Swift advised.
"Right, Dad!"
Admiral Walter had paled slightly under his deep tan. In stunned
silence, the Navy officers and scientists watched as Tom's lean hands
manipulated two controls.
"What are those for?" Bud asked.
"One's to speed up our recovery missile," Tom explained. "Looks like a
slim hope, though, from the way that third blip is homing on target.
This other control has just caused every instrument on this ship, and
all the others in the task force, to make permanent records on magnetic
tape of all their readings.
"If a collision occurs and the probe missile falls into the sea," Tom
went on, "there's only one hope of recovery--to plot the exact
geographical position and then get to the spot before the enemy does!"
"Roger!" Bud agreed.
It was obvious that Tom's fears about the missiles colliding were well
founded. The mystery blip had veered as the recovery missile speeded up.
Within seconds, the three blips met on the screen and fused into a
single spot of light.
"The probe missile's no longer responding to control!" one of the
telemetering scientists called out.
Admiral Walter, grim-faced, flashed a questioning look at Tom. "Then
recovery has failed?"
"I'm afraid so, sir."
The fused blip was still visible on screen as the radar dishes tracked
it, moving in a way that indicated a steep downward plunge.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25