The Tracy Family and Thunderbirds are the creation of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson. All other characters are unique and of my own making and remain mine.

Chapter 2

"You think Scott's gonna be okay!" Gordon couldn't help but air his worried concern, as the great green cargo ship rose up on her angled ramp at the end of the disguised runway, ready for take-off.

It was enough to make the chestnut-haired pilot pause briefly and divert his usual concentrated attention from his pre-launch routine. Virgil Tracy merely half glanced back over his shoulder to his brothers, strapped into the passenger seats behind him, shooting John, especially, a telling look. After all, they had been the ones to initially deal with the aftermath of their eldest brother's trauma, when he had first come home from that fateful tour in Nam. It was obvious though both were waiting for some form of reassurance, since there had always been an, almost subconscious, acceptance by the family that he had a closer affinity to Scott than the rest.

"Honestly, guys! I don't know, I really don't know. I just hope so," Virgil reflected truthfully and turning his attention back to his instruments to begin powering-up the mighty engines. "This is one helluva place he's going back too, so…..it's anybody's guess how he'll cope! But…this is something he feels he's gotta do…so…..!"

He knew it wasn't much of a reassurance but in truth, he just didn't know, this time. How could he! How could any of them really know! Scott had never had to face any rescue situation quite like this before and Virgil hoped he never would have to again.

At that, Thunderbird Two's pilot threw the throttle forward, releasing all the stored-up power in the form of thrust, propelling them up into the sky and forcing them back into their seats with the g-force and thankful, that for now, he had something else to focus on.

Someone else though, didn't have quite that same luxury!

From the moment he took off, Scott was practically flying on automatic, the ease and familiarity of flying Thunderbird One now having become pure instinct. As Field Commander too, it was Scott's job to analyse and assess the situations they were going into, even while on route and to have already formulated some sort of plan by the time he arrived, although much usually depended on what he found when he got there. This then, was what made it a doubly difficult task; not only was he having to contend with a very real and present rescue situation but some very dark and troublesome memories from the past, concerning this place. And separating one from the other! Well, that may just prove impossible!

Being the consummate professional he was though, his mind was first, taken up with the practicalities of the rescue itself. And it seemed it was going to be one of those rescues that would depend on what he found when he got there, since the details they'd been given were pretty scant. The important thing was, it involved the people of An Lac and that was enough for him, more especially, knowing children were involved.

So far, all they knew was, about half a dozen children had gone missing while out playing and exploring just beyond the village. A tremor had been felt in the area and the children had not been seen or heard of since. Some of the men had searched but to no avail; of the children, there was no sign or trace. It was like they had vanished off the face of the earth. That had been almost twenty-four hours ago, for it had taken one of the villagers more than half a day to get to the next largest village that had a radio, to call for help. Time now was of the essence. The longer the children remained missing, the less hope there was. And Scott was not about to let that happen, not to these people.

He had tried to keep his mind and thoughts firmly in the present, he really had but the further north he flew, the further back in time his thoughts took him….until at last, he saw the coast, his flight path taking him in over the southern tip of the country. And so deep in thought was he, so lost in time, the dark-haired pilot visibly startled at the sudden transmission that burst through his headset.

"Be advised. You are now entering Republic of Vietnam airspace. Identify yourself," came the cold detachment of military speak, in a clipped Asian accent.

He really hadn't expected anything less, given the, still cautious nature of the place, even after six years; though things had changed a little since he'd last been here. There was no longer a United States military presence, the Americans being asked to leave now that the authorities felt they were back in complete control, having finally rid the North of it's militant forces and putting the ringleaders behind bars, much of which being due to the evidence Scott had produced of the heinous barbarities perpetrated on the people. And, for the second time in its history, the airbase at Da Nang had been vacated by the Americans and handed over to the local military authorities.

It was one consolation, at least, that they would be able to carry out the rescue in relative safety, without the need for a military escort or the worry of needing to protect themselves from those rebel forces of which Scott knew only too well. Would he ever be able to fully relax though! Only time would tell.

