Firstly my apologies for those waiting to see what Alan and his family had hidden from John in Thunderbird Five. Unfortunately they've kept his birthday presents a secret – even from me.
Chapter 29: Scott
D-Day
The Bentley Subglacial Trench was dead ahead, although as it was 2540m below the ice Scott had no visual way of knowing that. It was only the line on the computer screen that told him he was on track.
The skies above were still clear, but in the distance he could see a bank of ominous black cloud drawing closer. He would only have one chance at this, even if he had more than one set of missiles to play with.
Which he didn't.
Despite the front bearing down on him, Scott played it safe. International Rescue had informed the various Western Antarctic stations in Marie Byrd Land that they were going to be releasing missiles into the area and those stations had all agreed to keep well away from the action. But that didn't mean that some rogue scientist, or penguin, wouldn't be in the firing line. Thunderbird One did a circuit around the area and Scott decided that his way was clear.
"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."
"Thunderbird Five, receiving. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."
"I'm over Marie Byrd Land and the Bentley Subglacial Trench is dead ahead. Any last instructions from base?"
"Negative, Thunderbird One. You're cleared to launch missiles when ready."
He lined up his target.
He locked onto the computer's trajectory.
He pushed forward on his side sticks and, wings retracted, Thunderbird One eased forward and down; almost on the vertical.
Despite the fact that the Bentley Subglacial Trench was roughly the size of Mexico, Scott knew that he had little leeway. He was going to be firing three missiles in quick succession. The first two were to melt the almost rock-solid ice that concealed the trench and the third was the acoustic concussion generator that would burrow into the rock beneath. Each of the three missiles had to hit exactly the same spot or else they would be useless. Even if he was dead on target with all three, if each subsequent missile was released as little as a millisecond too late the ice could start to re-solidify between them, impeding the ACG's progress into the frozen earth.
He'd practised and practised again. With his well known patience Kyrano had sent him on hundreds of virtual bombing runs of the Antarctic; never complaining about the repetitious nature of his task.
Scott gave out a silent vote of thanks to his friend as he kept Thunderbird One on her unwavering path towards the trench hidden beneath metres of snow.
The ice drew closer…
As did the storm.
Thunderbird One's altimeter was spinning downwards as her nose cone drew closer and closer to the ice. Aware that he had the tiniest of margins of error, Scott found himself counting down till the moment that the onboard computers armed and released the missiles.
Despite the external cold, he felt a bead of sweat form on his upper lip. Timing was crucial. Fire the missiles too far from their target and there was a greater chance of the projectiles going off course. Too close and those missiles would not be able to make use of the momentum provided by Thunderbird One's flight to burrow into the ice. Way too close and he would crash onto the frozen landscape.
The ground proximity alarm blared, warning him that he was moments away from a catastrophic collision; but he held his nerve. Barely a second later he felt the smallest of kickbacks as the computer shot the two lead missiles and the ACG from Thunderbird One's cannons. As a small cloud of snow and ice blossomed from the surface of the great white continent, Scott finally pulled back on the controls, lifting Thunderbird One's nose clear of the approaching ground.
Extending One's wings to increase her stability in the increasing wind, he circled back and checked the scanners. By rolling the rocket plane slightly to port and looking out of the cockpit windows, he saw through the first snow flurries the spot of icy-blue where the ice was re-solidifying above his three missiles.
Three missiles, but only one mark on that pristine white landscape! He'd done it! He let out a whoop of exhilaration. "Bulls-eye!"
He knew that he could do it! This was what he should have been doing for the last seven years. Flying by the seat of his pants as he saved the lives of others who couldn't survive without his intervention. He hadn't felt so alive in years! Whatever had possessed him to leave this career for the dead end one he'd been enduring for nearly a decade?
His faith in his own abilities had been justified!
Thunderbird One rocked slightly as the storm started to pound her hull and dumped snow on her wings. Deciding that it would be better to celebrate in the sun, Scott began climbing out of the buffeting winds and freezing temperatures.
Only then did he get on the radio. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five! Mission accomplished! We are F – A – B!"
In contrast to his exhilarated exuberance, John sounded subdued. "Understood, Thunderbird One. Return to Mu'a immediately."
