Terminator Salvation: Cold War (24 page)

Ivanov’s dark eyes narrowed. “You are U.S. Air Force?”

“Used to be,” Ortega said. She shrugged off the blanket to expose a bright red armband tied around her sleeve. She nodded proudly at it. “Resistance now.”

The Resistance!
Losenko experienced a surge of excitement. Perhaps there was still a chance of reclaiming the planet from the machines.

Ortega offered her hand to Ivanov, as well. The XO ignored it, preferring to interrogate the pilot instead.

“How did you come to find us?”

“Weren’t looking for you,” Ortega admitted. She withdrew her hand. “We were hunting that shipload of metal-loving collaborators instead. Picked up your radio transmissions. Couldn’t quite make out all the Russian, but got the gist of it. Sounded like you were in trouble. Figured we’d lend you a hand.” She tugged the blanket back over her shoulders. “You know what they say. ‘The enemy of my enemy,’ etc. Besides, we’d been looking for a chance to engage that battleship. You folks were a good distraction.”

She glanced ruefully at the bodies in the water.

“It cost us, though. But that’s war. The enemy lost more than we did. That’s the important thing, right?”

Ivanov remained skeptical. The deaths of the other Americans meant nothing to him.

“Those communications were encrypted. How could you eavesdrop on them?”

Ortega chortled.

“Hell, Boris, we cracked your encryption moons ago. Some of your old comrades hooked up with us a while back, shared everything they knew. This is a united effort, you know. All us flesh-and-blood types against the metal.”

“A united effort,” Ivanov repeated doubtfully. He sounded sickened by the very idea. “You and our own people?”

Ortega didn’t back down.

“That’s what I’m saying, Boris. You got a problem with that?”

“My name is Ivanov,” the
starpom
said tersely. A muscle twitched beneath his cheek. “Captain Second-Rank.”

Losenko admired his self-control. Considering the dreadful loss of his family, Alexei had probably wanted to shoot the first American he met, or, at the very least, pound in the cocky pilot’s face. He thought it best to defuse the situation.

“Mr. Ivanov, please go below and oversee the repair efforts.” He stepped between his XO and the woman. “I want a full report on the extent of the damage, and how soon we might expect to be underway.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Ivanov seemed eager to leave the American’s presence. He turned on his heels and marched briskly away.

Ortega watched him go.

“What’s his beef?”

“The war has been hard on us all,” Losenko offered by way of explanation. He noted Ortega shivering and changed the subject. “You are freezing, Corporal. Let us find you some dry clothes and a warm meal.” He glanced up at the helicopter on the horizon. “I will inform your colleagues that you are safe and welcome aboard this ship. Later, we can make arrangements to return you to your own unit.”

Ortega waved her arms to signal the other chopper, before allowing herself to be escorted to the nearest open hatch.

“Much obliged, Captain.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though she feared Skynet might be listening. “Is there someplace we can talk in private? To be honest, there’s a reason my buddies in the other chopper let you guys pick me up instead of them. The Resistance could use a boat like this. I may have a proposition for you... from my commanding officer.”

“John Connor?”

“No!” Ortega laughed at the very idea. “Connor’s just a voice. I’m not even sure if there really is such a person. I’m talking about the real thing. The big brass.”

Losenko tried not to let his disappointment show. Connor’s broadcast had offered the only hope that the world might someday be set right again. Now he gave Ortega a puzzled look.

“And who is your commanding officer?”

“Ashdown,” the pilot answered. “General Hugh Ashdown.”

The back-up base, hidden deep in the remote forests of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, made the abandoned mining town look like a Vegas resort by comparison. The survivors of the T-600’s attack were scattered across acres of wintry wilderness, occupying whatever shacks, cabins, campgrounds, tents, RVs, caves, tunnels, and hastily constructed shelters could accommodate the evacuees. Spreading the cell out over multiple facilities— instead of one centralized location—was inconvenient and hampered organization, but at least it would keep them off Skynet’s radar.

Or so Molly hoped.

