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Informationen zum Autor New York Times bestselling author Greg Cox is well-known for his hugely popular Star Trek novels. He has also written successful novelisations and tie-ins for Ghost Rider , Underworld , Infinite Crisis , CSI , Alias , Buffy and many more. Cox is a consulting editor for Tor Books and was nominated in 2008 for the Best Speculative Adapted Scribe Award for 52: The Novel . Klappentext In this official spin-off novel from the smash hit movie, Russian Captain Dimitri Losenko in 2003 orders a retaliation against the U.S. for its apparent nuclear attack. In Alaska in 2018, a small band of Resistance fighters hides out in the frozen wilderness sustained only by John Connor's voice coming through a crackling radio. Original. CHAPTER ONE JULY 25, 2003 Judgment Day came without warning. Captain First Rank Dmitri Losenko sipped tea from a warm ceramic mug as he updated the ship's log in the privacy of his stateroom aboard the Delta IV nuclear submarine K-115. His lean, hawk-like features were clean-shaven. Strands of silver had begun to infiltrate his short brown hair. Medals and insignia gleamed upon his dark blue uniform. Shrewd gray eyes focused intently on his work. His personal quarters were as trim and impeccably organized as the man himself. Steam rose from the brass samovar resting on his desk. Polished wood paneling covered steel bulkheads. The cotton sheets of his bunk were fitted and folded with the careful precision and attention to detail that life aboard a submarine demanded. A multifunction display screen, mounted adjacent to the bunk, allowed him to check on the sub's tactical status at a glance. A dog-eared copy of War and Peace awaited his leisure. As a loyal officer in the new Russian Navy, Losenko had commanded this vessel for more than a year now. He liked to think that he was prepared for both war and peace-and that he played a vital role in preserving the latter. It was a routine watch aboard K-115, christened the Gorshkovafter the father of the modern Russian Navy. 150 meters below the frozen surface of the Barents Sea, the sub patrolled silently, bearing its deadly cargo of ballistic missiles. For nearly twenty years, through the Cold War and beyond, K-115 and the rest of the Northern Fleet had held its fire, always returning to port without unleashing thermonuclear hell upon the world. Alone in his cabin, Losenko had no expectation that this mission would end otherwise. He looked forward to returning to his dacha outside St. Petersburg after another successful run. The countryside was beautiful in the summer. A squawk from the intercom disturbed his reverie. Losenko put down his tea and plucked the microphone from its cradle. A black plastic cord-kept scrupulously free of tangles-connected the mike to the speaker system. “Captain's quarters,” he said brusquely, his voice deep. “What is it?” The voice of Alexei Ivanov, his executive officer, or starpom, escaped the mike. “Captain. We've received an urgent communication from Fleet Command.” Losenko arched an eyebrow. “I'll be right there.” Abandoning his logbook, the captain rose to his feet. His black leather boots resounded against the steel deck plates as he strode down the corridor. Unlike a surface ship-subject to the choppy motion of the waves-the submarine's deck remained steady and level beneath his feet. If not for the constant thrum of the ship's engines in the background, there was little indication that the vessel was moving. Cables and conduits grew like ivy over the bulkheads. The freshly scrubbed air was a comfortable twenty degrees Celsius. A double hull shielded him from the black, frigid water outside the sub. As always, he found comfort and pride in the efficiency and reliability of the machine he commanded. What does Moscow want now? he fretted. Worry furro...
