Doc lurched to his feet, shaking off Sitka’s best attempts to keep him quiet.
“Volley’d and thunder’d,” he declaimed, seemingly determined to get to the end of the verses. “Stormed at with shot and shell....”
Molly didn’t recognize the poem, but it sounded like a pretty good description of what they were in for. She couldn’t tell if he was in favor of Operation Ravenwing or not.
“Into the valley of death....”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
2003
The explosion rattled the library. Losenko was knocked off his feet. Books and journals were thrown from their shelves. Chairs toppled over. Dust and plaster rained down from the ceiling.
Ashdown grabbed onto his desk to keep from falling. Charts and documents blew about the room before wafting down to the floor. Losenko swatted the falling papers away from his face. His ears were ringing.
He stared up in alarm. It had come from above them, perhaps from the roof of the research station. He threw his arm over his face, half-expecting the ceiling to cave in on them, but only dislodged plaster speckled him. The echoes of the unexpected detonation began to fade away, and he realized that he had survived the bombing. The walls were still standing, at least for the moment.
He scrambled to his feet, choking on the dust.
“General?”
Ashdown smacked his fist on the desk. Although spattered with debris, he appeared unharmed. “What the Sam Hill was that? Are we under attack?” He appeared more angry than alarmed. His voice was hoarse. “Damnit, this was supposed to be a secure location!”
Losenko doubted the explosion was accidental. But who was responsible? The Chinese and their allies? The human collaborators? Skynet? The Resistance had too many enemies. For a second, he even wondered if maybe Ivanov had launched one of the Gorshkov’s cruise missiles at the summit.
Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself. Alexei is angry, not insane.
The library door banged open. Corporal Ortega— accompanied by two armed security guards—burst into the library.
“General Ashdown!” the pilot called out through the dusty haze. An M-16 was cradled in her arms. “Are you all right?”
Ashdown patted himself down.
“Looks like it,” he said brusquely. He squinted at Losenko, quickly ascertaining that the Russian was intact as well, before getting straight to business. “Sitrep... now!”;
“A bomb, sir!” Ortega reported breathlessly. “On the roof. It took out our primary communications and radar arrays.” Her agitated voice crept up an octave. “We’ve been sabotaged!”
“No shit,” Ashdown replied. “We’ve got a goddamn mole in our midst. Maybe more than one.”
Ortega beckoned from the doorway.
“We need to get you out of here, sir. The roof’s on fire. This whole building could go up.”
The pilot wasn’t exaggerating. Smoke began to seep into the library. Losenko heard flames crackling overhead. Weakened rafters creaked ominously. He tugged on his collar; the room was already feeling uncomfortably warm. A smoke alarm went off, hurting his ears. The high-pitched squeal made it seem like the center itself was screaming in pain.
“Understood.” Ashdown scooped up the nearest maps and reports and thrust them carelessly into a battered leather valise. He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting something important. “All right, let’s go.” He nodded toward the newly appointed Russian general. “Losenko, you’re with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Losenko was concerned about Utyosov and Sergeant Fokin, but now wasn’t the time to go searching for them. He would have to hope that his fellow Russians could look after themselves. On impulse, he snatched the red armband from where it had landed on the floor, and slipped it over his sleeve. “I’m ready.”
The guards, each toting an M-16, led the way as they rushed out of the burning building. Losenko reached for his own pistol, then remembered that he had surrendered it earlier. He scowled, unhappy to be without a weapon at such a moment. What if the saboteurs intended further mischief?
“General,” he reminded Ashdown, “I am unarmed.”
Ashdown instantly grasped his predicament.
“Corporal!” he barked at Ortega. “Give General Losenko your sidearm.”
“General?” Ortega did a double take, but handed over the weapon without hesitation. “Here you go, skipper.”
The Glock automatic pistol fit comfortably into Losenko’s grip. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
The party scurried off the front porch onto the boardwalk. The sun was sinking in the west, and twilight was creeping across the island. Losenko paused to look back at the research station. Bright orange flames ascended from the shingled roof. The satellite dishes and antennae were nothing but mangled metal, obscured by the smoke and flames. Alarmed delegates and their bodyguards ran from the building; Losenko searched for Utyosov and Fokin, but did not see them.
A fire crew hustled to put out the blaze. Ashdown looked like he was tempted to join them, but thought better of it.
“My sub, the Wilmington, is docked down at the bay,” he said. “We need to get it away from here. This island isn’t safe anymore.”
Losenko had thoroughly studied Santa Cruz on the way to the summit. As he recalled, the anchorage was about 2.5 kilometers away. The island’s only paved road connected the research center with the port of Puerto Ayora.
