Tom quickly read off the results from the computer’s dials, then busied himself again with the retarding-rocket controls.
PIRATE MISSILE 15
“Everything going okay, skipper?” Bud asked.
Tom nodded. “I’ve readjusted the retarding rockets. They’ll fire at the proper intervals to slow down the missile still further and bring it back on beam.”
The excited buzz of voices in the compartment gradually quieted as the clock ticked steadily toward the next step in the recovery operation.
“Stand by for missile firing!” Tom snapped.
A seaman relayed the order over the ship’s intercom. Tense silence fell as Tom’s eyes followed the sweep of the second hand.
“All clear for blast-offl” came the talker’s report.
Tom pressed the firing button. A split second later the listeners’ eardrums throbbed to a muffled roar from topside as the slender recovery missile shot skyward. The ship rocked convulsively from the shock of blast-off. Then it steadied again as the gyros damped out the vibrations.
“Wow!” Bud heaved a sigh of relieved tension. Then he dashed from the compartment and up the nearest ladder for a quick look at the rocket as it disappeared into the blue.
Tom watched the recovery missile intently on the radarscope.
“Nice going, son,” said Mr. Swift quietly.
In response to his father’s reassuring grip on his arm, Tom flashed him a hasty smile. For the first time, the young inventor realized he was 16 THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG
beaded with perspiration and that his pulse was hammering.
“It’s a case of wait and hope,” Tom murmured.