Borrowed Time by Jack Campbell

part way back, then lowered slowly. "You'll find out," he whispered. "Only nobody will pull you back in the boat. Understand? But first, I want you awake and aware while your Intervention gets ruined." I lay there as the boat bobbled its way across the water for an interminable period, occupying myself by slowly working at the ropes binding my hands. Based on the period, and the way they felt against my skin, those ropes should be natural fiber, which meant they were a lot stiffer than a synthetic and were also slightly slick. Also rough. It hurt like hell, but one of my hands slowly began to work through its binding. I hadn't quite finished when Harry finally gestured to his friends to stop rowing and pointed gleefully off to the side. "There. You can't miss it. And neither will the torpedo." With the help of both buddies, he hoisted the weapon over the side.
    I needed to distract them in order to make sure they didn’t look too closely at the weapon and perhaps see my sabotage. “How’s that torpedo work, Harry? Some sort of homing device?”
    Harry shook his head scornfully. “Too unreliable after a jump, Citizen, as you should know. No, it’s a simple straight-runner with an internal gyro to keep it fixed on course.” He leaned over the side of the boat, fumbling with something, then straightened. “There it goes. Say goodbye to your plan, Mikey."
    "Goodbye, Harry." Something about my voice must have alerted him, because Harry looked at me with a very worried expression for about five seconds. That's how long it took for the torpedo, unable to hold a straight course with the impeller on one side completely blocked, to circle back around and pass under our boat. There was a muffled whump as the center of the rowboat flew upward and into pieces, followed by a geyser of water. Harry and his pals got tossed in one direction with their end of the boat while I went in another.
    The water was cold as Europa and murky with stuff I didn't care to think about. No wonder Harry had been so mad when I dunked him. I lunged up gasping for air, before my period clothing absorbed water like a sponge and dragged me back under. I had time to wonder if my improvised plan hadn’t had a serious flaw, then flexed with all my strength against my bonds. Thanks to a little extra lubrication from the water, the hand I’d been working on jerked free, leaving a significant quantity of skin behind. Stroking to the surface again, I got another breath before my clothes pulled me down once more, then pulled off my coat before fighting my way up a third time. Grabbing a largish piece of rowboat as it drifted by, I rested on the impromptu float, watching as my hand dribbled blood into the frigid water. “Jeannie, did sharks inhabit these waters in this here-and-now?”
    Affirmative. I do not have records giving precise hunting areas, however .
    “That’s okay. Thanks.” I ripped my shirt off despite the cold, wrapping it around my hand, then started paddling away from the yells and curses of Harry and his pals. I wondered what story they'd tell if a Union picket boat picked them up.
    I mostly drifted until daylight, which fortunately wasn't long in coming, wishing this little event had been timed for a much warmer part of the year. Uptime mental training included a lot of ways to activate ancient methods of coping with severe temperatures, but the ability to survive didn’t make the cold any more pleasant. Eventually, a sailboat full of locals out to see the Merrimack aka Virginia in action again came by and picked me up. Wrapped in a blanket and fortified with their bourbon, I watched Ericsson's ship, (which he’d christened the Monitor ) screw-propeller, rotating gun turret, forced ventilation and all, steam out to meet the Confederate vessel. The rest of the day was spent contemplating the two ironclads bouncing solid shot off each other, until the Merrimack slunk home, stymied.
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    "So," I finished explaining, "the disappointed locals