by Greg Cox
Perhaps I should have hung onto my sidearm.
But when Ashdown finally spoke, his voice was as cold as the frozen north.
“You were just doing your duty,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “Like I would have done.” He clamped down on his obvious pain and anger. “What’s important now is that we unplug Skynet for good.” He took a deep breath. “If you’ll excuse me now, I have a war to fight.”
He left Losenko standing there, wondering if he had just delivered a death-blow to the Resistance. How could any man, no matter how committed to the greater good, work beside the man who had sentenced his own son to a fiery holocaust?
That was the question, Losenko realized, that many of the other delegates had to be asking about each other. Skynet was just an abstraction; old animosities and vendettas ran deep.
As deep, perhaps, as the ocean.
By the time the meeting reconvened, inflamed emotions had indeed died down a little. Never underestimate the power of a good meal, Losenko mused, especially among men and women who have been foraging for survival for months. It was also likely that, faced with the possibility of going it alone once more, many of the more obstreperous delegations might have chosen not to abandon the prospect of an alliance too quickly.
People filed back into the auditorium. The translators got back to work.
The Japanese general, who had been introduced to Losenko as Seiji Tanaka, proposed a compromise.
“Despite our differences, shall we at least agree that joint efforts are required to deal with the chaos now confronting the world?” He tactfully avoided any mention of Skynet or Terminators. “With civilization in ruins, it is imperative that our armed forces work together to restore order—and overcome whatever forces threaten the remains of humanity. Escalating military conflicts will only hasten our extinction. We cannot afford another Judgment Day.”
Earpieces translated his moving appeal. Grudging murmurs of consent came from the gallery. Losenko was encouraged by the response.
The Chinese delegate spoke again.
“No one denies the necessity of international cooperation during this crisis. Strong leadership is required. But who will provide that leadership? That is the question that concerns us.”
“We need someone who fully understands the nature of the enemy,” the British commander proposed. “Someone who has already proven his ability to bring together this alliance.” She was a formidable older woman with short white hair and a severe expression. “I nominate General Ashdown.”
Her suggestion provoked an uproar. Angry protests in multiple languages erupted from the gallery. The Chinese delegate glared at the British contingent.
“That is unacceptable!” he cried vehemently. “Just because you choose to be the Americans’ lap dogs, as always, do not expect the rest of the world to forget who is responsible for our downfall.”
“General Ashdown knows more about the threat than anyone here,” the French delegate chimed in. “And this meeting would not be taking place if not for his vision and organization.” He sneered at the Chinese. “I second the nomination.”
“Let us put it to a vote.” Tanaka attempted to play peacemaker once again. “General Ashdown. Do you have anything you wish to say before we poll the assembly?”
Ashdown stepped up to the podium.
“Just that nobody here wants to make things right more than me.” His grave expression attested to his sincerity. “If you elect me to this command, I pledge upon my sacred honor that I will not rest until humanity has a second chance to live in peace and security again. That’s all.”
“Very well,” Tanaka said, nodding. “Shall we conduct the vote?”
After a brief debate, the notion of a secret ballot was rejected. Everyone wanted to know how the others stood. Proceeding around the room, the highest-ranking member of each delegation rose to cast their vote. The air-conditioned atmosphere was fraught with tension. Standing stiffly upon the dais, his arms clasped behind his back, Ashdown awaited the judgment of his peers.
Losenko wondered how he would react if the vote went against him.
Predictably, the voting broke along the old geopolitical fissures. NATO and the other western nations, including Australia and New Zealand, supported Ashdown, while China, India, Cuba, and various others voted against the American general. Israel and Pakistan championed Ashdown. Libya and Iran did not. South America and Africa mostly sided with the Americans, with a few notable exceptions such as Venezuela and the Sudan.
The sharp divisions depressed Losenko. Such durable prejudices boded ill for the Resistance.
The more things change....
Nevertheless, as his own time to vote drew near, Losenko found himself torn. He did not wish to fall into the trap of the old ways of thinking, yet he had his reservations about Ashdown. What the man had done in convening the summit was laudable, but his dismissive attitude toward civilian militias concerned him. The old military structures were in tatters, or else controlled by Skynet. It was going to require flexible thinking—and the heroic efforts of ordinary people like Grushka and Josef—to take back the Earth.
He feared that the general might be too much of a career soldier to adapt to this new world of man against machine. Ashdown was a product of the Pentagon, the very people who had thought computers were to be trusted more than the men and women who ran them.
He whispered to Utyosov.
“What do you think, Bela?”
