooden posts from their bases and cause the collapse of the entire formation.

Wheeljack held firm above the arch, straining with his anti-gravitational stabilizers and constantly adjusting the angle of his ailerons to maintain his vigil over the tether. He watched with a growing distress as the t-shaped junction wobbled and waned, hinting with tiny cracking and splintering sounds toward a catastrophic end. Placing a titanium hand against the woodwork, the Lancia could feel the tremors increase in their intensity; he could secern the fragmented fibers as they jerked and pulled away from one another.

Mirage observed Wheeljack over the arch and he summoned his attention. "Wheeljack! How is the tether holding up?"

"Not good!" The engineer replied with his hands cupped around his mask and the panels on the sides of his face flashing vibrantly. "The cable, itself, is secure! But the structural integrity of the bridge is reaching critical stress levels! It's going to give way soon! We've got to move faster!"

Mirage felt the stress to his mental integrity raise a few notches as he processed the grim information. If Cybertronians had teeth, he'd have chewed his slender metallic lip units clean off his facial plating by now.

The tension was daring to open that gate to his nightmarish past and unleash all those fears and uncertainties unto his already wavering control. All those emotions from Tiras; those obsessing remembrances, the demons in the back of his central processing unit, in the depths of his soul. They were a formidable constant he was always keeping in check and under wraps. But this mission retained so much of a parallel to the event. In being so closely on the verge of triumphant or horribly failed. Please don't let it be a failure! Mirage prayed. Not again! He could not bear to repeat the devastation. And even more, he could not bear to think of it. Those tragic memories that he kept so thoroughly dammed behind the illusion of his cool and calm, his haughtiness and his air of nobility, in his discretion. Always keeping others at an emotional arm's distance away so that he wouldn't have to admit, and thus expose to the open, his horror. And to expose himself to it as well. It hurt too much as it was, being hidden. He would not let it burst wide and overcome him. But he could hide it, hide from it. After all, it was what he was best at doing, what he was made to do. It was what he must do. Especially now. Yes, ever the illusionist, he reminded himself and tried harder to make himself illusive to the acute pains of his history. Steadily fighting back the memories as he tried to retain urgent focus.

"Move everybody! Move!" The acting lead demanded. "Get these people out of here!" His voice synthesizer crackling erratically.

Jazz peered over at the mech from beneath his visor as he remained stooped over Hound's limbs. The haze of near blizzard-like snowfall and the encroachment of night blurred the Ligier's visage and prevented him from getting a good clear view of Mirage's optics. The desperation in his voice could not be sourced, however the black and white Autobot sensed something had gone awry in his companion. Jazz hoped the mech could hold on to his strength just a little longer.

Between Hound and Bluestreak's efforts, they were down to only four people yet to be retrieved.

The middle-aged man who'd begun reciting prayers earlier was continuing to do so, speaking the Catholic Rosary incantations in a calm murmur under his breath from inside his late 70's model BMW. He was the last person within Hound's reach.

"Sir?" Hound called in monotone as he rested his hand next to the driver's side door.

The man persisted, hoods lidded over his hazel eyes, seemingly unaware as he was assuring his place in Heaven once the inevitable ending here had occurred.

"Sir?" Hound tried once more, volume raised slightly and with more inflection.

And the man's voice trailed off now as he looked to the mechanoid.

"I will not be lost when I leave . . . I will not be lost . . ." His expression crumpled into a cryptic half frown, half grin, displaying both a fear and a lack thereof. Torn between the experience of death and the promise of what awaits after. And again he proclaimed his faith, catching Hound center in the optics, "If I die, I will not be lost."

Hound reflected the adamance in his empathetic countenance, but had a different outcome in mind.

"Your god will not allow you to die this day. Please, sir, climb out of your car." Then he paused, considering his words carefully. "You've already been saved. Now live."

With that the man appeared to have snapped from his trance-like state, hazel eyes wide and exuding gratuity and relief. Making the sign of the cross upon his bulk he reached out of his open window and began wiggling his overly plump girth through the relatively small opening. It was a bit of a writhing struggle, but ultimately, the widest of his circumference passed and his pelvis and legs glided out effortlessly behind him. The heavy, unbalanced ...or rather, upside down ... crash into the center of Hound's hand could have been humorous in any other context. But the mech had no train of thought to that effect.

