Bud amused himself by watching the fish that glided, blinking and gaping, past the yellow beam of his lamp. One that made him gasp was an enormous oval sunfish over seven feet long.
“Boy! Chow could feed a ship’s crew on that baby!” Bud thought.
The night passed slowly. Unaccustomed yet to their watch routine, each hydronaut felt lonesome as he jetted along through the eerie undersea darkness with his partner trailing behind, asleep, at the end of the towline.
The following morning, during one of the hours with both awake, the boys became tense as they detected an object on their scopes. It was approaching at high speed from the rear. They proceeded cautiously, alert for possible trouble, as it overhauled them. Tom breathed a sigh of relief when he made out its blimp-shaped hull, diving planes, and slim, knifelike conning tower.
“Relax, Bud, it’s a U.S. Navy nuke!” Tom signaled.
“Wonder where she’s headed?” Bud replied. “Do you suppose they’ve spotted us yet?”
Inside the nuclear submarine, the hydro—
THE SINGING MERMAN 35
phone operator was monitoring the boys’ conversation with a puzzled look.
“Thought it was a couple of porpoises at first, sir,” he reported to the skipper, “but that squeal I’m getting sounds like some sort of sonar carrier wave.”
“Try the Gertrude,” the captain ordered.
The enlisted man switched on the underwater telephone as the captain issued commands to slow the ship for a sonarscope search. Presently all hands stared in amazement, eyes popping, as a voice from outside came over the speaker: