John stood atop a four-storey office building overlooking the hospital grounds of Century Work Camp; one of the closest structures to the camp, it was still roughly intact barring the shattered windows and blown-out doors. The blast wave from the bombs had weakened by the time it had hit this part of the city; it hadn't been able to level buildings like closer to Ground Zero, or cause any serious structural damage, but eventually they'd crumble and fail; either through sheer neglect or as victim to the fighting that would ensue in the coming years.
John got down and lay prone on the roof – partly to avoid being seen by any machines and also to save some energy; he knew he hadn't fully recovered but he had to do this. He held his C8 tight with the butt snugly pressed against his shoulder and stared through the optical sight down into the work camp. He saw a mass of people milling round in the condemned section of the camp, which to John looked like it had expanded somewhat.
"Does it look bigger to you?" John asked Cameron, laid prone next to him and staring with her naked eyes into the camp grounds. She compared the dimensions of the camp to what she'd observed before with Courtney and again with Martin Bedell, and saw that John was right. The northern perimeter fence – the one closest to them – was forty-nine metres further out than it had been last time.
"They're expanding the work camp." She knew what would happen to the camp if it was allowed to continue: the perimeter would expand initially, then more gas chambers would be built to increase the numbers of humans killed each day and improve efficiency in the camp. When George's infiltrators deployed the new machines they'd likely install a computer core into the security systems and allow Skynet to take control of the camp. The AI would recognise the efficiency of orderly disposal and would eventually establish similar work camps at locations all over the world and exterminating the remaining humans in the hundreds of millions.
"Can you see Byrne?" John asked her. He couldn't make out individual faces in the condemned section of the camp, just saw the bodies; great if he wanted to shoot someone but not enough to make a positive ID.
Cameron rapidly scanned every individual in the larger half of the work camp and came up with no matches. It was four days since she'd met him; it was likely he'd been killed and his body burnt, but she knew John wouldn't want to hear that. She scanned the worker's section – to eliminate it from any possibilities – and was surprised when she saw him. A tall, dark-haired man in tattered DPM fatigues. That was the same man who'd told her John was in the hospital. He was pushing an empty cart towards the gas chamber.
"I see him," Cameron said. She saw a circular bulge in his pocket and surmised he still had one of the two grenades she'd given him. "He's alive." She was also surprised that he was back in the workers' section after being assigned for disposal.
John nodded and smiled. "Good." He hefted a small pack in his hands; it felt heavy but then knowing what he'd put into it, that was a good thing. "It's all in there?" he asked Cameron.
"Four blocks of C4, a detonator, a disassembled M4 carbine, four thirty-round magazines, and a note." John had written a note and slipped it into the bundle, instructing Byrne to turn the radio on at exactly ten minutes past midnight, after the camp had shut down until morning. "Why him?" Cameron asked.
"He's an explosives expert," John explained. "He showed me how to make the bombs we planted. How to give them a bigger bang, where to bury them, and how to set them off, blow the fence up, or the gas chamber, or just to keep the machines' attention elsewhere."
Cameron nodded and took the bag from John as she got up to her feet. She felt the weight of the bag, estimated Byrne's distance from her, and wind speed and direction, and calculated the exact force she needed. She pulled back her arm and threw the small, tightly wrapped bundle into the air, lobbing it in a high arc as it soared over the perimeter fence. She watched as it rose and then fell into the camp, and landed with a soft thud one metre away from Byrne.
"He has it," Cameron said.
"Did you ever think about the NFL if we'd managed to stop all this?" John grinned at her. "Arm like that you'd have made a hell of a quarterback."
"They wouldn't let cyborgs play," Cameron replied.
"Shame," John said as he got up and turned towards the fire exit they'd kept propped open, "could've been rich. Let's get back down to the others."
They made their way down the stairs of the abandoned building, every step echoing so loudly John was sure it would attract the machines to them. They quickly left the office block and moved down two blocks towards the semi truck on the highway turning where they'd left Bedell and the others. All the soldiers -4th Infantry and Marines – were now armed to the teeth. Magazines were slotted into rifles, grenade launchers loaded, and ammunition belts wrapped around machine guns as the mixed platoon readied themselves to take on Century Work Camp.
John marched past them, nodding to them all as he made his way towards the broken trailer. Inside Charley was preparing his medical pack, readying himself to help any casualties. Bedell was arguing with him as John entered but the pair of them shut up the moment they saw him enter.
"What's going on?" John asked, looking to Charley and back again at Bedell.
"He wants to help," Charley replied. "John, tell him he's gotta stay here; he won't listen to me."
"We got any sniper rifles?" John asked, looking down at Bedell. "Cameron said you're pretty good with them."
"One of the Marines has an AS-50," Bedell replied. "I saw it earlier."
John tightened his jaw as he contemplated his decision, then turned to Cameron. "How many machines do you think there are?" he asked her. They'd seen thirty T-70s but that didn't mean there weren't more inside.
"Possibly forty, plus the T-2s, Greys and infiltrators."
"Don't forget the HKs," Bedell added. "You need everyone you can get."
"Charley, go get that rifle and bring it here." Charley stared at John as he openly defied all sense in letting Bedell be a part of the operation, but he knew he couldn't talk him out of it. "You stay here," John told him sternly, "and give fire support. Any more heroics and I'll tell Ellison to shoot you." Ellison would never do such a thing to his fellow man, but Bedell didn't know that. John really was glad Bedell was alive and later on he'd thank him for helping Cameron to rescue him, but he had to make sure Martin wasn't going to get himself killed for him – again.
