Old number 16 was canted against the deflector rail, one side shredded
into curled strips of crumpled metal. I looked closer. Under the flimsy
fairings, gray armor showed. Maybe there was more to Haug's best hack
than met the eye. I climbed in and kicked over the starter. The turbos
sounded as good as ever. I eased the gyros in; she backed off the rail
with a screech of ripped metal.