The sound of venting air in an underground lunar tunnel was a high-pitched, hungry scream.
Air didn’t gently leak into the lunar empty pocket. It was wildly ripped away by the huge pressure differential. Through the jagged gap in the fractured backup inner wall, forty kilopascals of warm, high-pressure air rushed into the unsealed upkeep shafts beyond. That created an instant hurricane that tore dark rock dust, loose wiring, and metal panels from the walls.
“Hold the seals!” Sergeant Major Miller roared, throwing his weight against the manual high-pressure lock of the inner hatch. “Chen! Torres! Get back through the portal!”
Through the thick watching window of the inner door, Arthur saw them.
Corporal Chen and Scout Jacob Torres were five meters into the upkeep hall. Just then, the inner wall buckled. A cloud of razor-sharp shrapnel from Malakor’s shattered escort skiffs had sliced through their suits like wet cardboard. Chen’s suit had suffered a total twenty-inch jagged cut across his upper chest plate, while Torres’s outside seal had cut at the left thigh cuff.
In the rapidly dropping pressure, their suits were failing.
Arthur didn’t hesitate. “Titus, breach anchor! Now!”
The Melted rock-Bastion reacted with the seasoned discipline of a heavy combat vanguard. Launching his massive, multi-ton frame forward, Titus didn’t bother with the doors. He threw his shoulder directly into the buckling silver-steel frame, wedging his huge black glass back shell into the fractured breach.