A lesser man than Scott Tracy would have felt put out at his brother's lack of enthusiasm at what he'd just achieved, but he knew John well enough to realise that there had to be a reason behind that unemotional order. He snapped to attention and turned Thunderbird One for home. "What's wrong, John?"
Thunderbird One crested the storm and emerged into the sun.
"Tracy Island's been evacuated…"
"What!?"
"It's the volcano, Scott. She's about to blow. Brains didn't want to tell you guys so you wouldn't worry…"
Scott's mouth went dry as he listened. One minute he'd been on top of the world; now it sounded as though an important part of his world was about to blow itself to smithereens.
John was still talking. "…Virgil and Gordon don't know, and I'm holding off telling Alan; but Brains has got a plan to stop the eruption and he needs you back at Mu'a right away."
"Tell him I'm on my way." Scott pressed forward on the side sticks. "Patch him through, John. He can brief me while I'm flying there."
He heard a quiet click as the transfer was made. "S-S-Scott?"
"I'm listening, Brains. What's the action?"
"It's almost a repeat of the mission you've just c-completed. I-I need you to land on Mu'a and take on board another missile."
"Do you want me to try to divert the lava flow away from the complex?"
Brains, switching to full scientific-mode, lost his stutter. "No. Tracy Island is a Complex Stratovolcano, formed by its explosive eruptions. We must stop the eruption before mountain explodes."
Scott silently agreed.
"The missile you are about to take on board in some respects does the opposite to the two lead missiles you've just fired. It cools rather than heats. I am hopeful that by solidifying the magma rising through the conduit and into Tracy Island's volcano's throat, it will act as a plug, either diverting the magma flow elsewhere in the volcanic field or else stopping the flow altogether. My theory is that as this eruption is an aberration, since the main field has moved away from the region, the volcano will once again become dormant once we have nullified Doomsday."
"We've trusted your theories so far, Brains, and I see no reason to think that this one won't work." Scott was close to Mu'a now, and he looked out Thunderbird One's window, seeing the ash cloud rising up above the family's home. "I'm coming in. Get ready for me. This has got to be a quick turnaround. I want to be on the ground minimal time."
He'd barely given them time to react when he was touching down on the helipad's gravelly surface. He jumped out of his aeroplane. "Where's this missile…?"
In a short time Thunderbird One was armed and ready for battle. Having received Brains' final instructions Scott was about sprint across the helipad to his craft when his father caught his arm. "Wait, Scott!"
Scott stopped; itching to get moving. "What?"
"Well done, Son… And good luck."
"Thanks." Eager to take to the skies again, Scott ran across the gravel and leapt up into the cockpit. "Maintain safe distance," he commanded. "Thunderbird One: about to launch."
He heard his father's voice. "F-A-B, Thunderbird One. You are cleared to go."
Exhausts flaring, Scott headed for the skies and back to Tracy Island…
The gases rising from the crater seemed thicker now and he kept a wary eye on them as he opened the mike. "You want me to fire the missile straight down the throat of the volcano, Brains?"
"Th-That is correct, Scott. We need to get it deep into the magma chamber beneath the volcano for maximum effect."
High above the gas cloud, Scott fancied that he could see the vaguest of red glows beneath the thick black ash. "I'll do my best."
He lined up Thunderbird One with Tracy Island's crater. This time he didn't have the option of relying on computer guidance. This time he could only trust himself and no one or nothing else.
In that short space of time the crater had become obscured by the noxious volcanic gases spewing out of it. Switching his video viewer over to thermal imaging turned the seas around Tracy Island from azure blue to midnight black; the landscape paled as the land rose up to the volcanic peak; and the centre of the crater was immediately visible as an ominous white-hot glow.
He took a deep breath. "Missile armed."
He heard John's reply. "F-A-B, Scott. Good luck."
"Thanks." Scott gave his control panel one last check. "Going in." Taking another deep breath, and believing in himself like he'd never believed in himself before, Scott pointed Thunderbird One's nose down the throat of the volcano and pushed forward on the side sticks.
The glowing crater grew bigger…
Miles away on Mu'a Island, everyone had retreated to the lounge to watch the video feeds. They saw Thunderbird One hover above the ash cloud. Then they saw her point her nosecone downwards and seem to fall from the sky.