Derek, Davenport and Ellison entered the trailer – now their impromptu HQ while they were in position and awaiting the attack. John nodded in satisfaction; everyone who mattered to him – as well as the most important people under his command – was all here.
"What's the plan?" Derek asked John.
"Said something about infiltration?" Davenport added, hoping John was about to elaborate on it.
"We're going to fly into the camp and attack it from the inside," John said. "Me, Cameron, you two," John pointed to Derek and Davenport. "And a squad – Marines and our guys – fly in. Ellison, you're in charge of fire support; take out the T-2s and as many other tin cans as you can at the same time we hit. We'll spread out and take out all the machines. When that's done I want the fire support guys in to lead all the prisoners back to Santa Monica Beach. Nimitz is gonna have boats and helicopters waiting to take us all on board.
"When the machines are down everyone in the camp will split up and attack the hospital. Cameron, me, and a team will fly onto the hospital roof and fight our way down; the rest of you fight up: take them from two directions at once. Any questions?"
"Just the one," Charley said. "What exactly are you going to fly into the camp on?"
"You'll see," John replied. "I need a volunteer; someone fast and loud."
Silence descended inside the trailer as all eyes fell on Davenport.
The lights of the camp shut off and descended the camp into darkness, on schedule as always. All the prisoners dropped their work and hurriedly moved en masse towards the living area. All but one. Byrne reached into his cart and pulled the bundle that had fallen out of the sky, stuffed it under his filthy DPM jacket, hugged it tightly to his body and tried to flatten it against himself as he moved to the small dark space between the accommodation building and the fence that bisected the camp. He ignored the condemned prisoners on the other side as they slept, sat, or in some cases wandered aimlessly within the expanded space of the compound. Byrne was surprised as hell that the machines had kept him alive. He figured they'd assumed everyone from the gunpowder plot would be dead by now, and all thoughts of escape had died with them. "All but one, cunts," he muttered as he pulled back para-cord and unfastened buckles to open the package. "All but one."
Even in the blackness of the night Byrne could make out the four small square bricks – the same size and shape as blocks of butter in the supermarket. One of the objects was a miniature torch, and Byrne switched it on, keeping his fingers over the lens so only a miniscule amount of red-filtered light got through. He quickly saw – not that he needed to be able to tell – that the blocks were C4 plastic explosives, complete with detonators, and even in the dark Byrne recognised the disassembled components of an M4A1 assault rifle. This is too bloody weird, he thought as he placed the pieces back into the bag. It would stick out like a sore thumb if he put it together now, and the machines would waste him on the spot if they saw it.
He picked up the radio and saw the note attached. A quick shine of the light revealed a note attached. Turn the radio on at exactly 00:10. Byrne didn't have a watch on him but he figured it must have been at least five or six minutes already since the camp closed down. Close enough, Byrne checked the volume on the radio was turned down low and kept the frequency the same as he switched it on.
"Hello?"
"Byrne; it's John."
"Jaysus, John; what the hell are ye doing still here?" He sighed in relief that the kid had gotten out okay, but he'd thought – no, hoped – that John would have ran and not come back. They were all fucked in the camp; their plan had failed and he'd stared to accept that he wasn't ever going to get out. The machines would be on to them scavenging so he didn't think the same trick would work twice.
"We've come to get you out," John replied. "All of you."
"Listen to me, Johhny Boy; there is no out. Tin cans fixed the hole your Cameron blew in the fence and there's twice as many of them now. It'd take a bloody army to get through this." Byrne quickly looked to his left and right to make sure nobody – human or machine – was nearby, listening in on his conversation. He was being as quiet as he could but he, John, and Slater had all assumed that the machines had better hearing than people. Was part of his training; couldn't be too careful and it never hurt to overestimate your enemy.
"Handy I brought one, then. Listen; we're taking out the camp, tonight. We're going to come out shooting, and I need you to give a distraction with the C4 I gave you; keep the machines' eyes off us for a few moments."
"Aye, I can do that." He didn't bother asking how John had managed to find anyone to attack the camp; that could wait for later. Though there was a burning question he thought he knew the answer to, but found himself having to ask. "Slater?"
The hesitation told Byrne all he needed to, even before he got an answer. "He's gone... I'm sorry."
Byrne nodded solemnly to himself. He figured as much, though that didn't make it any easier. He'd lost a lot of friends in his career and even though it was the nature of the job, and they moved on, it still stuck with him. He'd lost friends in Sierra Leone, Iraq and Afghanistan, and it never got any easier.
"I'll be ready," he replied, then put down the radio and waited.
Davenport felt his heart beating a mile a minute, going berserk inside his chest as he peeked around the corner of the building he was hiding behind and saw a pair of T-70s approaching. Crap, he moaned to himself. He was all up for a fight with the machines but not like this. He was completely unarmed, not even a pistol or a knife on him and just the clothes on his back. Connor assuring him he was better off unarmed. He hoped Connor was right; he always seemed to know what he was doing but he wasn't the one about to go up against a pair of minigun wielding machines without so much as a potato gun. He bent down and picked up a piece of brick from one of the many shattered buildings in Century City centre and hefted it in his hand.
