Tom put on a burst of speed, as if attempting to outrace their pursuer.
But he was careful to gauge his knots by reports from the sonarscope, in
order not to widen the gap between the two craft. There seemed no danger
that this would happen, although the _Swiftsure_ raced ahead faster and
faster. Still the enemy sub continued to close in like a marauding
shark, finally passing Tom's craft.
"Some baby!" Bud muttered respectfully.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a missile streaked across
their bow, in plain view through the _Swiftsure's_ transparent nose. Its
foaming wake rocked the jetmarine.
"They're attacking us!" Bud cried out.
Tom slammed shut the turbine throttle, bringing his craft to a gliding
halt in the water. At the same time, he switched on the sonarphone.
"Orders to Swift sub!" a voice barked over the set. "Surface and heave
to! No tricks, or the next missile will not be across your bow!"
Tom blew his tanks and sent the _Swiftsure_ spearing upward. As the
conning tower broke water, Tom and his men swarmed up on deck. Seconds
later, a sleek gray enemy submarine knifed into view. Its hatch opened
and several men climbed out.
To Tom's amazement, their leader was Samson Narko!
Chow let out a yelp of rage. "Why, you sneakin', double-dyed,
bushwhackin' polecat!" the old Westerner bellowed. "We shoulda kept you
hawg-tied, 'stead o' lettin' you go free!"
Narko ignored the outburst and raised a megaphone to his lips.
Pages:
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115