Hi everyone.
I finished this story about three years ago. It's nearly novel length, but as nobody from Carlton has got in contact with me to say that they'd like me to write a Thunderbirds book and make lots of money, I guess you guys may as well enjoy it.
Because some chapters are quite long I've reduced them to 'bite sized pieces', but retained their original chapter headings.
Oh, well. All that remains is to reiterate that apart from those who belong to Carlton, all characters belong to me. And to apologise to Wellington for destroying it!
Thunderbirds are go!
Happy Reading
VTOL
Purupuss
******
Prologue
A lazy breeze danced around the palm trees. A pair of gulls squabbled over a morsel of fish and then flapped away lazily over the ocean. The waves lapped the white sands. Overhead the blue sky was devoid of clouds.
The pool was still. There was no one diving in, practising their swimming strokes or lazing by its turquoise edge.
The steps leading up into the house were almost blinding white as the midday sun reflected off them, but there was no one about to be dazzled by them.
All was calm.
Inside the house, Jeff Tracy sat at his usual place at the desk that occupied one side of the room. He was oblivious to the marbled floors, the oriental art works and the momentos of his years as an astronaut. His attention was totally taken up by the facsimile spread out before him. On the far side of the world members of his brainchild, International Rescue, were saving the lives of others, and the facsimile showed him what troubles they were up against.
It was a big rescue. They had needed all their speed and skill to ensure that the trapped victims were rescued alive.
The team had been gone for nearly 59 hours and last reports had indicated that the job was nearly over. Scott had been brimming with confidence when he'd reported in last time.
"Only one small group to go, Dad. We should have them out within an hour with minimal trouble."
Jeff smiled at the memory and looked at his watch. The hour was nearly gone, he should be hearing from them soon...
A beeping sound from the row of portraits of his five sons caused him to look up.
John, Scott, Virgil, Alan and Gordon. He briefly noted how smart they all looked in their blue International Rescue uniforms and the thought that his wife, Lucille, would have been proud of them flashed through his mind. One pair of eyes was flashing in time with the beeps. With no sense of urgency he answered their call.
"Go ahead, son."
The flashing eyes disappeared to be replaced by a video image of the man.
Jeff had been expecting, at best the broad smile of a job well done, or at worst a worried frown that signalled that the job would take longer than anticipated.
Jeff was not prepared for the image before him.
His son's face was pale beneath the grime that had been collecting for the last 59 hours. The eyes were bewildered and uncomprehending. Shock and disbelief were the emotions that etched the handsome face.
Jeff saw not the face of a confident young man, but that of the little boy that he used to take on his knee and reassure after a particularly bad dream.
Only this was no dream, this was reality, and what reality was bad enough to have such an impact on such a strong person.
Various scenarios jostled for Jeff's attention and one particularly sombre one kept coming to the fore. It couldn't possibly be that one. Could it?
He had to find out.
Jeff was the first to find his voice. "What's wrong son?"
The face in the picture frame opened and closed it's mouth a few times, but no words came out. The figure took a deep breath, steeled himself and said the words, those words that Jeff did not want to hear, the words that he had dreaded hearing, the words that he knew must be coming.
"We've got a problem..." A long pause. "He's dead, Dad."
Those three words chased out all the scenarios except THAT one, which had turned into cold hard fact.
Dead? A member of the team was dead? They had all known that it was a possibility when they had started this venture. They had all gone into it with their eyes wide open. They'd known the risks and reasoned that when it came to saving the lives of others, the risks were not too great.
Jeff closed his eyes to steady his nerves, when he opened them again he saw that his knuckles were white from where they had gripped the desk. "A death grip" he thought tightly and then realised that he was missing one important bit of information. Information that would banish all hope that this WAS somehow a dream, information that he had to know but did not want to know.
With an effort he voiced the question in the form of one word. One simple word, but one full of meaning.
"Who?"
