Chapter 1: The Expected from The Unexpected
Scott climbed out of the small sports car and dusted the front of his suit out, making sure it was still neat and free of wrinkles. He looked up at the building before him as he closed the door and locked it, frowning as he made his way to the front doors. He had been called in by the GDF to discuss something —they hadn't exactly said what in their communications. Scott knew something like this was going to happen —they had finally given up searching for their father's missing plane a month ago, 184 days since he had disappeared, and the higher-ups would want a word with the new commander of International Rescue. Scott had not expected the message to come via a private messenger to the island, nor for it to mention an inquiry, or for it to tell him to dress appropriately. Did they expect him to show up in his blues?
He shook his head to clear it of abstract thoughts. He was nervous, but this wasn't the first time he had been involved in a meeting of this caliber. He had been with his father a few times when he had come to discuss issues between the GDF and International Rescue. There had been such an issue when a classified sub was trying to track Thunderbird 1 as it returned home after a rescue. John had picked up the tracking signal and called them out on it. Scott's father had been called to explain themselves, and Scott had tagged along. He remembers the meeting room, and it looked much like one of his father's conference rooms in any of his numerous office buildings across the States. He had been delegated to stand along the wall any time he had gone with his father, and he couldn't help but smile a little at the thought that he would be able to sit at the adult table and speak with these men on equal terms, because he was an adult and was now commander of his father's precious organization.
He opened the door and provided the security guard at the entrance his driver's license. Once it was cleared and he was given a visitor's badge, he passed through the metal detectors unhindered and made his way to the reception desk. However, he was caught off guard by a familiar face. He hadn't expected her to be there, and he was torn between being grateful and wishing she had let him do this on his own.
"Scott, it's good to see you." Colonel Casey nodded as Scott walked up to her. "I was thinking of going and see you boys but then I got notice of this meeting."
"You were called here as well?" Scott was a little shocked at this and frowned.
"I'm not required to be here, no, but something didn't seem right, so I thought I would accompany you."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, check in with the receptionist and you'll see what I mean."
Scott's frown deepened as he walked over to the receptionist. She was a civilian, headset on her head and typing a hundred words a minute on the computer in front of her.
"Excuse me, I'm here for a meeting, name's Scott Tracy."
"Yes, Mr. Tracy, they are expecting you in tribunal room 321B."
"Tribunal room?"
"Yes, sir."
Scott blinked at the receptionist but then took the slip she handed him and turned back to the Colonel.
"See?" She smiled as he joined her.
"We haven't done anything wrong, have we?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but I also don't have full disclosure of what goes on between IR and the GDF."
"I mean, we just suspended activities for a month while we searched, they said it was okay, that they understood."
"Scott." Colonel Casey took his shoulder and pulled him to a stop, making him turn and look at her. "This is not the time to be questioning yourself. Whatever happens in this room, you have to face it as a commander."
"Right, of course." Scott nodded and took a deep breath, calming himself.
They made their way up to the room in quiet reflection, Scott thinking through everything they had done in the past six months, trying to find something that might have angered the military origination.
Colonel Casey stopped in front of the mahogany doors that seemed far taller than what they were. She stepped before Scott and pulled the door open, motioning for him to go on ahead of her. He nodded, took a gulp of air, and then stepped in. The room was nothing but mahogany—the floors, walls, and ceiling were all the same. Even the chairs and benches and tables were all the same monochromatic wood. There were benches starting at the back of the room, going forward about ten rows before a half wall cut them off from the main part of the room. In this part, there was a large curved desk, where five of the higher brass sat talking to each other. They all wore their uniforms, and it seemed the moment Scott entered, they quieted down and watched his every step through the room. Colonel Casey laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as she stepped into the first row of benches. Scott nodded back to her and walked through the small door to stand in front of a podium.
"Scott Carpenter Tracy." The man in the middle addressed Scott as he leaned forward a bit. "We are here today to discuss the continued affiliation of International Rescue and the Global Defense Force."
"Discuss, feels more like a trial." Scott smiled trying to ease the tension that was building in the room.
