Terminator Salvation - From the Ashes

The room fell silent again. Blair found herself staring at Wince’s hands as they pressed against the plate beside hers, images of Pete flashing with bittersweet clarity across her mind. She’d watched his plane go down in flames even as what was left of their group fled yet another Terminator attack.

Blair hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to him, or to give him a final kiss. She hadn’t even been able to give him a proper burial.

But she could make sure his call sign remained his.

That much she could do.

That, and do her absolute damnedest to make sure his death ultimately counted for something.

“Okay, that should be enough,” Wince said, breaking into her thoughts. “Let’s let ’er go and see if she stays put. Keep your toes out of the way, though, just in case.”

Carefully, they eased their hands off the plate. Blair watched it closely, but it showed no sign that it was even thinking about coming off.

“Perfect,” Wince said after a minute. “It should survive the night just fine. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Blair said, peering at her plane’s underside. The missile pylons, she noted, were still empty. “You’ll be rearming me once you get all the holes fixed?”

“You mean the holes, the hydraulics, and the left aileron?” Wince asked.

Blair grimaced. “I thought the aileron was acting a little funny.”

“It’s not just funny, it’s hilarious,” Wince said dryly. “But I think I’ll be able to sober it up a little.”

“I know you will,” Blair said. “You can do anything.”

“But…?” Wince asked.

Blair frowned. “But what?”

“Come on, Blair,” Wince said with a knowing look. “Flattery is always followed by an insane request. Go ahead, but do bear in mind that I’ve only got three Sidewinders left, and even I can’t make new ones out of cheese and ten-year-old Army MREs.”

“I wasn’t going to ask for more Sidewinders,” Blair protested, mentally scratching them off her list. “I was just going to ask if you could give me a few extra rounds for my GAU-8 this time.”

“And how would you suggest I do that?” Wince asked. “Those ammo drums only come in one size.”

“I know,” Blair said. “But we just agreed that you can do anything.”

“You agreed I could do anything,” Wince said. “I’m not sure my vote was even asked for, let alone counted. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just lighten up on the trigger a little?”

“It’s not that I’m spending them too fast,” Blair said. “It’s that Skynet always seems to know when I’m dry. I swear the damn computer’s counting every round as it comes out.”

“Actually, it probably is,” Wince conceded. “No, really, it’s a fine idea. I just don’t know if I can—”

“Shh!” Blair cut him off, snapping up her hand for silence. A familiar hum had appeared at the edge of her consciousness, the low-pitched vibration of an HK’s turbofans working its way through the hangar’s walls.

Wince had heard it, too. He nodded understanding, his face drawn and tense. The hum was getting louder…

And suddenly, the hangar’s boarded-up west wall exploded into a hundred fiery spots and slashes of light as the HK’s searchlights found their way through the cracks and gaps.

Wince twitched, but remained silent. Blair found her hand again gripping her holstered gun.

Pure reflex—it would be a lucky shot indeed that would let even the Eagle’s .44 caliber rounds do anything against one of Skynet’s flying horrors.

The angle of the lights shifted as the HK passed overhead, and for a few seconds it was the ceiling, not the wall, that was leaking intense beams of light.

Abruptly, the lights went out. Blair held her breath, peering into the darkness, trying to figure out if the HK’s rumble was moving away or circling back for a second look.

And then, the light reappeared, coming through the series of cracks and gaps in the east wall.

But this time it wasn’t the eye-burning, full-power glare of the HK’s searchlights. It was the softer glow of that same blaze as it was reflected from the ground and rubble and distant buildings.

Blair and Wince looked at each other, and Wince puffed out his cheeks in a pantomimed puffy sigh. Blair nodded, then lifted a finger to her lips to remind him not to make any actual noise until the HK had left the area. Wince nodded in turn, and together they waited as the growl turned again to a distant hum, then faded out completely.

“That’s the sort of nonsense we’ve had to put up with all day,” Wince murmured, making a face as he stretched muscles and joints that had been frozen too long in the same position. “God, but we’re vulnerable here. The sooner Connor gets us out of L.A., the better.”

Blair ran her fingers gently over the jagged rims of the bullet holes in her plane. He was right, of course. Skynet had way too good a bead on them here, and the noose was only going to get tighter each time they were forced to run from one rat hole to the next.

But where could they go? L.A. surrounded them for dozens of kilometers in every direction, a hell of a long walk when you had to carry everything on your own back. The team itself had no vehicles, and even if they could find a truck that still worked there was no gasoline to put into it.

But that was Connor’s problem, not hers. He would figure something out.

He always did.

“At least until then we’ve got this nice building to keep the rain off,” she said.

“Actually, a little rain would be nice,” Wince said, almost wistfully. “Might clear the air a little.”

He shook his head. “Anyway, you’d probably better get back to the bunker. Get some food, and then get to bed.”

“Don’t worry about me—I had almost six hours last night,” Blair said. “I was just thinking you probably need sleep more than I do.” She cocked her head. “And food, too.”

“I’ve got some lunch over there I never got around to eating,” Wince said, nodding toward the back of the hangar. “We could split it if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay,” Blair said. Wince was famous for trying to foist food off on people he suspected were hungrier than he was. Blair had fallen for that trick five times in a row before she’d finally caught on. “I’m not hungry.”

“That was your stomach sending out audible distress signals, wasn’t it?” he reminded her dryly.

“Come on, there’s plenty for both of us.”

“In which case we can deduce that you missed at least two meals, not just one,” Blair countered.

“So go eat, then get some sleep. That’s an order.”

Wince shook his head sadly.

“You young people,” he said, mock-mournfully. “Always ordering around your elders.”

“Call it enlightened self-interest,” Blair told him. She had a few tricks of her own, after all. “I don’t want someone tired and hungry working on my plane.”

“Ah,” Wince said. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“I do,” Blair said. “Now go. I’ll stay here until Yoshi gets back.”

“Okay,” Wince said. “Thanks, Blair.” He touched her shoulder, almost shyly. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get you those extra rounds.”

“Thanks,” Blair said. “You pull it off, and I guarantee they won’t go to waste.”

“I know they won’t,” Wince said. “See you later.”

He headed off toward the back, where the hangar’s compact housekeeping corner had been set up. Blair waited until he was digging ravenously into his neglected food pack, then took a few minutes to wander around the hangar, checking on the security of walls and boarded-up windows and doors. By the time she’d finished her tour, Wince was stretched out on one of the hangar’s two sleeping mats, sound asleep.

Blair shook her head. A meal that disappeared that quickly had definitely not been enough to share. Just as well she hadn’t let him talk her into it.

Her stomach rumbled again. Ignoring the emptiness down there, she picked up the other sleeping mat and