Screw it, he thought; might as well get on with it. Davenport jumped out from the corner and faced the two machines, only ten metres away. "Hey assholes!" he shouted out at the machine as the Marines stepped out and joined him. He tomahawked the brick at one of the machines and it struck squarely in its chest, clanging loudly and dropping to the floor with a clatter but causing it no damage at all, as expected. He turned and ran as fast as he could, sprinted back behind the cover of the building and tore his way down the road. "Come get me!"
The machines ran awkwardly forward on their clunky, ungainly feet and Davenport couldn't resist looking back to see them sprinting like a pair of great, drunken giants. They clearly hadn't been built for speed but they still managed to gain on him and the two Marines as they plodded quickly forward on thick, flat metallic footpads. They'd reacted just as Connor said; not opening fire on unarmed humans close to the camp but instead deciding to capture them for orderly disposal.
Davenport ran towards half a dozen unarmed soldiers stood in the middle of the road and stopped in his tracks as he reached them and turned round to face the T-70s, raising his arms up in the air. He got down to the ground on his knees, as Connor had told him to, making himself as non-threatening as possible. The other soldiers did the same and got onto the ground in submission. The two machines stepped forward and raised their gun arms at them. Davenport stared in tense anticipation at the multi-barrelled weapons, expecting them to open up and tear him apart any moment. Instead the machines held position and stood sentinel over them.
"It's working," Davenport mumbled to them as the faint rumbling of rotor blades approached in the distance. The landing lights of an Osprey came into view and it descended slowly down onto the road. As soon as the tyres touched shattered asphalt the rear hatch opened, revealing the empty interior of the aircraft. The two machines approached them, weapons still trained on the soldiers, as they moved to shepherd the humans into the back of the aircraft.
Cameron plummeted down from above and struck one of the machines, kicking it hard and launching it into the side of a building, cracking the concrete wall as it struck and fell to the floor. The second machine turned to engage this new threat, swung its gun arm round and opened up with a volley of rounds, but Cameron had already dived forward and twisted under its line of fire. She rolled towards it and swept her feet out, kicking its legs out from under it. She spun round behind it and grabbed its head with both hand, and twisted hard. Metal ground on metal and support struts buckled and cracked as she tore its head clean from its shoulders.
She dropped the dead hulk and threw its head at the second machine as hard as she could as it stood back up, striking its face and forcing it a step backwards. She quickly shouldered her SCAR-H and fired once; the round shattered its optic sensor and penetrated straight through into the CPU, ricocheting around inside the head like an angry bee in a jar and tearing the electronics apart. The machine stood still for a long time and dropped to the ground, inert.
Cameron stood still and listened for any sign the engagement had been heard or that other machines were approaching to investigate. After ten seconds she heard nothing and decided they were reasonably clear. She pressed the com button on her radio. "It's clear," she told John.
John, Derek, and two squads of soldiers emerged from the dark recesses of several nearby ruined buildings and moved towards the Osprey. He smiled at Cameron and nodded. He wasn't worried about her; a pair of T-70s weren't a threat. Cameron taking on whatever machines they found was her idea; she'd said that a lot of gunfire would attract other machines and that was the last thing they wanted. A single shot from her and a short burst from one of the T-70s might go unnoticed amidst all the skirmishes taking place around LA, but a sustained firefight most definitely wouldn't.
"Good work," John nodded at Davenport as he handed him back his assault rifle.
"Yeah, thanks sir. Maybe next time you can be the bait?" Davenport replied.
"No," Cameron answered simply. She'd never let John put himself in danger like that, and she wouldn't risk John's capture or death again.
"We'll see," John said amicably, earning himself a stare from Cameron. He knew she didn't like it when he tried to contradict her on matters of his own safety. "Everyone on board," he gestured to the Osprey. "Next stop: Century Work Camp."
Byrne sat inside the accommodation block in stony silence, leaning up against a wall while the others slept fitfully, shivering on thin mattresses or under grimy sheets. Slow, laboured breathing and a few snores were the only sounds in the dark room. Byrne gazed around the room – his eyes accustomed to the darkness – and saw no signs that anyone was awake. He opened up his pack and attached detonators to the blocks of C4, and placed the remote in his pocket. He didn't know where John would be coming from so he decided to keep the explosives with him and choose where to place or throw them when the time came.
He pulled out all the parts for the M4 carbine and quickly assembled it with the practiced confidence of a Special Forces operator, then slotted a thirty-round magazine into place and slowly pulled back the cocking lever, charging a round as quietly as he could so the machines wouldn't hear the distinctive clack of a readying weapon. The loaded rifle in his hands felt reassuring and as he charged the weapon he felt like he was welcoming back an old friend.
"Where the hell did you get that?" one of the prisoners sat up in the darkness and stared at Byrne holding the weapon. "Got any more?"
"No," Byrne replied. He had the C4 and a hand grenade still but he didn't know any of these guys or whether any of them had ever been in the military. He wasn't going to trust explosives to just anyone. "Listen up," he spoke up slightly and prodded the people to his right and left. He waited until most of the workers had stirred and were sat upright, staring at the man with a weapon in his lap. Byrne was ready to use it if any of them tried to make a grab at him, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"We're getting out of here," he told them. "Rescue party's gonna arrive soon. When it does I want all of ye to stay inside, okay?" They didn't need a bunch of hysterical prisoners running around in the middle of a fire fight. Their earlier plan had relied on that as a distraction but in a rescue all it would do was mess things up and get people killed.
