Terminator Salvation: Cold War

Dasvidania, and godspeed.

While Losenko watched his past vanish into the depths of the Pacific, Ashdown turned to consider the island they had just escaped, and the Russian followed his gaze. Santa Cruz faded into the distance, but the smoke and flames rising from Puerto Ayora could still be viewed from miles away. The fall of night only made the orange glow easier to make out.

“Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “We’ve learned a lesson. The land is too dangerous now, particularly for the leadership.” He turned to address Losenko. “This sub is our headquarters now. Command needs to stay out of sight, beneath the ocean, if we’re going to stay alive long enough to bring Skynet down.”

He smirked. “Better get settled in, General. This could be a long voyage.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

2018

“Any luck?”

“Not yet!” Molly hollered. She could hear Geir stomping about on the roof of the shack, trying to get the new satellite dish working. She stabbed the keyboard of her laptop, trying to make the link, but kept getting error messages. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire. A portable generator chugged outside.

“Hurry! Our window is shrinking!”

“I know, I know!” he shouted back. She didn’t envy him traipsing around atop the icy roof; she was going to feel really guilty if he slipped and broke his neck. But she desperately needed to get hold of Command before she proceeded with Operation Ravenwing.

Geir whacked something into place overhead.

“How’s it now?”

She held her breath and hit the ENTER key again. To her relief, the computer found the signal at last. Streaming video and audio filled the monitor, while 512bit asymmetric-key encryption kept the line secure from Skynet’s scrutiny, at least in theory. Audio/visual chatter decoys helped mask the transmission.

Molly whooped exuberantly.

“You did it!”

“Thank God!”

The window on the screen revealed the slightly blurry features of... General Dmitri Losenko, late of the Russian Fleet. His gaunt, haggard face made him look considerably older than his fifty-some years. A vintage wool peacoat, with a Cyrillic insignia that betrayed his roots, was draped over his bony shoulders. A creased cloth forage cap rested atop his skull. A smile lifted his thin lips as a webcam transmitted her own voice and image to Command’s undisclosed location. She glimpsed solid steel bulkheads in the background. Molly felt a surge of excitement. This was the first time she had ever made contact with Command directly.

“Ah, Ranger Kookesh!” he greeted her. “We meet at last.” Fifteen years in the Resistance—where English was the lingua franca—still had not dispelled his thick Russian accent. “I was starting to fear that something had gone amiss.”

Molly didn’t know exactly where Command was lurking these days, but communications to and from their hidden base were tightly controlled, taking place only according to Command’s timetable.

“Just some technical difficulties at our end,” she apologized. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Not at all,” Losenko replied. “I regret that we have never spoken before. Your efforts in the north are greatly appreciated.”

Tell that to the rest of the big brass, Molly thought. Losenko was the first high- ranking member of Command to ever give her the time of day. She’d heard through the grapevine that the old Russian warhorse had taken a special interest in the Alaskan Resistance. Molly wondered why.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting, too.”

“My condolences on your recent reverses,” he answered. His gnarled face reminded her of an old Siberian spruce. Command had already been briefed regarding the pipeline disaster and the attack on the mill town. The genuine sympathy in his voice came across despite the scratchy audio. “I know how hard it is to lose people under your command.”

Molly didn’t want anyone’s pity.

“Could have been worse.” A casual shrug belied the sorrow and anger she still felt. “But I don’t want to waste time hashing over a couple of minor setbacks. I have bigger fish to fry.”

“Such as?”

She quickly filled him in on her plans for the Skynet Express.

“It’s doable,” she concluded. “But we could definitely use some logistical assistance, and air support.” They had lost too many people and supplies to that damned T-600. “And reinforcements would improve our odds substantially.”

A pained expression—one she knew only too well— came over Losenko’s face. Molly knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

“I would like to promise you our full support, but our resources are strained as well. The war is approaching a crucial juncture, especially on the Californian front.” Video tiling momentarily distorted his image. Static punctuated his refusal. “I’m not certain we can spare the manpower or the materiel.”

So what else is new? Molly chewed her lip in frustration. The Lower 48 always seemed to take priority over her own operations. She wondered if Command was losing faith in her cell, especially after her recent losses.

It’s not fair, she thought angrily. The fact that they’re sending Terminators after us proves that we’re getting on Skynet’s silicon nerves. That’s gotta count for something.

“Forget reinforcements, then,” she pressed. “How about just the air support? Skynet’s got an HK and Aerostats escorting the train. All we’ve got is one fucking plane!”

For a brief moment she regretted swearing at him, then she remembered that Losenko was supposed to have been a sailor in the old Russian Navy. Surely he’d heard worse.

“Planes and helicopters are in short supply,” he stressed. “We lost several Warthogs in an engagement over San Diego last week.” The durable fighter planes were one of the backbones of the Resistance. “We need to choose our battles carefully.”

Molly didn’t want to beg, so she tried bribery instead.

“What about all the uranium ore? Don’t tell me the Resistance couldn’t use some of that stuff.” Rumor had it that Command had a nuclear sub or two prowling offshore. “And wouldn’t you like to keep it out of Skynet’s greedy clutches?”

“You make a good case,” Losenko conceded, and the pained expression was replaced by a thoughtful one. “Indeed, another Resistance cell recently managed to disrupt a Skynet mining operation in Niger, albeit at considerable cost.” Molly wondered if he was talking about people or equipment, or both. “Yet the benefits were clear. So let me take up your proposal with Command.”

Molly scowled.

“You mean with Ashdown, don’t you?” She had never met “Old Ironsides,” but she’d already decided that he was an obstinate prick who didn’t take civilian militias like hers seriously. Never mind that they’d been fighting the good fight for more than a decade now.

Maybe if I’d been a Marine—and not a forest ranger— Ashdown wouldn’t treat us like morons who can’t tell one end of an HK from the other.

“You know he’s just going to give me the brush-off,” she continued.

“Not necessarily,” Losenko equivocated, blindly defending his superior officer. “I’m certain General Ashdown will give your request due consideration. It’s only that he has the larger picture to address.”

“And we’re just small potatoes, off in the middle of frozen nowhere.” Molly didn’t hide her bitterness. She wished that Losenko was the top dog at Command, not Ashdown. “Yeah, yeah. I get that.”

Losenko did not take offense at her sour tone, perhaps because he appreciated the strain she was