The man gasped and heaved as he righted his self. Then he spoke. "Praise the Lord," he whispered. "And bless you good man. Surely you have received reservation in the eyes of the Lord for your selfless act of goodwill. God will reward His followers . . ." and he suddenly fell silent, at once considering to whom and what he spoke.

Hound simply gazed at him with pensive optics, not sure how to respond.

But the man picked his place and continued before giving the Autobot a chance to decide.

"I know what some people say about you. That because you are mechanical, you have no souls."

Hound winced slightly at the remark.

"However a creature with no soul would not have a conscience to care if we had lived or died. Therefore, I know you have a soul." The Catholic paused and sat forward in the mech's palm, casting warmth and affinity through his rounded face and benign, crinkled eyes. His preaching had relieved him of any earthly concern, and he was fully immersed in his spirituality. Then he asked, "Do you believe in God?"

Hound's lip components parted momentarily, but he hesitated. Of all the things to contemplate in an instant as this! What could he say? Should he say anything at all? And to a man so dedicated to his god? Through all the years the Transformers had been on Earth, the controversial subject of religion was a rarely accredited concept as, true, many humans still doubted the existence of mechanoid souls. Once again the result of hate group propaganda, any angle to be used in spreading the mistrust and the abhorrence. Many individuals had sect themselves into church going communities to proclaim the Transformers as heathenistic beings, even devils. The extremists and the gullible followed the train of thought. It prompted Optimus Prime to come to the decision to ban any sorts of public acknowledgement of their own god, fearing it would only add fuel to the fire. They were forbidden to speak Primus' name anywhere away from the Ark, or only in Spike's, Chip's, Sparkplug's or Carly's presence. It took a good many years for the topic to cool and finally be relegated as unimportant, more to the relief of the nations than to the relief of the Transformers, at least the Autobots. Another way, in which, politics segregated church and state, as at that point in time the nations began recognizing the need of Autobot protection from the Decepticons, no matter their religious stance. But still, as soulful beings, the idea of not being allowed to proclaim their faith created a sense of sacrilege and abandonment. That they had shunned their god. Skids had compared it to the humans' plight of not being able to speak of their belief in Jesus Christ for fear of being persecuted, tortured, even slain by their oppressors. Hound had taken a particularly acute dislike to the rule, although he never openly disputed Prime. He did understand that it was for the best in the situation they'd encountered. Even so, Hound did have the compelling urge to explain their god and their belief to the man he held in his hand.

Instead the preacher filled the empty space of silence.

"Foolish," he hushed himself, "foolish of me. I know you are of another world and that your beliefs may differ from ours. But you do recognize a god." He stated more a matter of fact than offering as a query. Then he added, almost in a whisper as he leaned his weighty body toward the Autobot's face. "Perhaps, just perhaps, they are one and the same ..."

"Theological debate on the Angel One network tonight at nine! But, please, let's skip it for now!" Jazz interrupted, earning himself a flat glare and a "tsk tsk' immediately after, which, the black and white mech ignored diligently. "Hand him over Hound!"

And the subordinate bot did after a brief and restricted shrug, feeling relieved, yet oddly not so at the same time. Jazz reached far enough over Hound's length to capture the ranting human directly from the Jeep's hand and inhibit the launch of another debate. Then the special ops agent settled the man to the ground, offering a tight grin while extending an index finger to the heavens, followed by a thumbs-up. And this seemed to subdue the preacher's irritation with the black and white mechanoid as he replied with a nod and a smile of his own before wandering to the group of rescued people.

In the same amount of time Bluestreak had removed the third to the last of the trapped individuals, Mirage having placed her on the ground seconds after the middle aged man.

The last two people were to be the trickiest and most dangerous of the rescue attempts. Two females, a forty-one-year-old mother and her fourteen-year-old daughter still sat within the most precariously positioned of the vehicles. A rather gaudy mid-eighties Delta was loosely affixed to one of the rails along the side of the trestle bridge by the tip of its front bumper while its rear slanted adjacent to the edge. Its rear bumper was stuck in a shallow gouge it'd left in a wooden plank across the way when this portion of the roadway fell from beneath them. Neither rear tire was in contact with the bridge; the entire weight of the vehicle lay sprawled between these two points over the severed gape, teetering with the wind and the tremors of the structure.

