Doing a little sci-fi writing again. This time I'm doing bits and pieces of a Terminator-based story, set several years after Terminator Salvation. Do comment on my work. Thanks. =)
PROLOGUE
Captain Matthew Deckard cursed the blasted machines as he reloaded his rifle behind a wall, laser beams flying non-stop over his head. Slamming the fresh magazine home, he cocked his weapon and offered a small prayer to God in his heart. The one thing he doesn't want to happen would be his men bringing him back to HQ in a body bag.
He stood out from cover and fired a burst of 5.56 bullets into the nearest T-800's head. The ominous cyborg skeleton stopped firing its T-65C Laser Rifle, its head rearing to face the Captain, red eyes burning bright in the night. Matthew's bullets pinged off its head harmlessly, and the T-800 brought its weapon to bear. But a split second before it could do so, the Captain armed his underslung grenade launcher and fired it at the hulking exoskeleton.
The 20mm grenade detonated with a loud thud, lifting the T-800 off its feet and crashed down in a pile of debris behind it. Matthew seized this chance and vaulted over the wall, dodging laser blasts that seemed to be directed at him, and ran over to the fallen machine. He saw it pulling itself up, trying to get its bearings, and without a moment to waste he loaded another grenade into his launcher and fired it almost immediately at the Terminator's face.
Another explosion, and the T-800 smashed into the pile of junk again. The Captain slid over to the machine, an unpinned frag grenade in his hand, and placed it on the T-800's neck. He made a quick leap away from the thing, seconds before the grenade blew up and blew its head into millions of pieces. Metal pieces flew all over the place, some of it raining down on him. He cursed again, but he cursed out of the joy he got from blowing that motherfucker up.
He quickly unloaded his current clip, just as another T-800 smashed through the concrete block in front of him. As it saw Matthew lying prone on the ground, it raised its ominous weapon at the Captain. This time Matthew cursed his bad luck.
Just as the machine was about to press the trigger, an RPG slammed into its head and detonated violently, forcing him to cover his head as metal fragments scattered all over the immediate area. As the smoke cleared, he saw the T-800 was missing its head - split wires sparking from the stump of its neck. Slowly it collapsed to the ground with a noisy smash, the gun falling out from its hand. The Captain cursed again and thanked God he was still alive. Damn, it felt good to stay alive.
The sounds of battle were beginning to die down. He heard a few more explosions, before he heard footsteps approaching, and in a couple of moments Private Sergei appeared before him, a smoking RPG launcher in his grip. The soldier was grinning from ear to ear.
"Guess you owe me a beer, sir," he said unapologetically.
Matthew returned the smile and shook his head. "That I do, Private," he replied, giving the trooper a light punch in the shoulder.
His earpiece began to crackle. Looks like someone was trying to reach him. The damn static was making it hard to hear who it was. He adjusted the frequency here and there before he finally got the reception.
"....hew, come in Captain," he heard the gruff voice in his ear. No doubt it was Lieutenant Kade informing him the other bots have been dealt with.
"This is Captain Matthew," he said into the mouthpiece, as he stood up and loaded a new clip into his weapon. The Private holstered his launcher behind him and took up his Uzi hanging from his belt. "Report."
"All hostiles neutralized, sir," the Lieutenant replied curtly. "Area is secured."
He nodded to himself. "Good," he replied, surveying the scene around him.
It was a mess. Everywhere around him was nothing but debris. The blackened shells of cars all around, pieces of rubble lying on the ground, dirt all over - sometimes he wondered what exactly he was fighting for when there's nothing left to be claimed. The machines were to blame for all this.
But then again...
"And we have some unexpected company, sir," the Lieutenant's voice crackled through the earpiece.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. Could it be more bad news? He sure hoped not.
"What, Collective?" he asked.
There was a moment of silence over the comms. Then, "Resistance, sir."
This was surprising. Apart from Unit 13, there weren't any other Resistance forces defending the area. Could they be runners? Well, if they were then that would be good news. They'd probably have some intel or some shit to give.
"Alright, I'm coming over," he answered.
"We're over at Road 7, sir," came the Lieutenant's reply before he logged off.
He gripped his weapon tightly before he signalled Sergei to move on. They made a quick jog through the battlefield, passing by a few T-800 corpses here and there. Matthew noted how many of them had their heads blown clean off, thanks to the generous use of high explosive weapons. All of which, of course, were extensively modified to give the necessary kick to knock their armored heads off their torsos.
The T-800s were mean sons-of-bitches, and Skynet knew what it was doing when it chose this specific model to be the mainstay of its armies. They were fucking hard to kill no thanks to the implementation of a tough composite alloy Skynet had developed, plus the fact they possessed the strength to bash through almost any substance with their bare hands. And add to the fact they used highly accurate laser rifles to nail any unlucky bloke who happens to be in their optics.
But thankfully, the T-800s are not invincible as they were believed to be.
As they cam closer to Road 7, Matthew suddenly saw the three dead Resistance troopers over by some sandbags. He ordered Sergei to stop moving before he walked over to the fallen men, the Private following close behind, eyes trained on the surroundings in case of an Aerostat. The Captain knelt down before one of the dead men, and gingerly took the man's dog tag in his right hand. He looked closely at it and the name inscribed on the tag: Devlan Anders.
