You Knew Me When

 

Enfilade stalks across the plaza, clutching a big kit bag in one hand, walking with a purposeful stride that makes people tend to get out of her way. She's not really looking for anyone in particular...

 

     Standing an impressive, and somewhat imposing 36' in height is the Crystal City Militia Commander, Phalanx. His broad, armored chest, which looks as though it could be the folded down front end of a tank, is royal blue and trimmed in black, which matches his wide, and apparently powerful upper arms, each of which is adorned with the markings of a Militia officer and the proper rank. His forearms, almost equally as wide are a dark, gunmetal grey. The torso below his chest narrows slightly into a mixture of grey and black armor pieces, which fit tightly together, allowing for a good layer of protection while still allowing flexibility. His powerful upper legs are the same gunmetal grey as his forearms. His legs widen again considerably below the knees, probably due to his alt mode.

     Weapons are not something he's without either, in fact he seems to be well armed... Mounted on his left forearm are two long cylinders, one, to anyone whom studied Phalanx close enough, can be found to be a disruptor, the other a laser.  On the back of his right shoulder, hanging parallel to his body on a pivoting joint, an artillery piece is clearly visible. Finally, sheathed at his lower back is the intricately decorated hilt of a sword. The last feature of any notice is Phalanx's face. The light grey coloration makes his cold scowl and icy blue optics all that much more visible. Phalanx moves with an air of pride, and always seems to give the impression that he's in control of the situation.

 

Enfilade is a large, imposing femme with a military bearing, painted in olive drab and field grey, with the odd piece of bright purple trim. She bristles with weaponry--cannons on her shoulders and guns on her arms. Her optics are purple patches behind a blue visor; the rest of her face is almost completely obscured by a purple face mask held on with straps. She sports a spiked helmet with two purple "wings" as decoration. The large swing-wings of her alt mode protrude from her shoulder area.

 

Enfilade appears to be scowling under that face plate as she stalks across the plaza, optics flashing at no one in particular...

 

Phalanx takes no real notice of the new arrival... why should he, afterall? It's a city and the foot traffic here is as heavy as anywhere else in the city. He does pause occasionally to take in his surroundings. He may have little to worry about, but that doesn't mean he's not cautious.

 

Enfilade walks past and suddenly pauses, turning her head for another look. Was that...? She calls out, "Phalanx!"

 

Phalanx lifts his head, optics narrowing slightly as he hears his name called. Hmmm, was the voice familiar? Hard to tell with the constant murmuring of the crowd... nevertheless, he looks to the approximate location of its source...

 

Enfilade waves and approaches, examining him closer. "Sir? Is that you?"

 

The Militia Commander's arms, or more specifically the one in posession of the datapad drops to his side as he turns to face the source of the calls. His optics narrow further as he gives the Decepticon a quick once over, widening again in recognition, "Indeed." he replies in his usual emotionless tone, "It's been some time..."

 

Enfilade stops in front of him, ready to give the customary Decepticon salute, when she realizes that he's not wearing Decepticon logos any more. She pauses, somewhat awkwardly...stares for a second at the place where his logos used to be...and assumes an "at-ease" position.

 

Phalanx arches a brow at the aborted salute, taking a moment to realize why. He then nods, folding his arms and looking to his shoulders where the emblems usedto be, "Yes, a few things have changed," he replies to the unasked question.

 

Enfilade tilts her head but decides not to pursue the question yet...she throws her kitbag down roughly. "For the both of us," she replies. "It's been a damned long time since I've seen civilization."

 

Phalanx offers a single slight nod in response, his optics moving between her and the cityscape for a moment at the mention of the term 'civilization'. "Dare Iask? Or do I have any right to know?" Yes, he's quite well aware of the way things work now that he's on the outside looking in.

 

Enfilade snorts. "It sure as slag wasn't my idea. You ask me, I'd rather be back out with the Fightin' 58th..." The way she says it, it's pretty obvious that being back in "civilization" is the reason for her mood. She looks at him. "It's not an Empire secret...it's more personal."