The eyes were uncomprehending again, clearly the boy was fighting with his own emotions. The eyes glanced down and then were raised to face his father again. At the same time a hand came into view in the screen and Jeff saw the answer to the question.
It was a piece of uniform. Of course, all members of International Rescue wore the same distinctive blue uniform but each wore one item that marked them out as individuals. The sash - colour coded for each operative. Scott's was pale blue, Virgil's yellow, John's mauve, Gordon's orange, Alan's off-white and even Brains had a brown one for when he took part in missions.
The sash in the quivering hand told Jeff instantly what he hadn't wanted to know.
At that moment Jeff's mother walked into the room. "Have you seen my..." she started to say and then stopped when she saw his face. It was as white as the sun bleached steps at the front of the house.
"Mother, you'd better sit down..." It didn't seem to be his voice yet there was no one else who could have said it. "There's been an accident."
She glanced at the row of portraits and at once knew what the outcome of that accident had been.
She sank into a chair with a sound, half sigh, half moan. "Oh Jeff, not..."
He nodded, his mind a confusion of thoughts, mentally preparing what would need to be done.
They had all talked about the prospect that one of them could be killed on a mission, even joked about it. Their training had included how to react and what arrangements must be made should a comrade fall while on duty. Yet, somehow, none of them had really believed that it would happen.
Deep in the bowels of the complex, there was a safe. The safe contained the usual accruements that would be expected of a multi-millionaire. Stocks, shares, deeds, titles, items of value...
The safe also contained the wills and funeral arrangements of each member of International Rescue. One of the last things each operative, throughout the world, had done, before officially signing up with International Rescue, was decide what should happen to their earthly remains, should the worst happen.
Jeff imagined himself opening the safe and retrieving the files he had hoped would lay undisturbed during his lifetime. He had no idea what any of those files held. Even his five sons had refrained from discussing what their final wishes would be, as if they were frightened that to mention the existence of these files would somehow make them a necessity.
For one International Rescue member his file would now be opened.
How could this happen, why did this happen, when did it start...
I finished this story about three years ago. It's nearly novel length, but as nobody from Carlton has got in contact with me to say that they'd like me to write a Thunderbirds book and make lots of money, I guess you guys may as well enjoy it.
Because some chapters are quite long I've reduced them to 'bite sized pieces', but retained their original chapter headings.
Oh, well. All that remains is to reiterate that apart from those who belong to Carlton, all characters belong to me. And to apologise to Wellington for destroying it!
Thunderbirds are go!
Happy Reading
VTOL
Purupuss
******
Prologue
A lazy breeze danced around the palm trees. A pair of gulls squabbled over a morsel of fish and then flapped away lazily over the ocean. The waves lapped the white sands. Overhead the blue sky was devoid of clouds.
The pool was still. There was no one diving in, practising their swimming strokes or lazing by its turquoise edge.
The steps leading up into the house were almost blinding white as the midday sun reflected off them, but there was no one about to be dazzled by them.
All was calm.
Inside the house, Jeff Tracy sat at his usual place at the desk that occupied one side of the room. He was oblivious to the marbled floors, the oriental art works and the momentos of his years as an astronaut. His attention was totally taken up by the facsimile spread out before him. On the far side of the world members of his brainchild, International Rescue, were saving the lives of others, and the facsimile showed him what troubles they were up against.
It was a big rescue. They had needed all their speed and skill to ensure that the trapped victims were rescued alive.
The team had been gone for nearly 59 hours and last reports had indicated that the job was nearly over. Scott had been brimming with confidence when he'd reported in last time.
"Only one small group to go, Dad. We should have them out within an hour with minimal trouble."
Jeff smiled at the memory and looked at his watch. The hour was nearly gone, he should be hearing from them soon...
A beeping sound from the row of portraits of his five sons caused him to look up.
John, Scott, Virgil, Alan and Gordon. He briefly noted how smart they all looked in their blue International Rescue uniforms and the thought that his wife, Lucille, would have been proud of them flashed through his mind. One pair of eyes was flashing in time with the beeps. With no sense of urgency he answered their call.