These variables factored into the acting lead's strategic decision to leave these occupants as the last to be rescued. They would remove as much unnecessary weight as possible beforehand. Even Hound was slowly backing off from his side of the roadway now, because the silver mech would have to spread out further, dangling his entire upper body over the fissure, in order to reach them. And if he had done so sooner, the severely damaged quarter of the bridge would, surely, have collapsed.

Hound had completely cleared the landing now and was standing shoulder to shoulder to Jazz. His audio receptors picking up on the faint mumbling of the stocky religious man as he prayed for the lives of the ones who'd been saved and for those that had yet to be rescued. Although the mech was slightly confused over the term "saved' as he heard his own name being spoken. But he tucked the puzzle away for later analysis ... perhaps one to be taken up with Skids or Prowl ... as he refocused on the last of the victims and their rescue.

Bluestreak was easing his Datsun Fairlady Z frame further over the gaping wound of the bridge, halting a moment to unhitch a section of his pelvis from a protruding plank at the start of the landing by raising his aft ever so slightly to clear the ridge, pulling himself forward in the same motion. A few seconds later, he came to a stop. He was in position. And he was shaking; he could feel his chassis give a shudder and his hands, as they hung over the edge of the abyss, were beginning to tremble. To quip from human terms, he could very well have been sweating bullets, were his body capable of such a function. The silver gunner narrowed his optics, tunnel-visioning his way to the task at hand and blocking the memories from his past, keeping them to the peripheral range of his blazing blue orbs.

Just focus! He thought to himself. Please just let me focus!

Mirage instinctively picked up on the uneasiness of his younger charge, feeling it himself, and lowered himself onto one knee, still straddling the backs of Bluestreak's legs and reaching as far over the mech as he could without losing his balance. He shadowed Bluestreak up to the small of his back. And he attempted to calm the mech with a word of assurance.

"Steady."

But he wasn't sure if the gunner had even heard him as he felt the quivering continue, though only intermittently now.

The silver Autobot heaved, gently, unnoticeably, through his air intakes and with an agonizing delay reached out. The wooden planks beneath him squealed their belligerent protests, sending up their own series of quakes and shivers into his metal frame, all the way to his innermost components. It was a frightening reminder of the warning Wheeljack had issued about the bridge giving way, soon. The notion placed a little more urgency into his actions and he extended his hand with a bit more speed.

Again he felt himself snared by the wood. This time the underside of his upper left arm as it came into contact with an elevated edge at the beginning of the fissure.

"Damnit!" He cursed in a quick exhalation through his airways.

"Blue . . ." Jazz eased as he watched with a growing concern.

"I know."

"Just a little more, " Hound followed, almost in a whisper.

"I know!"

Untangling the jagged ridge from a crevice in his armor plating, the silver mech lowered his arm the last few yards to the passenger side door of the wrecked Delta.

Instantly the daughter unlatched the door and guided it open as fluently a possible, her skinny, coat sleeve covered arms straining from the exertion. And she stared up at the mech with parched reddened eyes.

"Take my mom first!" Was the demand that exited her chattering teeth.

Bluestreak gaped startlingly for a brief moment, but hadn't the time to consider one way or another and simply nodded in response.

The girl folded herself back into the car, disappearing from view and the Autobots watched wearily as the girl, whom Hound had been introduced to earlier as Sarah, pushed and prodded and argued with her mother until the woman finally dangled a broken right leg out of the door. The mother grimaced and hissed through gritted teeth from the movement and the excruciating pain it induced. Sarah clasped her mother under the arms and helped her to slide out as softly as possible in a pivoting motion until she was settled into a sitting position in Bluestreak's hand.

