Well it's been a while...a very long time.
My apologies writers block just has never left me.
Anyway this for Tracy Island Writers Forum recent challenge, if you're wondering about who they are, they are an online forum dedicated to the memory of 1960's Gerry Anderson tv series Thunderbirds. Some of the best writers I have met, and some of the best advice I have gained with writing, even if then it felt like a slap above the head - it was well needed.^_^
So hopefully when I next upload anything it will be a lot better.
Anyway this challenge.
We had to base it off one scene from one episode and look at it through the eyes of 3 different POVs which had to include one of the main characters, but the word limit was 3000 words. If you have seen any of my stuff you know I would struggle.
However I love it. I came fourth ^_^' joint fourth. I really pushed myself in terms of getting to the point without loosing any of my usual flair.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in this piece. They all belong to Gerry Anderson- who sadly passed away last year-and ITV Entertainment studios or Granada if you remember that far back. Oh dear I am showing my age. Anyway the only thing I do own is this piece of fiction and the forename and full name of three of the four characters I mentioned or used.
The 3-POV Challenge
TIWF Thunderbird 2013 Challenge
They've done it again
What was supposed to be a tense and heavy atmosphere inside central control at the Matthews Field Air base was completely broken by the arrival of the small sleek, aerodynamic silver rocket with the red tip. All anyone could do was stare in awe as it landed down slowly and gracefully onto the ground with no need to use the runway.
Ross had heard stories about the little craft.
During his last physical he had met fellow members of the various US armed forces and they could do was gush about the crafts. About the technical marvel of them, their size, their speed in which they flew and the skilled pilots that controlled them. While most had talked about the big green one- the one with all the toys wrapped up in what appeared to be numbered boxes- Ross Schiller was always an air force boy, and it had always been the little silver one with the red tipped nose that he always wanted to see.
And to think here it was on his own base sitting just right there in front of them.
God it really was a beauty of air craft design, nothing in their entire base could hold a candle to little silver rocket as its feet touched the ground with little disturbance to the ground.
What he wouldn't give to get inside the bird for just five minutes.
"This is International Rescue calling Matthew's Field control" Schiller found himself snapped back to reality with a bump by the sound of the pilot's voice, "a short time ago we tried to tell you that your transporter craft was about to be destroyed by enemy fighters" Schiller's memory glanced over a conversation with his commander about this very thing, "but you would not listen."
He always knew that message had been legitimate, no matter how much the Commander had protested, Ross just knew that they should have listened and answered the call. The proof was there, right before their eyes wrapped up in a little silver rocket shaped package.
He knew taking a little glee and delight at his commander's embarrassment in front of the entire base was unfair towards Commander. A man in his position with such weight, such responsibility, such embarrassment and a determination to prove the worth of the base could not afford at times to take such risks. After all they had lost so much- too much.
But….
But still…..
Too much had been lost from this mission. No one, not even headquarters knew how they were failing; all the higher ups were doing was blaming them. That is must be their fault; someone below commander was failing them. They hated it. The Commander knew that, they hated being blamed for something that they were not making a mistake. This all meant far too much for them. They needed help.
Even a simple Technical sergeant like him knew when outside help- especially from such an organisation like theirs- was needed.
The rest of the pilot's statement confirmed that.
International Rescue had done it again.
Four failures.
Four.
He didn't need reminding how badly this made them look to the rest of the air-force. Each day he was forced to hear what command thought of it all. They were supposed to be the best, there had been other bases in consideration for such a delicate series of missions, but they were the best.
So why?
So why they demanded was his team making their base and the entire air force such a laughing stock to the entire US Military force?
Every day, for hours on end in video conference calls they rammed in into him. Took apart the reports- the words he wrote- threw every word back into his face, every defence towards their operations, reminding him how badly each failure reflected on him, their base, and the entire air force. Forcing down scene by scene what each report said- the reports that he himself had written in minute detail. It made him angry.
A deep burning pit of anger.
They blamed his team.
They blamed the base, they blamed his team, and they blamed everyone but themselves for the failures. So of course he was angry with the feeling of betrayal and disgust at headquarters actions. Yet it fed him, drove him to succeed, to prove them wrong. That was how he got where he was, to his position now as Commander and at the base, he was stubborn but determined.
It was not his base, his team's fault. They were watertight both as a team and as patriots of their country. They lived for their work, they lived for the job and they lived to protect both country and home. There was no leak within the base, it was proven.
He, Commander Chief Master Jack Russell, knew that his base, his team was not to blame. They just had to prove it to headquarters. One success. That was all they needed. So he pushed forward, he pushed his team further, pushed them to work harder. Maybe he was pushing them too hard, but he was just that confident in them. He knew they could and would succeed.
A lot was riding on this next attempt. So they had to succeed.
This was why this, this silver little rocket infuriated him more than headquarters' blame game.
International Rescue.
They were outsiders, do-gooders, interfering pushy goody two-shoes outsiders with questionable practices. While the rest of the world may easily forgive them and fall back in love with them, do anything they ask and help keep all their secrets- he wouldn't.
