"Please don't make them with wrong information. We will know more soon."
Sarah snarled. "I'm sick of that crap, Jade. We're always going to know more soon, and then there's another layer to worry about underneath. I know you mean well, but leave me alone. I'll adapt, but just don't stand around being so inhuman and goddamn reasonable:'
"We'll let you think," John said.
Anton shrugged. 'We have to fight soon," he said. "We'll worry about other things later."
"Yeah, Mom, we'll be going after those H-Ks down south."
Sarah's eyes flashed with the anger of all her years planning and fighting to destroy the machines. "That part I don't mind at all."
NINE
TEJADA ESTANCIA SEPTEMBER 5, 2029
Curtis woke with a shock, and realized two things. One, he'd been dreaming. Two, the shattering explosion that he'd heard in his dream had been a single rifle shot. He cursed himself for dropping off to sleep, once more, in his hiding place a few feet into the dark tunnel. The cumulative fatigue of the past few days had caught up with him. It might be excusable, but it was not good. If he slept, he placed himself in danger. He needed to be alert at all times, in case someone investigated the tunnel network, which they'd surely do sooner or later.
There were shouting voices in the near distance, angry arguments, though he could make out no words. He crawled to the end of the tunnel, and peered over the high bank using his field binoculars. Soldiers of the Rising Army had moved into action, almost in a panic. Some ran for one of the choppers, others for their Abrams tank. Some had packed into a Humvee. But there was no sound of engines starting not even, at first, the protesting whine of an engine failing to come alive.
There was more excited talking, in loud voices.
Finally, the Humvee's engine caught. A few seconds later, he heard the characteristic sound of the tank starting up. What was going on that had excited them all? Some sort of attack?
The Humvee drove eastward, and he changed position to follow its path, at the risk of being seen. It drove toward a group of people some hundreds of yards away. They appeared to be naked, a mix of men and women. He did not recognize anyone from this distance, even with the binoculars, but some of them appeared identical. Most of the women had striking blond hair. That fitted with what he'd heard of the planning back in the Resistance headquarters, in Los Angeles and Colorado. At least some of those newcomers must be Terminators. Getting a better focus, he recognized the darker haired woman as Cecilia Tejada, someone he'd not seen for years. But he'd grown up on her family's land, and he knew her face. He was sure it was her.
The newcomers were unarmed, but some formed a defensive huddle, while two ran forward, straight at the Humvee. The Humvee's gunner opened fire, catching them in a shredding storm of metal. Someone shouted through a loud hailer, but the two naked figures kept going, even against the force of the noisy mini-gun fire that they faced.
He'd seen enough. The newcomers, or some of them, were Terminators. That had to mean that the Resistance had acted. It could not be some last move by Skynet—that did not bear thinking about—so General Connor and his people must have used the time displacement machinery in Colorado that he'd heard so much about, and had sent a team to counterattack the warlords. He felt a twinge of resentment, but at least they were here. So how could he help them? As if in answer, one of the choppers started up, its rotors thrumming as it raised dust and began to climb into the sky.
The Resistance leadership had forced his arm. It was probably time to die, but he had to help those people, if that was what they were. Humans or Terminators, or a mix—it didn't really matter. Two of the Terminators attacked the Humvee, flesh being torn from them by hundreds of bullets. The point was, they'd come to fight the Rising Army...and they seemed to be having some success. As the helicopter positioned itself for battle, its rotors beating noisily at the air, he slipped back down the slope to the entrance to the tunnel. The Abrams tank had also moved, inching forward to adopt a better position, its main gun swiveling to sight on the new enemy.
Curtis rummaged quickly. He found the RPG tube and a pair of earplugs that he'd brought on one of his trips between here and the trenches. As he loaded a grenade, there was the booming sound of the tank's gun discharging a high-explosive shell, followed soon after by the shell's explosion on impact. He returned to his lookout point. So much was happening, all at once. He needed to reply quickly, before it was out of control.