“I’m just a tired old man with a bad heart,” the retired captain answered. Losenko outranked him by virtue of still being in active service. “You will be fighting this war longer than I will. You must decide for yourself.”
General Tanaka called on Losenko. He could feel Fokin’s fierce gaze burning into the back of his skull, a proxy for Ivanov. Then he considered the hostile faces of the anti-Ashdown faction. It was possible that the American general was simply too divisive a choice.
Yet Losenko felt he owed the man a debt, due to the tragic loss of his son.
But there is too much at stake to allow my own troubled conscience to sway my judgment.
“Captain Losenko?” Tanaka prompted again. “How does Russia vote?”
Losenko made his decision.
“Nyet.”
Down on the dais, Ashdown did not look surprised by his answer.
Despite the Russian’s vote, however, the American was elected by a narrow majority. The Chinese delegation walked out without a word, taking with it many of its allies and satellites. Empty seats faced Ashdown as he stepped up to the podium once more.
“Let them go,” the newly appointed commander of the Resistance decreed. He watched his unhappy adversaries exit the auditorium. “They’ll be back when the Terminators come knocking.” He looked up at the gallery, which was much less crowded than it had been before. Still, not all the dissenters had abandoned the summit; Russia and a few others remained.
“Those of you who voted for me, I thank you for your support.” He looked directly at Losenko. “And I also thank those of you who opposed my nomination, but still see the value in this alliance. I give you my word that I will do my level best to live up to the profound responsibility you have entrusted me with. One way or another, Skynet is going down.”
There was a smattering of applause. Losenko clapped politely. So did Utyosov.
Sergeant Fokin kept his hands in his lap.
“Let’s call it a day,” Ashdown said, perhaps to give the losing faction time to get used to the idea. “We’ll begin strategy sessions tomorrow. Start pooling our intel and setting up secure communications and supply networks.” His voice grew even more sober. He looked the audience over sternly. “This was the easy part, people. Tomorrow we roll up our sleeves and get to work.” He saluted the assembly. “Dismissed.”
The remaining delegates began to file out of the auditorium. Accommodations had been arranged in the nearby community of Puerto Ayora. Losenko was about to invite Utyosov to join him for a drink
, when Corporal Ortega tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, skipper. The general would like to have a word with you.”
Now what? Losenko wondered. His gut twisted in anticipation. Had an ugly confrontation over the bombing of Alaska merely been postponed before? Or was Ashdown simply unhappy that Losenko had voted against him. Perhaps he preferred that Utyosov take charge of the Russian end of the Resistance.
“Of course,” he assented. For better or for worse, Ashdown was his commanding officer now. He made his excuses to Utyosov. Sergeant Fokin wanted to accompany him, but Losenko insisted that he watch over the older captain instead. Then he let Ortega escort him from the gallery.
He found Ashdown back in the library, which had already been converted into an impromptu command center. Maps and aerial surveillance photos had been pinned up over the nature photographs. A bull’s-eye had been drawn over a map of southern California. Ashdown was huddled over a stack of reports and dispatches when Losenko came in. He dismissed his aides and Ortega.
“Give us the room.”
The other officers departed, leaving the two men alone. Losenko faced Ashdown, prepared to accept the consequences of his actions, no matter what they might be.
“You asked to see me, General?”
“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.”
Tammi Muckerheide rose at the rear of the audience. The teenage widow had insisted on attending the meeting, despite her recent bereavement and swelling belly. A black armband had joined the red one on her sleeve. She seemed to have aged five years since her hellish wedding night several days ago. She continued, “But I know that Roger would want me to keep on fighting— for our baby’s sake.” She patted her abdomen. “What kind of future will he or she have if we don’t stop Skynet now?”
Molly felt a lump in her throat, and even Jensen backed off a little.
“Gee, Tammi, I’m not talking about giving up, you know that. I wanna send the damn machines to the scrap yard as much as anybody. But I’m not sure Molly’s got the right idea here. I’m afraid she’s going to get us all terminated.”
“Molly saved my life back at the camp,” Tammi shot back. “And she’s kept us alive longer than anybody else could.” Her voice cracked. She wiped a tear from her eye. “What’s more, she drowned the metal that killed my Roger.” She glared at the others, as though daring them to dispute her. “That’s good enough for me.”
Murmurs of assent seconded her vote of confidence. Molly felt the room turning back in her favor. She wanted to hug Tammi, protruding stomach and all.
“Aw, hell.” Jensen conceded defeat. He plopped back down onto his seat. “What more have I got to lose anyway?”
