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.
Binocular red sensors dimmed at both ends of the double-headed train. Molly hoped that meant it was dying, but wasn’t going to bet her life on it. Aerostats buzzed about the wreckage in alarm, infrared beams scanning the crash site from every possible angle—all for Skynet’s benefit.
Which meant the Terminators already knew about the disaster.
Good, Molly thought. She hoped the A.I. program choked on the images. Keep watching. We’re just getting started.
She didn’t see any yellowcake spilling out of the train, not even through its gouged and lacerated outer walls. Presumably, the ore was still locked up inside secure crash-proof storage containers, just as Doc had predicted. Those were going to take some effort to get at.
Exactly why I brought the old man along.
The clock was ticking. It was only a matter of time before the missing Hunter-Killer came running to check on the derailed train. They needed to move fast if they wanted to hijack any of the uranium. Molly wished again that Command could have provided additional manpower and some transports. Without the reinforcements, she knew she could only spirit away a small fraction of the train’s total haul. Her people would need to grab as much as they could manage, then blow up the rest.
For herself, she just wanted a sample she could arrange to have shipped to Ashdown, preferably gift-wrapped. Proof that her cell and her people could hit Skynet where it hurt, as hard or harder than any of the general’s military types.
Let’s show ‘em what we can do.
Sitka extracted a roman candle from her backpack, retrieved from an abandoned warehouse full of forgotten fireworks. The girl also produced a lighter from her pocket.
“Signal?”
Molly had promised her she could do the honors.
“Let ‘er rip.”
Clambering over the fallen log, the teen aimed the candle out over the valley and lit the fuse. Thankfully, it wasn’t a dud. Bright yellow fireballs shot up into the sky. The color held a message of its own.
Yellow for caution.
As planned, previously selected members of the Resistance opened fire on the train from the surrounding hills and woods, but didn’t yet show themselves. Ammo of wildly varying caliber and stopping power pinged against the crumpled machine. Molly watched to see how the train reacted, keeping her gaze on its sealed gunports. Even crippled, the Skynet Express might be able to defend itself.
Her fears were right on target. The train’s red eyes flared up again. About a third of the gunports—the ones that hadn’t been jammed or warped in the fall—slid open. Cannons thrust into view. Their muzzles flashed. Bursts of superheated plasma scorched the riverbank and the edge of the forest. Snow and ice were vaporized by the blasts. Steam fogged the bottom of the gorge.
Hah! Molly thought. I knew you were playing possum.
Boulders exploded along the fringe of the wilderness. Towering evergreens went up in flames, turning into gigantic torches that lit the scene and cast madly dancing shadows. Molly hoped all her snipers had pulled back to a safe distance, as instructed. The train seemed to be firing erratically. Perhaps the cannons’ targeting sensors and articulated mounts had been damaged in the crash.