Terminator Salvation: Cold War (33 page)

Time for another evasive maneuver.
He shoved the control stick to the far right, throwing
Thunderbird
into an inverted roll. Then, before the HK could react to his changed orientation, he pulled back on the stick. The nose of the plane dipped toward the ground and
Thunderbird
went into a high-speed dive. Geir’s stomach climbed up his throat. The Alaskan wilderness came rushing up way faster than he would have liked. Towering pines and jagged peaks waited to impale him.

All right,
he dared the HK.
Come and get me!

Another blast of plasma fried the empty air the Mustang had occupied only heartbeats before. Geir banked hard to the left and tugged on the stick, leveling out only a thousand feet above the forest canopy. Wings parallel to the earth, he headed north toward a range of nearby mountains, enticing the HK even further away from the train it was supposed to be guarding. As the indefatigable Hunter-Killer swooped after him, he climbed once again toward the upper heights.

The sudden peaks and valleys took their toll on his nerves. He felt like he was riding a roller-coaster, only without the tracks. His head spun. Blood sloshed in his ears. Yet he doubted that the HK was feeling nearly so jangled.

Too bad machines can’t get vertigo!

At 36,000 feet, he took another hard roll to the right, just like he had before. The idea was to make the HK think that he was about to make another upside-down dive. A quick glance behind him confirmed that the HK had taken the bait; it rolled to dive after him.

Sorry,
he thought viciously.
Us crazy humans aren’t nearly that predictable.

At the last second, right before he fell into the dive, he pushed forward on the stick and kept on climbing. Caught off-guard by its prey’s abrupt change in direction, the HK plunged into a spin. A misdirected plasma blast ignited the treetops below.

“Sucker!” Geir took an instant to savor his survival. He leveled off at 37,500 feet, dangerously close to the Mustang’s operational ceiling, then dived back down to just above the rugged landscape. Hugging the treetops, navigating by the nap of the earth, he tried to put a little more distance between him and the disoriented HK, which was already recovering from its spin. A glacial valley, protected by sheer white walls, offered a few moment’s shelter from the machine’s weaponry.

Geir opened up the throttle and zoomed into the valley.

A glance at his wristwatch gave him the time. 10:45. Molly would be going into action any minute now. He mentally blew her a kiss. The unorthodox engagement ring remained snug in his pocket, next to his heart.

Don’t get yourself killed, chief. I’m still working on my next proposal....

The Hunter-Killer kept after him.

Screw Command,
Molly thought.
We don’t need their help.

Operation Ravenwing was underway. She stood along the bank of the river, in the shadow of the looming trestle bridge, as Tammi Muckerheide rigged the explosives according to Doc Rathbone’s painstaking calculations and her own demolitions training, attaching blocks of C-4 and blasting caps to key points upon the bridge’s concrete piers and timber struts.

She was sitting astride a wooden truss, about ten feet above the frothing rapids that swirled below. Unlike the shallower stream by the camp, the swiftly moving river hadn’t frozen over entirely. If Tammi slipped and fell, the current would carry her away in an instant.

“How’s it going?” Molly asked impatiently. A freezing wind whipped down the canyon, slicing at her face. She hugged herself to stay warm, and tapped her toes against the rocky shore. Her toes were going numb inside her mukluks, except for the missing one, which itched incessantly.

She peered up at Tammi.

“We’re running out of time.”

“Almost done,” the younger woman promised, double-checking a wire. A note of weary exasperation could be heard in her voice. Nimble fingers tucked the last wire into place. “There we go.”

Molly moved in closer and inspected the young widow’s work. To disguise the explosives from snoopy Aerostats, they had painted them white and coated them with imitation snow made from talcum powder, glue, and laundry soap. Except for a heaping load of dynamite, which had been stuffed into the rotting carcass of a dead grizzly bear that one of their hunting parties had found not far from their old camp. The stinking corpse was heaped at the base of the bridge’s northern abutment. Transporting the dead bear via dog sled had been a stomach-turning task, but hopefully it would fool the Aerostats. Skynet’s levitating spy-eyes were ingenious, but they weren’t equipped with chemical bomb-sniffers.