In the open now, everyone understood Sarah's desperate plea to take her mom before herself. The woman had several large contusions around her face, head and neck. The knuckles of both hands were split wide and her right wrist was shattered and swollen grotesquely. She had indicated to Ratchet some difficulty breathing earlier, and chest pain, but it was much more evident now. She and her daughter had suffered the worst of the crashes, the Delta having catapulted them both forward and against the dashboard when it had lurched suddenly into the open gap of the trestle bridge. Sarah escaped any serious injury, but her mom endured a crushing blow from the steering wheel directly to her upper chest, and so Sarah stood firm in having her mother go first.

The mother clung to her daughter's hands, the blood from her knuckles trickling between their intertwined fingers, as she sobbed and wheezed and sputtered. Imploring, still, for her daughter to take her place, outright begging to let her get back in the car and for the fourteen-year-old to go instead. But it was all to no avail.

"I love you mom," Sarah whimpered sadly through her tears as she wrenched her hands free from her mother's and retreated back into the front seat, out of reach of her mother's outstretched and shaking arms. "I love you," she said once more and gave a faint wave of her hand as the silver mech raised the woman slowly away and out of sight. Then she pulled her knees into her chest, wrapping her forearms about her shins and burrowing her face into the thick, fleece lining of her champagne colored coat. And Sarah sobbed convulsively.

"Bluestreak," Mirage summoned now, "hand her right over to me!" And he twisted his torso while tilting in closer, reaching out further across the silver gunner. At the same time he extended his left hand back toward the nearest mech, glancing briefly over his shoulder to establish that his move was understood. "Jazz!"

The Porsche placed himself directly behind the acting lead, squatting slenderly with powerful legs braced in a wide solid stance, heels digging hard into the frozen earth. And he grasped Mirage's hand in one of his while wrapping his other firmly about Mirage's wrist. Then Jazz sloped his frame backward, leveraging the blue and white mech's weight as he, in turn, pulled forward.

Bluestreak had waited with masterful stillness and now swiveled his hand directly above his head, readying Sarah's mother for the transfer. In a second he felt Mirage's hand edging against his own, prompting him to incline his palm ever so gently to one side and allowing Sarah's mother to slide smoothly from one mammoth hand to another. Finally she was being hoisted over to safe and solid ground where two of the gentlemen who'd been of such help before now lifted the injured woman from Mirage's hand and carried her across the way to Ratchet where she was placed into his bay and warmed with a thermal sheath.

Everyone heard the angry groan, followed by a sickening, thunderous crack!

Wheeljack had, but, a second to yell, "Look out!"

Two of the cross members under the Bronco snapped at their junction and the portion of the roadway they propped up collapsed from underneath the front end of the half-ton vehicle! The downward force exerted by the unsupported weight fractured the third beam at its intersection in the archway above and the entire t-shaped unit, still connected to Hoist's cable, disengaged with a crisp pop. The piece of the arch slingshot skyward, belting Wheeljack squarely in the chest with a mighty thwack! The noise followed his limp form in a ferocious echo as he sailed through the air and collided with a twenty-two foot pillar of sediment eighteen yards behind Hoist. The formation caved under the violent impact and crumbled to the ground, burying the unconscious engineer.

Bluestreak was, suddenly, too much mass for the bridge to withstand and it sank sharply, trestlework snapping and crumbling and nearly dumping the mech over the edge!

"No!" Mirage shouted as he shot forward!

In a half lunge, half lean the acting lead snatched Bluestreak's door panels while, at the same time, lifting himself to both feet! And he carried the motion through; heaving with his chest and arms, pushing off with the maximum capacity of his leg struts and, in an oar rowing movement, hurled the Datsun over his shoulders and onto the stock still and stunned Hound, flattening him to the ground! The Ligier backpedaled off balance and crashed next to Hound and Bluestreak.

Jazz, the only mechanoid left standing, watched with wide, horror filled optics as the rusty heap of a truck fell loose of its wedge on the other side of the gap and began sliding down the embankment at an angle directly at the Delta! Next came the screech of metal slamming against metal as the right corner of the Ford's front bumper bashed against the other automobile's rear right quarter and the truck twisted in an arc, gravity carrying the motion through. In a second the near half-ton of solid chassis and bodywork broadsided the car at an incline and dropped its entire back half into the bottomless trench of the fissure! The devastating impact dislodged the rear of the Delta from its gouge and it swung against the severed planks, shaking the guardrail violently and almost breaking it. The car dangled over the raging river water forty-eight feet below, and Sarah was left with only the front bumper to keep her from plunging into the frigid currents.

