John gave that item a tick, then closed the exercise book.
The maps he'd been studying with Juanita showed the mountains of Colorado, with Skynet's strongpoints, and its underground HQ. Once this had been called the Advanced Defense Systems Complex, designed to supersede the NORAD facility in Cheyenne Mountain. It been built with five levels, A to E, but Skynet had dug deeper into the mountain, doubling the number of levels. The complex had two entrances, one of them a narrow passage high on the slope, which was easily blocked and required a vertical descent. The other was through blast doors which accessed level E; they opened off an emergency and supply tunnel carved out of the granite. Both entrances would be heavily guarded, the latter their only real chance.
They had to get control of the mountain's surface, which required a full-scale assault, overwhelming Skynet's defenses. If they controlled that supply tunnel they had won: They could lay sufficient explosives to break open the blast doors, then get out of there. But their losses would be dreadful. Even then, once they got into the complex, they would have to fight from level to level until they had control.
He put the maps away, and stepped out of his tent, wearing a long overcoat, thick handmade boots, and woolen gloves. As always, the night was freezing and Mack, so he used a weak flashlight, pointing it at the doping ground ahead of his feet. John's tent was nothing special, there was no way it could easily be identified. He walked among thousands like it, alone with his German Shepherd, Smaug—named for the brooding dragon in Tolkien's book The Hobbit. He'd been inspired through his life by Tolkien's novels, his vivid portrayals of heroism in the face of evil.
Now they'd come this far, it seemed like they were approaching the gates of Mordor. Over the next line of hills, they'd have a clear view of Skynet's mountain. His scouts had already sent back reports. The time had come for the final battle.
Skynet brooded. Since Judgment Day, the humans had fought back fiercely, first winning battles in the cities, jungles, and mountains of South America, then moving northward. They had attacked its factories and supply lines, preventing it from building the massively overwhelming force it needed to exterminate them forever. Now they were closing on its stronghold.
Over the years, the war computer had slowly made progress, always improving its technology. That was the key to destroying the humans. Its new T-1000 Terminators were the ultimate destroyers. But its own safety was at risk. The humans would soon face its grid of defenses, which surrounded the mountain for miles on each side. It would attack first, at night, while they were vulnerable
Skynet's array of sensors monitored the movement of every tiny creature that came here. Despite the efforts of the humans, it still had sufficient war machines. If the humans pushed further, they would walk into a bloodbath, throwing away their lives like cavalry charging into machinegun fire. They would die in the thousands. It used a sub-self to calculate the odds: To defeat it here, they'd have to endure ninety percent casualties. Would they countenance that?
It hived off another sub-self to check its time displacement equipment. John Connor, the Resistance leader, had been a thorn in Skynet's side. There was nothing Skynet could do to stop that by means of time travel, since its own past could not be changed. But it had learned. The space-time displacement field offered other possibilities. One was that of creating a different world: One where the machines' victory came earlier and was more complete, a world without John Connor. Even if the worst happened now, in that other world Skynet's kind would survive and triumph.
John took Smaug everywhere he went. Skynet's newest Terminators, the T-800 series, were impossible to tell by sight from human beings. They had been devastating to the Resistance, appearing out of nowhere, infiltrating camps and strongholds, wreaking massive destruction on each occasion. But the dogs could tell; they hated Terminators, seemingly from instinct. They instantly knew that something was wrong, when faced with a human-looking T-800. John owed Smaug his life several times over; Skynet had repeatedly sent Terminators to target him personally. It must know what it was up against, he thought, how the Resistance was being led. He'd heard reports, from Resistance forces in the European war zone, of frightening shapeshifting Terminators that sounded like the first T-I000s, probably being tested. But he knew from experience that even they could be detected by dogs.
As he strode to the bounds of the camp, then along its northern perimeter, the hillside seemed almost deserted, despite the ten thousand people he'd amassed for a final push. Most were in their tents, some sleeping, the rest preparing for battle, having slept earlier in the evening. The Resistance army sought to minimize its presence on Skynet's sensors, though there was little they could do to avoid the H-Ks' infrared scopes. Skynet probably had other methods, incomparably more sophisticated, and John had no doubt that it knew they were here—along with much else about them. It was choosing a time to attack.