Tin-Tin grasped her father's hand, holding it tightly.
Jeff gripped the arm of his chair. As much as he wanted his home to survive, he was more concerned about his eldest son. Diving straight into the gaping mouth of a live volcano seemed to be foolhardiness at best.
Thunderbird One was nearly out of sight behind the smoky crater's rim when the missile flared out from her nose and she began to turn for the heavens; extending her wings for stability.
It was then that things went wrong.
Jeff didn't know what he'd expected to see when the missile hit the crater. He did know that he hadn't expected the cloud of smoke to become thicker and denser. He hadn't expected a wall of fire to rear up and engulf the rocket plane.
He definitely hadn't expected a wing to fall off.
Not the new wing that replaced the one that had been damaged when Thunderbird One had been sealed away in her hangar. This was the starboard wing that was tumbling towards volcanic slopes that were coated in ash and splashed with lava. Scott had checked and retested and checked the wing again and again before clearing it for flight; but now its age and the thermal shock caused by the relatively rapid temperature change between the Antarctic blizzard, tropical sun, and raw molten rock had conspired against the aircraft and her pilot.
Jeff heard Tin-Tin's gasp of horror as Thunderbird One disappeared in the cloud of smoke, ash, and semi-liquid red-hot rock. "Scott!"
The video camera locked onto Thunderbird One as, her rockets burning at full throttle, she burst out of the screening, poisonous plume.
But any hopes that Scott was still in command of his plane soon vanished.
Her uneven wing configuration causing her to spin upwards out of control, Thunderbird One was gaining altitude at a rate of knots. It was obvious to those watching the video screens that it must have been almost impossible for anyone on board to maintain consciousness.
But still Jeff held out hope. "Scott! Retract port wing!" he ordered.
There was no response.
"Scott!"
Silence over the airwaves.
"Come in, Thunderbird One."
Nothing.
With his heart in his mouth Jeff acknowledged that he wasn't about to receive a reply. "John! Take control of Thunderbird One!"
"F-A-B."
It was a relief to hear John's calm voice acknowledge the order. The Chief Executive Officer was about to enact a takeover bid…
"Initiating transfer sequence... ... C'mon... ... Talk to me... ... That's it... ... Nearly there... ... I have command of Thunderbird One!"
Jeff let out the breath that he'd been holding.
"Igniting port jets to rectify spin... ... What the...?! ... I've got...! ... Slow down... ... Come on, Baby... ... Don't fail me now...!"
There was a long pause.
"I have control!"
Finally the camera was able to zoom in on the image it had been tracking and the tiny dot in the distance resolved itself into a shape as big as a child's toy; a toy that was no longer spinning like a top, but suspended in mid-air.
"Retracting port wing," John announced.
"Any word from Scott?" Jeff asked as the distant video showed the changes to the aircraft's profile.
He felt his stomach knot when John responded with a tight "Negative."
"Can you bring Thunderbird One back to Earth?"
"Negative," John repeated. "Gaining control was a drain on Thunderbird Five's power resources. Keeping her airborne is draining her more. I'll set One into hover, but not gonna attempt to land her."
"Understoo', John. Bring her dow' as low as you can and we'll thing of a way of getting her to safety." Jeff turned to Brains. "Will Scott be all righ'?"
"H-Having seen the g-forces that he was exposed to, er, I would assume that he has lost consciousness."
Being told something that he already knew wasn't what Jeff Tracy wanted to hear, and it was with some effort that the former Air Force pilot and astronaut in him refrained from snapping at the engineer. "Shouldn' he be regaining consciousnez b'now?"
Kyrano placed a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.
"There a-are potentially other issues..." Brains chose his words carefully. "If the explosion has compromised the i-integrity of Thunderbird One's hull and caused a reduction in cabin pressure..." He stared at his computer, trying to decipher the signals from Scott's medical scanner bracelet. "Taking into account the maximum altitude Thunderbird One obtained, and the speed at which she attained it, then Scott c-could suffer the effects of d-decompression sickness."
"The bends?" Jeff stared at him. "But, if he's goin' to suffer from DS, he shouldn' be showing any symptoms for at least another hour."
