Terminator Salvation: From the Ashes (24 page)

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Kyle woke up to the very strange sensation of being hot and cold at the same time.

Carefully, he opened his eyes. He was lying on his side on the ground, his head propped up on Star’s lap. One of her hands was resting on his cheek, the other clutching his shoulder like she was afraid he was going to leave her.

“How long?” he asked, startled by the croaking sound of his own voice.

Half an hour,
Star signed. Her expression, Kyle noted, was seriously worried.
How do you feel?

“Cold,” Kyle told her.
“And
hot. What—?”

And then it all came flashing back to him. The fire and explosion he’d set off, the wall of flame that had thrown him clear out of the tunnel…

He reached a hand to his cheek. It was warm, but sunburn warm, not at all like skin that had been burned to a crisp. The image he’d had of being bathed in flame must not have been nearly as bad as it had seemed at the time.

His back, on the other hand…

He started to reach behind him, but stopped as Star caught his hand.
Gone,
she signed.
Your
jacket. Gone.

“Ah,” Kyle said. So that was where the cold part of the sensation was coming from. The wall of flame that had kicked him out of the tunnel had burned the jacket clean off his back.

Hopefully, it had left most of the skin behind. At least Kyle couldn’t feel any particular pain coming from back there.

Maybe the pain would come later. Propping himself up on one elbow, he blinked his eyes a few times and surveyed the damage.

It was pretty impressive, if he did say so himself. The broken-building camouflage that had disguised the three entrances to the gasoline stash was completely gone, though pieces of it were still smoldering with foul-smelling black smoke. Where the chamber and stash itself had been was now a deep crater.

And lying in the middle of the crater were three unmoving metal bodies.

So it had worked. He hadn’t been completely sure it would, not even with something as hot as a gasoline fire. But it had worked.

“Come on, we’d better get moving,” he said. Pressing one hand to the ground, he heaved himself to his feet.

And nearly fell over again. Star was instantly at his side, holding him up as he fought against the sudden light-headedness that had sent the whole world spinning around him.

The spinning faded away, leaving behind a terrible weakness. There was no way they were going to make it back to the Ashes, he knew. Not yet.

But there might be another option.

“The ganghouse,” he told Star, nodding his head in that direction. “The one where they tried to jump us yesterday.”

But there’s someone still in there,
she objected.

So she’d also seen the face looking out when they’d passed by earlier with Nguyen’s people.

137

“I doubt it,” he said. “If they had any brains they took off as soon as the Terminators started shooting.”

And even if they hadn’t, he added to himself, there was still no choice but to risk it.

It took them five minutes to pick their way around the smoldering rubble and get to the ganghouse. Gripping his Colt—somehow, in all the chaos around the gasoline stash he’d lost the rifle and shotgun—he pushed the door open.

To his relief, the place was deserted.

“This’ll do,” he declared, glancing around and spotting a chair that had been conveniently left beside the door. “Hang on—I have to sit down for a minute.”

He eased himself down on the chair, relieved that he’d made it here without collapsing. His legs were trembling, and there were white spots dancing in front of his eyes. Taking deep breaths, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of his feet, he concentrated on not passing out.

And started as a ration bar and a bottle of water suddenly appeared in front of him.

He looked up. Star was holding them out to him, a worried look on her face.

“Where’d you get these?” Kyle asked, frowning as he took them from her.

Over there,
she signed, and pointed across the room.

“Whoa,” Kyle murmured, gazing in surprise at the pile of clothing and the small boxes stacked neatly on one of the room’s other chairs. “Where’d
that
come from?”

Star gave him the kind of exaggeratedly patient look that she did so well.

“Right—you don’t know,” Kyle said. “Well, I don’t suppose whoever left it is coming back any time soon.” He peered across at the clothing. “You suppose there’s a jacket over there that would fit me?”

Star’s answer was to make a beeline for the stack.

Kyle had finished the ration bar and half the water by the time she returned, triumphantly carrying not just a new jacket, but a new shirt and new jeans as well.