His mind now fully back in the present, Thunderbird One's pilot responded with the practised ease of his own military service. "This. Is. International Rescue. I repeat…this is International Rescue. We are here on a mission of mercy. Again, I repeat…we are here on a mission of mercy. Our assistance has been requested to help find missing children from the village of An Lac, north of the old DMZ."

Perhaps it was the fact children were involved, children of their own people and the high regard and esteem with which International Rescue was held the world over but somehow, that cold detached voice of military authority suddenly seemed less…cold! "Understood, International Rescue. You are cleared to proceed. And we wish you well; we hope you find the children."

The response gave rise to the barely imperceptible raise of a dark eyebrow in mild surprise and, just for the briefest of moments, Scott completely forgot himself and slipped back easily into air force pilot mode, with a response of, 'That's a copy', before quickly correcting himself. "……..I mean, affirmative, Da Nang…..and thanks. Please also be advised that another of our rescue fleet will be entering your airspace within the next……twenty minutes."

"Affirmative, International Rescue. Your other aircraft will also be cleared to proceed. Again, good luck with your mission. Da Nang….out," the disembodied voice courteously ended the transmission.

Da Nang Air Base! It felt so strange to be in communication again with the air base and stranger still, knowing it was no longer in American hands and not hearing a familiar accent in response.

'Wolf's Lair…Wolf's Lair…this is Timber Wolf…I repeat…this is Timber Wolf. Do you copy?'

'That's a copy, Timber Wolf…comin in loud and clear, buddy………'

'……cub is sick…wounded…need help. Can't hunt…anymore……'

'Timber Wolf…this is Momma. You hang in there…we're bringin you home. Sit tight…you hear mewe're bringin you home.'

'Sit tight…stay awake. That's a copy. Gotta stay awake……gotta stay………'

Voices, ghostly echoes of the past, drifted in his mind, as easily as birds let themselves drift on the thermal currents; memories of both good and the not-so-good, the teasing banter between comrades and those last communications, which were such a vital lifeline, especially for his sanity.

With a sharp intake of breath, Scott suddenly forced himself back into the present.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One. Come in, Thunderbird Two." Scott was, once more, back in professional mode, though guessed that was how it was going to be this trip, fluctuating between past and present. When Virgil acknowledged, Scott briefed him on the situation so far, on what had just occurred, before advising his brother on the best possible course of action. "……….they are expecting you, Virg but if you are challenged, just identify yourself."

And under any other circumstances, in any other rescue, that would have been it, no need for anything else to be added at this juncture. But then, this wasn't like any other rescue and the Field Commander knew his brothers only too well!

Also, like the good combat fighter pilot he had been, Scott Tracy knew the value of 'first-strike' initiative and so...! "Virg….put me on open speaker." Time to get all this out in the open!

A wary finger moved to comply with the order.

"Okay, you guys….now listen up. I know Dad has told you to keep an eye on me……," came the perceptive insight, echoing around the cockpit like some all-seeing, all-knowing higher force.

Knowing looks shot suddenly between the brothers aboard International Rescue's equipment carrier. Of course, they should have known better than to ever underestimate their eldest brother.

"...but I don't need keeping an eye on. And another thing…I do not…want you guys to be constantly asking me if I'm okay. Is that understood! I will handle this in my own way, in my own time. I appreciate your concern, guys but ……well…I don't need any babysitters. And…I do not…wanna feel you guys watching me every damn second…like you're waiting for me to crack up. What I do need…is for you guys to keep your eye on the ball, at all times…not on me! Clear!" Scott began, clearly expressing his wishes and continuing without even giving them a chance to respond. "That's it….subject closed…nothing more to be said…nada. Scott…out."

With that, communications were closed, leaving Thunderbird Two's occupants in slightly stunned silence.

"Gee….he's really back, huh!" the copper-haired aquanaut observed, with almost revered reverence.

"Yeah, sounds like it," his fellow passenger and brother, John readily agreed.

