I contemplate running to the hanger and getting in my aircraft, although I would assume it is fueled up, it is likely that I would be court marshaled if took off, and given a medal it I died. I take one look out onto the runway from the terminal. The Nerverak hadn't taken the runway, and it seemed undamaged.
The IFVs that had arrived were heading into the woods.
I run to my hanger, and slip inside. My new jet sits in the barely lit hanger. I take my pistol from the ejection seat, it is a USP .45. I contemplate my next move.