Free Tom Swift and His Jetmarine by Victor Appleton II Page A

protection that encompassed the inlet as well, and Tom felt that he had set up reasonable security. Two roving guards, equipped with televoc pins tuned to Tom’s receiver, were instructed to awaken him if they saw anything suspicious.
    Tom kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of his bunk. Except for the steady breathing of the other remaining employees from Shopton, it was just as quiet inside as out. The stars were a glowing milky tapestry, and the sea murmured not far away from the inlet where the dry dock had been set up. So far, things have gone well, Tom thought. My enemies have been shaken off, or at least they’ve lost the trail. He stretched out on the bunk. Maybe we’ll still find Hank Sterling alive. Maybe.
    In a short time Tom was asleep, thoroughly exhausted.
    It was after midnight when Tom jolted upright on his bunk. An alarm was blaring in the distance! He shook his head, trying to clear it.
    His televoc beeped and a frantic voice came on. "Tom Swift!" shouted the startled voice of one of the patrolling guards. "I see something—something’s out there!"
    "Where?" Tom demanded.
    "In the water, the ocean—it’s moving this—"
    The warning was cut short by an earth-shaking explosion as a crimson flash illuminated the shore. The ground under the quonset hut shook as if it had been caught up in the fierce anger of an earthquake, and the canvas floor was lifted like the back of a spitting cat. Tom and his friends were knocked from their bunks by the concussion.
    Had the jetmarine exploded?
     
CHAPTER 9
A TOE IN THE WATER
    The quonset hut was full of confused exclamations. "What happened? Anybody hurt?" the men cried.
    "I’m OK, OK here!" came a chorus of replies, but none of them revealed the cause of the explosion.
    "Follow me!" Tom ordered, grabbing a powerful flashlamp. "But keep low! The jetmarine! Oh, I hope Bud—"
    Tom frantically scrambled out of the hut ahead of the others and aimed his flashlamp toward the dry dock. A dark curving shape was illuminated. The sub was unharmed!
    "Good night, what was—?"
    "Get down, Bud!" cried Tom, seeing Bud pushing through the flap in the camouflage which covered the topside hatchway of the jetmarine. Bud ducked, rolled, took a leap, and in an instant was crouched at Tom’s side.
    "Tom, is everyone all right?" It was Dr. Mattengar on the televoc, calling from the lab compound a quarter-mile distant. "Some fast-moving object penetrated our radar-sonar perimeter and exploded inside the inlet. It must have been a torpedo!"
    So that was the alarm, Tom thought. He reassured Dr. Mattengar, then attempted to contact the two roving guards, remembering that one had been cut off in mid-sentence.
    "We’re both fine," was the reply. "I’m the one who saw it out in the water—Eduardo. Just a thick white streak of foam heading toward the shore."
    As the minutes passed and no further intrusions occurred, Tom decided to risk illuminating the area so as to survey the damage. Arv Hanson clicked on a floodlight atop a nearby pole. The yellow glow spread over a wide area. As the group fanned out to investigate further, Tom and Bud peered beneath the camouflage.
    "Is she all right?" Hanson called out.
    Tom waved back at him and shouted, "Looks fine!"
    "But what caused the explosion, Tom?" Bud asked in a quiet voice.
    "We don’t know yet," Tom said grimly. "But it was definitely some kind of attack!"
    The other searchers presently informed Tom that they had found the site of the blast. It was down the shore of the inlet a short distance. One of the men trotted back to the hut and led the way along the inlet, toward the sea. Soon they came to the mouth of a narrow reed-filled creek. Tom could see that black mud had been showered all over the banks.
    "There’s the spot!" Tom declared, spotting a gaping hole in the creek bank. Scattered about were innumerable shrapnel-like pieces of metal, some bearing traces of letters and numbers.
    "A torpedo, all right!" exclaimed Bud.
    Tom