"How'd you know someone's coming?" Someone asked, scepticism dripping in their voice.
"I just do," Byrne replied. "Ye wanna live, stay in here." He heard a faint whirring of rotor blades approaching in the distance, signalling what was very likely to be John's attack party arriving now. Or so he hoped. Byrne checked his thigh pockets and felt the three spare magazines inside the right, the C4 in the left, and his breast pocket still held the grenade. "Waiting on you now, Johnny Boy."
Ellison stared through a pair of binoculars at the camp down below, immersed in darkness and only visible through the natural light gathering ability of the field glasses. The night was slowly fading, though. No longer black but a purplish twilight as the dawn approached. He couldn't say he wasn't nervous about the operation: not for himself – he was a little under half a mile from the camp itself and concealed from view – but for John, Derek, Davenport, and even Cameron, as well as the soldiers with them. John had come up with a good plan but nobody had mentioned the fact that they all expected a lot of casualties even if they succeeded. The machines were tough and accurate; they'd been lucky so far and he couldn't help but wonder when that luck would run out.
He reached under his jacket and fingered his cross – an unconscious habit that he always did when he was nervous, and then pulled the binoculars away and looked down at his watch. 05:55.
"Five minutes," he spoke in a low voice, but loud enough that the fire support team John had placed him in command of could hear him. "Everyone ready?" He was met with a chorus of ayes from the men surrounding him. Thirteen men including himself laid in wait in the neglected buildings of Century City surrounding the work camp; armed to the teeth with Javelins, Stingers, machine guns, and large calibre sniper rifles. "Mark your targets," Ellison told them all.
Martin Bedell lay on his front and grimaced against the pain in his broken legs, trying to ignore it as best he could as he held the AS-50 .50cal sniper rifle one of the Marines had brought ashore snugly to his shoulder and peered through the scope. He saw a T-1 rolling around the outside of the camp, patrolling an area just outside the Osprey landing field, where John would be landing. While it wasn't as heavily armed or armoured as its bigger brothers – the T-2s – its dual miniguns were still devastating.
"T-1 on the north fence," Bedell stated his target so nobody else would accidentally shoot it. Six of the thirteen men carried Javelin launchers, and had spent hours practicing mock firing and loading rockets until they couldn't humanly get any faster. One by one every soldier announced they each had a target, and they were ready. Bedell swung his rifle from the T-1 to a nearbyT-70, held his aim at it for two seconds, and then swung it back again. He did it back and forth repeatedly until he was confident he could swing from one to the next in less than a second. The rockets would take several seconds to load but his rifle was semiautomatic so he could fire shot after shot.
He hadn't told anyone but he'd taken a second role upon himself, in addition to general fire support; he was going to cover Connor's ass and take out any machine that got a bead on him.
He patted the ground to the left of his rifle and felt for the three extra magazines he'd placed there, making sure they were still in the same spot he'd left them, then checked his weapon once more. With all his preparations made all he could do now was wait.
Dawn broke over California and pitch blackness slowly faded into a mottled grey tinged with the barest hints of blood red as the rays of the sun tried to penetrate the thick clouds of dust that hung in the atmosphere. As black night slowly gave way to gloomy day a single aircraft flew low towards Century Work Camp. The Osprey flew slowly, the machine not in any hurry to deliver its human cargo to the concentration camp. The machine was a drone in every respect; lacking even a modicum of intelligence and making the T-70s appear smart by comparison. It simply followed its very basic programming and obeyed the commands it received: fly there, land, accept cargo, take off, fly to another destination, land, deposit said cargo. It had no consciousness at all and was fully unaware of what the cargo in its rear cabin even was.
John stood in the middle of the cabin, between the two rows of soldiers sat down on the seats. He felt nervous, to say the least. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and his head was throbbing. He was still in a fair amount of pain, too. Cameron and Charley had offered him morphine but he'd instead taken two Tylenol; the stronger painkiller would slow him down and make him sluggish, and he knew he had to be completely alert. After all he'd been through in the hospital the pain he was in now was nothing; he could ignore it for a while.
He looked left and right at the twenty-strong mixed force of 4th Infantry and Marines in front of him, all armed to the teeth. Most of them chatted to themselves but John noticed Derek and Davenport in silence, sat opposite each other by the rear hatch, having taken it upon themselves to be the first out of the aircraft and into the fray. He knew his uncle was never really the outgoing, sociable type, but he was surprised that Davenport was being so quiet.
"Okay, listen up," John called out above the roaring engines and the whirring rotor blades on the wings. He'd already briefed everyone on what they were doing, but there was something extra they needed to know. "When we take the hospital there'll be more machines inside. And something else; there's people inside, working for Skynet. And machines that look human." He gestured towards Cameron for emphasis. "Like her. They're stronger and faster than we are, and they're bulletproof. When we get inside, anyone holding a gun that's not either in uniform - or Cameron - is a cyborg. Don't hesitate; use grenade launchers first and open up with everything you have or they'll kill you in a heartbeat. Understand?"
The entire group answered as one with a resounding "yes sir!" though John wasn't sure the Marines were entirely convinced. His own 4th Infantry guys knew Cameron and had seen what she could do but the Marines only had his word on it, and although they knew he was in charge he could still see the sceptical looks on several of their faces. Still; they listened intently and soaked up what he said like a sponge. He just hoped they put it to good use.
