The severed top of the array mast hit the quarterdeck with a heavy crash.
Star-iron cables whipped across the wet planks, throwing showers of blue sparks into the brine.
Elder Sterling caught the falling boom with his left arm, his muscles straining against the weight.
“Damage crews, clear the rigging!” Sterling shouted, shoving the broken timber aside. “Get the auxiliary lines tied off before the second pulse cycles!”
Dozens of allied sailors rushed forward with bronze axes and thick hemp ropes.
They chopped through the tangled stay-lines and dragged the cracked mast toward the gunwales.
Across the channel, forty miles away, the crimson starlight beam faded into the grey sky.
The three unmanned decoy towers had vanished completely, leaving only three boiling patches of white froth where the coral platforms had stood.
