Terminator Salvation: Cold War

“Yes, Captain.” He gestured at a chair across from him. “Please sit down.”

Losenko had a flash of deja vu, recalling his own tense encounter with Ivanov in the stateroom aboard the Gorshkov. It felt strange to have the roles reversed. It had been some time since he had reported to a superior officer.

He took the seat.

“What is this about, sir?”

Ashdown looked up from his reports. His face was grim.

“I won’t beat about the bush, Captain. I want you on my staff, as my second-in-command.”

Losenko’s jaw dropped. Of all the outcomes he had expected from the meeting, this one had never crossed his mind.

“I don’t understand, sir,” he said when he could speak again. “Why me?”

“Plenty of reasons.” Ashdown ticked them off on his fingers. “One, politics. You saw what it was like in that meeting. There are a lot of people who don’t like the fact that I won that vote. Picking somebody from the other side as my right-hand man might go a long way toward mending that rift.

“Two, you fired on your own country’s ship. Like I said before, that shows that you can make the tough calls, and that you won’t let old loyalties get in the way of defeating Skynet.

“Three, I like that you stood up to me before. Not just in the voting, but when we debated the value of civilian militias. I don’t need yes-men, Losenko. I need someone who can give me an opposing viewpoint, and let me know when I have my head up my ass.” He shook his head ruefully. “If I had listened to people like you before, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Ashdown’s arguments made sense, but Losenko still had trouble accepting that the man was serious. There was too much tragic history between them. “But... your Son....”

The general winced. “I admit it, I’m not looking forward to having you in my face every day. The last thing I want is a walking, talking reminder of what happened to my boy.”

He pulled out a battered leather wallet and flipped it open to expose a small photo of a young man in a U.S. Air Force uniform. Losenko saw the family resemblance. Remorse stabbed at his heart. Is this the general’s revenge? Losenko thought. Giving me a face to go with my guilt?

If so, it was cruelly effective.

Ashdown snapped the wallet closed.

“I might never forget what you did, Losenko, but you had the guts to tell me about it to my face. That’s the kind of nerve we’re going to need to win this war.”

Losenko didn’t know whether to be flattered or appalled. His brain struggled to catch up.

“But I have a ship....”

“You’ve got a first officer, right? Someone you can trust to take your place?”

Losenko thought of Ivanov. Hadn’t Utyosov said earlier that Alexei deserved a command of his own? He doubted that this was exactly how anyone envisioned that happening, least of all Ivanov!

“That is the case,” he conceded. “But....”

“Good,” Ashdown stated, as though the matter was settled. “Judgment Day tore the guts out of mankind’s military. We’re all going to have to step up to the plate if we want to win this thing. You and your XO are hardly the only ones who’ll be getting boosted up the chain of command, maybe faster than you would have liked.”

He thrust out his hand.

“Welcome to the Resistance, General Losenko.”

“General?” Losenko thought perhaps Ashdown had misspoken.

Ashdown looked him in the eyes.

“You heard me, Losenko. By the authority just vested in me, I hereby promote you to a general of the Resistance.” He pulled open a drawer and took out a red armband. “This is yours if you want it.”

Losenko didn’t know what to say. Then he had to brace himself.

A sudden explosion shook the building.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

2018

“Any questions?”

Molly gestured at the dry-erase board propped up on an easel beside her. Her plans for Operation Ravenwing were sketched out in marker pen upon the board.

Over a dozen Resistance veterans had squeezed into the leaky shack for this briefing. Molly had kept the details of the train heist on a need-to-know basis for as long as possible, but it was finally time to bring more of her people into the loop. Folding metal chairs and wooden benches had been dragged inside to accommodate the crowd. Reindeer sausages, smoked salmon, and boiled whale blubber served as refreshments, along with a pot of black coffee, but the atmosphere was anything but festive. This was serious business.

Deadly serious.

“Yeah, I got a question.” Tom Jensen lumbered to his feet. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?” The lumberjack’s beard was still singed from the fire. His arm was in a sling. “The bodies of our dead ain’t even cold yet, and you wanna get more of us killed?”

A chorus of angry muttering revealed that Jensen wasn’t the only survivor who had reservations about the plan—and maybe Molly’s leadership, as well. She glanced over at Geir, who was standing guard by the front door. I told you so was written all over his face, but, thankfully, he kept his mouth shut. She appreciated his restraint.

“We’re at war,” she reminded Jensen and his supporters. “Casualties are inevitable, but that doesn’t mean we quit fighting.” She tapped the battle plans with her marker. “Skynet won’t even see us coming.”

“That’s what you said about the pipeline.” Jensen’s harsh tone hit her like a slap across the face. “That was supposed to be a milk run, but the machines slaughtered our friends. Now you expect us to take on a Terminator train and an HK? Why not just paint targets on us while you’re at it?”

Before Molly could reply, Doc Rathbone rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred,” he recited, slurring his words. Obviously, he had been drinking. “Into the jaws of death, into the mouth of Hell....”

This isn’t helping, Molly thought. She shot an accusing glance at Sitka, who shrugged as though to say that she couldn’t keep watch over the old sot all the time. The girl grabbed onto Doc’s arm and dragged him back down onto his seat. She handed him a wad of blubber to keep his mouth busy.

“Look,” Molly said, “nobody has to take part in this mission who isn’t up to it. I’m just looking for volunteers. But every time that train completes its run, Skynet gets a little bit stronger. We need to cut off its supply line now.”

“What about Command?” Lucille Johns asked. The ice road trucker had served in the Alaskan National Guard before Judgment Day, which had given her a lasting appreciation for the chain of command. “Have they approved this operation? Will they be providing air support?”

Molly didn’t lie to her. “Maybe, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Hah!” Jensen crossed his arms defiantly. “We all know what that means. We’re screwed. Or will be if we try this on our own.”

“So what are you suggesting, Tom?” she challenged him. “That we let Skynet get away with assaulting our friends and loved ones?” Ernie Wisetongue’s crippling accident flashed through her brain. The old sculptor had not been able to attend the briefing; he was still recuperating from his injuries. “I don’t know about you, but I want payback... with interest!”

“Easy for you to say.” He nodded at the drafty walls of the shack. “You’re not living in a tent like some of us. I lost everything I owned in the fire!”

Another voice sounded, low and firm, from the back of the room.

“And I lost my husband.”