Cameron looked out the cockpit and saw Century Work Camp getting closer as they approached. Soon she couldn't see the closest perimeter wire as they flew over it. There were three more Ospreys stood idle on the ground, offloading prisoners; half a dozen T-70s were stood guard over them. "We're here," she called out to John as she shouldered her SCAR-H. She also had an M-32 grenade launcher slung by her hip and an AA-12 shotgun over her back. When it came to protecting John no amount of weapons was sufficient. She moved into the rear cabin and joined John; she was going to stay by his side for the entire fight and ensure nothing happened to him. She stood beside him and felt his pulse raising through the slight contact between their arms. He was nervous. Cameron understood why; both in anticipation of combat and also because the work camp was a traumatic experience for him. She planned to watch him at all times in case being back in the camp affected him. She didn't think it would but it was best to be certain.
All the soldiers stood up as the Osprey slowed down to a halt and hovered in midair, then gradually descended as the rotor blades turned ninety degrees to face upwards. They all checked their weapons for the final time and John and Cameron moved to the rear hatch. Cameron kept John just behind her so any incoming fire would hit her instead; they were at their most vulnerable inside the Osprey.
John pressed his radio's com button, set to the same channel as all other sets involved in the attack so he could talk to everyone at the same time. "Everyone check in," he said.
"Ellison," the former-agent's voice crackled over the radio. "Fire support's ready when you are, Connor."
"Ready when ye are," Byrne replied.
John allowed himself a slight smile; everyone was in position and ready. With a little luck this might just work, he thought to himself. "Everyone stand by... stand by..."
The aircraft touched the ground with a gentle bump, and all the soldiers stood to; their weapons readied, safeties off, and ammunition pouches opened. Davenport stood just behind the hatch, next to Cameron. Derek and John stood behind them, and the Marines and 4th Infantry soldiers in two lines further behind. The hatch slowly started to open and descend, and to John it took an age as it slowly revealed the camp in the dim light. The rear hatch finally opened enough to reveal a trio of machines approaching them, only a few metres away. John recognised the two-handed one as it came closer to brand them all with barcodes. What it would make of his and Derek's if it saw them, he had no idea. The idea of the machine being completely confused at it brought a slight smile to John's lips. He shook the idea off; it was time. "Go!"
Half a dozen rockets streaked through the air with a tearing whoosh and tore into patrolling T-2s and T-1s, shattering armour and tearing guns off stanchions, blasting them apart with enough combined force to level a building. Six rockets hit three T-2s and shattered the antitank robots and shattered them, leaving them broken, twisted and flaming hulks.
Another two rockets tore towards the roof of the hospital and exploded in brilliant flashes in the murky dawn against the two HKs parked on the roof, shredding their engines and rendering them useless. Flaming shrapnel caught their fuel tanks and they erupted in huge twin flaming blossoms of fire; fuelled by secondary explosions as their missiles detonated seconds later. Before the fireballs had even died down tracer fire streaked towards the camp.
Davenport raised his weapon at the T-70 outside as the hatch opened and fired the grenade from his under-barrel launcher, striking the machine's face and blasting its head and upper torso apart. Everyone else – apart from Cameron - snapped their heads to the sides, ducked down and covered their faces with their hands to shield themselves from the overpressure of the exploding grenade.
The machine dropped headless to the ground and Davenport leapt out the hatch before it hit the floor and opened fire with a long burst at another T-70. John, Cameron and Derek rapidly followed suit and spread out, firing as they went.
"Move!" John screamed at his men as they poured out of the Osprey like angry hornets from a disturbed nest, firing long bursts as they emerged and spread out. By now the entire camp had turned its attention to the intruders and machines marched towards the fire fight, shooting as they approached. John saw one soldier blasted apart into a bloody mess by a hail of gunfire as they moved outward into the open, then another. "Use the Ospreys as cover!" he shouted to them as he and Cameron darted to the nearest aircraft, ducked underneath and laid down prone, firing from relative cover.
Prisoners in the camp screamed and shouted in what seemed to John like a mix of fear and elation; many cheered on the soldiers, others jumped up and down at the fence, shouting and taunting the machines guarding them. They didn't move; they didn't even attempt to engage the soldiers, leaving it to the machines on the other side of the camp. They instead stood sentinel over their prisoners, as per their mission. Stay where you are, John silently urged them. He didn't want them getting involved; they'd all be safer if they just stayed put and didn't try anything with the machines on their side.
Cameron fired a long automatic burst followed by a grenade from her SCAR-H, and two machines fell inert and shattered to the ground. Derek and Davenport were already prone underneath one of the large troop carrying aircraft and pouring fire at more T-70s, and the other soldiers rapidly found cover under and between the grounded aircraft and started to exchange rounds with the machines. John aimed and fired his Diemaco at a T-1 that approached from the hospital but his rounds simply bounced off the machine's armoured chassis and only served to catch its attention. He cursed under his breath that his weapon didn't have a grenade launcher attached, but he didn't blame Cameron for it: she'd chosen his weapon and he knew she'd have taken his weakened state and the weight of the rifle into account; the launcher would only serve to add more to what felt like an already heavy load.