“That’s great,” Kyle said, setting down the water and trying not to wince as he stripped off the tattered remains of his own clothing. The new outfit was a little big for him, but it was warm and—

most importantly—not half burned away.

“Just like Christmas, huh?” he commented as he sat down again. “I don’t suppose there was any more water over there?”

Connor had met General Olsen a couple of times over the past few months, and hadn’t been particularly impressed. The man had a casual way of talking, and an air of easygoing charm that Connor found gratingly at odds with the deadly seriousness of life in Skynet’s shadow.

But if Olsen the man wasn’t anything remarkable, Olsen the soldier and commander was.

Connor had seen only a partial list of the man’s accomplishments, but that was more than enough to have earned him humanity’s respect, and Connor’s as well.

And so it was without a single twinge of resentment or cynicism that Connor threw Olsen a salute as the general stepped out of the last of the five Black Hawk troop carriers to land on the warehouse grounds.

“General,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

“Nice to be here,” Olsen replied. He glanced around at the swarm of men and women lugging the crates and boxes to the line of cargo helicopters, then looked back at Connor. “ ’Course, I expect you’d’ve been even gladder if we’d shown up, say, an hour earlier?”

“It could have been helpful,” Connor agreed, choosing his words carefully.

Olsen grinned tightly.

“I’ll just bet it would’ve.” The grin faded. “I wish I could’ve, too. But I ’spect you know how it is.”

“Command needed to know you weren’t risking men and resources for a hopeless cause?”

138

Olsen grunted. “You never have been much of one for spackling over your words, have you, Connor?”

“Not really,” Connor said. “Did we pass the test?”

“Passed it and then some,” Olsen said, nodding. “Enough that Command’s ready to take you and your team on full-time.”

“You mean like the last time they took us on?” David put in as he came up to them. His voice was respectful enough, but Connor could see the slow simmer going on behind the other’s eyes.

Connor could sympathize. Having their hard-earned prize suddenly and casually taken over this way wasn’t an easy thing to swallow.

But then, getting Command’s attention
had
been the chief goal of the mission, after all.

“No, I think you’ve actually convinced them this time,” Olsen said. If he had noticed David’s anger, he was pretending he hadn’t. “This isn’t some new probation or any of that crap. You’re being offered a full slot in the Resistance structure, no strings, and all the goodies that go along with it.”

“Funny,” David said, throwing a pointed look at all the crates making their way into Olsen’s helicopters. “I thought we’d already found ourselves a stack of goodies.”

“Oh, that you did,” Olsen said, his genial voice hardening just noticeably. “But if you’ll look closely, you might notice it’s mostly goodies you can’t use.”

He pointed to a pair of crates being manhandled into one of the Black Hawks. “That ammo, f’rinstance. Fits HK Gatlings. You have anything that caliber?”

“Probably,” David said stubbornly.

“Probably not,” Olsen countered. “Might figure out a way to adapt it to an A-10’s GAU-8, but it’d be real tricky. Be a lot simpler to just take out the GAU-8 and shove an HK Gatling in its place.” He raised his eyebrows. “You have any spare HK Gatlings lying around?”

“Our pilots don’t usually leave much worth salvaging,” David said with a touch of pride.

“True enough,” Olsen acknowledged. “ ’Course, even if you had one, swapping it out would take a heap of work and a crapload of equipment you probably don’t have. And as for the rest of the stuff…”

He looked back at Connor, a frown creasing his face.

“You really don’t know what you’ve got here, do you?”

“I only arrived just before you did, General,” Connor told him. “I haven’t had a chance to look around.”

“Then let me enlighten you,” Olsen said, his folksy manner suddenly gone. “This here wasn’t just a neighborhood-sweep staging area. It was that, too, but it wasn’t mostly that.” He waved a hand behind him. “This here was gearing up to be a brand spankin’ new maintenance center.”

Connor shifted his eyes over the general’s shoulder, an unpleasant tingle running through him.

No wonder Skynet had been so hell-bent on defending the place.

“Really,” he murmured.