"That is because we are not sure we wish to continue." This was said by a woman to the right of the man in the center.
"We knew what we were dealing with when we agreed to your father's proposition. However, now that he is no longer among us —." It was now a man on the far right of the table, but Scott cut him off.
"He's not dead, we haven't found —"
"You will not interrupt us." The first man's voice shook throughout the room. "You will not speak unless spoken to. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir." Each word was quick and sharp.
There was a nameplate in front of each of the generals that sat before him, above him even. On the left was Brigadier General Diaz a woman with a stern face and cold gray eyes. Next to her was Major General Sal—young for his position, he looked to have grown up in the military and had never let his hair grow longer than a cropped cut in his life. His eyes were boring into Scott, and it was all he could do not to stare back at him. Next along the row was Lieutenant General Belousov, a man even his father hated to deal with. Scott had seen an argument between the two before, and it was very much two brick walls trying to bust through one another. To his right was Major General Andreasson; she looked a little kinder, but he knew better than to trust the upper echelon of the military. Finally on the far right side was Major General Huston. He was the only exception to the group, and Scott knew that he was a kind man and that maybe, whatever went on in this hearing, he would possibly be on his side.
"As I was saying." Major General Huston smiled kindly at Scott. "Now that your father is no longer among us, we must re-evaluate our relationship."
"We are taking into assumption that you have taken over command of the organization. Is this correct?" Lieutenant General Belousov was still leaning forward, hoping to put stress on Scott.
"Yes, sir." Scott bit firmly at each word as he frowned up at him.
"Very well, then. Shall we start?" Belousov looked over to those on either side of him. They all nodded, and he lifted a stack of papers and tapped them neatly on the desk before him. They were the hard copies of Scott's records, something that should have never seen the light of day. "Scott Carpenter Tracy. Born April 14th, 2039, to Jefferson and Lucille Tracy. Four younger brothers: John Glenn, Virgil Grissom, Gordon Cooper, and Alan Shepard. Graduated from high school in 2056, Yale in 2059, and Oxford in 2061, after which you joined the US Air Force. After bootcamp and flight training, you were stationed at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada as part of the 474th Tactical Fighter Wing. Within that, you were a member of the 429th Tactical Fighter Squadron called the Black Falcons. After two months within the squadron, you were given the call sign Toto."
Several of the generals raised their eyebrows at him and wore humored grins.
"Mind to tell us how you received that name?" General Diaz's smile looked more cruel than humorous.
"I had no choice in the matter, they choose it because I was from Kansas," Scott tried to put as little emotion as he could in his voice. He hadn't really cared about his call sign, because it could have been so much worse.
"Wouldn't Dorothy had been a better choice?" General Andreasson was absently biting the end of her pen.
"Our captain, Captain Barns' call sign was Old McDonald. Everyone in the squadron was required to have animals as call signs."
"Ah. Right, then." Belousov moved on, clearly annoyed at the interruption. "You received your first commendation on April 28th, 2062. Promoted to lieutenant. According to your record, you were an excellent pilot and showed the hallmarks of a fine leader."
"Do you think you were maybe too young at the time to become a lieutenant?" General Sal looked down at his information as if he suspected his superior had read wrong. "You were only twenty-three at the time."
"No, sir. There were lieutenants younger than I was at the time. I was told that had I joined the Air Force sooner, I would probably have been a captain by the age of twenty-four."
"Yes, that is mentioned here as well, by your Captain Barns." Belousov's mouth curled in a way that looked as if he had just ate a sour candy. "A few months later, the 474th Tactical Fighter Wing was given orders to deploy to Afghanistan, where you spent a year and a half and received the Congressional Medal of Honor. You were honorably discharged on March 15th, 2064."
Scott felt the blood rush out of him, he knees shook, and sweat beaded up on his brow. He tried his best not to move, not to change expressions. "Yes, sir."
"Would you mind explaining to us, the events that led to you receiving such a high citation?" Belousov was smiling down at Scott, knowing just what effect he was having on the young man.