"There," John pointed to the T1 as it rolled towards them and opened up with its twin miniguns; adding its potent fire to the hundreds of rounds shooting back and forth across the camp grounds and chewing into the Osprey's hull. Rounds pinged just above John's head, punched through the aircraft's fuselage and ricocheted inside its rear cabin. He just hoped that the aircraft didn't take off to avoid damage and leave them without any kind of cover. Cameron nodded in understanding, shifted her aim to the T1 and fired another grenade; the projectile slammed into its chest and blew its upper half to pieces.
"We're pinned down!" Derek screamed out, firing shot after shot at more approaching machines. He and Davenport laid prone under another Osprey and fired bursts at a T-1 engaging other soldiers. A T-70 joined in the fire fight and forced them to back away, leaving them blind and without a target. John looked around and saw almost a dozen machines closing in on them from the hospital and all around the camp, slowly encircling them.
"They're flanking us," Cameron warned John as more rounds ricocheted above his head. Any hopes of flying the Ospreys to the hospital roof were now gone; none of them would be in any shape to fly after the pounding they were taking. John saw the machines encircling the group and keeping up a tremendous rate of fire that never seemed to slow down, pinning them all in their positions. Their own rate of fire had dropped as they were forced to take cover, and he saw several DPM-clad bodies laid unnaturally still on the ground, scattered amongst the Ospreys and surrounded by spatters of crimson blood. John saw Derek and Davenport firing and ducking as a pair, targeting a T-1 with little effect; neither of them could aim properly with the insane amount of rounds the thing was hosing down on their position.
John looked to his left and saw the generator room thirty or so metres off to his left. It was a shattered ruin, blown apart by fire and the roof and tops of the walls had caved in, but it would do for now. "Cover me!" he shouted at the top of his voice to anyone who could hear him.
"What are you thinking?" Cameron asked him.
"This," John replied as he backed out from under the belly of the Osprey and jumped up to his feet. He took off and sprinted as fast as he could towards the generator room before Cameron could react or try to stop him. She got up and fired at the nearest T-70 as it turned its weapon towards him and fired off half her magazine into its head; dropping it before it had a chance to shoot him. She frowned at John, unslung her AA-12, gripped it in her free hand, and ran after him; keeping herself directly behind him to shield him as best she could. As soon as she made it into the generator room she pulled John down to the ground and glared at him, her eyes bright blue with anger.
"That was stupid," she told him, staring into his eyes.
"I know," John agreed as he grabbed her M-32 and shouldered it. Out the corner of his eye he saw Byrne emerging from the living area, rifle in hand and firing bursts at the machines and trying to draw their attention from John and Cameron's position. "I like stupid," he growled as he shouldered the weapon and stared down the barrel at the machines advancing on the soldiers underneath the Osprey. "'Stupid's' the last thing the machines expect." He got to his feet and fired off all six grenades in rapid succession. As he ducked down explosions rocked the machines firing on Derek and the others, and threw up dirt and twisted, shattered metal into the air.
Cameron fired off another grenade from her SCAR-H a split second after John's hits and blew a T-1's head clean off, then hosed down a pair of T-70s with armour piercing explosive rounds from the shotgun, punching through their protective plating with ease and shredding the delicate systems inside. She was angry that he'd been so reckless but as she scanned the area she realised exactly what he'd done – the same as their first fire fight outside Cheyenne Mountain on Judgement Day; outflanked the machines before they did the same. It had worked; they'd destroyed seven machines with their salvo and the remaining drones' rate of fire had dwindled significantly. She watched as Derek and Davenport burst from their hiding spot and concentrated their fire on the T-1 that had harassed them as it turned its attention to John and her.
"Nice work," Johnny Boy!" Byrne shouted as he fired a long burst into the back of a T-70; the rounds pinged off the armour and did no damage at all, and he ducked back inside the living space as the machine returned fire and shredded the walls of their accommodation. "Stay down!" he shouted at the prisoners inside; though most were laid flat on the ground with their hands over their ears. They were clearly shitting themselves as the structure around them was Swiss-cheesed. Byrne pulled out one of the C4 blocks from his pocket and grinned. The T-70 could shrug off 5.56mm fire unless it was a face shot. "Lets see ye shrug this off," he muttered. He ran out of the door and lobbed the block as hard as he could at the machine, and dived to the ground as its rounds tore over his head. A split second later and he knew he'd be dead.
He looked up as John fired more shots at the offending machine to take its attention from Byrne, and the SAS veteran looked up to see the C4 block on the ground just in front of it. He gripped the remote detonator in his hand and pressed the single button on top. The C4 exploded outwards and consumed the machine; the force of the blast threw what was left of the T-70 several feet backwards.
John waved in thanks to Byrne and dropped the empty grenade gun, shouldering his Diemaco once more and firing stead single shots, targeting their faces as probably the only weak point his rounds could penetrate. Cameron's combined 7.62mm and FRAG-12 rounds fired with deadly accuracy, however, felled one machine after another. There was no doubt in John's mind that without her this fight would have been ten times harder.
More rockets shot out from the fire support team and ploughed into more machines. A T-70 fell apart when a Javelin struck it in the chest, and a T-1's head exploded in a shower of armour plating and plastic, wire and silicone as a .50cal round struck. Somewhere in the distance, Bedell smirked and cocked his smoking weapon.