With an abrupt gesture, the only outward sign of his concerns, Brains minimised one of his computer's screens. "A-Aside from the video link, and Scott's medical details, which tell me little, we h-have received limited feedback from Thunderbird One. I do not want to ask John to forward more information while his, ah, focus is on bringing Thunderbird One down."
Jeff's glance at the video screen showed that the child's toy now looked big enough to ride on. "If Scott'z not in a fit shape to land, and Thunderbird Fife doesn' have the power to bring her in zafely, then how are we goin' to land Thunderbird One? Air-to-air tranzfer?"
Brains nodded. "Unless Scott regains consciousness soon, and has…" He hesitated, unwilling to articulate what he knew they were all thinking. "…Er, all his f-faculties, that is the only option."
Sure that there had to be a solution, Jeff began to muse out loud; the planning process calming him and stabilising his speech. "To do an air-to-air transfer we need two pilots: one capable of holding the helijet steady as the transfer is made; and one who can fly Thunderbird One. Tin-Tin can land One; but neither you nor Kyrano are helijet pilots. Besides," Jeff turned to the young lady sitting next to him, "I'm sorry, Tin-Tin, but I don't think you should attempt a transfer in your condition. I could never look Alan in the eye again if something happened to you or the baby."
"You could land Thunderbird One, Mr Tracy."
Jeff stared at his daughter-in-law. "Me?"
"I am sure that I can hold the helijet steady while you and Brains transfer to Thunderbird One," Tin-Tin clarified. "Then you can pilot her."
"Th-The idea has merit, M-Mr Tracy," Brains agreed. "We've seen you practise flying the Thunderbirds on the simulator." He got to his feet. "I am going to get a medical kit. I w-will meet you down at the helipad."
"But that was only curiosity," Jeff protested as the engineer left the room. "I wanted to get some idea of what the boys are going to be going through. I can't fly a real plane. Especially not Thunderbird One!"
"I have watched you," Kyrano told him. "I have seen you grow in strength and confidence. You have regained many of your old skills. And have you not been flying the Karearea?"
"Another pilot's been flying her. I went along for the ride."
"You would not be in the air for long. I have faith that you can fly Thunderbird One and save the life of your son."
They were suddenly aware how little time they had when John announced: "Not going lower. Need plan soon."
Tin-Tin stood. "We're going to do an air-to-air transfer, John. Hold Thunderbird One steady and open the topmost hatch."
"Be quick."
"I'm going to get the helijet ready." Her mind already on the task ahead, Tin-Tin strode towards the door. "See you down there, Jeff."
Not sure which of the developments of the last few minutes he was finding the most shocking, Jeff watched her depart. "Did she just call me Jeff?"
A tiny frown creased Kyrano's forehead. "I shall speak with her later."
"No, don't do that. I don't want my grandchild growing up calling me 'Mr Tracy' and it's about time she called me something different." Grasping the walking frame's handles, Jeff pulled himself to his feet. "Do you really think I can do this, Kyrano?" he asked as he started walking towards the door.
"There is no one here more capable."
"That's a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one."
"It is not meant as such."
"I'm sure it wasn't. Come on, my friend. Let's hope your judgement's as good as your cooking."
-F-A-B-
John had managed to bring Thunderbird One down so that she was in a hover a few metres above the surface of the ocean and close to Mu'a's shore.
Jeff looked out at the sleek rocket shape as he allowed Kyrano to strap him securely into a harness. "John, make sure you keep her steady until we're on board."
"Right." So far John's responses had been abrupt; almost to the point of monosyllabic. He hadn't even questioned his father's role in the rescue.
"Any response from Scott?"
"No."
The helijet's rotors were warming up, and as Kyrano assisted him across the helipad, Jeff was aware that his thumping heart was beating nearly as fast. He climbed into his seat and took a deep breath. "I think you've tightened this harness too much," he commented, shifting in his seat as he tried to stop the strapping from cutting off the circulation to his legs.
"I wished to ensure that you felt secure."
Jeff managed a chuckle. "I have no fears of falling out of it, I can guarantee you that."
Brains climbed into the seat facing him, and donned his headphones. "Take her up, Tin-Tin."
"F-A-B," she responded, and the helijet left the helipad.
Soon they were hovering over Thunderbird One's sleek cylindrical body, looking down through the open hatch. They could see no sign of her pilot.