He could see the billowing cloud of dust where a 125mm. shell, from the Rising Army's tank, had landed; it had exploded harmlessly, well past its target. Cecilia and the Terminators—if that was what the others all were—had hit the ground and were now moving forward on their bellies. It looked like they were okay. They'd dropped to the ground deliberately.
From the air, the helicopter fired a single missile, but it had been caught in a predicament, as the newcomers closed with the Humvee. The missile went close, striking the ground with an impressive explosion, but not close enough. Curtis didn't doubt that the Rising Army would risk its own soldiers if necessary to stop an attack by Terminators. They might not hesitate long before aiming a missile right in front of that Humvee. He put in the earplugs, and lined up the chopper in his sights. It was an easy target at this distance, as it merely hovered, its crew preparing to strike again, or perhaps awaiting orders.
Curtis fired. "Bombs away!" he said to himself. Here, in this fairly confined space, the backblast shook him, but that didn't matter. His aim was true, and the RPG drilled straight into the side of the chopper. There was a ball of flame, and the chopper rocked in the air as fragments of metal fell from it, and a smoking hole opened up in its side. On the ground below, soldiers ran in panic, but the chopper stayed in the air. Its armored design had survived the impact, but it made no further move to launch missiles, or any other attack. He must have caused confusion, at the very least.
They knew his location now. Angry fire came his way from assault rifles, and he had to take cover. In a few seconds it might be over, but he'd struck a blow. Quickly, he prepared to fire another RPG.
Face down in the dirt, Cecilia felt death come very close. It was in the pulverizing explosions from the enemy's shells and missiles; it was in the cold air around her and the ground beneath. One of the T-799 Terminators had hurled itself close to her, pressing against her body to give her its warmth. That might keep her alive for a few more minutes, but she needed to find clothing quickly. The Terminators would have to do something. There was nothing she could do herself; she doubted she could even move now—she was so cold. It was such a pity if she had to die, the last of her mother's children, but so be it. The Terminators would continue without her. Let them do it; her own time was probably up.
There was the sound of another explosion, this one in the direction the Humvee had come from, but in the distance. She looked up to see the enemy's chopper bob around against the gray sky, like a piece of cork dangling on a string. On the ground, soldiers ran to take cover, or flung themselves to the dirt, to avoid the flying debris. Others fired rifles in another direction—to her left. What had happened? Did she have an ally, someone who'd survived the Rising Army's attack?
The Terminators that had attacked the Humvee piled its wounded or unconscious crew nearby. They'd also located hand weapons that the soldiers had been carrying, or had stored within the Humvee. There was a neat pile of RPGs and their launching tubes, impact grenades and their launchers, Kalashnikov assault rifles, spare magazines, handguns, and light machine guns.
Willing her legs to move, as if they were not a part of her body but foreign objects that she had to push by telekinesis, Cecilia moved forward, as another high explosive shell hurtled at them. This time, it landed close by, and the blast sent her staggering into the arms of one of the T-800 Terminators, which caught her with surprising gentleness. It half-carried her to the Humvee, where the T-800 that had attacked the vehicle approached her, holding a pair of sturdy, if battered, leather boo
ts, gray fatigues, and a long, thick overcoat.
"Put these on," the Terminator said. With its face shot to pieces—though the metal skull beneath was intact—it looked like a creature from a horror movie, something made before Judgment Day, when the world itself had become horrific. "We will get you more clothes. Wear these for now."
In the distance, the Rising Army's chopper landed. Someone had shown the discretion to stop and check the damage. Score one for her team! The crew evacuated it, getting well away.
Without speaking, Cecilia pulled on the fatigues and forced her feet into the boots. Then she managed to say, "Are any dead?" She gestured at the four enemy soldiers from the Humvee.
"They'll all live," the Terminator said.
One of the Rising Army Soldiers, clearly not dead, cursed at her in Spanish. It was a woman, perhaps in her thirties. Her face was covered with dirt and blood, and there was more blood on her uniform. From the awkward way in which she sat, it appeared that one leg was badly injured. Beside her, a large man with a black mustache had been stripped of his boots and outer clothing in order to clothe Cecilia. She noticed that the clothes and boots fit as well as she ever could have wished: the T-800 had assessed her measurements precisely, and found the closest match. She hoped that she'd suffered no lasting harm from her minutes of exposure to the cold. Thankfully, she'd had the Terminators to share their body warmth with her.