"Derek, Davenport, move to the living area," John ordered on his radio. He'd demolished the machines' flanking manouevre and most of the machines were now destroyed; those that weren't were under heavy fire from his soldiers as they found a second wind in the fight. Now they needed to press their advantage and break out before any more reinforcements arrived. "I need a squad to me," he said to everyone else. Moments later six more men ran from the backs of the Ospreys and towards his position. The machine's fire had died down considerably and John could see the rocket, grenade and tracer fire from Ellison's fire support team hammer away at robots both inside the camp and out.
As the squad approached him a burst of automatic fire tore through the last man of the group and he fell to the ground in a shredded, bloody mess.
"Sniper on the roof," Cameron warned John, keeping him low to the ground. She pointed her rifle up at he hospital roof as the remaining five soldiers reached them, took position and fired at the machines, covering Derek, Davenport, and another squad as they broke from their cover and ran towards the single storey living area. She couldn't see any target; the sniper was too far back from the edge of the roof to be taken out from inside the camp.
"I got it," Bedell's voice sounded in both John's and Cameron's earpieces. Moments later a T-70 fell from the roof and smashed into the ground in a tangled mess of broken metal limbs. Cameron couldn't help but notice just inferior the T-70s were; she couldn't have survived the shot from Bedell's high calibre rifle but she could easily withstand a fall from the six storey building.
Cameron looked around the camp and scanned the battlefield. She counted thirty-six destroyed machines – many blown apart by rocket or grenade fire – then scanned for terminated humans.
"Eight soldiers are dead," Cameron reported. "Twelve of us left, plus Ellison's squad." John felt a sharp twinge of guilt at Cameron's words; they'd followed him to Century or had marched through the city to find him, and they'd all followed his lead to attack the camp. He'd brought them to Century and they were dead because of him. He shook his head and pushed the guilt aside. The work camp had to be destroyed and the prisoners freed; it was the right thing to do, regardless of how it worked out.
"We're going up top," John pointed to the black metal staircase on the outside of the hospital that led all the way up to the roof. Normally there was a machine guarding it but it had joined the battle and had been taken out, leaving it completely open. "Derek and Davenport's squad are gonna fight their way up the hospital; we're fighting our way down. Any questions?" None of them had any so John tore towards the staircase, followed by the others. He was the first to reach it but Cameron pulled him back harshly and took his place on point.
"Calm down," she told him firmly as she ascended the staircase first. She'd worried before that his experiences in the work camp could make him falter in the attack, but the opposite had proven true: John was angry; very angry, and it was making him bold and reckless. His decision to outflank the machines was right, but it shouldn't have been him who ran out like he did. He should have told her to do it instead.
"I'm in a bad mood," John explained to her as he climbed the stairs and reloaded the M-32 at the same time. He hadn't realised until Cameron pulled him back just how angry he was; he was up for a fight, he wanted blood: George's blood.
They reached the hospital roof and Cameron kicked in the fire exit door that led to the top floor, then burst inside with her rifle drawn. There was nothing inside; they were clear. John stepped inside, followed by the five soldiers behind him. "Derek, are you ready?" John asked. They needed to hit the hospital from top and bottom at the same time to make sure nobody – Infiltrators, Greys, or machines – managed to escape.
"Last of the tin cans are taken care of," Derek replied. "We're waiting at the main entrance and Ellison's sent some of his guys forward to lead the prisoners outside."
"Good," John breathed a sigh of relief. The machines were down. Nobody was going to die in this hellhole ever again. All they had to do now was clean up. "Now," John said to Derek. At the same time Cameron led them along the corridor and down a flight of stairs. John had seen all the machines and their labs on the second floor, so that was what they were aiming for. They descended another floor and cleared the corridors they passed, checking each and every room for any signs of machines. It was taking too long.
As they ran down the hallway a tall, broad-shouldered man walked into view from a crossing corridor and turned to face them. Both John and Cameron at once registered the pinkness of the skin and the total lack of any kind of hair. More pressing was the AK-74 held in its hands.
"Terminator!" John shouted out in warning as Cameron shoved him to the ground. The machine opened fire a split second later and shot one Marine through the heart and a second in the face; the back of his head exploded out onto the wall behind him and his face caved in completely, looking as if he'd been hit with a sledgehammer. Before he hit the floor the other Marines opened fire, hammering the TOK-888 with bursts of automatic that shredded its skin and revealed gleaming chrome, but otherwise didn't harm it in the slightest.
"Stay down," Cameron told John. She turned towards the machine and fired her SCAR-H, taking the Terminator's attention off of the remaining Marines for a moment. The TOK-888 swung its Klashnikov around to Cameron and fired a burst at the centre of her chest; the rounds narrowly missed hitting her jacket by centimetres. Cameron advanced on the machine; it tilted its head in confusion as its shots failed to even slow Cameron down, not knowing what she was.
That split second of confusion was all it took for Cameron to launch a flurry of punches to the machine's face and force it a step backwards. She glared at the machine as it looked back with lifeless blank eyes and she drove her knee into the AK, bending the weapon and rendering it useless. The TOK dropped the gun and smashed its head into hers, then threw Cameron against the wall and slammed her repeatedly against it, cracking the plaster and the brickwork underneath.
