Ashdown was conferring with his French, British, and Canadian counterparts over by the coffee urn. Losenko noticed that the general did not appear to be eating, either. One more thing they had in common. Ashdown looked up at his approach. He stepped forward, away from his Western colleagues.
Losenko steeled himself for what was to come.
He could barely look at the man without flinching.
“Good day,” Ashdown greeted him gruffly. “Losenko, isn’t it? That was good work bringing down that destroyer.” The general had obviously been briefed on all of his guests. “It couldn’t have been easy, firing on one of your own ships. Not exactly what any of us signed up for. Goes against the grain.”
Losenko took little pride in sinking the Smetlivy.
“I did what I had to do.”
“That’s what command is all about, making the tough decisions when things get hot.” Ashdown looked Losenko over, taking his measure. “I’ll tell you something, Captain. It’s men like you and me—real soldiers and seamen, with gunpowder in our veins—who are going to win this war.”
Losenko wondered what Ashdown’s son had looked like, whether he resembled his father. Had they been close?
“I understand you’re a submariner,” Ashdown continued. “I was under the waves myself when everything went to hell. Conducting an inspection of one of our Los Angeles class SSNs, the USS Wilmington. Been my base of operations ever since.” He glanced around them. “How do you think I got to this volcanic pit stop?”
Now that the moment had come, Losenko debated whether he should truly confess to Ashdown his role in his son’s death. Was it possible that such an admission might do more harm than good, placing yet more stress on an already fragile detente? He almost changed his mind, then he remembered how Ashdown had acknowledged his own complicity in Skynet’s creation. The American general could have pretended that he had opposed Skynet, that he had been overruled by his superiors, but instead he had accepted his fair share of the blame.
Losenko decided that Ashdown deserved the same honesty regarding the fate of his child.
“There is something I must tell you, General, which I fear may be painful to you.” Losenko swallowed hard. His mouth suddenly felt as dry as the Gobi Desert. “But it is best that there be no secrets between us.”
Ashdown gave him a quizzical look. He put down his coffee and offered his full attention.
“All right. Fire away.”
His choice of words was viciously ironic.
“Your son,” Losenko began. The general stiffened at the words. “My submarine, K-115, was patrolling beneath the Barents Sea when we received word of the attack on our homeland. Our orders were to retaliate, and I followed those orders. I launched several ballistic missiles, armed with multiple nuclear warheads, at strategic targets in the state of Alaska. Your son’s base was surely among those targets.”
Now it was Ashdown who was rendered speechless. His entire body froze. His face flushed with anger, and a vein throbbed against his temple. Losenko was reminded of a nuclear core approaching meltdown. He braced himself for the inevitable explosion.
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.