She nodded. "Okay." The other two were unconscious, though one groaned in his sleep. That was the gunner, who'd taken a bad fall from the back of the Humvee.
For now, the enemy bombardment had stopped. The attack on the chopper had obviously given the
Rising Army some food for thought. Any shells or missiles thrown at them now would take out four of their own people, which must make them hesitate. But they were still firing on that other position, where the RPG had come from that had hit their helicopter. Occasionally, automatic fire came from there. It was obvious now that only one Resistance fighter was holed up there: the fire coming from that position was too light to be from more than one.
Suddenly, another RPG stabbed out from that position, hitting the already-damaged chopper, whose main body exploded into fragments.
Time to go on the attack. Cecilia gave orders quickly, conscious that any one of the Terminators could probably come up with as effective a plan to destroy the enemy.. .but that was not the only priority. They needed to ensure that the four they had captured from the Humvee were totally disabled and disarmed. The man who'd had to give up his clothing I for her would need some protection against exposure, so she ordered that a Terminator strip the others of I their overcoats and give them to him—let them all suffer about equally. More importantly, someone had to take the heat off that poor bastard who was helping her, and was now under some withering fire, so she ordered two of the Terminators to take over the Humvee and create a diversion.
"Tactically inadvisable," one of the T-799s said. "There are better options."
"I don't care." God, were these creatures going to argue with her now? Perhaps they would be better off abandoning whoever was helping them. But that was not how human beings worked. Whoever it was, she had to try to save them. "Just do it," she said.
Both of the Terminators that had made the attack
on the Humvee looked like creatures from Hell. Their endoskeletons were slick with blood, while strips and gobbets of skin and flesh hung from their arms and torsos, making a gruesome drapery. Some parts were still covered with pads of muscle and fatty tissue, but there was now no mistaking the machines for human. The T-800's face had mainly been shot away, revealing a grinning silver-chrome skull with glowing red "eyes" that were its visual light and infrared sensors. Strangely, the T-799's external facial structure had survived almost intact, creating the horrific picture of a normal, and rather beautiful, woman's face mounted atop a ghastly metal skeleton. This Terminator had absorbed some real damage, and it now walked with a limp. Add to that its head listing to one side, and the effect was horrific.
The two Terminators armed themselves with Kalashnikov rifles from the pile of weapons they'd found. The T-800 took the wheel of the Humvee, while the weird-looking T-799 took over the mini-gun mounted on top of it. They charged into battle, drawing heavy fire. The remaining Terminators carried out the rest of her orders. One assessed the near-naked man with the black mustache. Before Cecilia could countermand anything she'd said, it fired a 9mm. round into his kneecap. He screamed in pain, then cursed in a mix of Spanish and English. Another Terminator stripped the others of their coats and wrapped him as if in a cocoon.
"Why did you do that?" Cecilia said.
"The others were sufficiently immobile," said the Terminator that had fired the shot. "This one was not."
As Cecilia kept down, choosing a slight bump in the ground to hide behind, the Terminators found a few more handguns and some knives concealed on the four soldiers, adding them to the pile of weapons. They wrapped themselves in every weapon they could, some of them hanging bandoliers of impact grenades around their otherwise-naked bodies. They passed the last assault rifle and grenade launcher to Cecilia, who took them silently. Every weapon they could not carry, the Terminators bent out of shape so it could not be used.
The Humvee zigzagged wildly as it approached the enemy, but a shell from the tank landed close to it. The Shockwave blasted it off its wheels and it lurched onto one side. The Terminator in the back was flung free, and the other scrambled out—both of them unhurt. Still another shell whistled through the air, landing close to Cecilia's position. It seemed the enemy had regrouped and wasn't going to worry about who had to be killed to achieve its ends—never mind that four of its own soldiers were captive here.