“So what’s the damage?” she asked Geir, bracing for the worst. They had commandeered a broken-down old prospector’s shack along the shore of the frozen creek. Bone-chilling drafts penetrated the bare wooden walls, despite the rags, cardboard, and scraps of foam rubber plugged into the various chinks. A broken window had been boarded up with two-by-fours. Melting snow leaked through the roof, dripping constantly into an array of buckets and pans that needed to be emptied far more often than she liked.

Sleeping bags were spread out on the floor. A faded pin-up calendar seemed so old that she wondered if it dated back to the Gold Rush. The outhouse was a cold, uncomfortable hike from the front door. A tattered bearskin rug smelled of mildew.

“Give me the gory details,” she continued.

She reclined in front of the stone fireplace, wrapped in a coat, her bandaged right foot propped up on a pillow dangerously close to the fire. In the end, she had only lost a single toe to frostbite; the camp’s medic had wanted to chop off more, but Molly had drawn the line at one little piggie. She didn’t have time to adjust to a prosthetic foot, even if they could scrounge one up from somewhere. It had hurt like hell, but, against the odds, she had practically willed the circulation back into her remaining toes, even if she wasn’t a hundred-percent sure they would ever feel warm again.

Could be worse,
she thought.
I could be sharing a glacier with a Terminator right now.

“We took a hit, that’s for sure.” Geir squatted next to her. Like Molly, he was wearing his jacket indoors just to keep warm. His eyes scanned the pencil marks on a yellow legal pad. “People are still checking in at the rendezvous point, but it’s looking like we lost twenty-eight people, counting the fatalities at the pipeline.”

“What about Ernie?” she asked.

“The medics got to him in time,” he assured her. “He’s going to be out of commission for a while, though. And he’s going to have to learn to sculpt with one arm.”

He’ll find a way,
Molly thought, glad to hear that the old man was still with them. It sucked that he had been hurt, but it could have been so much worse. She made a mental note to call on him while he was recovering. It was the least she could do after he had saved her life. Her brain quickly moved on to more practical concerns.

“How about our supplies?”

“A lot of our provisions went up in the fire,” Geir admitted. “Thank goodness for the emergency caches we had stashed. Hunting parties are out looking for fresh game.”

Molly nodded. “Figured as much.” The casualty figures didn’t surprise her. She could still see the Terminator’s chainsaw slicing up Ernie and Roger whenever she heard a motor running. The smell of exhaust, mixed with the coppery tang of blood, haunted her memory. “What’s our ammo situation like?”

“Better than you might expect.” Geir consulted his notes. “After fifteen years of being hunted by Terminators, that’s the first thing people grab during an evacuation. Food and clothing are a distant second.” He looked up from his notes. “You think it would be worth sending a salvage team back to the mill? See if anything valuable survived?”

Molly shook her head.

“Too risky. Skynet probably has the site staked out, with Aerostats if nothing else. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past the machines to have a Terminator laying in wait for any careless scavengers.” She sniffed her sweater; it still smelled like smoke. “Forget that place. What’s gone is gone.”

Geir sighed. “Story of our lives.”

“Ever since Judgment Day,” Molly agreed. She forced herself to think ahead, as opposed to dwelling on the past. “Any helping hands from our friends in the Resistance?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look optimistic, though. “We’ve been in touch with cells in Canada and the Lower 48, hoping they can resupply us, but there are no guarantees. Ordnance and electronics are more valuable than gold these days, and most cells have barely got enough materiel for their own operations. As usual, Command doesn’t see us as a high priority.” Geir made a face. “The scuttlebutt is they’re throwing all their weight at California and the southwest. That’s where they think the real action is.”

No surprise there,
Molly thought. San Francisco, or rather what was left of it, was Skynet Central these days.
But we’ve got to fight the machines everywhere, not just in their own backyard. Why doesn’t Command see that?

“So, in other words, we’re on our own,” she muttered. “Same as fucking usual.”

“Something like that,” Geir admitted. “On the bright side, pretty much all of the families got out okay. And there haven’t been any follow-up assaults.” He cracked a smile. “Maybe Skynet is focusing on the Lower 48, too?”