 

Phalanx ahhs quietly and doesn't press the latter issue, he has no particular need to know, anyway. As to the rest, he replies, "I can sympathize, to some extent, I suppose, but I've more than enough to keep me busy here." He grimaces at that, bureaucracy is no more enjoyable than combat, afterall.

 

Enfilade glances around at the city and says, "If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing here? Your job, I mean," she adds hurriedly, again in no position to pry. "Last I remember you were teaching the next series of grunts at the Academy..."

 

Phalanx makes a vaguely dismissive gesture, "Other, more pressing obligations arose," he replies simply. He has no trouble discussing the matter, though there isn't much to discuss, "They necessitated a change of occupation, so..." He trails off, knowing the rest is rather self-explanatory.

 

Enfilade's optics shade slightly, as if to say that she doesn't understand what's more pressing than serving the Empire, but she respects him too much to say so. "So now you work here," she says, looking around again. "Miss the Academy?"

 

Phalanx hehs at that, offering a tight smile, "I've little time for sentimentality. I suppose there are times when things were more straightforward there, but it's much the same here." He grimaces, "To some extent. Dealing with a superior is far easier than dealing with a bureaucrat."

 

Enfilade grumbles, "Maybe for /you/ it is..." and adds, "Sir." That seems to be a sore point...

 

Phalanx arches a questioning brow, though doesn't bother to verbalize the question.

 

Enfilade's optics are somewhat saddened as she admits, "Your shining student ain't so shiny any more."

 

Phalanx's other brow lifts at that, his optics widening for a fraction of a second before he offers a nod in acknowledgement, "You've been discipline for something then, I take it?" Yes, he already knows that's the case, this is simply a more subtle way to ask 'what the hell happened'.

 

Enfilade snorts, "Something? Try "some things..." And finally they had enough of it...convicted, demoted, and busted back to Polyhex." Her face plate twists in what might be a wry smile. "So it goes for the Academy's shining star."

 

Phalanx shrugs ever so slightly, noting quite simply that, "We all have our setbacks, I suppose. You can't afford to dwell on them." This coming from the offspring of a traitor...

 

Enfilade mumbles..."This is my last chance..." She looks around. "And I hate it already. I want to be back out in the field with the Fightin' 58th...damn...I hope they're all right without me."

 

Phalanx nods, and replies, "Then make it count." Yes, he states the obvious, but to him, that's good enough. "As for your unit... You think that little of them?" He knows well enough that she doesn't, it's simply his way of alleviating herconcerns.

 

Enfilade's optics grow steely, but she reins in her surge of emotion, though the tension in her frame is obvious as her hands curl into fists. "It's not my /troops/ that are the problem out there..."

.

 Phalanx arches a brow at the reaction, though offers little more in the way of a visible response, his expression quite impassive and quite unreadable, as always, "Then what are you worried about?" The answer may be obvious, but he still wants to hear it from her. He's not one to jump to unwarranted conclusions.

 

Enfilade looks left and right, thinking...looking like she's decided better of it...then looking like she doesn't give a damn and is about to say it anyway. She says rather bluntly, "I presume the reason you're not wearing Decepticon sigils any more isn't due to idiotic leadership, hm?"

 

That was rather blunt, yes, and Phalanx does seem mildly surprised, though it's not unwelcome, "To some extent, yes. I've never hidden my disapproval of Shockwave or his methods. Though I'm guessing you have some more specific concerns to address?"

 

Enfilade blinks, not expecting agreement on that. Again that twisting of the faceplate, that wry grin. "You know I barely remember Shockwave--I was so wrapped up with you Academy types, I never thought beyond the Academy walls." Her optics shift. "Nah, I've just had too many incompetent idiots for immediate superiors..." and her contempt for these individuals is obvious. She looks back at him and  sighs. "So what's the problem with Shockwave?"

 

Phalanx turns his head briefly in the rough direction of Darkmount, a slight grimace visible on his usually stoic features, "He's fighting a wasteful and generally pointless war. Too heavy handed... he drives away potential allies. The Autobots are no better. Too soft, too indecissive. They're going nowhere, and wasting the entire planets resources." He looks back, shrugging, "As for the individual unit commanders... Most are too obbsessed with honour and ego. I taught people better than that, I would hope."