The explosion threw up a shower of dirt, which rained back on them; it left an acrid smell in the air—one that she was used to, from years of war against the machines. It was all too obvious to Cecilia that the Terminators could do this more effectively without her. She picked herself up, and ran with the four Terminators toward the enemy position. She kept doubled over, bending low, keeping herself side-on to fire.
The two Terminators with the Humvee had obviously made a decision not to right the vehicle. They marched deliberately toward the enemy emplacement, firing automatic bursts from their rifles, while the enemy fired back with machine guns and grenade launchers. Impact grenades landed close to the Terminators, falling short. At this range, the machine gun fire had no effect on them, and they closed the distance rapidly.
The enemy soldiers took cover behind whatever vehicles or wreckage they could find, concentrating their fire on those two. They fired just a few bursts in the direction of their other, hidden enemy, someone who still had good cover, and who occasionally fired off a three-round burst as if to signal he was still alive.. .assuming it was a "he." Leaving him alive was an oversight, for a rocket-propelled grenade suddenly shot in the direction of the remaining undamaged helicopter, still on the ground—no more attempts had been made to use the helicopters. The grenade hit its tail, and damaged the vertically mounted back rotor. That would be sufficient to render it inoperable. Inwardly, Cecilia gave a cheer. Thanks for that, partner.
The odds were improving second by second. Now she could almost ignore the cold, though her hands were still icy and she needed more garments under the overcoat.
Yet another grenade flew from her unknown helper's position of cover, toward the Abrams tank, falling just short, but exploding impressively. The tank's turret rotated, and it answered with a shell that lobbed close to the point where the RPGs had been coming from. No response came from that direction for now, but the first two Terminators had reached the enemy position and were exchanging fire with troops who attempted to fight them from behind cover. The Terminators were sustaining damage, but nothing crippling.
Cecilia ordered the others on ahead of her. She didn't lack for courage, but she was not foolhardy. She was only made of flesh and blood, and she was not stupid enough to charge straight
across open ground. She was close enough now that the Rising Army would soon cut her to pieces with automatic fire. But the Terminators had no such problem. Their undercarriages were almost immune to light arms fire.
As if in reaction to that thought, the tank fired again. The shell flew through the air in a straight trajectory at close range, striking the ground within a few feet of the damaged T-799 that had acted as gunner on the Humvee. The explosion smashed the Terminator off its feet. When the dust cleared, it dragged itself along, having lost one leg at the knee. It was still firing at the Rising Army's positions.
Cecilia was alone now, out here on the battlefield. Until this was over, all she could do was watch, and hope that the Terminators could finish it off quickly. At this range, she was an easy target, but the enemy soldiers were now in trouble, scarcely daring to peek from cover as the Terminators advanced. No shots came her way. The man or woman in the trench might be dead, after that shell had lobbed near his position. If not, he or she was also protected by the hail of fire from the machines.
The Terminators made short work of the enemy soldiers, shooting away their positions of cover. There would be deaths, Cecilia saw. It couldn't be avoided. Still, these men and women had chosen to ally themselves with the Rising Army; they hadn't been forced to act like this. At least, that was probably true of most of them. The Terminators began to use their grenades, attempting to blast away any cover as quickly as the Rising Army found it. She'd told them to minimize casualties, but how would they interpret that? This could become a massacre.
Still, she thought, better them than me.
The tank moved forward, as if to engage the Terminators, but then it headed off in another direction. Whoever was in there had chosen not to continue fighting; they were trying to cut their losses and make an escape. Someone moved from cover, near the entrance to the estancia's bunkers. It must have been Cecilia's "helper." He knelt to fire an RPG, getting a good chance to line up the fleeing tank, now that the enemy soldiers were all pinned to their positions by fire from the Terminators. There was the characteristic backblast and the exhaust of the rapidly flying grenade. It struck, and exploded, near one of the tank's heavy treads.
T2 - 03 - The New John Connor Chronicles - Times of Trouble Page 13