The fourteen-year-old's terrified wail sounded up from the peril!

Jazz responded, hurling himself forward past the trio on the cold ground. Two strides of his broad titanium feet set him into a marathon runner's short-lived sprint before he dove, heels first, into a mighty slide; his hefty hip careening across the snow blanketed sediment and throwing up a flurry of white all around, swallowing his mass as if he'd passed through a subspace pocket. In an instant he reappeared, his body going airborne over the edge of the gorge with arms and legs flailing frantically to right himself, to no avail. The special ops agent landed off-center in the river, the roaring white water battering his shins and thighs, sweeping furiously at his feet! Failing to gain purchase he flopped onto hands and knees, taking a startling face full of the Owyhee River that sent him shooting back up to his rectangular feet! A jet spray of slushy water exited his lip components like a projectile as he expelled it from his intakes.

Instantly giving up hope of treading across the speeding conveyor of fluid, Jazz resorted to a risky lunge toward a cement mooring, capturing the solid mass in a haphazard bear hug; the abrasive surface dented and clawed jaggedly into his arms, ripping through his arced chest plates and setting his tactile modules alight with pain receivers! The mechanoid winced and shuddered, battling against the instinctive reaction to clasp his forearms over the open wounds that were now being flooded mercilessly and stinging from the pressure of the invading waters. Instead he forced himself erect, raising both arms high above his head, his fingertips barely scraping at the cross members beneath the wilting quarter of the bridge and he pushed upward against the structure with all his might, barely holding the fallen roadway and the Bronco in place, praying for all his existence was worth that he could keep the truck from pushing any further against the Delta.

Mirage and Hound reoriented themselves and scrambled back to the landing. In a blink, Hoist was beside them and all three leaned in to gawk at the horrific scene.

Mirage gave no effort to process the sensory input. Logic had lost all bearing on the situation; he was through with tactical decision-making. Acting now on impulse and high-octane emotion he made his move. Caring little of the consequences he dropped abruptly and heavily to his knees, crouching his torso low and then unrolling himself, his mass draping the length of the wooden planks to the edge of the fissure. His arms sprung downward into the gap, fingertips completely outstretched and coming up terribly short. The passenger-side door was still several feet out of reach.

"Hoist! Hound! Help me!" He cried out over his back as he dipped his shoulders down, stretching further yet.

The two mechs knelt to either side of him, each clinging to a leg and anchoring Mirage as he lowered his upper body deeper into the crevice.

It's happening again! Primus, it's happening again! Mirage thought as he struggled. Tiras!

Panic consumed him as he belligerently stressed his joints, willing them to pull and distend as a contortionist's.

"Help!" Sarah shrieked from inside the car as she plastered her hands to the inside of the windshield.

"Sarah! Come through the window!" Hound instructed, half screaming half grunting from his exertion in keeping his companion from plummeting into the void. "Come through the window!" He shouted again.

"I can't hold it!" Jazz's raspy call sounded up from below.

"Sarah!"

The girl finally shook herself into response and clambered up the tilted bench seat. The Autobots watched as her body moved fitfully while she worked the window crank and secured her means of escape. But then she slowed in fear-filled reservation as she crouched at the threshold; her white-knuckled hands fused to the open window frame as she peered out with tear filled eyes aghast. Shooting frightful glances all around and down into the ravine far below. The sight pushed her further out of the window and finally her dainty head and all its brunet hair crept above the side mirror.

"Now reach for me!" Mirage demanded.

And it happened; suddenly her face came up twisted in terror and red eyes overflowing with tears. Sarah's mouth angled downward in a quivering dreadful pout and cracking hesitantly as if to speak, the beginnings of words forming on her tongue, lips working with fervor, but no sound came. Instead her head began to shake, sporadically at first, then the action steadied and became vigorous, violent almost as her short, bobbed haircut swished to and fro. A second later the motion subsided, strands of hair pasted to her blanched, tear moistened cheeks, and Sarah nailed Mirage dead in the optics, the plea forming in her glare before her mouth even spoke it.

"Please don't let me die . . ."

