The Veiled Threat by Alan Dean Foster

If so, either Optimus had not considered the current and depth factors, or else he was convinced he and his comrades could overcome them. After all, the Zambezi was nobody’s ally. It slowed Decepticon and Autobot alike. It also made it much more difficult for Lennox to lock onto a target with his own weapon.
    The tube he was balancing on his right shoulder was a modified Stinger ground-to-air missile launcher. Unlike its predecessors, which were designed to be discarded once used, the lightweight titanium-and-carbon-fiber device the captain struggled to aim could be reused multiple times. That was important because Epps’s backpack contained a dozen highly compact self-propelled rounds. Each was tipped with the new armor-penetrating sabot round that had been developed by American and Israeli members of NEST working in conjunction with Ironhide. At NEST’s underground testing range on Diego Garcia, the two men had had plenty of practice in firing the new weapon.
    Unfortunately, none of it had involved firing at a target that was locked in close physical combat withan ally in the midst of a wide, fast-flowing tropical river.
    “Loaded and locked!” Slamming the back of the launcher shut, Epps gave the captain a slap on the shoulder to indicate that he could fire at any time. While the launcher’s weight had been pared to the minimum it was still considerably more difficult to aim than, say, an ordinary rifle. Furthermore, the Zambezi’s flow was powerful enough to push all six combatants steadily downstream.
    “Fire—Captain, sir!” Epps shouted.
    “I can’t get a clean line!” Lennox glanced up from the launcher’s electronic tracker. “Every time I get a clear sight, one of our guys stumbles into the viewfinder and I have to reset.” Shouldering the launcher, he found himself scrambling to keep pace with the ongoing battle, running along the shoreline or jumping from rock to rock. Picking up the backpack full of shells, Epps followed.
    Out in the middle of the river, cannon fire and missiles had given way to hand-to-hand fighting. The bots were massive and heavy, but the Zambezi was stronger, especially out in the center of the current where the water was deepest. Optimus and Ironhide were locked in combat with the two largest Decepticons, Macerator and Payload, while Ratchet engaged Dropkick. Every time one of the Autobots tried to disengage in order to fire a weapon, its corresponding foe would leap forward to wrestle it back into the water. To Lennox it looked as if the Decepticons were not trying to strike debilitating blows so much as they were fighting some kind of incomprehensible holding action.
    To what end? It struck the increasingly winded Lennox as a losing strategy. Each time a Decepticon attacked, the Autobot he was confronting had time to adopt a solid defensive stance. By now Ratchet had suffered only a few glancing blows while Ironhide and Optimus were largely unhurt. In contrast, one of Dropkick’s arms was hanging loose. As for the belligerent Payload, unable to bring his heavy integrated weapons systems to bear, he was being ferociously pounded by his relentless counterpart Ironhide. And despite absorbing one crushing blow after another, Macerator clung tenaciously to Optimus, seemingly indifferent to the damage that the leader of the Autobots was inflicting. While the outcome of the clash was far from decided, it was apparent to anyone that the Decepticons were losing, as a group as well as on an individual basis.
    Then Payload let go of Ironhide, swept around in a wide circle, and slashed with all his strength. Ironhide did his best to dodge the blow. On land it would have missed completely. But the water shoving him downstream interfered with his footing. Fluids spurted and the Autobot staggered.
    “Damn it.” Cursing softly, Lennox dropped to a crouch and tried to steady the launcher. The combatants were even farther away now and the roar of the rushing river much louder where he had