"Cameron, duck!" she heard John cry out and let her knees buckle; she allowed gravity to pull her to the ground as John and the remaining soldiers opened fire. 5.56 and 7.62mm rounds pelted the machine, causing it to jerk and twitch from the inertia of so many rounds hitting it at once. Cameron jumped back up to her feet and grabbed the distracted Terminator by its jacket; she threw it as hard as she could against the window, shattering the blacked out glass from the impact. The TOK-888 flew clear of the windowsill, reached out to grab it and missed, and plummeted down to the ground outside. Cameron picked up her SCAR-H, pointed it down out the window as the machine got back up to its feet, but before she could trigger her grenade launcher a shot boomed out from the other side of the road outside and one side of the machine's head exploded. Tracer fire zipped through the air and drew lines towards the Terminator, forcing back to the ground as the weight of fire knocked it off balance. A second booming shot took the top of the machine's head off and it lay still.
"That was close," one of the Marines commented. The other two looked down at their two fallen comrades on the ground.
"What do we do about Carter and Klein?" Another asked.
"Leave them," John and Cameron found themselves both replying at once. John wasn't shocked at Cameron's saying it but the reverse was definitely true for the cyborg; she hadn't expected John to simply shrug off loss of life. He'd changed during his time in the work camp.
"Davenport to Connor," the lieutenant's voice squawked loudly in John's ear. "We're bogged down in the main entrance; bastards are pouring lead into us."
"Hold on, I'll send some help." John turned to the three remaining marines. "Head back the way we came and help out the other squad at the main entrance."
"Sir?" one of the Marines looked at him curiously. "Wouldn't it be better to stay as a squad?"
"They need help," John said firmly. "Go."
Cameron handed one of the Marines herAA-12 as they left; they'd need it more than her to fight the Terminators defending the entrance. John and Cameron marched down one and checked every room on both sides of the corridor. "In here," Cameron pointed to one of the rooms. She went in first, SCAR-H raised in case of any threats inside. She stepped into the room and found no movement at all. They were clear. John followed after her and his eyes widened at the sight.
They were in a laboratory almost identical to the one he'd hidden inside when Cameron had found him. Six transparent glass tanks filled the room, with pipes running inside to supply whatever chemicals needed to develop their organic components. He stepped closer to the tanks and peered inside. These Terminators weren't as far along as the ones he'd seen; John could still see the pinkish-red muscles and the veins beneath the blood-red liquid. This one was, however, developed enough that John could tell it was a female model: it was shorter and had breasts and curved hips.
"They're not ready," Cameron stated the obvious. That didn't matter to John; his jaw clenched and unclenched and he gritted his teeth as he felt himself getting hotter with anger. These... things were the reason why Slater and who knew how many others had been farmed for blood and then been gutted until they were empty. These things meant to destroy them all from the inside and bring Skynet victory. Months of misery and pain caused by George's experiments to create a perfect infiltrator...
John raised his Diemaco to his shoulder, pointed it at the closest tank and fired a burst, shattering the glass and spilling the bloody liquid all over the floor, splashing against his and Cameron's feet. He turned to the next and fired again, holding the trigger down as he swept his barrel from one tank to the next, the loud chatter of the automatic fire filling the room at a deafening level until all six vats were shattered; their occupants stood inert and bloody like pieces of meat on display in a butcher's shop window.
Cameron looked at the machines that were supposed to be so similar to her. Without their chips they were just metal. "They're not complete; their skin will die."
"Not good enough," John spoke through gritted teeth as he slung the C8 and shouldered the M-32. Cameron strode over to him and angrily snatched the weapon out of his hands before he could fire a shot. He wasn't thinking straight; an exploding 40mm grenade inside the room would injure or even kill him. "Calm down," she told him, being firm once more. She stared levelly into his eyes and made sure he was looking at her. She pulled him close to her and wrapped her arms around him; it helped calm him down usually. She felt John's pulse start to slow and he leaned into her embrace.
He looked around the room and realised she was right; he wasn't thinking straight at all. "Sorry. I went a little bit crazy, there," he sighed as he pulled away and handed her the launcher. He mentally slapped himself for losing control like that; he could have gotten himself killed. If it was anyone else in his position – going through what he had – he could have forgiven them for going nuts a little; but not himself. He was supposed to be a leader; cool, calculated, not making mistakes like that.
"It's okay," Cameron replied. She pulled away from John and marched up to each machine and snapped their heads to the side one by one with a crunch of metal spines snapping under her strength. The machines could be repaired but it would take time; nobody would activate them today. She walked out of the room and held the door open for John, and the pair of them started down the corridor.
Cameron nodded and led the way to the elevators to get down to the floor below. She'd never been in this part of the hospital before but she knew where she was relative to where the elevator was. She led the way down more corridors and found herself surprised they hadn't encountered more resistance. Perhaps George hadn't considered they would attack from above as well as the ground floor.
They reached the elevators and realised at the same time something was wrong; the doors were open but beyond them was only the dark, empty shaft. Cameron approached the empty space to investigate. She looked down at the ground and saw nothing, then looked up above her and saw the elevator car on the next floor up. If it were just her she'd drop down the shaft to assist Derek's unit but John likely wouldn't have the physical strength to climb down the cable without falling.
"We need to find another elevator," Cameron turned around back to face John. She heard a flurry of movement above and looked up. George dropped from a missing panel in the ceiling and kicked her hard in the chest, knocking her back into the shaft and sending her falling to the bottom. He turned around to face John and his face beamed at the thought killing the soon-to-be leader of mankind with his bare hands. He strode towards his enemy, eagerly awaiting the satisfaction he'd get from snuffing John's life out, slowly and painfully, and securing victory for Skynet. He was really going to enjoy this.