"B.u.t….we're not really gonna go along with what he wants…are we, Virg!" Gordon then felt the need to ask, just to be certain. "I mean….we're still gonna keep an eye on him….right!"

Slowly spreading sly grins passed between the next two oldest Tracy brothers, as Virgil glanced back over his shoulder at John, before replying to his younger brother's obvious concern. "What do you think! Sure…we're still gonna keep an eye on him, Gords."

"Yeah….we just can't let him know that we are," the philosophical, blond-haired astronaut smiled wryly, completely on his elder brother's wavelength.

And at that, they all smiled.

John though, wasn't the only one who ever thought deeply about things. It seems the resident family joker also had his moments for suddenly, out of the blue, he offered the most profound, yet simple of observations! "Scott's really feeling it bad already….isn't he!"

There was silence for a few moments; the same reverenced and sobering silence when one contemplates upon life-changing, painful experiences from the past that can never be undone, like the sacrifices made in war, remembered in peacetime.

"Yeah, Gordon…..Scott's really feeling it bad," Thunderbird Two's pilot quietly concurred.

The blond-haired astronaut instinctively reached out and squeezed his younger brother's shoulder encouragingly. "But we'll be right there for him….if he needs us."

And that was their strength, what made them such a close and tightly knit band of brothers…in every sense of the word! Their journey continued on in reflective silence, each lost in their own private thoughts.

By now, Scott Tracy was back over very familiar territory, having crossed the old DMZ a short while ago and every muscle in his body tensed automatically in response.

The jungle below was just as he remembered it, lush, green and steaming with humidity. He watched, with almost far away detachment; his reduced speed now enabling him to pick out every detail on his monitors, relayed from the outside camera system, though he couldn't also resist lowering the window hatch to gaze through the clear protective shield.

Had he really been down in there, been forced to survive! How the hell had they even survived that high-speed ejection from the F-16XD!

Then, suddenly! Scott drew in a sharp breath and was taking Thunderbird One into a wildly evasive manoeuvre, pulling hard on her controls in a desperate effort to get her to respond quickly enough, sending the silver/grey scout ship into a steep bank skywards. With his brow now bathed in sweat and breathing heavily, the ex-combat pilot was scanning all around him, searching, looking; his whole body on high alert. He had seen it flash by and had reacted out of pure instinct.

"What the hell! We've been locked!" he swore to no one but himself.

'We've been locked, Jez……we've been locked!'

"Huh….where did it go! Where's it coming from!"

'Where the hell is it…what direction is she coming from! You got a fix on her yet, Jez! Talk to me, Jez…I need to know. Where the hell is it! Talk to me, Jez……'

The ghostly echoes of the past whispered once more, mingling with his own thoughts, so that past and present became one; a tangled confusion in his mind.

'Talk to me, Jez. Talk to me………'

But Jez wasn't here….was he! It was just him…alone in Thunderbird One. And realisation dawned.

There was no combat fighter aircraft; there was no bubble canopy through which to scan the skies and, most importantly, there was no heat-seeking missile tracking him.

Just for his own total piece of mind and reassurance though but with his whole system still on high alert, Scott quickly activated his tracking sensors, looking for anything that remotely resembled a missile. Nothing.

The ex-air force pilot drew a shaky hand down over his sweat-soaked face and fought to steady his breathing, as he brought the scout ship back onto her previous flight path.

"Damn it, Scott….," the Field Commander swore, harshly reprimanding himself for what he saw as his complete lack of focus.

Gawd, how could he lose it like that! He had never lost it like that, on any active mission. But then, as he had to keep reminding himself, this was no ordinary mission. It had been years since he'd experienced a full-blown, intense flashback and thought they were a thing of the past but had now obviously been triggered by the visual stimulation and the recently resurgent memories. Only now, was he beginning to realise how truly difficult this was really going to be! But he had no intention of backing down and going home; he had no intention of calling it quits.

Taking a deep breath, Scott determined to focus but now that the floodgates were opened, he couldn't stop the deluge of memories flooding in.