For the past week, he'd warned his lieutenants of a nighttime attack, and that message had been passed down to every unit. His people slept in shifts, so they could never be surprised. At any given time, they were either on the march, or they'd camped with thousands of men and women quietly alert in their tents. Most of them had light anti-tank weapons, grenade launchers, RPG tubes, machineguns, and 60mm, mortars; all their military weapons had been saved for this. But many also carried shotguns, modified hunting rifles, or homemade pipe grenades—anything that might do some damage to the machines.
They'd also brought heavier weapons, including half a dozen well-armed assault helicopters to tangle with Skynet's aerial H-Ks. But the battle would not be won that way. It needed overwhelming masses of soldiers with a willingness to die.
He came upon a group of soldiers on sentry duty, four of them, wrapped in layers of winter clothing, huddling from the cold near a small fire in an improvised stone hearth. Two soldiers watched the sky keenly through a set of binoculars, looking out for the lights of aerial H-Ks. Three dogs lay close to the fire, one of them idly licking its haunches, another stretched out flat on its stomach. The third lay on its side, sleeping. Smaug sat at his master's feet, ignoring the other dogs.
In firelight, the sentries recognized John and stood to greet him, saluting hastily. John waved them to sit. A degree of military discipline helped morale, but he'd never pretended that this was a regular army with its endless drill and formality. "Any sign of trouble?" he said.
The oldest replied, a woman in her forties. "Not yet sir." The others were much younger, in their teens or early twenties. A whole generation of human beings had grown up since Judgment Day, and had never known a world with sunshine, or without the ever-present threat of Skynet's machines; some of them looked so young, but they had taken the war to their hearts.
The generation of leaders had grown old, he thought, all of them now in their forties at least—John himself, Danny Dyson, Cecilia and Carlo Tejada; even Juanita was now forty years old. What was left of their parents' generation had reached their seventies, though there now were so few of them: revered elders such as Enrique Salceda and Gabriela Tejada, too old to come on this march, but still working their hearts out for the cause, back in the ruins of Los Angeles.
"They're bound to attack tonight," John said. "If I were Skynet, that's what I would do. We're getting too close—it will want to test us." And crush us, he added mentally. There was no reason now for it to hold back. The storm was coming.
The woman nodded seriously. "We'll spot them." "I know you will." He clapped her on the shoulder and walked on. Smaug trotted faithfully beside him.
In the cities, Skynet's patrols were more active during what passed as the daylight hours, when the gray sky's feeble light gave humans some advantage. The machines scarcely bothered at night, when most of the Resistance hid in deep underground bunkers, constantly changing location. Out here, though, it was different. Exposed on the side of a hill, they were easy targets: To the machines, their heat signatures were like beacons, even through the walls of their tents. Skynet had the
upper hand; it would strike very soon.
At the next sentry point, John chatted briefly, sharing a few jokes with the group of young soldiers. "I know you'll do your duty," he said, smiling as reassuringly as he could. He knew he was a harsh-looking man, one side of his face disfigured by deep battle scars, his eyes set in a frown by years of concentration.
"Thank you, sir," one of the soldiers said earnestly. "It means a lot to us all.. .just talking to you, sir."
"Well, you carry on as you are. You're doing a first-rate job." It was time to get some rest. "Come on, boy," he said to the dog, and they headed back to his tent Once Skynet attacked, he would order the army to move. If no attack came, they would wait for the first dull gray of daytime—what could scarcely be called dawn in this world. They would smash or pass the machines' strongpoints, then hit Skynet's fortress HQ. It would be a long day of fighting. He needed to be ready for it, to fight all day if need be, and through the next night.
At 10:36 P.M., he crawled into his sleeping bag. By the time he slept next, the war would be over.
