The smells of sulfur, smoke, and hot metal. The distant boom of enemy guns, and the answering roar of your own, so loud your ears ring like gongs long after the shots are fired. The haze of smoke against a blue sky, blown continually away by winds five thousand feet above the sea.

The Invictus is leaking, bleeding gas to the winds and dropping slowly through the clouds while the pirates rise by contrast further above you, giving their guns more range and greater power.

You load and fire, load and fire, load and fire.

You load. Suddenly you are wrenched, hard, against your harness. The sky spins. When it resolves there is a gaping hole in the deck almost beneath your feet. The nine-pounder lilts into the gap at a dangerous angle. Of the other airmen, there is no sign.

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Above you, the pirate ship releases a swarm of black-winged gliders tethered with long ropes. They sense your defeat and mean to capture the Invictus.

You only have one shot left.

The angle is bad, the range impossible, but if you somehow hit the enemy fuselage you can end the conflict in a single blow and save the Invictus.

You can take out the nearest glider. It won’t stop the pirates, but it may slow them down precious minutes.

You can swivel the gun and shoot your own fuselage. All aboard will surely perish, but the secrets of the Invictus will not fall into enemy hands.