Matthew sighed. Devlan was his squad's lean mean fighting machine. He'd always have his SAW prepped and ready just in case an encounter would happen. And whenever he was in the fight, he'd never fail to make a clear point that the humans aren't just walking meat. And now here he lay.
Still, him and his buddies must have gone down in a good fight. Matthew scrathced his nose for awhile, thinking of how Devlan must have felt moments before he died. Well, he wouldn't know.
Sergei was silently offering a prayer to God for the three, while Matthew collected the dog tags from the other two. Carran Lee and Michael Richmond.
God, how many more people have to die before they can get back to the life they once knew? When will Skynet finally admit defeat? The Captain wonders if he'll ever find the answers to those questions.
They set off after retrieving the dog tags, and in a minute or two they finally met up with the rest of the squad. Lieutenant Kade was speaking with one of the medics before he spotted the Captain approach. He quickly made his way to his CO and saluted.
"How many wounded, Kade?"
He shrugged. "Just Daniel," he nonchalantly replied, as they walked along to the temporary triage centre Kade's men had set up. "Grazed in the leg, but he'll be fine."
Matthew nodded. He noticed two men to his left, smoking cigs while they sat close to a campfire, and realized they weren't part of his squad.
Kade noticed the Captain look at the troopers. "They're not part of us," he responded. "Come from Unit 18 up north, they said."
He frowned upon hearing that. What are troopers all the way from San Francisco doing here in Los Angeles? He might have to question them later.
"How many of them?" he decided to ask.
"Nineteen of them. One's dying."
"I see." A dying man is always a grim situation. "No chance we can save him?"
Kade shook his head sadly. "Doc Carlos did what he could," he said, eyes low.
They reached Carlos Maguire, the squad physician, who was already packing up his gear with the help of his orderlies and one of Kade's men. He saw the Captain and gave a partial salute, still focused on the task at hand.
"How is he?" the Captain asked the doctor. Carlos looked up at Matthew for awhile, and then sighed.
"He's gone," came his reply, lined with disappointment.
"You did your best, doc," Matthew reassured him, patting the medic on the back. Carlos smiled sadly and nodded.
"He's over there, being watched over by his friend," Carlos added, pointing to the makeshift ward behind him with his thumb. Matthew thanked him and walked to the ward, Kade following behind. He pushed the tent flaps aside and stepped in, greeted with the smell of medicine and blood. On the foldable bed lay the soldier, now dead, while his friend sat on a stool next to him, silently gazing at the corpse like a statue.
Matthew coughed lightly, and it woke the visitor from his reverie. He stood up in surprise, before he realized he was in the company of a Captain.
"Sir," he managed to say, before he made a prompt salute.
Matthew nodded. "At ease," he told the man, eyeing him closely. For some reason, this young fella had a very familiar looking face. Like he'd seen this guy before, maybe even met him.
"Have we met before?" he decided to venture.
The soldier looked at him a little quizzically. "I-I'm sorry?" he responded with a confused look.
Matthew shook his head. "Never mind the question."
The soldier went "Oh" and nodded. There was a moment of silence.
Matthew looked at the dead man for a brief moment. "You know him?" he asked.
The soldier looked back at his dead comrade. "Not quite, sir," he replied, a little shakily. "But he saved my life."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son."
The young man sighed, looking down on the floor. "I don't understand why he did that for."
"It's only fitting that every man fights for each other's safety," Matthew replied as he walked over to the bed, his eyes still on the newcomer. "Instincts tell us it's only right that we protect one another from harm, even if it means putting our life on the line."
The soldier shook his head. "I've made lots of risks for other people, but it always seems like... they are the ones who fall. Not me."
Matthew could tell this was a very demoralized man. He couldn't really do much to help him, though. What he needs is an expert on these things. Maybe that would help him.
"Which unit are you from, son?" he decided to ask, changing the topic.
"Unit 4, sir," came his reply.
Matthew stopped pacing when he heard the name. Unit 4? That can't be right, he thought. All that remains of Unit 4 has been evenly assimilated into the other Resistance Units in North America. Much of it was annihilated in the failed assault on Skynet's Detroit Foundries. And it was from that course of action that the Collective was formed and split from the Resistance.
He felt something was amiss. He probably knew Kade realized that as well.
"Unit 4 is long gone, soldier," Matthew said to the man, his hand very slowly reaching towards his holstered pistol. "They were destroyed utterly, and the survivors were transfered to other units in the region."
The young man nodded. "I know that, sir," he replied, not at all surprised. "My father was leading the unit, and he was the one to blame. The one who actually killed the unit. The one who split the Resistance apart."
Here he sighed solemnly. "The blood of thousands of men, either dead, wounded or emotionally scarred, was on his hands." He raised his own hands and gazed at them. "But," he then added, with a tone of sadness, "why must I shoulder his failures as well?"
Mathew couldn't tell if his ears were playing tricks. But could it be...?
"What's your name, son?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
The soldier's hands dropped onto his knees. He then looked up and into the Captain's eyes. It was only then Matthew saw the resemblance.
"My name is John Connor, sir."