Brains clipped his medical case and a small oxygen cylinder to his harness and his harness to the winch. There was no trace of fear as he instructed Tin-Tin to hold the helijet steady and Kyrano to lower him towards the disabled craft.
The transfer was made with textbook precision.
Then it was Jeff's turn.
The adrenaline was pumping as Kyrano attached the winch cable to Jeff's harness. "Are you ready, Mr Tracy?"
Ready? Jeff felt impatient at his friend's caution. He needed to get down there now. Moreover he wanted to! His world had been constrained for too long. He was ready to step out into whatever life threw at him.
Instead he stepped out into the downdraft from the helijet as the winch cable took up the slack and then started lowering him down towards Thunderbird One. Keeping his arms pressed close to his sides he passed though the hatch and into the cabin.
Brains had already placed a neck brace on the patient and had slid a backboard between Scott and his seat's backrest. Now he was intent on examining the unconscious pilot.
"Brains?" Jeff queried, some of the adrenaline ebbing away when he saw his unmoving son. "How is he?"
Brains checked a vital signs monitor. "Scott is unconscious," he announced, stating the obvious as he withdrew a syringe from his case. "This is to keep him sedated."
Jeff winced when he saw the small cut on his son's forehead and the blood running into his eye. "Why sedate him if he's unconscious?" He got some gauze and wiped the blood away.
"The c-concussive forces experienced during the time that Thunderbird One was out of control would have sent his brain slamming into the side of his skull…"
Jeff held up his hand. "No need to get too graphic, I understand that much."
"A-Also," Brains continued, "Scott appears to have struck his head on something multiple times…"
"Looks like it was the microphone." Jeff indicated a smear of blood.
Brains glanced at the instrument and then carried on with his treatment. "A blow to the head, coupled with the g-forces sustained, could produce c-complications if he were to b-become ag-gitated. And… Ah…" Brains hesitated. "M-Mister Tracy," he stammered. "S-Seeing y-y-you p-p-pilot Th-Thunderbird One at, er, at th-this stage of your r-recovery, would, in all p-p-probability, be, ah, v-very s-stressful to him."
Dumbstruck, Jeff stared at the scientist.
"Please f-forgive me for s-saying th-this."
"Don't apologise. You're right," Jeff conceded. "I'm the last person he'd expect to fly Thunderbird One."
Brains put away the remainder of his medical gear and stood, regarding his patient as if he were an obstacle to their goal. "You cannot pilot standing up, but h-how are we going to get Scott onto the floor? I c-cannot do it alone."
Jeff looked at his fit, muscular, heavy son. "Neither can I, but with any luck we'll be able to do it together."
It was a major struggle as the pilot's seat seemed unwilling to release Scott's limp body, but eventually they succeeded and he was laid with reasonable care on the floor of his cabin.
Puffing as he tried to regain his breath, Jeff crouched next to his son as Brains checked him over again. "Any deterioration?"
"No." Brains put an oxygen mask over Scott's face.
Jeff looked about him. "I can't see any holes in the cabin. We may not have to worry about decompression sickness."
"I hope not, but to make sure I want to get Scott into a hyperbaric chamber. We must not, ah, discount the possibility of micro-punctures in the hull."
"No," Jeff agreed. "Our problem is how do we access one? The hyperbaric chamber's on Tracy Island and we don't know if Scott succeeded in stopping the eruption."
Brains stole a quick glance at his watch. "And we won't be able to use Thunderbird Two's recompression chamber for hours."
"And Thunderbirds Three and Five's chambers aren't an option."
Brains indicated the pure oxygen that was flowing into Scott's mask. "That will, er, help ease any symptoms in the short term."
Jeff watched as Brains shone a light into each of Scott's pupils. "How bad do you think the head injury is?"
Continuing with his examination, Brains shook his head. "I cannot say at this stage. At best I would anticipate that his brain would have sustained some minor bruising. A-At worst…" He swallowed. "At worst he could have had a haemorrhage."
"Haemorrhage!" Jeff stared at the engineer. "You mean he could have a stroke?!"
Brains concentrated on making sure his patient was comfortable. "I would prefer not to think that, but I must consider all possibilities."
