Minutes later, a buzzer sounded beneath him. The computer had something now. He glanced at the parabolic radar antenna, rearing its head a dozen feet above him. It had stopped its aimless scanning and was quivering steadily on the southeast horizon. Southeast?
He lowered himself quickly into the ship and stared at the luminous screen. Blips—three blips—barely visible. While he watched, a fourth appeared.
He clamped on his headsets. There it was! The faint engine-noise of ships. His trained senses told him they were subs. Subs out of the southeast? He had expected interception from the west—first aircraft, then light surface vessels.
There was but one possible answer: the enemy.
He dived for the radio and waited impatiently for the tubes to warm again. He found himself shouting into the mic.
"Commsubron Killer, this is Sugar William Niner Zero. Urgent message. Over."
He was a long way from the station. He repeated the call three times. At last a faintly audible voice came from the set.
"... this is Commsubron Killer. You are ordered to return immediately...."
The voice faded again.
"Listen!" Mitch bellowed. "Four, no—five enemy submarine—position 31°50´ North, 73°10´ West, proceeding northwest—roughly, toward Washington. Probably carrying an answer to Garson's ultimatum. Get help out here. Over."