So far as we know.

Sitka poked the bear with her toe. She wrinkled her nose.

“Stinks to high heaven.” The fidgety teen was fascinated by the grossness of the carcass. An overstuffed schoolbook bag, bearing the faded logo of some forgotten heavy-metal band, rested upon her shoulders. Unkempt red hair blew in the wind. Fuzzy pink earmuffs muffled her hearing. “What d’you think happened to it? Looks like its heart got punched clean through!”

Molly didn’t know or care what had killed the grizzly.

“Leave that alone,” she admonished. Extracting handwritten notes from her own pack, she checked the placement of the explosives against Doc’s specifications. Everything seemed to be in the right place.

And not just the bombs.

Tom Jensen stood guard, shotgun in hand, watching the preparations alongside her. The bearded lumberjack was tense and alert. His arm was no longer in a sling. The rest of her people were hiding in the surrounding woods and cliffs, along with every last one of their sled dogs. Lookouts were stationed in the hills, keeping their eyes peeled for machines. It was the first time the entire cell had assembled in one place since the battle at the mill, but it was hardly a happy reunion.

Everyone remembered what had happened at the pipeline expedition, and that was supposed to have been a milk run. This was unimaginably more dangerous. They knew the Skynet Express wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

We’re going to lose some people tonight,
Molly realized.
Maybe a lot.

In fact, she had been surprised at just how many freedom fighters had volunteered—despite Tammi’s poignant appeal in their meeting.

Guess I’m not the only idiot who’s aching to get back at Skynet, after all,
she thought.
So what if that asshole Ashdown turned us down? We’ll show him—and the damn machines—not to underestimate us.

Tammi scooted across the horizontal strut, then shimmied down a pole and safely onto the shore. She scurried across the beach to where Molly and others stood, one of her hands clutching the baby bump. She thrust a handheld detonator into Molly’s open palm.

“All set, chief. Just push that button and...
boom!”
Her eyes were hard and cold. Molly could practically feel the murderous fury radiating off her, like the exhaust from a bloody chainsaw. “I can’t wait to see that metal monster take a fall!”

“Me too,” Molly admitted. “Good work.”

She checked her watch, squinting at it in the gloom. She’d made sure to wind it the night before.

10:40.

In theory, Geir would be in the air by now. They’d embraced right before he left for the glacier, groping and pawing each other hungrily just in case it was the very last time. She started to wonder if she would ever see him again, then caught herself. She couldn’t think like that during a war. Otherwise she’d never get out of bed.

He knows what he’s doing,
she assured herself.
He’ll be fine.

The PDA vibrated in her pocket, paging her. She checked the illuminated screen. According to the lookout posted on the other side of the tunnel, the train was on its way.

“Right on time,” she muttered. “Let’s hear it for machine punctuality.”

She texted a one-word message back to the lookout: HK?

NEGATIVE, the lookout replied.

Molly permitted herself a slight smile.
Thank you, fly-boy.
It sounded like Geir had come through for them on his end of the operation. She pinned an imaginary medal on him.
You pull this off, maybe I won’t laugh at you the next time you propose.

She wouldn’t say “yes,” mind you. She just wouldn’t laugh.

“All right, folks!” she barked. “Train’s coming.” She gestured toward the shadowy woods. “Move your butts!”

They scrambled up from the beach into the hills overlooking the canyon, putting plenty of distance between themselves and the sabotaged bridge.

“Hurry!” A quavery voice called out to them from further up the slope. Doc Rathbone’s grizzled head popped up from behind a fallen tree trunk. A voluminous Goretex parka, patched in several places with silver duct tape, had practically swallowed his emaciated frame. He beckoned to them anxiously. “Don’t let them see you! Or you’re going to get us all terminated!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” She didn’t often bring the crazy old coot into the field with them, but she figured they’d need Doc’s computer expertise to crack into whatever vaults held the uranium ore. Molly, Tammi, Sitka, and Jensen joined him behind the snow-covered log. They dropped to their bellies, keeping low and out of sight.

Tracks rattled inside the mountain tunnel. They could hear the train in the distance.

