But suddenly the men at the scope blanched. "The missile's turning too!"
Hank cried. "It's homing in on us!"
Unlike most Swift craft used on scientific expeditions, the cargo sub's
hull had not been coated with Tomasite. This would have insulated it
from all magnetic effects or any form of pulse detection. Tom had chosen
the _Swiftsure_ partly for this very reason, so that the Brungarian
rebels could easily pick up its trail after leaving Fearing.
How ironic if his choice should prove fatal! As the thought flashed
through Tom's brain, the missile came streaking into view through the
sub's transparent nose.
By this time, Tom had flipped up the _Swiftsure's_ diving planes. The
craft plummeted deeper into the ocean depths.
"Brand my whale blubber, she's turnin' again!" Chow gulped. The
missile's arc, as it veered around to follow, painted a streak of light
on the sonarscope.
Anxious moments raced by while Tom steered their craft in a deadly game
of tag with the sub-killer. Gradually the missile appeared to be losing
momentum.
"It's slowing down, all right!" Arv called out.
In a few minutes the missile had lost so much way that Tom was easily
able to outdistance it. The crew crowded to the scope, heaving sighs of
relief. The missile, its velocity spent, sank harmlessly toward the
bottom.
"Boy, what a close call!" Bud gasped weakly. "You played that thing like
a toreador sidestepping a bull, Tom! Nice going!"
The others echoed Bud's sentiments, with fervent handshakes and
backslaps for Tom's skillful evasive action.
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