Chapter 29 · Fifty Barrels of Hell

"Hold the line, or I swear I'll ram you through the enemy myself!"

Cassian Vance slammed both hands onto the steering rig and shoved the ironclad into the cartel formation.

The wheel fought him like a live animal. Steam screamed through the pipes. Every gauge on the command deck climbed into the red, and the deck tilted hard enough to throw three sailors against the restraint rails.

Brant caught one of them by the back of his coat and dragged him upright.

"Captain, we're at maximum pressure!"

"Then make it worse."

"That isn't how engines work."

"It is today."

The first depth charge struck the sea above them.

The blast punched down through black water and armored steel. Lamps burst overhead. The command deck dropped six inches, then kicked back so hard Cassian's shoulder smashed into the brass housing beside the wheel.

Lyra Sterling didn't fall. She stood barefoot on the slanted deck, one hand wrapped around a guide rail, her white cane wedged under her arm. Her blindfold was tied tight across her eyes, but her head turned toward the pressure wave before the sonar crew even shouted.

"Twenty seconds," she said.

Cassian bared his teeth.