On the QUARTER DECK, looking at SABRE. She’s standing on the RAILING. The mirth is gone. She knows just how grave this is, and the next maneuver will decide their survival.
1. SABRE: We’ll have to spill the sails.
Reverse, WEST is reaching for SABRE, who hasn’t moved. We can see the SMOKE CLOUD, and the barest hint of IRON CROWN through it. The ships are coming very close now.
2. WEST: We’re not at pressure yet! They’ll ram straight through us!
3. WEST: Love and whole, woman—
WEST yanks SABRE back, catching her, as a BARRAGE of FLYER SHOTS chew up the RAILING and DECK where she just stood, the FLYER screaming past.
4. WEST: —get down from there!