Julian Vance tapped the crystal of his Casio watch as the second hand ticked past zero two twelve AM.
“Two minutes remain until the zero two fourteen slack tide,” Julian announced, his voice echoing in the damp cellar deck.
“Both shear-ram keys are aligned in the Cameron console,” Mac Cole said, his brass prosthetic fingers resting against Key B.
“The nitrogen pre-charge is holding firm at two thousand eight hundred and fifty PSI,” Mac confirmed.
“The blind shear blades are ready to stroke on our command,” Mac added, checking the hydraulic isolation valves.
Beneath their boots, the steel grating of the cellar deck vibrated with violent, uneven shuddering.
The freezing Atlantic swell surged through the open moon pool, washing sheets of black brine across the lower equipment bay.
Salt crust crunched under Julian’s heavy work boots as he stepped toward the primary instrumentation panel.