“Really,” Olsen assured him. “And maybe not just maintenance, either. There are whole crateloads of electronics and minicomputers in there, plus some weapons we’re going to want to look into reverse-engineering. I could be wrong, but I’m guessing Skynet was planning a serious upgrade for pretty much everything it’s got in this sector. And all that was slated to happen right here.”

He smiled lopsidedly.

“Except you and your team have just single-handedly stopped it. You think Command’s going to be fussing over probation protocol?”

“I see your point,” Connor said.

“I would damn well hope so,” Olsen said. “They’ve got a base all picked out for you to move into—nice and big, well protected, and out of this mess that L.A.’s become.”

139

“Sounds enticing,” Connor said. “And the catch?”

Olsen shrugged. “You learn to take orders.” He grinned. “ ’Course they’re all
good
orders. That goes without saying.”

David snorted. But the sound was more thoughtful than resentful, and he was no longer glowering as he watched the crates being loaded aboard the Black Hawks.

“Okay, it’s a deal,” Connor told Olsen. “We’ll need to get the rest of our people back, and there’s some food and random equipment we left at our staging area.”

“Call the people; forget the clutter,” Olsen said briskly. “I got a report just before I landed that Skynet’s got more HKs burning their way up from San Diego. It is
not
happy with you and your crew right now.”

“Understandable,” Connor said, flipping on his transmitter. “Barnes: get your squad together and bring it in, double-time. Don’t bother stopping by the staging area—we’re leaving whatever’s there behind.”

“Got it,” Barnes said briskly. “On our way.”

Connor flicked off the transmitter and turned to David.

“Go gather your squad and Tunney’s,” he told him. “We’ll be traveling—” He raised his eyebrows at Olsen.

“In my personal choppers, yes,” the general confirmed with a nod. “Oh, and I got another report on the way in. The other choppers have finished cleaning out the rest of your base, people, and whatever else they could load aboard. Soon’s we’re done here, we’re out.”

Connor nodded. “And double-time it,” he added to David.

The other nodded and moved off.

“What about our pilot?” Connor asked. “Last I heard she was being escorted out, but had been ordered to shut down her radio.”

Olsen nodded. “Security measure,” he said. “Our airstrip is still secret, and we’d like to keep it that way as long as we can.”

“Of course,” Connor said. “I just want to make sure she’s taken care of.”

“Oh, she will be,” Olsen promised. “We treat our pilots very well, and from what we saw tonight she’s definitely one hell of a pilot.” He shook his head. “One hell of a plane, too. That has got to be the damnedest patchwork job I’ve ever seen on an A-10. I’m surprised the thing’s still flying.

Whoever your mechanic is, he’s a wizard.”

“He is all that,” Connor agreed. “And before you ask, you can’t have him.”

Olsen grinned. “We’ll see. Anyway, like I said, we’re on tight numbers, so grab your people, grab your butt, and get all of it aboard the choppers.”

“Yes, sir.” Connor turned and started to walk away.

Olsen’s hand snaked out to touch his arm.

“You did good today, Connor,” he said quietly. “Right now, everyone knows that. But they’ll forget. People always forget.”

“That’s fine,” Connor said. “I’m not in this for the glory.”

“I know you’re not,” Olsen said. “I’m just saying that when the rest forget, don’t you forget, too.”

Connor gazed out at the quiet city around them. The city where so many people had died tonight.

“Don’t worry, General,” he said quietly. “I won’t forget. Ever.”

It took Kate a good half hour of work, plus nearly a third of the medicines and bandages in her field kit, to put Sergeant Orozco back together. But when she was finished, she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes flicker open.

“Sergeant?” she called gently. “Sergeant Orozco? Can you hear me?”

140

The eyes closed, flickered again, and then opened all the way. For a long moment he stared up into her face, his forehead furrowed with questions or confusion or disbelief.

“It’s Kate Connor, Sergeant,” Kate said, wondering how much the morphine was fogging his brain. “We were here this morning.”

“I know,” Orozco said, his voice weak but with no signs of disorientation. “What are you doing here now?”

“We came to help,” Kate said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”

Slowly, Orozco turned his head, his eyes taking in the devastation and death around them.

“How many?” he asked.

Kate felt her stomach tighten.