“Doubt it,” Molly said. “Skynet’s way too good at multitasking. It’s more like Alaska is still too big to search effectively, even for the machines.” Not for the first time, she was grateful for the sheer immensity of the state’s untracked wilderness; the largest state in the USA, and the least populated even before Judgment Day, the land of the midnight sun offered plenty of dense backwoods to hide in. “Any other good news?”

Geir had a talent for finding silver linings even in the darkest mushroom clouds. Sometimes it was annoying, but right now she could use a little optimism.

“Well,” he pointed out, “we managed to do some serious damage to the pipeline the other day. Don’t forget that.”

Molly was disappointed.
That’s the best you’ve got?
she thought, glaring at him in spite of herself.

“The machines will have that stretch of pipeline repaired in no time,” she replied. “And what do
they
care about oil spills? The environment means nothing to them.” She stared glumly into the fire, unable to duck the discouraging truth. Her crippled foot mocked her. “Skynet hurt us way more than we hurt it.”

Geir put aside his inventory lists. He gently shifted her foot from the pillow to his lap. Molly winced, but didn’t complain.

“Just a flesh wound, chief,” he said softly. “The war’s not over.”

“All the more reason to hit that fucking train,” she said savagely. “Show Skynet that we’re still in the game.”

Geir gave her a dubious look.

“You sure about that? After everything that’s happened, maybe we should postpone that operation until we’re back on our feet again.” He blushed as he recalled the injured appendage in his lap. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

Molly couldn’t care less about his
faux pas.

“Postpone? Not a chance!” Her blood boiled at the thought. “Just because we took a hit, like you said, we’re not going to slink away with our tails between our legs! We need to strike back, fast and hard. It’s the last thing Skynet will be expecting.”

“With reason, maybe.” Geir pleaded caution. “I don’t know, chief. I’m not sure if now is the right time to launch a major offensive. Our people have been through a lot. There hasn’t even been time for a memorial service yet.”

“Screw that!” Molly yanked her foot back and lurched awkwardly to her feet, ignoring the pain that shot up her leg. She limped across the cramped, one-room shack and grabbed a crude iron poker from a rack by the hearth.

“You’re the one who’s always talking about morale.” She viciously jabbed the embers that were dying in the fireplace, stirring up sparks. “Enough with the damn weddings and prayer vigils. The machines killed our friends and torched our homes. The only thing that’s going to make that better is kicking Skynet right in the balls!”

“For you, maybe, but what about everyone else?” He got up and took the poker from her hands, putting it back in its rack. There was an edge to his voice that she seldom heard. “Damnit, Molly. Not everyone is as hard, as tough, as you are. What about Sitka and Doc and the others? You can’t expect people to just shake off what’s happened and go right back to fighting—like that Terminator you dropped a mountain on. They’re only flesh and blood!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Molly snapped. She knew the name of every single human being who had died under her command. Sometimes she counted them, like sheep, to get to sleep at night. “But that’s what Skynet is relying on, us poor, weak, fragile humans to give up and die... like we should’ve done after Judgment Day. Well, forget that. If we didn’t quit after Skynet trashed the whole fucking world, we’re sure as hell not going to throw in the towel just because we got our butts kicked a few times.”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.

“Nobody’s saying we should quit. But it’s just too soon to pick another fight with the machines. You’re pushing too hard.”

“There’s no such thing, not anymore.” She pulled away from him. “The machines aren’t going to take a time-out, so neither can we.”

She plopped down on the floor again and grabbed the discarded legal pad. She starting scribbling notes on the back of the inventory lists. Her plans for the train assault had gone up in flames with her old cabin, but they were still locked up tight inside her fevered brain. She jotted them down as fast as she could.

Pausing for a second, she fingered the Raven pendant around her neck. In Haida mythology, Raven was a trickster god who brought light to the darkness. They would need all of Raven’s cunning to outwit Skynet. Molly was up to the challenge.

Operation Ravenwing was still a go.

“Get hold of Doc. Sitka.” She didn’t look up, though, and kept writing furiously as she spoke. “I want to meet with them tomorrow morning, bright and early. Pump Rathbone full of black coffee if you have to.”