“I can drive you, sir,” Ortega volunteered. “My jeep is parked nearby.”
“You’ve got yourself a fare, Corporal.” He strode past her decisively, and motioned to the Russian. “Let’s get going.”
Before they could head for the parking lot, however, the base’s anti-aircraft units boomed into action. A pair of Avenger air defense systems, mounted atop a pair of modified Humvees, fired a round of Stinger missiles into the sky.
“Incoming!” came the shout, and a soldier pointed northwest into the setting sun. “We have company!”
A low hum, like a swarm of angry bees, came from above. Losenko looked up to see an unmanned aerial vehicle—less sophisticated than the Hunter-Killer prototype Ashdown had warned of before—soaring toward them at a high altitude. Missiles were mounted to the underside of its wings. It took Losenko only a moment to identify 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 Stinge
r 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 themselves.
“All clear!”
Ignoring Ashdown’s further protests, he rushed to Utyosov’s side. He found the old sailor sprawled on the pavement, gasping out his final breaths. Bright arterial blood spurted from the bullet hole in his chest. His face was ashen.
“Good shot, Dmitri,” he murmured weakly. “The Navy trained you well....”
“Blast you, Bela!” Losenko felt sick to his stomach. His gorge rose. He was tired of killing his own countrymen. “Why did you make me do this?”
Utyosov coughed. A bloody froth stained his thick mustache.
“Maybe it’s better this way, Dmitri. You heard the fighting in there, the hatred. We would have killed ourselves eventually, even without Skynet. Maybe this is the only solution... maybe the machines will bring us peace....”
His voice trailed away. Glassy eyes stared blankly into oblivion.
No, my friend. Losenko closed the old man’s eyes. He thought of all the people who had died on Judgment Day, and all who had suffered since, including, no doubt, Utyosov’s doomed granddaughter. There will be no peace until Skynet is destroyed.
“Losenko!” Ashdown called to him. The general fished Ortega’s car keys from her body. He helped the wounded guard into the jeep, then got behind the wheel. The second guardsman ran to join them. Ashdown revved the engine. “You coming?”
“Just a moment!” Losenko confiscated the AK-47, then took the time to assure himself that Fokin was indeed beyond saving. The murdered sergeant had no pulse; his body was already going cold. From the looks of things, Utyosov had struck Fokin from behind—perhaps when the crewman had been distracted by the explosions—then cut his throat. In all the chaos and confusion, no one had noticed the old Russ
ian’s treachery. Poor Fokin had never seen it coming.
Ashdown honked the Jeep’s horn.
“You done there?”
“Yes, I am.” Losenko silently commended the dead seaman for his sacrifice. He turned and limped hurriedly over to the Jeep, detouring around Ortega’s lifeless body. Their escape from Santa Cruz was proving a costly one.
He dropped into the passenger seat next to Ashdown.
“I am ready to leave.”
“Good of you to join us!” Ashdown put the Jeep into gear. They peeled out of the parking lot onto the island’s only main thoroughfare. Palm trees blurred past them as the Jeep sped down the road toward the harbor. The American general groused over the roar of the wind. Drying blood caked his scarred face like war paint. “I don’t know what you said to your loco comrade back there, but that’s the kind of ‘talking’ I can get behind. You took care of that problem all right.”
Losenko didn’t want to talk about it.
“Incoming!” a guard shouted from the back seat. He pointed at the sky.
To Losenko’s dismay, another unmanned drone soared overhead. Its ominous hum was by now far too familiar. He tensed, waiting for the Predator to fire upon the Jeep, but the UAV zipped past them and continued on toward the port.
He recalled that many of the summit’s delegates were residing in Puerto Ayora.
There were explosions up ahead as the drone unleashed its missiles on the quaint seaside community. Hotels, bars, and restaurants which had once catered to the tourist trade now went up in flames. Native islanders ran screaming from collapsed buildings. Shock waves rocked the Jeep, but Ashdown managed to keep its wheels on the road. Heedless of the destruction, they zoomed through the middle of the town, which had become a war zone. There was only one way to the sub and this was it.
Firestorms flanked the roadway. An air raid siren, left over from World War II, wailed like a banshee. The Jeep swerved wildly to avoid the rubble raining down on the pavement; the sudden turns tossed Losenko back and forth in his seat. The rampant destruction tugged at his heart; Puerto Ayora had largely avoided the war until now. He wondered if Ashdown blamed himself for bringing this havoc down upon the unsuspecting populace.