That was it. The antagonist, the catalyst that set him over the emotional edge. It triggered the opening of his tightly controlled barriers and the rawness of the tragedy he'd warred over so many a millennia to suppress bore down upon him with an immensely crushing blow. And he was back there again, in his mind, in his heart and soul. Tiras.

"Sarah!" Hound shouted.

But she was totally honed on Mirage and the look of futility reflected on his faceplates.

"Sarah! Get out! Sarah!"

The petite female raised her arms now, aiming for Mirage as she watched the mech's expression turn ever dourer.

"Come to me . . ." the blue and white Autobot murmured, barely audible, lip components seemingly not even making the effort to shape the words. Words that were only echoes, sad echoes. Repeats of the words he'd hollered at the tops of his air intakes to those he'd attempted to save before, and who'd perished despite the most valiant of his efforts.

At this point the mother gathered enough awareness from the shouting outside and began beating the inside of Ratchet's window, the blood from her hands smearing the glass and turning it into a morbid red haze. The teenage boy, Steve, clutched his arms around her shoulders in an attempt to restrain her, to keep her from further injuring herself. Still, her shrill cries spilled over to the outside as she erupted into hysterics.

"Sarah! Somebody save her! Somebody save my daughter! Sarah! Sarah!"

Then came the ominous creaking and cracking as the Delta swayed from the constant shifting of weight and the force of the blizzard winds. The passenger side tilted higher as the rear of the vehicle craned sideways against the edge of the severed roadway, pulling the girl further from the Ligier and coaxing a sharp call of alarm from the girl's lungs. The pitch rocked her from her perch and Sarah tipped forward against the inside of the doorframe. Her arms dropped and her hands fastened about the side mirror as she fought to steady herself.

"It's gonna go over!" Jazz bellowed.

"Come on Sarah!"

The fourteen-year-old fixed Mirage with her wide-eyed panic, seeing the same reflected in his ice blue optics, and began chanting her plea.

"Please don't let me die! Please!" Her voice was harsh and determined.

"Save my daughter!"

"Mirage! Get her outta there man!"

They had all begged too . . . they had all stared into my optics . . .

"Don't let me die!"

No, not into my optics . . . straight into my soul . . . every one of them had . . .

"I'm slipping!"

"Sarah!"

"Help me!"

"No . . ." Mirage whimpered softly.

Each and every one . . .

"I can't hold it!"

"I don't wanna die! Please don't let me die!"

And that's where they remain . . . embedded in my soul . . .

"Hurry!"

Forever haunting me . . .

"Mirage!" Hound shouted wildly. "I'm slipping!"

The Ligier felt his joints popping, dislocating. And he battled fiercely against the automatism to recoil his arms and hunch his over-stressed shoulders to relieve the strain of the gears, blocking out the excruciating burn of metal scraping against unlubricated metal, the wires and cable networks that stretched throughout his arms, shoulders and chest were microseconds away from snapping and sending alert signals to his CPU. Something crashed down over the back of his left leg, grinding his knee joint into the solid ground beneath and crumpling the armor there. Mirage forced himself to feel none of it, no pain, blocking it all out. He narrowed his awareness to one goal. His guilt filled countenance scrunching and distorting in a final bid to exorcise the past and rectify the future.

The girl rose further up out of the car, arms extended to their full length as she sobbed and cantillated incoherently between heaving breaths. And she swayed in the furious gusts, it seemed she would be blown from them before any other fate claimed her. Inches, mere inches, separated him from her. Mirage could feel the disrupted path of the winds as they channeled between their fingertips.

So close! Damnit, so close!

Not close enough. The banshee-like wail of her inevitable demise shattered through the frenzied scenario and seared its distinction into Mirage's soul before the noise of the guardrail shattering even registered in his audios.

In the space of a breath, Sarah's body had lurched forward against the roll of the Delta and she disappeared as the undercarriage of the vehicle snatched her position within Mirage's field of vision. The car had toppled over the edge, the weight of the Bronco aiding its fate, and then it followed. And both vehicles vanished over the side. The death cry resonated up the gorge for but a moment before it was hideously cut off by the deafening crunch and screech of tearing and twisting metal.

Then eerie silence.