“Crawling, mostly,” Max muttered. “Your girl dragged me through the vents.”
Your girl.
She didn’t have the energy to correct him. Or the inclination.
But Wyatt didn’t correct him either.
He packed Max’s wound with fresh gauze and bound it tightly. “Stay off it.”
“Not planning on dancing.”
Wyatt snapped the first-aid kit shut. “We need a single point of failure.”
Jen visualized Seven’s structure—the docking platform extending from the main deck, pylons driven deep into the seabed, storm surge stress spreading through the frame.
Her pulse jumped. “The docking platform. The ship can’t get close enough without it because the platform stabilizes the approach. It absorbs movement so the crane can operate safely.Take out the supports and the ship can’t come alongside. Physics won’t let it.”
Wyatt looked up sharply. His gaze went distant for a second before snapping back to her with a clarity that said he’d already mapped the operation in his head.
“Underwater demolition,” he said. “In a storm. With hostiles topside.”
“Yes.”
“How many pylons?”
“Four. One at each corner. They’re driven into the seabed and bolted to the platform crossbeams. Take out all four and the whole structure drops.”
“All four?” Caro shifted her arm carefully. “What happens if you only get three?”
“It holds. Damaged but functional.” Jen met Wyatt’s eyes. “It’s all or nothing.”
“How deep?” Wyatt asked.
“The piles go much deeper,” Jen said. “But the connection points we need are only about twelve feet down, just below the catwalk level. Blow those and the docking frame loses stability.”
Caro hummed under her breath. “The platform pylons are underwater.”
“We have a diver.” She looked at Max. “Stinson?”
Max gave a shake of his head. “Stinson didn’t make it out of the mess hall.”
No diver.
Her jaw locked. She could already feel the mask on her face, the weight of the ocean above her. But it was still the best shot they had. “I know the load-bearing points we need to hit.”
Wyatt didn’t argue. He just held her gaze, measuring. “I can place the charges.”
“Okay. We’ll need someone topside.”
Caro raised her uninjured arm. “Me. I know the procedures.”
Wyatt’s head snapped toward her. “You’ve been shot.”
“My brain is fine. I can still work a control panel. If either of you runs into trouble, I'll winch you out.”
Wyatt pushed to his feet. “Done.”
His gaze swept over the crew’s heads as if he was measuring the distance to every doorway as he helped Max to his feet. “You need to go to the medical bay.” He turned his attention to the wider group. “All of you. Barricade yourselves in. There’s communication equipment for when help arrives. Don’t open the door for anyone except Coast Guard or SEAL identification. Understood?”
