Terminator Salvation: Cold War

the conflagration.

Taken entirely by surprise, the Apache plummeted into the sea trailing smoke and debris. The crash was visible from the bridge of the Wilmington.

“What the hell?” Ashdown exclaimed. He turned baffled eyes toward Smallwood. “Did we do that?”

“No, sir!” The captain looked equally perplexed. “We have not opened fire yet.”

Losenko could only think of one explanation.

“My submarine!” K-115 was capable of firing Viyuga missiles at enemy aircraft while submerged. “It must be the Gorshkov!”

Unfortunately, launching the missile had given away the submarine’s location as surely as if it had painted a bull’s-eye on itself. The surviving Apache immediately retaliated. ASW torpedoes dropped from the chopper into the water below. Losenko prayed that Ivanov was taking evasive action, if it was not already too late.

Dive, Alexei. Dive!

Ashdown was more concerned about the Apache itself.

“Now!” he barked at Smallwood. “While it’s got its hands full with that other sub. Bring down that chopper!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” The captain clutched his mike. “Missile control! Take your best shot!”

One after the other, a pair of Harpoon missiles shot from the Wilmington’s forward torpedo tubes. They burst from the surface in an explosion of fire and steam, climbing over fifteen meters into the air to collide with the outnumbered chopper, which went tumbling down to join the wreckage of the first Apache. Burning fuel and flotsam spread across the mouth of the harbor. A wind blew the black smoke back toward the submarine.

“Target destroyed,” Smallwood informed the control room. He wiped the sweat from his brow before addressing Ashdown. “I believe the way is clear, sir.”

“About time,” Ashdown responded. He turned to Losenko. “What about that sub of yours, Losenko?”

An underwater explosion, further out to sea, answered his question before Losenko could. Losenko gripped the railing. His heart pounded.

Alexei!

“Flooding in compartments four and five!” Chief Komarov reported. Warning lights flashed all around the control room. “Fires spreading through the engine room and galley.”

Countermeasures had failed. An evasive dive had earned them only a few extra minutes to brace for impact. The enemy torpedo had dealt a death blow to the Gorshkov. Ivanov was amazed that they hadn’t come apart completely. He suspected that the torpedo had hit one of the decoys, but far too close for comfort.

Firing the missile had been a calculated risk. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he had done it. But the presence of the attack helicopters—poised to attack the escaping American submarine—clearly indicated that a third party was out to destroy the so-called Resistance. Skynet? Terrorists? An aspiring superpower hoping to stake its claim by taking out the opposition?

Ivanov had no idea who the aggressors were, yet he knew which side Losenko was supposed to be allied with. If the helicopters were attacking the summit and its guests, then they had posed a threat to Losenko.

But not anymore.

I just hope I did the right thing.

Now he had to deal with the consequences.

“The reactor?”

“Shielding intact, but there’s evidence of a primary-to-secondary link in the boiler tubes.” Komarov didn’t need to explain what that meant. Radioactive steam would eventually contaminate the hull of the ship. Fixable under ordinary circumstances, but not when the ship was taking on water and filling with smoke.

Ivanov knew what he had to do.

“Scram the reactor.” He turned to Lieutenant Trotsky, who was currently serving as officer of the deck. “Blow all groups.”

They couldn’t stay submerged while dealing with floods, fire, and radiation. An emergency blow was their only hope. Ivanov grabbed onto the rail around the periscope and switched on the speaker system so that the whole sub could hear him.

“Surface! Surface! Surface!”

The diving alarm sounded three times to signal an emergency ascent. Over at the ship’s main control station, the chief of the watch yanked on two solid metal levers. High-pressure air rushed into the ballast tanks, driving massive amounts of water out through vents in the submarine’s keel. A deafening racket invaded the control room, even as the floor tilted beneath Ivanov’s sneakers like a funhouse ride. The entire ship slanted precipitously, so that the forward compartments suddenly looked as though they were at the top of a dangerously steep slide.

Ivanov’s stomach lurched. Acid reflux sloshed up and down his digestive tract.

The other crewmen grabbed onto anything that might keep them from tumbling aft. Loose mugs and clipboards rolled across the deck. The helmsmen fought to keep the boat on an even keel. The diving officer called out the depth, shouting out the changes as rapidly as an auctioneer.

“300 feet! 200 feet! 100 feet!”

What was waiting for them on the surface? Another helicopter? A hostile American attack sub? Ivanov had little time to worry about such things. They would find out soon enough.

“Broach!”

Losenko stared out at the ocean in despair. The underwater detonation, which had thrown a geyser of white water into the air, filled his heart with dread. He feared that the Gorshkov had become yet another casualty in the war against the machines. He sagged against the side of the bridge.

Did my desire to join the Resistance cost me my crew? Have I gained new allies, only to lose everyone who depended upon me?

Then the water erupted once more, and K-115 flew out nose first. The 7,000-ton submarine rose so far out of the ocean that only its twin screws remained beneath the waves. It hung in the air for a seemingly endless moment before it crashed back down into the water, producing a tidal wave of churning white foam that washed away much of the debris from the fallen ‘copters. Its massive bulk smacked loudly against the surface of the sea.

“Hah!” Losenko laughed out loud, overcome by relief. He knew an emergency blow when he saw one. The Gorshkov was in trouble, but it wasn’t dead yet. The men aboard still had a chance. “You see that!” he boasted to the other men. “That’s my boat! K-115!”

“Good work. Damned if I ever thought I’d owe my life to a Russian SSBN!” Ashdown slapped Losenko on the back. “Captain Smallwood, render whatever assistance that ship needs. That’s a priority.”

“Understood, sir.”

After falling back into the ocean, the Gorshkov momentarily disappeared underwater, before bobbing up to the surface again. Hatches opened atop its deck as the crew poured out, many of them diving into the balmy equatorial waters. Despite his earlier relief, Losenko was distressed to see smoke billowing from the sub’s vents and hatches, and that K-115 was also listing seriously to starboard. Gaping wounds had opened in her hull. Water gushed into the gaps. He doubted that the sub could stay afloat much longer— hence the hasty evacuation.

The Gorshkov had survived Judgment Day and months at sea in a world at war, but the boat had finally come to the end of its fateful voyage. He watched through binoculars as Chief Komarov helped Ivanov escape the boat. The XO was the last to leave the doomed vessel

Thank you, Alexei. I could not ask more of you.

The Wilmington sailed out of the harbor, ploughing through what was left of the wreckage of the downed choppers. Smallwood’s men immediately went to work rescuing the Russian sailors from the ocean. Losenko remembered doing the same for Ortega not too long ago. Tragically, those efforts had only bought her a few more weeks of life.

What was her first name again? Luz?

Sinking fast, K-115 submerged for the last time. Losenko realized sadly that his only photo of Katerina was still in his stateroom aboard the sub. More than one chapter in his life was closing forever. His throat tightened. He silently bid the Gorshkov farewell.