Terminator 3: Hunt

Then the world rocked. He found himself thrown up toward the ceiling. His surroundings became a confusing, spinning mass of fire and darkness, masonry and dust, and one glimpse of the T-X’s face registering a faint expression of surprise. Then new diagnostic boxes proclaiming more failures in his systems popped up, obscuring his view of reality.
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Kyla, staring out the van’s rear windows, saw the San Diego Naval Medical Center erupt as if it were happening in slow motion.
	First the darkened windows of the lower floor blew out, their opaque coverings shattered or wrenched free by the fiery explosion behind them. The windows of the upper floors went in sequence as the first-floor walls buckled outward.
	The building arched its back like a startled cat and more fire emerged there, and suddenly brilliance covered the building, making it impossible to make out details. She closed her eyes against the blinding light and heard Ginger whine.
	She was thrown against the seat in front of her as Ten braked. He had to be slowing down to make a loss of control less catastrophic when the shock wave hit them—
	And it did. The van rocked as though a giant had seized it to play with it, and the roar that filled Kyla’s ears could be the outraged howl of an enormous creature. The van’s rear end slewed to the driver’s left. Kyla felt Ten turn into the skid, regain control, and immediately correct course to their original direction of travel.
	Then the impacts began. Kyla had been in speeding vehicles that were being shot at. This was much like that, but the impacts were duller, heavier, as debris from the medical center began to rain on them. There was one almighty bang that caused the entire van to shudder, and then the worst was past. There were only a few more impacts, all smaller.
	Kyla opened her eyes again. Behind them, in the distance, a mushroom-shaped cloud—oranges and yellows limning blackness—rose into the night sky from the shattered ruins of the medical center, and all around the wreckage was a sea of burning debris.
	Above Kyla’s head, the van ceiling was dented in a good five inches. Absently, she stroked her dogs to soothe them.
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Two hours later, Ten and Earl returned for shift change, and with them they brought Glitch.
	The T-850 was in poor shape. The right half of his head was scorched, the metal skull beneath it revealed, his eye dull, nonfunctional. His left arm hung limp and his left leg dragged. He had no weapons left.
	But he was partially functional and was repairable. To Mark, that constituted another victory.