"Forget something?" He pointed at the helmet, hanging back of the
door.
I didn't like it, but I put it on, and he took me up, up to the rocket
racks on the prow. Even through the dark lenses the sun was oddly
bright. Smith pointed off to port, where a battered old hull without
even a deckhouse or a mast hobbled painfully in the trough of the sea.
"Target."
He jerked a thumb at the racks.
"Rockets."