Terminator Salvation: Cold War

the aircraft as one of the U.S. military’s new radio-controlled drones. A Predator maybe, or a Reaper. Both, he knew, had been designed to target suspected terrorist bases.

“Crap!” Ashdown exclaimed. “That used to be one of ours!”

The UAV unleashed its lethal payload. A hellfire missile rocketed downward at the blazing research station, which possessed a fiery signature that made it almost impossible to miss. A thunderous explosion destroyed the structure in an instant. A tremendous blast of heat knocked Losenko to the ground. Flaming shrapnel whistled above him. He threw his hands over his head. Less than a meter away, Ashdown cried out in pain. Screams and curses came from closer to the blast.

The fire crew, Losenko realized.

He lifted his head and looked back at what had once been the Charles Darwin Research Station. The building had been razed to its foundation; nothing of the facility remained. Dead and injured soldiers littered the charred cactus garden and boardwalk. One of the Humvees had overturned, its gunner trapped beneath it. A guardsman was on fire. He threw himself onto the ground and rolled about, shrieking, while another soldier worked frantically to douse the flames.

Losenko prayed that Utyosov and Fokin had not lingered behind to wait for him. The remaining Avenger swiveled its turret, trying to catch the UAV in its sights. Another Stinger rocketed into the sky.

“Damnit!” Ashdown cursed, rising from the splintered ruins of the boardwalk. A flying shard of glass had carved a crescent-shaped gash near his left eye. Blood streamed down his face; another centimeter and he would have lost the eye itself. “First, they took out our radar. Then they caught us with our pants down. The goddamn machines knew just what they were doing!”

A Stinger finally nailed the UAV. The primitive Hunter-Killer exploded in the sky. Metal debris was scattered like hail across the island. Ragged cheers erupted from the soldiers who were still standing.

Ortega helped Losenko to his feet.

“This way, sir!” she called to Ashdown and his guards. “There could be more on the way!”

Losenko hated leaving the injured and the dying behind, but the pilot was right. Where there was one Predator, there could be another. With the station’s radar reduced to molten slag, they would have little warning of another sortie. He limped after the others, his eyes scanning the horizon for flying Hunter-Killers. Would his throbbing ears even hear them humming?

They made it to the parking lot, about fifty meters from the ruins of the science station. An eclectic assortment of vehicles, from pickup trucks to motorcycles, filled the lot. Ortega pointed toward an olive-colored Jeep at the far end of the pavement. She let out a sigh of relief.

“Almost there!”

Good, Losenko thought. He had twisted his leg when he fell. He looked forward to getting off his feet and back to sea where he belonged. Perhaps the Wilmington could arrange to rendevous with the Gorshkov far from these dangerous islands?

I need to inform Ivanov of his new command....

The sickening tang of freshly spilled blood wafted past his nose, putting him on alert. Glancing around, he glimpsed a body lying between two nearby vehicles. A leg stuck out into view. A crimson stream flowed out from beneath a parked ambulance. The blue trousers and black sneakers matched those worn by the crew of K-115.

Fokin?

“Watch out!” Losenko spied the glint of a rifle barrel poking up from behind the hood of Ortega’s jeep. Someone was lying in ambush. “Sniper!”

A muzzle flared. Automatic weapon’s fire tore into Ortega, who collapsed onto the pavement. After surviving a battle against a Russian destroyer and the crash of her helicopter, the irrepressible pilot was gunned down only a few meters away from her own vehicle. Her body thrashed upon the blacktop, then fell still. A scarlet halo spread out around her head. The only flying she would be doing now would be on the wings of angels.

No! Losenko tackled Ashdown, knocking him out of the line of fire. The two men tumbled behind the shelter of an empty minivan. One of the general’s guards tried to fire back at the sniper, but took a bullet in the shoulder for his efforts. He dropped to the ground, clutching his wounded arm.

The other guard scrambled for safety. He dived behind the wheel of a rundown tour bus. Bullets chased after him. Losenko couldn’t tell if he was hit or not.

“Who the hell?” Ashdown blustered. The two men crouched behind the van while red-hot lead slammed into the other side. Bullets blew out the vehicle’s windows, sprinkling them with cubes of safety glass. “The mole?”

“One of them, certainly.” Losenko heard the sniper let loose another burst. The staccato report reminded him of a Russian AK-47, perhaps the very one that Fokin had brought with him from K-115. He suspected that the sergeant had reclaimed his weapon from the summit security forces before being waylaid by some unknown traitor. All he had seen was Fokin’s leg, but he had no doubt that the unfortunate seaman had joined Zamyatin and Ostrovosky and too many others.

My crew is shrinking, day by day.

He guessed that Utyosov was dead, as well.

“Ortega?” Ashdown asked.

Losenko shook his head. He remembered shaking the female pilot’s hand on the Gorshkov’s slippery deck only weeks ago. He wished he’d had a chance to get to know her better.

“Bastard!” Ashdown looked like he wanted to tear the sniper to pieces with his bare hands. Losenko knew how he felt. “Who do you think that miserable son of a bitch is? And how the hell are we going to get to that jeep?”

The sniper interrupted his fire.

“Dmitri?” a voice called out to Losenko in Russian. “Is that you?”

Utyosov? Losenko couldn’t believe his ears. He’s the sniper?

“Bela?” He kept his head down, but shouted back. “Bela! What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

Ashdown blinked in surprise. He wiped the blood from his eye.

“You know this lunatic?”

“A decorated Russian captain,” Losenko answered. “And an old friend.”

Ashdown spat upon the ground.

“Well, that old friend has screwed us all! And the Resistance!”

“Leave this place, Dmitri!” Utyosov urged him. “I don’t want to kill you, too. If you run now, you might have a chance!”

Losenko wasn’t going to desert Ashdown and the others. “Don’t shoot, Bela!” Pistol in hand, he started to stand up. “I just want to talk!”

Ashdown grabbed onto him, tugging him back down.

“Are you out of your mind? That bastard just killed Ortega!”

“I know this man!” Losenko insisted. He pulled free of Ashdown’s grip. “Let me try to reason with him!” He stood up behind the hood of the van, exposing himself to view. His hands were up, and his Glock was pointed upward, toward the sky. “Here I am, Bela! Talk to me!”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Utyosov pointed the stolen AK-47 at Losenko. “Go, Dmitri! I’m giving you one chance. For old time’s sake!”

“For God’s sake, Losenko!” Ashdown barked. “Get down! That’s an order!”

Losenko ignored him. He focused on his former comrade.

“But why, Bela? I don’t understand. Did you kill Fokin?”

“I had no choice!” The old man did not deny his guilt. “They have my granddaughter, my little Anastasia!” Trembling hands caused the rifle to shake. “I had to tell them about the summit! They were going to torture her if I didn’t!” Anguish contorted his face, followed by a sudden grimace of pain. A cold sweat broke out across his features. He gasped for breath. “My heart...!”

Utyosov staggered behind the Jeep. The rifle slipped from his fingers. It clattered upon the pavement.

Losenko saw his opportunity. His gun arm snapped down. He squeezed the trigger of the Glock.

A single shot felled Utyosov. He crumpled to the ground behind the Jeep. Losenko heard him whimper. He swept the parking lot with his gun, just in case Utyosov had an accomplice, but no other targets presented