Scott was clenching down on his jaw so hard his teeth were starting to hurt. His hands were curled along the edges of the podium; his knuckles were white. He lowered his head and took some deep breaths, hoping to calm his racing heart. He was afraid to look behind him at Colonel Case's sympathetic face. She knew what had happened, but he was sure she didn't know the consequences of those events. It was something he had buried a long time ago and had no intention of digging it up again. "I believe the report I gave after the events is in my file."
"Yes, and I read through it. However, for us to make certain that you are the man to run International Rescue —"
"You do not have any say in who runs International Rescue." Scott did his best to keep his voice level and mostly respectful but couldn't help making it echo a little. "It is a private organization that has tried in every way to work with the GDF. We wish to only help those in need, and I do not understand why my past has anything to do with it."
"Your past has everything to do with it." Belousov leveled his gaze at Scott. "If you do not answer the question, we can ground you and your organization right now."
"Permission to speak." Colonel Casey was suddenly just behind Scott. She hadn't touched him, but he could feel her standing there inches away, a sturdy wall to help support him. Immediately he was grateful she had come along.
"Colonel, your attendance was not mandatory." General Sal directed his stare toward her.
"No, I came under my own digression." Colonel Casey did not look at General Sal but continued to focus on General Belousov. "Permission to speak sir."
"Permission granted." Belousov frowned, obviously aggravated that his momentum had been stopped.
"You are asking Mr. Tracy to re-live something he has spent three years trying to get past. If you are looking to delve into his character, I will be more than willing to act as a witness to his past and present endeavors."
"You have already provided yourself as a witness to the Tracy family when International Rescue first approached us. Has anything changed within that time?"
"I would reaffirm everything I said at that time and add that Scott Tracy has grown as a field commander under his father's tutelage and is fully capable of taking the lead of the organization. His brothers respect him and his opinion and would trust their lives to his decisions."
"Your statement has been taken and noted; however, I still would like to hear of the events from the man himself. How he handled himself there and afterward will give us a better idea of his character than your righteous words." Belousov glared at Casey, daring her to argue against him. She, however, could not without risking punishment for insubordination, and Scott did not want her to do that.
"Thank you, colonel." Scott turned and tried to give her an assuring smile but knew it had not come across that way. "If they want to know what happened, I will tell them."
"Whenever you are ready." Belousov grinned as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arm.
"July 24th, 2063." Scott spit out the date as if it were a bitter medicine he had been forced to swallow. The thought of it caused even more beads of sweat to roll down his temple, and he swallowed, then began.
"Sounds like you had yourself a good race." Scott smiled as he watched his youngest brother bop around on the hologram before him.
"It was amazing!" Alan grinned. "I was the youngest one there and came in third place! Terry says I have amazing talent and that I'll be eligible for the big races in another year when I turn eighteen. That is, of course, if Dad lets me."
"Well, Dad's not going to let you skip college to race, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, I know." Alan slumped a little.
"Don't worry, he knows he can't keep you off the track, so he'll let you race, just maybe not the big ones, okay?"
"Alright, I suppose that's something, at least."
"And watch those turns, will ya? Last thing I need is a call from Dad saying you flipped one of your cars."
"But it's the turns that make me go fast!"
Scott couldn't help but smile, his brother's mood had always been infectious.
"Tracy, mute that for a minute."
Scott looked up at one of the other lieutenants in his squadron, who just pointed to the front of the break room where Captain Barns was standing.
"Alan, hold on a sec, I'll be right back." Alan nodded, and Scott flipped the mute, cutting off both sound and picture for the moment before turning to face his commanding officer.
"Sorry to interrupt your fun, but there has been a change in today's schedule. Aslan, Miss Piggy, Old Yeller, and Chicken, you're scheduled flight has been canceled. It should resume at the same time tomorrow. Instead, Bull and I will be taking to the air for a small mission. We do, however, need a wingman."
He paused as a few of the pilots tried to make themselves more visible, taking steps forward or stepping in front of others. The captain looked around the room, and Scott could feel his eyes land on him, not once, or twice, but three times before he continued. "Toto, Bugs, you up to it?"
