“Check for leaks, Arvl” Tom cried out. He rushed to the controls. Hank was already fumbling at the communications console.
“The radio’s dead, skipper!” he reported. “The blast must have knocked it outl”
Almost at the same moment, Tom realized that the steering jets were not answering.
“Another torpedo!” came the warning shout.
Tom glimpsed the missile’s foaming wake and took the only escape route open. There was no time to reverse rotor-blade pitch and get the seacopter aloft.
Instead, Tom slammed the control wheel forward. Down plunged the Sea Hound.
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162 AQUATOMIC TRACKER
“Let’s hope we’re still watertight!” Tom murmured, and uttered a silent prayer.
Instants later came the dull reverberation of the torpedo exploding above them. This time all hands had braced themselves for the blast. Tom maintained his grip on the control wheel and kept the Sea Hound plummeting downward.
Presently Arv returned from his inspection trip aft. “No sign of a leak, skipper!”
Tom nodded grimly. Only the tremendous strength of their hull had saved them from destruction. And they were still not out of danger if the enemy sub should dive in pursuit.
“How far down are we going?” Hank asked.
“All the way.”
After tense moments the Sea Hound landed on the ocean floor. Tom shut off the atomic turbine. Even the ping of their sonar-search pulse might alert the enemy and invite another blast. Arv donned the hydrophone headset.
“Can’t hear ‘em at all,” he reported later.
“Okay, let’s get to work on the damage,” Tom said. “But hold down the noise.”