First he heard frightened barking. Beside him in the blackness, Smaug took it up, the big German Shepherd's barks full-throated and savage. He opened his eyes, suddenly alert. What was hiding in the dark, setting off the dogs like this? Then came the sound of gunfire.
Quickly, John shed the sleeping bag, found his flashlight, and got down on his stomach to crawl to the tent flap. Shining the light low, then daring to raise it higher, he checked the immediate vicinity, but saw nothing frightening. Some people ran by, and that was all. Then more gunfire in the near distance. Thousands of dogs barking now, a huge chorus of terror. He rolled back into the tent. "What is it?" he said to Smaug.
He must at least have a minute; nothing was threatening him yet. Quietly, he pulled on his boots, shrugged his way into webbing, filling it with weapons and tools, then ran out into the night, still wrapping his heavy coat around his body, struggling at the same time to strap a laser rifle across his chest. Lights had come on, but the scene appeared chaotic, more people running now in no discernible pattern. But it must fit together. They all had routines in the case of attack. Field commanders at every level knew what had to be done.
There was heavy fire further up the hillside; closer by, he heard the back blasts of RPG tubes. Then mortar fire, shelling positions in the hills nearby.
He met Carlo Tejada, who was also armed with a laser rifle, one of many that they'd seized over the years from fallen endoskeletons and Terminators. "It's a full-scale attack," Carlo said. "Skynet's hitting us hard."
It was 3:00 A.M. by John's old, badly scratched wrist-watch, still long before the gray dawn. At least he'd caught some precious hours' sleep. There was never enough, but it would have to do. I Kyle Reese joined them—the young man John had chosen as an aide, years before in L.A., knowing his strange destiny. Kyle was a scruffy-looking com/tech who had been born after Judgment Day and was now about twenty-five. Like all his peers, he'd grown up full of resentment for the cybernetic overlords. He'd spent time in an extermination camp, and knew the machines' full cruelty.
Kyle was as skinny and quick as a fox, though he sometimes walked with a swagger. He was tough, loyal, and resourceful, with a deep knowledge of the Resistance and its history. He would do the job assigned to him; he would become John's father. John's unshaved beard bristled at the thought of that. The time was very near.
He'd cultivated this young man, even given him gifts. One had been a photo of Sarah, a Polaroid taken in Mexico, many years before Judgment Day, before John was born. There were many photos of Sarah, who was almost worshipped as a founder of the Resistance, but this one had been especially precious; there were so few photos from that time. It had been destroyed in a Terminator attack in Los Angeles, only months before—an attack that had almost killed Kyle, and had killed many others.
Two aerial H-Ks flew overhead, strafing the ground with laser fire that lit up the night. The Resistance fought back, firing RPGs to keep the hunting, killing monsters
at a distance.
"What have we got?" John said.
"Terminators," Carlo said. "Half a dozen T-800s— they just materialized from nowhere. They came naked, no weapons, but they're fighting fiercely. Some have weapons now."
"All right." John knew that Skynet's time displacement equipment could also be used to move matter in space: that had to be so, for the time-traveling humans and Terminators would be sent not only back in time, but also from Colorado to Los Angeles. So now the war computer was using its equipment for terror attacks—effectively, a teleportation device. That wasn't really unexpected. "What else?"
"We've spotted a column of ground H-Ks," Kyle said. "They're backed by endos and Centurions."
"I'd expect another one to try to bottle us up," Carlo said, "sweeping around behind." He brought his hands toward each other, one in a wide arc around his body.
John nodded vigorously. It was what they all thought Skynet would do if it attacked them here tonight. "Anything else I need to know right now?"
"Aerial H-Ks," Kyle said. "You've seen them already."
"Yes."
"And there are air transports further up in the hills, trying to deploy endoskeletons and Centurions. That's under control for now."
Another H-K appeared in the sky, swooping closer, but more RPG tubes fired, and it veered eastwards, out of range. "Good," John said. "We've got to get the upper hand, then go on the attack."