Scott sprang to his feet, followed by Bugs behind him. They both saluted. "Yes, sir."
"Good, be in the briefing room in fifteen." The captain then nodded and left the room.
"Lucky!" one of the airmen called to the two at the back of the room.
"He never picks me," another one grumped as he flopped down in a nearby couch. "And he's such a blast to fly with."
"I wonder what kind of mission it is," another comment floated their way.
Scott sat back down and unmuted the comm. "Alan, I can't stay on any longer."
"What? You said you had an hour, and it's only been half that." Alan's hologram slouched in disappointment.
"Sorry, been selected for a mission. I need to go get ready."
"Oh, cool." Alan suddenly perked up. "What is it? You going to shoot anyone down?"
"I don't know." Scott smiled. "And I hope not. I'll let you know if I can when I get back, okay?"
"Alright, you better!"
"Tell everyone I said hi and that I love them all."
"Will do. Just don't make me give them all kisses like you did Gordon."
"Ha! Did he really do it?"
"Yeah!"
"Tell him good job, then. Talk to you later, Squirt."
"See ya, Scott!"
The hologram disappeared and Scott stood.
"I still can't believe your dad is still letting him race." Bugs shook his head as he stood from where he had been talking on a comm as well. Bugs was actually Lieutenant Paul Rand, Scott's spotter and best friend. They had been paired together during training and clicked immediately.
"Well, if he knows about it he can make sure he's being safe."
"True, maybe I should mention that to my father."
"Trixi sneak out again?"
"Yeah, took part in a race last weekend and is now grounded for the rest of the year."
"If she's anything like Alan, that's not going to stop her." Scott laughed as they walked out of the break room and toward their prep area.
"Probably not." Paul smiled himself. He was quite fond of his sister and worried about her constantly. "When we get back to the States, we should get those two together. Bet they would get along just fine."
"And Alan would then be the cause for your sister's delinquency."
"Probably, but at least I would know who to yell at if she came back pregnant."
"Oh, you ass," Scott growled as he reached up and tried to hit him across the back of the head, but he had dodged and disappeared into the locker room. Scott followed but left the comment back in the hall. They stripped off their daily fatigues and pulled on their flight suits. Once suited up, they exited the room and made their way to the briefing room. It was a small room with large, comfortable chairs where, usually, they were given a reminder of their course and a quick update on the weather. On this day, however, Scott and Paul were met by Bull. Bull was Captain Barns' spotter, and the two had been friends since before either of them had entered the military. The fact that they ended up being paired up was pure chance.
"Toto, Bugs. Any idea what this is about?" Bull greeted them as they made themselves comfortable in the large chairs.
"Not a clue." Scott shook his head.
"He just said it was a mission." Paul sat down next to Captain Heinz followed by Scott. They weren't given the opportunity to theorize anything before Captain Barns walked into the room and laid his tablet on the table before them.
"Alright, here's the deal." The captain pulled up a hologram of a map with a yellow line circling around it. "We're going to be taking our usual course with the exception of right here." He jabbed his finger at a portion of the yellow line that indicated their flight path.
"Isn't that over five miles behind enemy lines?" Paul leaned forward raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, but we basically go in, fly for a few minutes, and then make our way out," the captain explained. "We are not to engage or taunt any enemy we may encounter."
"I'm sorry, sir, but what is the point of this maneuver? It's not our normal boundary pushing. I can see it only causing agitation between the two sides." Scott frowned. They had done some boundary pushing before, but this looked different than that. When they were told to push the boundaries, they would lengthen their entire course to just one or two miles inside the enemy lines and would stay there until the enemy showed up and pushed them out. The point was to slowly expand their own territory, sneakily taking a mile or two at a time. Five plus miles was a bit much for just expansion, and he was curious as to why that particular place and not the entire length of the border.
"The point is right here." Captain Barns poked at a spot on the edge of those five miles. "There is a small town here, maybe five hundred people, who are in need of supplies. The GDF is willing to give them the supplies, but they want to see how hard they are patrolling the area before they send a plane in. If we can carve out this small space as our own, then the village will get the supplies they need."
