The Future War

John flipped his own up. 'HKs,' he said succinctly, informing everyone in the network that Skynet was sending in the big guns.

He relayed coordinates so that their own big guns could respond to the threat.

It was better when the things were destroyed sight unseen.

Skynet liked, on occasion, to bind prisoners, or bodies, or both to the machines. Not knowing which was which tended to make firing on them difficult. Even though those manning the guns knew they were not in any kind of position to save those people, still, they would hesitate. It had been one of Skynet's many psychological experiments.

The problem is, John thought, every time it does something like this and we have to act against our own instincts, we lose something of our humanity.

War, Dieter had told him, tended to do that. But in John's opinion, Skynet, through trial and error, was making them all more machinelike.

'What are we going to be like when this is over?' John had asked.

'Happier,' Dieter replied. 'In the meantime, we have to do what we must to survive.'

John ducked behind an outcropping of rock and waited for the HK to make its appearance. You'd think they'd have learned not to outline themselves against the skyline, John thought. But then, there wasn't any other route the big machine could take out of the valley where it had been manufactured.

The rocket screamed by his position and John curled into a fetal position, trusting his armor to catch any fragments and his luck to save him from the explosion. The detonation was about fifteen yards in front of him and the concussion felt like someone hitting him hard on the back, pushing the air out of his lungs.

The heat was briefly intense.

He rolled back to see the machine trundle forward a few more meters, most of its top half blown away, the bottom a furnace. It rolled away, mindless and blind. Behind it, illuminated by the flames, came a gleaming squad of T-90s, the skeletal Terminators, red eye sensors gleaming, grinning with human-shaped teeth.

John barked an order and the artillery behind him opened fire again—25mm chain guns this time, mounted on Humvees. The killing machines scattered like bowling pins in the blast, parts twinkling away like stars in flight. Those on the outside of the explosion were struck dormant for a few seconds. Stooped over, John ran forward and shot a blast into the head of the nearest Terminator. The one beyond it came slowly back to life, found its plasma rifle by feel, and began to raise it.

A burst of fire blinded it and John himself fired again, destroying it. He turned to the soldier with the flamethrower and found it was a young woman—no, a girl. If she was more than fifteen, he'd be amazed.

'Thanks,' he said briefly, feeling suddenly senior. 'Sweep these bushes; confuse their sensors so that we can move in under cover.'

'Yes, sir.'

She went to work and in moments the heat was almost more than he could stand. He was squinting, lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace. But the girl had her visor down and what expression he could see was serene. It was weird to feel safe enough to bring his people through in all this light, but the machines had difficulty adjusting their sensors to this much heat. John gave the order and men and women came streaming through, scattering over the rocky terrain.

'Careful,' he said. 'Spring boxes.' You could almost feel the tension go up. Everybody hated those things.

Below, an HK moved into position.

'Clear the gap,' John shouted, and soldiers dived away from the rise and the burning bushes; he rolled down the hill toward the factory, stopping himself by grabbing onto a low-growing bush.

The Hunter-Killer fired and the ground behind him heaved and burned in the blast, the rocks themselves melting. It moved forward and John could tell that it was going to sweep the ground behind him in descending arcs. Even blind, that would allow it to do maximum damage.

'Fire!' he shouted. That blast would give the artillery some idea of trajectory.

All around the HK were Terminators, also blind, no doubt.

They would wait for their big brother to finish; then they would come forward to mop up any resistance.

Only two HKs, John thought. And none of the flying kind, thank God.

But what did it mean? Why was the factory so lightly guarded? His eyes went to the factory itself. The outer surface was honeycombed with little rectangular slots for the spring boxes; it looked like some kind of high-tech nest. The thought made him swallow. On the roof were antennae that would directly connect it to Skynet.

No doubt the bastard is watching this right now, he thought.

He got some satisfaction in knowing that Skynet wasn't seeing any more than its creatures could show it. Lots of white heat haze and black background, and the same thing from orbit.

The factory was small up top, but he knew from experience that it could go down as many as six levels. A place like this would probably have no human slaves. They'd check, just to be sure, but there had been no signs of cultivation, as there usually were when humans were present. Nor any sign of a waste dump.

Still. Skynet was a tricky bugger. And these days every human life was of value.

And now for the really tricky question, he thought. Now, if I were my mom, where would I be?

'Major Hopkins,' he said aloud. 'Standard attack on the factory. Give me a schematic—is there an outlying relay com dish?'

'Yes, sir. Just about… here.'

The data came in over John's optic; he noted it, and matched the view to the terrain. 'Which means Mom is over there,' he said. 'HQ squad, follow me!'

An IR scan showed a thermal bloom halfway up another one of the endless rocky hills; there was another on top, where the melted remains of a transmission tower showed.

Good tactics, Mom, he thought. Taking that out would reduce the enemy's coordination throughout the area. Getting trapped in a cave, not so hot.

The ruins of the machines were thick about the entry to the cave; which meant Sarah's squad was probably about out of charge and ammo.

'Mortars,' he said. 'Gimme a strike on the following position.'

* * *

Sarah was propped up against a rock outcropping, giving orders to a young man who knelt on one knee by her side. A medic was just fitting her arm into a sling.

'AH!' Sarah barked. She glared at the medic, then, turning away, sullenly apologized.

There was a large bandage wrapping the greater part of her shoulder, showing a seepage of blood at the center, and burn cream glistened on her neck and upper arm. Dark circles surrounded her eyes like shiners, but it was exhaustion and too little food that had put them there.

When the soldier and the medic became aware of John standing there, they murmured 'excuse me' and moved away.

Sarah smiled up at him, then closed her eyes and leaned her head against the rock.

'Thank God you're here,' she said quietly.

'Thank God you're here,' he responded. He shook his head.

'Mom—'

'Don't start,' she cut in. 'I'm not in the mood. This could have happened to anybody.'

That was true, he knew. It wasn't bad leadership or foolish bravado that had gotten her into this scrape. She was still one of the best field commanders in the resistance. But she was hurt, and she was his mother.

Sighing, John dropped cross-legged beside her. Just sitting and looking at her, and waiting for her to open her eyes. For a moment he thought that she actually dropped off to sleep and he felt a bit guilty, as though he'd been unfairly pressuring her.

Then he steeled his resolve. If she was asleep he'd wait until she woke up, even if it took all night.

By which time I'll be asleep and she'll decide to wait for me, then she'll fall asleep again. He smiled, and waited. In a few moments she struggled to open her eyes and smiled at him. It made her look years younger.