Tom nodded. “They pulled out on schedule.”
“What about them Brungarian sidewinders?” put in Chow.
“That’s the question!” Tom swooped down to rejoin the other two craft. “We’ll keep an eye out for enemy blips while we do our prospecting.”
Rather than lose time trying to contact Bud, Tom decided to let him find the Sea Hound. Accordingly, he switched off the antidetection system and ordered all ships to submerge. Arv’s seacopter and Mel’s jetmarine were to maintain close formation and stand guard while Tom’s craft did the actual searching.
Now the missile hunt began. Tom had plotted a concentric search pattern, focused on the probable position worked out by the task-force computers. After checking his fix on the automatic navigator, Tom switched on the Damonscope and steered the Sea Hound on a gradually circling course.
The Damonscope was mounted in a blister on the hull, its camera lens pointing toward the ocean floor. The automatic developing film would record any trace of fluorescence, and a red light would signal this result to the pilot’s cabin.
Minutes went by as the Sea Hound nosed
180 THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG
slowly along through the gray-green gloom, its sister craft flanking it a hundred yards on either side. They were moving only a fathom or so above the bottom.
“A blip at eleven o’clock!” the sonarman called out suddenly. Tom’s pulse quickened. “Moving straight toward us,” the sonarman added.
Tom surrendered the controls to Zimby long enough to dart over and study the sonarscope. “I’ve a hunch it’s Bud,” he told the others.
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