No amount of sparkly toys and pretty equipment can make him trust and respect a secretive group that stuck their nose into the sensitive businesses of the world, a group that was secretive of their loyalties and origins but were more than happy to know the secrets of everyone else.
The phone call from Washington had disgusted him. The year's previous altercations with the organisation that left the entire US Military force with a big, thick ugly black mark against it in both the public's, the world's and Washington's political leaders. So they were desperate to have what little scraps the organisation decided to grace them with.
Even if the call had been legitimate, and it probably had been, he would not accept it. It was a slap in the face to both the power of the air force and the people working in it, which drove it to the success that it was. No third party organisation could step in and take the jobs away from the people who were trained to do what they did. Let Washington be kiss arse fools but he would not let this base become a laughing stock.
"This is International Rescue calling Matthew's Field control, a short time ago we tried to tell you that your transporter craft was about to be destroyed by enemy fighters, but you would not listen."
Damn them!
It seemed though that International Rescue were intent on making them and him a Mockery. He felt the entire room's eyes on him at that statement, saw Schiller's small little nod in agreement. Damn them!
"I am now to inform you that we have diverted these fighters and they are about to over fly the outskirts of this air field."
Of course Schiller had to gleefully try to confirm the pilot's statement.
Of course it was an exact match to the fighters, Colin Savage, radioed in before he went down. Right down to the strange oval shaped markings that his best pilot managed to tell them in detail.
DAMN THEM ALL!
He put his anger into use and got his control tower team to get into gear, to shoot down the enemy fighters that had been plaguing their missions over the past four weeks.
However he took one last look at the silver rocket shaped plane that was using up valuable space on his base, let the anger resurface as he took in its secretive design
So International Rescue had done it again. And damn them all for it!
Seeing the base as he came into land brought a large gulf of nostalgic memories back to him.
Memories of training with men and women all equal, all striving to be the best to serve their country and protect their families. The hard training no matter the weather both in and out the stark grey rooms and the cots with multiple people all living together - and that had been just his basic training. He could still see the hot little room where his superior would talk about the theory behind flying, and the first taste of the planes he would get to fly as he sat in the training seat. The smell of the leather seat and the atmosphere in the plane as both he and he co-pilot flew their first trip was so etched into his mind that only his first text drive in Thunderbird One could over shadow it.
Seeing the base- one like so many others in appearance- did bring back so much for him. But this was no time for nostalgia, no he was here for a reason, and with couple of flick of his wrist his bird was ready.
"This is International Rescue calling Matthew's Field control," the nostalgia was gone as this wasn't his base, "a short time ago we tried to tell you that your transporter craft was about to be destroyed by enemy fighters, but you would not listen."
He gave a brief pause and allowed his words to sink into tower control, sink into the stubborn mind of the Commander who refused to listen to them earlier.
"I am now to inform you that we have diverted these fighters and they are about to over fly the outskirts of this air field." As soon has he said it he heard the telling signs of aircraft engines in the distance.
He didn't need to look at the dials of his equipment to tell him that the ones responsible for this whole mess were here. Sure enough the entire base leapt to life as the alarm for action stations shrilled out breaking the warm silence that had surrounded the air of the base.
His father probably wouldn't have approved at the way he had worded all of that. He was meant to be neutral after all; any sign of any emotional reaction to any sort of person in command could result in backlash towards them later.
They had to remain neutral at all times, regardless of how the commander and the base had done to their offer of information. Yet sometimes the commanders of such bases needed reminding that outside insight was sometimes needed, Scott knew that in the air force the commanders sometimes put their pride way before duty to the rest of the team.
It always ended badly.
The sharp comment about them not listening was something his father definitely wouldn't have approved of. It spoke in volumes at the anger and disrespect they had felt at the dismissal, but also slammed the Commander in the face with reminding how his stubbornness almost caused three more men to die needlessly.
That was the problem with air force commanders; too much pride on the line, Scott felt his dad never really understood that bit. Oh yes Jeff Tracy may say he was an air force member, but he was and always had been a NASA man. Less about the planes and more to do with space ships, rockets and the unlimited potential the universe had waiting to be explored. He was never involved in the kind of situations Scott had gone through in his air force days, and pride seemed to always win out over sense and duty.
Pride should never be the driving forces the actions of US Military commanders.
The sound of grinding gears and moving metal snapped him out of musings and he saw the closet air hangar to him, opens its doors as people rushed around. Time for him to get out of here they didn't him any more. The fighters would be easily enough stopped by the base's own pilots, especially seeing as the enemy would be completely blind sided by their location and the attack.
Just before the base was completely out of sight, he took one last look and watched as a set of three fighter planes took off almost in unison going after a target a little way off out of his sight. He couldn't suppress the grin to his face, another successful mission.
International Rescue had done it again.
Thank you.
On another note I am re-writing some of my stories. I have no time table for when they will be present but keep an eye out. I am hoping to get better.