The air erupted. The gunners fired continuously, spending countless bullets in an effort to prevent return fire.

It wasn’t enough. A third missile crashed into their hull, rocking the ship and throwing shrapnel over the girls still swimming. Two ladders snapped and fell into the water.

She was going to have to spin the ship broadside to protect the girls. The maneuver would give the approaching Bullet ship an even bigger target. But she was out of options.

Just as she was about to give the order, the second Bullet ship did something unexpected: it opened fire on the first.

“Gloriana!” Nettle yelled from her post at the helm. “It has to be!”

“Keep firing!” Caledonia shouted to her gunners. “Get those girls on board!”

For another minute, her girls poured over the railing. One after the other, they landed in shivering heaps while the sky exploded behind them.

Another missile struck the ship. They heaved starboard amid sounds of twisting metal.

“Sledge!” she called.

“Let’s move, Captain!” Sledge bellowed from his position by the ladders, his strong voice barely audible over the storm.

A third ship pushed through the walls, forcing their protector to flee south. Caledonia hoped it was Gloriana, and she hoped that wherever she ended up, it was better than here.

“Nettle! Get us out of here!” she called without hesitation.

The ship rumbled and roared, driving straight ahead, away from Slipmark, where soon the night ocean would obscure their trail.

Caledonia took one look at the crowd of girls now clustered on the deck below—her girls, her crew, her sisters—and she smiled.

Chapter Twenty-seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Victory was never simple.

They’d done everything they’d set out to do. They’d done what had never been done before, and they deserved to celebrate that fact, to celebrate the return of her crew. But they’d also lost Triple, and they deserved to mourn her.

Caledonia couldn’t make room for either. Not until she was certain they weren’t being followed, until she’d put as much distance as possible between them and Slipmark. For an hour more, she kept her eyes on the sea in their wake, searching for signs of trouble until finally, she was convinced they were clear.

“Nettle,” she said at long last. “Hand off the helm and go get that arm taken care of.”

“Yes, Captain,” she answered in a tired voice.

When the girl was gone, Caledonia headed belowdecks. Her steps were rushed and her breath quick as she hurried toward the galley, which was now transformed from dining hall to temporary barracks. Cots hung from the walls; tables and chairs were arranged in a makeshift common space; and the kitchen was serving cups of hot soup.

The girls were dressed in dry clothes and sat wrapped in blankets, cupping soup mugs between thin fingers and murmuring to one another in soothing tones.