"So the sooner we get him to a proper bed the better?" Hoping that his hands had stopped shaking from excitement and the strain of lifting – at least enough to control a state-of-the-art rocket plane – Jeff stood, using the pilot's seat's framework for support, and claimed it for himself. "Wish us all luck, Brains." He closed the hatch above them.
"I-I do not believe that we will need it, Mr Tracy. I wouldn't have agreed to you being the pilot if I didn't think you were capable of the t-task."
Jeff tried not to think that that last little "t-t" had been some sign that the engineer was simply trying to boost his confidence and reassure them both; and told himself to appreciate the compliment. Taking a deep breath, he entered the codes that would allow him to take command of the aeroplane. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. We have control."
"F-A-B."
John hadn't asked about his brother; which, under most situations, Jeff would have considered to be out of character. But now he didn't have time to worry about such observations. Now he had to land Thunderbird One safely and then get Scott to somewhere where he could get proper medical attention. "Are we returning to Mu'a, Brains?"
Brains looked up. "Huh…? Oh… Yes. U-Until I am sure that we will not be endangering our lives on Tracy Island, the f-facilities on Mu'a will be adequate."
"Right," Jeff grunted. "Fingers crossed."
He pushed forward on the controls and felt Thunderbird One's powerful engines respond to his touch. A slight thumbing of a lever and the aircraft rose ten metres and then stopped. Pushing forward on one side stick and pulling back on the other caused the rocket plane to swing about in a balletic arc. Now that she was nose-on to the helipad, Jeff coaxed her forward, telling himself that that slight draught he felt on his face was his imagination.
Now what?
He had no wings to maintain Thunderbird One's stability in a standard, danger-zone, horizontal landing. With no wings he had lost her side support struts, meaning there was a real possibility of rolling the craft on touchdown. A vertical landing, similar to when Thunderbird One returned to her hangar was feasible, but Jeff feared that any change in orientation would have an adverse affect on his injured son.
He had no other options.
"You are over the helipad, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin's voice interrupted Jeff's musings. She and her father had landed the helijet and were keeping a close watch on Thunderbird One's progress. "You may land her now."
Jeff wished that the pair of them could change places. How did you land a crippled, weakened aircraft with crippled, weakened hands?
With tenacity and stubbornness: that was how. That, plus the safety mechanisms built into the aeroplane in case of such emergencies.
Jeff hoped that Scott had had time to check all those systems.
Taking it slowly, keeping his breathing regular and even, and trying to minimise any sudden moves, Jeff brought Thunderbird One closer to the ground.
"Twenty metres till touchdown," Tin-Tin told him.
Keep it steady… Keep it slow…
"Fifteen metres."
Easy does it…
"Fourteen metres."
Easy…
"Thirteen metres."
Nearly there. Don't get excited.
"Ten metres."
Just relax and continue doing what you've been doing…
"Ten metres."
Ten metres and it'll be all over…
"Ten metres. You are nearly there, Mr Tracy."
Ten metres and you can relax…
"You are holding at ten metres…"
Ten metres! Ten measly metres! For Pete's sake stop screwing around and just do it, Tracy!
Tin-Tin watched as, a giant airbag expanding from underneath her nose cone, Thunderbird One, gracefully and with a delicate precision that her regular pilot would have been proud of, settled onto the helipad. The engines cut out and the rocket plane nuzzled into her cushion of air; remaining upright.
Jeff felt a surge of exhilaration. "Thunderbird Five! We're down!"
Helping her father carry a stretcher, Tin-Tin dashed to Thunderbird One's entrance hatch, which had swung open almost as soon as the aircraft had touched the ground. "How is Scott, Brains?"
"Stable," he admitted. "Mr Tracy's landing was so comfortable that it had no effect on him whatsoever."
"That is wonderful! I knew he could do it."
Brains grinned. "Didn't we all."
On the other side of the cockpit, an elated Jeff had grabbed Kyrano's hand. "We did it!"
Kyrano smiled. "You did it, Kawan Saya. You have landed Thunderbird One. From now on you will not let anything hold you back."
"You're right." Jeff got to his feet. "Let's get Scott up to the house." He switched on the microphone. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."
There was no reply.
"Come in Thunderbird Five."
Silence.
"Thunderbird Five?"
…
"John...!?
...
"Answer me!"
There was no response from space...
To be continued…