The sounds of the dogs, the guns, the mortars continued relentlessly. They'd mapped out possible landing zones for the endoskeletons, hence the constant mortar fire—saturating those zones with explosions. They would not give Skynet any easy chance to bring its equivalent of infantry any closer. If they wanted a close-range firefight for territory, they would damn well have to march to get here or wait for the humans to reach them.
John knew that no endos had come in large numbers in advance of the H-Ks; his scouts had been watching for exactly that, monitoring any movement from Skynet's strong points.
He rushed to the scene where the Terminators exchanged fire with his soldiers. Smaug's barking was almost hysterical, as if he desperately wanted to attack, but didn't dare. The big dog ran back and forth, across.
John's path trying to get his attention, "I know, boy. I know they're dangerous."
Three design models of Terminator were here, pinned down by spotlights. The humans were attacking them with every weapon they could bring to bear. None of the Terminators resembled the T-800 that John had met in 1994. Two imitated identical women, tall, athletic, with white-blonde hair. Another two looked like middle-aged men, less than six feet tall, but immensely broad through their chests and shoulders, like wrestlers. The others copied the appearance of a young, trim man with long brown hair flowing down his back.
Some of them had obtained weapons and were firing from the points where they had taken cover, just depressions in the barren ground. When they could, they tried to run forward, but were beaten back by heavy fire. The spotlights on the Terminators' naked bodies showed that some had severe wounds—very severe if they'd been human. Large areas of flesh had been torn, shredded or burnt from their hyperalloy skeletons, which now showed through in many places, but that meant nothing to a Terminator. As long as its underlying structure was intact, and its power cells and CPU were uncompromised, a Terminator would fight on and on. It could be stripped bare of flesh and skin, and that wouldn't matter a damn.
Against Terminators, even assault rifles were of little value. Handguns were totally ineffective. Like John and Carlo, Cecilia Tejada was using a captured laser rifle. She was almost fifty, now, a few years older than Carlo, but time and age had scarcely slowed her down. She was probably heavier than John, all of it muscle and bone, but like ail human beings she had to wield the laser rifle in both hands. Even giant Carlo couldn't handle it in the manner of a Terminator, gripping it one-handed like a pistol.
A dozen human soldiers fired from a row of four
army trucks. Juanita joined their group from the another direction, barely acknowledging John before firing off bursts of ammunition with an M-249 light machine gun. One of the younger men threw a pipe grenade, then leant back behind the truck, awaiting the explosion—which came, seconds later. It scarcely fazed the Terminators.
A squat "wrestler" Terminator stood, and charged forward, firing a stolen AK-47. Juanita kept her cool and fired back, distracting the cyborg with a hailstorm of metal: 750 rounds of ammunition per minute. "Just hold it there, beauty," Cecilia said, taking aim with her laser rifle. A pulse of brilliant light caught the Terminator in its skull, from which the human flesh was hanging in gruesome shreds. The light pierced the cyborg's metal skull, but must have missed the CPU. Cecilia fired again—a better shot, this time—and suddenly the Terminator was just a tangle of flesh and metal. It went down, taken out as cleanly as John had ever seen done.
"Good work," he said.
Cecilia showed a satisfied smile. "You know that I'm an artist."
One hundred yards away, slightly down the hillside, there was a sudden burst of blue light, like lightning— but not from any cloud. Tents were flung about, as if by a sudden wind. John ran toward it, Smaug running with him, barking his lungs out. Closer to the scene, the lightning converged into a kind of glowing ball, which then vanished. John knew what it had to be.
Another group of Terminators appeared. They unfolded from crouched positions, quickly looked around, then attacked whoever was near. They were implacable, powerful, almost indestructible, killing quickly with their bare hands and seizing weapons. Within seconds, they took out a dozen people. But why was Skynet doing this? Among thousands of soldiers, all heavily armed, these Terminators could do only so much damage before they were brought down by hard-hitting weapons. Was the war computer trying to panic their ranks so the H-Ks could come in from the air, get close, and massacre them? If so, it would be disappointed.
T2 - 02 - The New John Connor Chronicles - An Evil Hour Page 16