Scott nodded and looked over at Paul, who smiled as well. They all knew what kind of man Scott was. He was one that never hesitated to help anyone else that needed it. This had been proven two months ago when the air base had been attacked. They had been ordered to get to their planes and take down the enemy in the air and on the ground. Scott had made it to his plane safely, but Paul had been shot in the leg. Scott went back and got him, taking him to safety.
He wasn't the only one to have been shot, though. The pilots were open targets as they ran for their planes and snipers were taking them out one by one. Scott hadn't hesitated when he ran out and started to help pull the injured in. Only two people died that day, but many more were sent home. Paul's injury was minor and he spent only a month in the hospital until he was deemed ready for service again. The call sign Toto had taken on a new light after that day. Not only was he just from Kansas, but he was a loyal companion who would protect his allies at the cost of his own life.
They made their way out to the tarmac and their planes. Scott and Paul walked side by side as they inspected the outside of the plane, making sure everything was in working order.
"Do you think we'll get into a fight?" Paul pulled on the missiles hanging off the wing, making sure they were secure.
"Depends on how much they want that village," Scott wiggled one of the flaps as he passed. "Hopefully at the first sign of trouble, Old McDonald will tell us to get out of there."
"I don't know. It might be fun to be in a real fight. We've been here for over a year and haven't seen any action."
"You do remember getting, shot, right?" Scott asked as he stopped in front of the ladder.
"I mean in the air." Paul rolled his eyes as he slapped Scott's rear, telling him to get a move on.
Scott laughed and pulled himself up into the plane. He settled himself in, buckling his restraints and then taking his helmet from one of the mechanics. He pulled it on, strapping the oxygen mask to the other side. He could hear Paul climbing in after him and getting himself settled as well. There were two bangs on the side of the plane as the mechanic let him know that all was clear.
"You secured, Bugs?"
"Right as rain, Toto."
Scott couldn't help but smile. He was in his element, flying in a fast plane, his best friend behind him, and they were doing what they could to help bring supplies to people in need. He flipped the switch, closing the canopy, and taxied toward the runway.
Their normal flight path would have taken them north and then east along the borders of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan before going south along the disputed border in Afghanistan, finally heading west along Pakistan and then north back to Shindand and then around again. The whole trip was just over 3,000 miles and took them just over two hours to complete. Planes would go out in rotation, so that in the air there were two to three sets of planes flying the course. This altered course was only taking them out of the way for an additional ten to fifteen minutes of flight time. Nothing major, as long as nothing happened.
They were thirty-five minutes into their trip when they reached the adjusted course for their flight. Five miles behind enemy lines for a ten minute flight and then back out to their own side.
"Toto, Bugs, we're at the point of adjustment. Remember, do not engage, period. If the enemy shows up and are hostile, we hightail it out of there, understood?" Captain Barns voice was stern and crisp over their radio.
"Roger," Scott and Paul replied.
"Bugs, keep an eye on your scanner. I'll keep watch outside."
"I'll do both," Paul replied, adjusting the scanner a bit to get a better picture. The pair of planes banked to the east and into enemy territory. The radio was silent as both planes kept an eye out for any of the enemy aircraft.
"Toto, there seems to be a shadow at one o'clock, above us," Paul announced.
Scott looked up in the appointed direction but did not see anything. Shadows on the scanners could be large birds or even a reflection of their own signal bouncing off the atmosphere or the clouds.
"Let me know if you see it again," Scott replied as he returned to his normal search pattern: left, right, straight, up, and around again while taking glances at his own instruments to make sure the plane was flying correctly. The shadow never showed up again, and the two planes made their way back into their own territory.
"Good job, we'll do it again on the second round, so don't relax too much yet." There was relief to Captain Barns' voice, and Scott and Paul couldn't help but agree with it.
"Roger."
They flew in silence for a while, keeping their eyes open, but something was apparently bothering Paul. A few times, within the next several minutes or so, Scott could have sworn he heard him mutter about something only to deny it when he asked. Finally, when they were nearing their home base, Paul spoke up.
