Terminator Salvation: Cold War

first.”

“I disagree, Mr. Ivanov.” Losenko’s racing heart began to slow. “We need to surface immediately for repairs.” Multiple damage reports, from all over the ship, were already competing for his attention; he counted on his crew to respond to the most urgent leaks immediately. “Besides, I wish to make the acquaintance of our new allies.” Ignoring Ivanov’s scandalized expression, he addressed Communications. “Radio the Americans. Tell them to expect us.”

Was there truly a Resistance? Losenko could not wait to find out.

A spreading oil slick was all that remained of the Smetlivy. Frantz and his crew of turncoats had gone to a watery grave, along with whatever foul machine had been holding their leash. Losenko did not mourn them. The cowards had made their choice—and suffered the consequences. Better that the destroyer plunge to the bottom of the sea, than that K-115 suffer such a fate. Losenko knew he and his crew were lucky to be alive.

If one of those depth charges had hit before we got our torpedoes off...

Frantz had claimed one victory before his demise, however. The smoking remains of an Apache attack helicopter floated atop the ocean, a victim of the destroyer’s guns. A second chopper hovered in the sky above the wreckage, keeping watch over the downed aircraft’s pilot, who had apparently bailed out just in time. Floating bodies suggested that not all of the Apache’s crew had been so lucky.

The Gorshkov rolled atop the choppy surface of the Bering Sea, its scarred deck a steel beach rising above the waves. Preliminary reports had found significant damage to the outer hull near the stern, but all major flooding had been contained. Alas, four enlisted men had been killed by an exploding bulkhead in the turbine room, and six more men had been severely burned by a fire in the galley. Thankfully, however, the nuclear reactor remained on-line and there was no trace of radiation leakage. As badly as they had been hurt, the outcome of the battle could have been much worse.

Too bad we cannot return to Murmansk for repairs!

Losenko watched from the hatch atop the sail as his men, grateful for a chance to breath a little fresh air, labored to fish the American pilot from the sea. He was somewhat surprised to see that the pilot appeared to be a woman. Her bright orange life-vest helped her stand out against the deep blue waves as she swam toward the waiting submarine. The Russian sailors wore life jackets as well, just in case they fell overboard during the hazardous operation. Chief Komarov supervised the rescue team as they tossed a rope out. Thankfully, the sea was calm enough to permit such a rescue.

“I’m not sure this is wise, Captain,” Ivanov said in a low voice. Standing beside Losenko on the bridge, the XO kept a close eye on the chopper hovering nearby. An adhesive bandage was stuck to his forehead. “We are very vulnerable here.”

“A calculated risk,” the captain conceded. “But if that ‘copter wished to attack us, it would have done so already.”

He turned his binoculars from the rescue operation to the aircraft in question. Even in the dimming light, he was struck by the piecemeal appearance of the Apache, which appeared to have been cobbled together from parts of several different aircraft. Its weathered paint job was a patchwork quilt of varied camouflage patterns. An olive- green door clashed with the sandy brown hue of the surrounding panels. Crude graffiti, slapped all over its fins and fuselage, hardly reflected the professionalism of the old U.S. military. A skull-and-crossbones emblem, with neon- red eyes, screamed pirate more than soldier. “Skynet SUCKS!” was spray-painted in English upon the landing skids.

The junkyard look of the chopper, along with its vulgar bravado, spoke volumes about the Resistance.

“We cannot cruise forever without allies, Alexei.” Losenko lowered his binoculars. “You saw how the men reacted when they thought we had met up with our comrades-in-arms. For the first time in months, they had hope.” He nodded at the Resistance chopper. “Think of this as a leap of faith.”

Ivanov threw his own words back at him.

“I thought you told the traitor, Frantz, that trust was in short supply these days?”

“The pilots in those aircraft did not lie to us,” Losenko reminded him. “And they came to our defense when we were in peril. If not for the providential arrival of the American aircraft, K-115 might be resting on the ocean floor now, its hull fatally breached. That alone warrants further investigation.”

The XO grunted dubiously.

“If you say so, Captain.” He glared at the Apache, no doubt thinking of the American missiles that had incinerated his family. “But remember what they say about wolves in sheep’s clothing. I, for one, intend to stay on my guard.”

“I expect nothing less, Mr. Ivanov.”

Down on the deck, Chief Kamarov and his men succeeded in hauling the Yankee pilot out of the sea. Losenko descended to meet her, followed closely by Ivanov. The suspicious starpom kept one hand on the grip of his sidearm. A cold spray pelted their faces. White water lapped against the exposed sides of the hull. After months of cruising smoothly beneath the surface, the shifting deck felt uncomfortably wobbly beneath Losenko’s feet. His sea legs were rusty.

“No rash moves,” he warned Ivanov. “This woman is our guest until I say otherwise.”

A heavy wool blanket had been thrown over the shivering pilot’s soaked flight suit. She stood unsteadily upon the rocking deck. Watchful seamen flanked her, holding onto her arms to keep her both upright and under control. Water dripped from buzz-cut brown hair. A black eye and swollen lip testified to a rough landing. Silver dog tags hung on a chain around her neck. Losenko put her age in the mid-twenties. She appeared to be of Latino descent. Her lips were blue.

“P-pryvet!” the Yankee greeted them in atrocious Russian. “You the skipper of this boat?” Her teeth chattered. “H-hope your English is better than my R-Russian.”

“I speak English,” Losenko replied. “Captain Dmitri Losenko, at your service. We are grateful for your assistance against our foe.”

“Hell, thanks for p-plucking me from the drink. I was starting to feel like an ice cube in a cold soda. Talk about a brain freeze!” She pulled away from her guardians and enthusiastically took the captain’s hand in an icy grip. “Corporal Luz Ortega. Pleased to meet you.”

Ivanov’s dark eyes narrowed. “You are U.S. Air Force?”

“Used to be,” Ortega said. She shrugged off the blanket to expose a bright red armband tied around her sleeve. She nodded proudly at it. “Resistance now.”

The Resistance! Losenko experienced a surge of excitement. Perhaps there was still a chance of reclaiming the planet from the machines.

Ortega offered her hand to Ivanov, as well. The XO ignored it, preferring to interrogate the pilot instead.

“How did you come to find us?”

“Weren’t looking for you,” Ortega admitted. She withdrew her hand. “We were hunting that shipload of metal-loving collaborators instead. Picked up your radio transmissions. Couldn’t quite make out all the Russian, but got the gist of it. Sounded like you were in trouble. Figured we’d lend you a hand.” She tugged the blanket back over her shoulders. “You know what they say. ‘The enemy of my enemy,’ etc. Besides, we’d been looking for a chance to engage that battleship. You folks were a good distraction.”

She glanced ruefully at the bodies in the water.

“It cost us, though. But that’s war. The enemy lost more than we did. That’s the important thing, right?”

Ivanov remained skeptical. The deaths of the other Americans meant nothing to him.

“Those communications were encrypted. How could you eavesdrop on them?”

Ortega chortled.

“Hell, Boris, we cracked your encryption moons ago. Some of your old comrades hooked up with us a while back, shared everything they knew. This is a united effort, you know. All us flesh-and-blood types against the metal.”

“A united effort,” Ivanov repeated doubtfully. He sounded sickened by the very idea. “You and our own people?”

Ortega didn’t back down.

“That’s what I’m saying, Boris. You got a problem with that?”