From nowhere, an explosion sends me sprawling to the dirt. There’s smoke, and a ringing in my ears, but I force myself to my feet. Up ahead, Silas drags Pegeen up from the ground. Falco, her nose bloodied, reaches for her guns. Then, in the light of the gunfire, a small shape comes running towards me, a pair of pistols in her hands, her eyes fixed.

Without stopping, the General sights and fires. The Peacekeeper on our heels sprawls backwards, a bullet hole in his skull. She seizes the weapon he dropped: an ex-army blaster.

A louder explosion, and flames paint the night. I look up, eyes stinging with acrid smoke and dust. Esterházy’s place is on fire.

‘No!’ I scream, but it’s too late. The Marshal’s buzzard bursts through the smoke and speeds towards us.

I run. Somewhere up ahead I hear the rabid snapping of Falco’s pistol as she fires over her shoulder. I turn to do the same when a volley of charges sends me diving for cover behind the stands outside the General Store. Glass shatters and witchetty grubs fall tumbling and writhing into the dirt all around me. Then, someone fires out from the window over my head: the store owner, screaming insults.

It’s just enough cover. I stumble forwards, onto the stretch of dirt before the port. Fear rattles through me. There’s no way we’ll make it. Over the sounds of gunfire, I hear the awful cackling of the buzzard speeding towards us. I look back: Marshal Joliffe is at the wheel yelling something, his bandages scorched and bloody. Behind him, a Peacekeeper sights a rifle.

A blast and the Peacekeeper falls, throat spraying blood directly onto Joliffe, who swerves wildly off course. Falco lowers her pistol.

‘Come on!’

There – up ahead – I see the shape of the docks, the looming bulk of the Charis at the end. Falco puts an arm around Pegeen and staggers behind cover of the stable, where a terrified Horse cowers in the doorway, clutching his mechanical dog.

Other crafts in dock are joining the fight, thinking themselves under attack, guards and freight shotgunners opening fire on the Peacekeepers who come roaring from the fire-licked darkness of the town. Bullets tear past as I draw level with the General and we throw ourselves behind the metal walkway. Her chest heaves violently, her eyes bulging and too bright.

‘Lieutenant Okmulgee,’ she barks, stuffing a new charge pack into the blaster. ‘There are enemy snipers at six o’clock, we must draw their fire to protect the medical corps.’

‘General?’ I shake her, but she is not present, she’s on some distant battlefield during the war, and as I watch, she scrabbles at her waist. ‘Where is my ammunition? Lieutenant, send a runner to the supply line, we will mine the area for their retreat.’

Charges and bullets thud into the walkway. ‘General, we have to go!’