 

Enfilade's optics seem to suggest a frown of her own. "So what are you proposing Shockwave do, sir...call off the war?"

 

Phalanx asks, "Why not? We've been fighting our own people for eons. It's gotten us nothing but a dead planet. Either that or end it quickly and decisively. By doing that, however, he'd turn the rest of the planet against him. It's not an enviable situation, to be sure, but pride has far too much a say in the affairs of the faction. End it. Rebuild. Regroup. Assimilate others peacefully... and choose the battles far more wisely."

 

Enfilade says, "Do you really want me to answer why not...sir?"

 

Phalanx nods, "You're more than welcome to. You're welcome to your views.'

 

Enfilade says, "If Shockwave tried to call off the war, one of his underlings would lynch him...and why would he? We've lost so many already, how can we let that sacrifice go to waste? How can we admit we've been fighting all these years for /nothing/? And the Autobots...would they accept the peace?"

 

Enfilade continues, "To call it off is as good as to give in...and if not, heh...if not, then both sides are just regrouping to start in again worse than ever.  IT would be a ceasefire, not a peace." She glances around. "And I don't envy you, here in this city....sir."

 

Phalanx makes another dismissive gesture, "It's Shockwave's problem to deal with, if his troops are undisciplined. As for the losses... Why lose more in the name of the dead? They're gone. No amount of additional sacrifice will return those losses. You can't allow yourself to dwell on those things. You've lost people, and you'll continue to lose people as long as the war is being faught. It's a fact of life. And it's not giving in. Again, it's a matter of choosing the battles -worth- fighting."

 

Enfilade says, "As long as the Autobots are pressing the assault we have no choice. We must not, /cannot/, give in to them--it would be a betrayal of both the living and the dead, and all they stood for..." She pauses. "But evidently our opinions differ on this subject." She looks at him somewhat...sadly.

 

Phalanx nods, "Apparently so, though I still believe you misunderstand me." He looks toward the gates now, noting after a moment of silence, "One thing I would recommend, however... Study your history, and be sure to examine other sources.  Look around. Examine things from different points of view." He looks back, optics narrowing slightly, "No, I don't expect your views to change, but it will help you to at least understand -why- you're really fighting."

 

Enfilade offers, "I'm writing a book...tactics, and principles of war..." She sighs. "Why, I leave the reasons to the politicians... They give me a job and I do it. My job is to /win/."

 

Phalanx makes yet another dismissive gesture, "Look beyond tactics. Look to the motivations. Understand. You'll do yourself a great favor, both on and off the battlefield. Know why you're enemy fights. Know how." He offers a tight smile to the latter comment, "Indeed it is, and you should be willing to do whatever it takes to do that. I would expect no less. I'm not suggesting that you examine every motive, or quetion every decision.... simply look at the greater picture. Draw your own conclusions."

 

Enfilade folds her arms, suddenly feeling like she's back at the Academy. She /knows/ some of this already...but before her pride can kick in, she reminds herself that if she'd been doing everything right, she'd be commanding the 58th herself right now, rather than having been shipped off to Polyhex to another's command.

 

Phalanx's tone becomes firm, taking on the inflection of an instructor, "Learn, grow, and adapt. You have to be flexible, not only for your own well being, but that of those you fight with. If you don't understand, then you're apt to make a fatal error in judgement." Finally, he softens somewhat and suggest, "It certainly couldn't worsen your situation, could it?"

 

Enfilade's mask twists again. "I thought I knew that...but perhaps I can take advantage of this new situation of mine to do some re-evaluating." SHe picks up her kitbag. "Considering I /was/ passing through on my way to report in, I'd better make sure I reach Darkmount /before/ I get another court martail for being late."

 

 Phalanx simply nods, "You're more than welcome to dismiss what I say..." he notes, "...I'm not in a position to advise you anymore."

 

Enfilade pauses. "It was good to see you again, Phalanx..." She drops her optics.  "And I can only hope that our meetings in the future will be on as friendly terms."

 

Phalanx glances back at his datapad, frowning at the fact that he's now behind on his reading. Ahh well, "As do I. Good luck to you."