The chain jerked.
It didn’t slip a fraction of an inch. Cold forged steel bit into the vulcanized rubber sleeve of Mac’s left forearm, locking tight against the brass knuckle-stop.
The motor didn’t care about bone or brass. Powered by the tugboat’s twelve-cylinder diesel, the fifty-horsepower gearbox ground forward at fifty revolutions per minute. It drew the heavy stud-link chain straight into the mouth of the press.
Eighteen inches.
The heat off the lower brass cylinder hit Mac’s chin like an open blast furnace shovel. Sweat poured off his eyebrows, stinging his eyes.
“Mac, hold your footing!” Julian shouted from five feet away.
Julian dropped his satchel onto the diamond-plate platform. He lunged forward, grabbing the side frame rail with his left hand while hooking his right arm under Mac’s heavy leather work vest. He pulled back with everything he had, his boots skidding across the wet steel deck.
“Don’t pull, Kid!” Mac grunted, his teeth clicking together under the strain. “You’ll just blow your own back out!”