'Hell no, Scott……tell me you are not gonna play chicken with a damn heat-seeker!'

'Mayday…mayday……taken a hit. Going down…we're going down.'

'Prepare to eject, Jez…on my mark.'

'Eject…eject…eject………'

Scott instinctively sucked in a breath at the memory and his body tightened, almost as if he were preparing himself to go through the experience again.

As the jungle canopy passed by below him and Scott reflected on that traumatic event, names surged back into his consciousness, names he hadn't thought of in a long while; the names of Sergeant Bull Stone and 'Tank' MaGraw. Master Sergeant Francis 'Tank' MaGraw, to be exact….the biggest gawd damn Marine he had ever seen!

'……if you ever let out one word of how…'nice'…I really am……I swear, I will hunt down your puny little flyboy ass and make you sorry you ever knew Sgt Tank MaGraw.'

The memory brought a brief smile and, of course, he never had! Well, it just wouldn't have been the same had Francis 'Tank' MaGraw been thought of as anything other than the hard-nosed, hard-assed Marine that he made himself out to be!

It was strange now, how one memory quickly sparked off another and then another, like the proverbial domino effect.

Both Bull Stone and Tank had been Marine Instructors in the S.E.R.E. survival course and Scott could only be quietly grateful for, without what those guys put them through, he doubted whether he would have had the courage to survive. Yeah, some of it had been unpleasant and thoroughly disgusting, like being made to eat live grubs and those Instructors sure seemed to love their jobs, seemed to love making their lives a misery. And then there were the shock tactics of the 'interrogations' but being the professional he was, Scott could now look back in hindsight and recognise the necessity of what they were trying to achieve, to impart the skills necessary for men, such as themselves, to survive in the harshest of conditions. And for that, he would always be eternally grateful. Both Bull Stone and 'Tank' MaGraw would always have a special place in his heart. For them, he would always have the highest regard.

Scott quickly shook himself from his reverie, needing to get his mind back in the present and back to business and so, consulting his online maps, the dark-haired pilot zeroed in on his target, on his final destination.

Within a short time, he saw a sight that made his heart all but stop and cause an involuntary shiver to run down his body. Looming into his forward view, the jungle suddenly parted and, for the first time since that terrible dark time, Scott Tracy found himself gazing at the small village he'd tried so hard to forget.

Bringing Thunderbird One into a low sweeping bank, Scott circled the village to give himself the best visual perspective of the place, to suss out the best landing place for both him and Thunderbird Two. It felt strange indeed, to be seeing it from this perspective, seeing the whole village, since he had only ever seen it from the front, the few huts that partly surrounded the little square beyond the paddy field.

But it was, more or less, just the same, just as he'd remembered it. He had been dreading this moment, in all honesty, wondering how he would feel when he first laid eyes on the place again and now, his worst fears were realised. He felt sick, physically sick but fought hard to quell the turmoil of emotions that were trying to surface, fought the urge to turn Thunderbird One and fly right out of there.

The Field Commander drew in a deep and shaky breath and purposefully set about doing the only thing he knew would get him through this, what had worked for him in the past; he would shut himself down.

How long would that last! Probably not long. But he hoped long enough to get the job done, feel he had done some good and, in some way perhaps, atone for the past and head home, all without these people knowing who he was. That was the plan, anyway!

Toward the back of the village there was some open ground that Scott had decided would make the best landing place and, as he banked around to bring his Bird in, he could see the people now begin to emerge slowly from their huts curious, no doubt, at his arrival. Within minutes, the great silver/grey scout ship was on the ground, resting horizontally on her retractable landing legs.

Scott emerged from the underbelly to set foot, at last, on terra firma, his face now a stony mask of unreadable emotion.

He was here. He was really here, back in the sticky, humid jungle heat of Vietnam.

With determined focus, International Rescue's commander in the field felt himself ready to deal with this situation and do what he had to do. But he wasn't quite as prepared as he thought!

As he turned, Scott instantly paled and all but lost his breath, visibly shocked at coming face to face with……..!