The four Watersports that were on their way out for escort duty are between us and the chaff cloud. The drivers know that serious drek is going down, and they’re honking their machines round in the tightest turns they can manage. Even from this distance, I can see the curtains of water the hulls are kicking up as they carve. The Baker boat’s Vanquisher opens up—a sound like an amplified fart—and the stream of fire turns one of the Watersports into a fireball. Then the three survivors are through the chaff, which protects them as effectively as it does us.