"Hey, Toto."
"Yeah?"
"Do the captains seem a little quiet to you today?"
"Yeah, but this isn't the usual mission, you know."
"Well, sure, I'd expect the quietness when we're behind enemy lines, but we're almost back to Shindand and they haven't made one crack about either of us." Scott could see Paul's reflection in the canopy and the shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, last time we flew with them, they spent the entire two hours ragging me about my injury."
"Well, it was just three inches from your glutes."
"For the last time, I did not get shot in the ass." Scott laughed as they continued their flight.
They made their way around their course without anything major happening until they were back at the adjustment point, and Captain Barns relayed the same instruction as earlier.
"Toto, another shadow, this time at eleven o'clock." They had been flying in enemy territory for five minutes when Paul's voice came over the comm.
Scott looked up but this time saw the shadow. "Old McDonald, the shadow at eleven o'clock is not quite a shadow."
There was a pause and then a reply. "Affirmative, enemy plane spotted. Repeat, do not engage."
"Roger, Old McDonald."
"Toto, I'm getting three more shadows on the scanner." Scott could feel Paul pull on the back of his seat in order to get a good look out the window, trying to make visual contact.
"Roger, Bugs." Scott readjusted himself as well; this time, something was going to happen. "Old McDonald, you reading three more shadows?"
"Affirmative. And Bull said there's five more on top of that."
"Six, eleven total." Bugs was calling out their locations behind Scott.
"Bugs calls six more. Total of eleven bogies around us."
"Affirmative, Bull is reading the same. Keep on course."
"Roger." He could see the planes now, no longer shadows on the radar. They were circling them like vultures waiting for their prey to die. They kept on course, not altering, not showing any hostility. Their ten minutes were up, and Scott followed as the captain adjusted his course, heading back into their own territory. They were a mile out when one of the enemy planes broke formation and cut Scott off, forcing him to take evasive maneuvers.
"Make for friendly skies." Captain Barns' voice was frantic over the radio. Scott took note of his heading and turned to the west but another plane cut him off.
"They're not letting me." Scott swore as the planes started to corral them farther to the east.
"Same here." Scott could see his plane take a nosedive to try and lose two bogies on his tail. "Just keep trying."
"Roger." Scott tried another evasive procedure, pulling his plane high and doing a barrel roll over the enemy plane next to him. He was forced to climb at the end of the maneuver as another enemy plane made to block his escape. He was forced back behind the captain and maintained their course, heading farther east, deeper into enemy territory. Scott had thought they were being herded somewhere but soon found that they were just being kept from help. A minute later came the ra-ta-tat of gunfire. Scott and Captain Barns dove to avoid it, but they were clearly outnumbered.
"Permission to engage, sir." Scott had his hand over the switch to activate his targeting software, waiting for the command.
"Denied." Captain Barns' voice was icy, and Scott knew that something was up.
Scott frowned and continued to try to outmaneuver the planes, but with six of them around him, there were not many places he could go. It was not too surprising when he saw Captain Barns' plane go down, two parachutes drifting lazily toward the arid earth below.
"Mayday! Mayday!" Scott opened all channels in hope that someone would hear him. "Plane down, I repeat, plane down. Mayday! Mayday!"
They both knew it was coming—there was really nowhere to go. There was the banging as bullets pierced the fuselage of the plane and then the hunk of metal would no longer obey Scott's commands.
"Scott!" Paul's hands were already firmly grasping his ejection pull between his legs.
"Do it!" The canopy exploded from the plane, and he could see Paul shoot out. A moment later, Scott had joined him. Once he had his bearings again, he looked around. The planes that had been on them like flies seemed to have all disappeared. Scott looked around again and found Paul floating below him, Captains Barns and Heinz a mile north, almost on the ground. Scott landed with a thud and a shudder throughout his entire body. He loved to fly, but he was not a fan of parachuting.
He struggled to get out of his excess gear, making sure his gun was still firmly attached to his hip, and then he went in search of his allies.