“Listen to that,” Rathbone whispered. He shuddered at the sound. “You know, there was a time when I thought trains were the only way to travel. The romance of the rail. The iron horse. I remember this lovely rail excursion I took from London to Bath once. Lush green scenery racing past my window while I enjoyed a good book. Met this delightful English couple in the cafe car....”

Sitka sighed irritably. “Off we go again.”

Molly tuned them out. Last she’d heard, London was a radioactive graveyard, Bath was a Skynet manufacturing hub.

She fondled the detonator in her grip.

A swarm of Aerostats came flying out of the tunnel ahead of the train, their glowing red eyes a clear indication of their presence. With the HK off chasing after Geir, they had been left to watch over the vital ore shipment on their own. Molly counted at least four airborne surveillance drones. They darted in and out of the trestles that were supporting the tracks, on the lookout for sabotage. Molly prayed that none of her people were stupid enough or angry enough to take a pot shot at one of the machines. She held her breath as an Aerostat buzzed suspiciously above the rotting bear carcass. If the machine figured out that there was dynamite inside the gamy meat and fur, the whole operation was kaput. The uranium train would reverse course, giving the bridge a wide berth until Skynet could arrange to have it stripped clean of explosives.

Not that Molly would give the machines a chance to do so. In a pinch, she’d settle for blowing up just the bridge, then running like mad. That would disrupt Skynet’s supply lines for a while, at least, but
damn,
she really wanted to bring down that big-ass train, too. And carry off some precious uranium.

They just needed to fool the Aerostats.

Nothing to see,
she mentally lied to the hovering surveillance drone.
Just a decomposing grizzly. Nothing to worry about. Move along.

The Aerostat scanned the carcass with its laser, checking for life-signs, but the dead bear was as cold and unresponsive as the frost-covered concrete pier against which it slumped. Nothing about it registered as a threat.

The machine buzzed away, joining its fellow watchdogs above the bridge.

Yes!

The glazed white C-4 bundles went undetected as well. Molly grinned approvingly at Tammi, who merely nodded grimly in reply. The vengeful widow glared at the bridge. Waiting.

But not for long. Like a sleek gray bullet with glowing red eyes, the Skynet Express came whooshing out of the tunnel and onto the bridge. The train was just as ugly as Molly remembered. The vicious skewers at its prow demonstrated its implacable determination not to stop for anything that might cross its path, human or otherwise. Blue-hot sparks sprayed out from beneath it as it rattled over the tracks. A clamorous din echoed across the gorge.

“Do it!” Sitka nudged Molly with her elbow. “Bang time!”

“Not yet.” Her finger poised above the detonator button, she waited until the train was almost halfway across the bridge. Her jaw set in determination. Her dark eyes flashed.

This is for Roger, you bastards. And everybody else.

She pushed the button.

Synchronized charges went off all at once. Plastic explosives demolished carefully selected wooden struts. The dynamite ignited, blowing the dead bear to pieces and shattering the concrete pier at the bridge’s foundations. The entire structure of the trestle collapsed like a house of cards.

Steel rails twisted and snapped. The tracks and deck caved in beneath the train, sending it plunging headfirst into the river 300-feet below. Trailing the rest of its cars behind it, the engine crashed down onto a heap of splintered timbers and mangled steel, crushing everything beneath its weight. White water was hurled into the air, along with a billowing cloud of dust and debris. Dislodged ice floes collided into each other before being carried away over the rapids. The smell of nitroglycerine and chemical explosives polluted the air.

The noise was deafening. Molly wasn’t sure what had been louder, the explosions or the crash.

The latter, probably.

“Skookum!” Sitka enthused, jumping to her feet. “You see that?
Boom!”

Molly gave Tammi and Doc a thumbs-up. “Good job, you two.”

The haze blew away, revealing the spectacular results of their handiwork, eerily visible in the light from the aurora borealis. The train lay crumpled across the river, its rear cars piled atop the front ones like a broken steel accordion. Cut off from the electrified third rail, iron wheels spun uselessly before slowing to a stop. The force of the crash had dented and torn open the armored sides of the train. Ragged gashes showed as gaping shadows, and offered entry to some of the cars. The spiked cow-catcher had snapped off.