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There was a howling crash that reduced time to a crawl for a long moment of terror. He glanced over his shoulder in time to watch a square yard of the port hull explode inwards. The wood tore itself apart into a scything hail of splinters that murderously filled the air with their hissing flight. Each of the deadly splinters and shards ricocheted two or three times before coming to a halt. He threw his arm in front of his face in an automatic reaction, feeling dozens of sharp impacts over his arms, chest, goggles and breather mask.
Hans’ masked scream of fear was completely occluded by the sound of 12 pounds of iron tearing through the hull, air, pipework and then port boiler at 600 feet per second.