"Go ahead, son."
The flashing eyes disappeared to be replaced by a video image of the man.
Jeff had been expecting, at best the broad smile of a job well done, or at worst a worried frown that signalled that the job would take longer than anticipated.
Jeff was not prepared for the image before him.
His son's face was pale beneath the grime that had been collecting for the last 59 hours. The eyes were bewildered and uncomprehending. Shock and disbelief were the emotions that etched the handsome face.
Jeff saw not the face of a confident young man, but that of the little boy that he used to take on his knee and reassure after a particularly bad dream.
Only this was no dream, this was reality, and what reality was bad enough to have such an impact on such a strong person.
Various scenarios jostled for Jeff's attention and one particularly sombre one kept coming to the fore. It couldn't possibly be that one. Could it?
He had to find out.
Jeff was the first to find his voice. "What's wrong son?"
The face in the picture frame opened and closed it's mouth a few times, but no words came out. The figure took a deep breath, steeled himself and said the words, those words that Jeff did not want to hear, the words that he had dreaded hearing, the words that he knew must be coming.
"We've got a problem..." A long pause. "He's dead, Dad."
Those three words chased out all the scenarios except THAT one, which had turned into cold hard fact.
Dead? A member of the team was dead? They had all known that it was a possibility when they had started this venture. They had all gone into it with their eyes wide open. They'd known the risks and reasoned that when it came to saving the lives of others, the risks were not too great.
Jeff closed his eyes to steady his nerves, when he opened them again he saw that his knuckles were white from where they had gripped the desk. "A death grip" he thought tightly and then realised that he was missing one important bit of information. Information that would banish all hope that this WAS somehow a dream, information that he had to know but did not want to know.
With an effort he voiced the question in the form of one word. One simple word, but one full of meaning.
"Who?"
The eyes were uncomprehending again, clearly the boy was fighting with his own emotions. The eyes glanced down and then were raised to face his father again. At the same time a hand came into view in the screen and Jeff saw the answer to the question.
It was a piece of uniform. Of course, all members of International Rescue wore the same distinctive blue uniform but each wore one item that marked them out as individuals. The sash - colour coded for each operative. Scott's was pale blue, Virgil's yellow, John's mauve, Gordon's orange, Alan's off-white and even Brains had a brown one for when he took part in missions.
The sash in the quivering hand told Jeff instantly what he hadn't wanted to know.
At that moment Jeff's mother walked into the room. "Have you seen my..." she started to say and then stopped when she saw his face. It was as white as the sun bleached steps at the front of the house.
"Mother, you'd better sit down..." It didn't seem to be his voice yet there was no one else who could have said it. "There's been an accident."
She glanced at the row of portraits and at once knew what the outcome of that accident had been.
She sank into a chair with a sound, half sigh, half moan. "Oh Jeff, not..."
He nodded, his mind a confusion of thoughts, mentally preparing what would need to be done.
They had all talked about the prospect that one of them could be killed on a mission, even joked about it. Their training had included how to react and what arrangements must be made should a comrade fall while on duty. Yet, somehow, none of them had really believed that it would happen.
Deep in the bowels of the complex, there was a safe. The safe contained the usual accruements that would be expected of a multi-millionaire. Stocks, shares, deeds, titles, items of value...
The safe also contained the wills and funeral arrangements of each member of International Rescue. One of the last things each operative, throughout the world, had done, before officially signing up with International Rescue, was decide what should happen to their earthly remains, should the worst happen.
Jeff imagined himself opening the safe and retrieving the files he had hoped would lay undisturbed during his lifetime. He had no idea what any of those files held. Even his five sons had refrained from discussing what their final wishes would be, as if they were frightened that to mention the existence of these files would somehow make them a necessity.
For one International Rescue member his file would now be opened.
How could this happen, why did this happen, when did it start...
