Thunderbirds
The Annual Adventures
by Lee Homer
Disclaimer: All rights reserved. This is a collection of adapted text stories from various Thunderbirds annuals from across the years. I wanted to help make these short stories available to fans who don't own any of the annuals or are unaware of the cool stories that they contain. The Annuals are the property of Century 21 Magazines LTD and Grandreams LTD. This collection is for fan fiction purposes only. I hope you enjoy them.
Operation Masterstrike
Computer-controlled from the American mainland, target ship Ocean Trader sailed smoothly across the wide loneliness of the central Pacific Ocean. Packed with electronics, the old freighter was making her last voyage, steaming towards the centre of a red circle marked on the charts spread out in the control command of Missile Research centre Western X, somewhere north of San Francisco. Chief controller Irving Ableman spoke clearly into the microphone on his desk,
"Ocean Trader entering red zone now. Check systems."
Admiral Wallace Johnson sat by the central console and watched green lights flick on and off in succession. He looked at his watch.
"Fire missile," he said evenly, as his thumb came down on a polished aluminium button.
Out on the launchpad, a Masterstrike rocket began its lift-off with a ten-megaton tritherium warhead at its nose. Admiral Johnson sat back and wiped his perspiring brow.
"There she goes," he said with satisfaction. "The computers will do the rest. All we have to do is wait."
On Tracy Island, far to the south of the target zone, the International Rescue team were just as interested in this latest research shot as the rest of the world. Brains was already checking the detector-recording apparatus in his laboratory.
"This is an a-ambitious one," he stammered to Jeff. "The ultimate in computer-controlled guidance systems, It seems they're putting the Masterstrike into an s-single orbit around Earth. There's a homing device in the target ship. The device has a greater range than anything tried before. Once the predetermined trigger is operated, the guidance system will lock onto its target and b-bring the rocket ship right down on top of it."
"You mean that missile will be flying around the Earth with now ground control?"Jeff asked with a frown.
"N-No, Mister Tracy," replied Brains. "Everything is linked to Research Centre Western X. They have complete control over the entire project."
"Beats me why they have to continue to develop bigger and more efficient weapons," mumbled Jeff. "If they spent as much money on peaceful scientific pursuits, the world would be a better place."
If Jeff had been aware of the problem that was about to develop, he would have been even more upset about the project. He couldn't have known, and the technicians at the centre wouldn't have dreamed it. Something was about to happen that would bring their carefully laid plans towards impending disaster, something as simple as the brakes of a petroleum truck! It
It happened on the long hill that led up from the North California main power station, where the double-trailer fuel tanker was parked. The driver was having a coffee in a roadside transport pull-up. Why the main connector pipe of the tanker's air brakes chose that precise moment to spring a fault, only fate could say. One minute the big tanker's wheels were locked, the next, they were turning...and four hundred gallons of petrol went careening down the hill. The truck smashed through the power station's perimeter wire and jack-knifed. The trailer swung around, sheared it's way through the outer wall of the power station and burst into flames. Shaking power cables fell in all directions, blasting blue sparks in a succession of shattering flashes. Then, the main generators burst like bombs.
Chief Controller Irving Ableman was on the point of announcing the near completion of the Masterstrike rocket's first and only orbit when everything suddenly went dead. Every instrument, every control, every light went out. In the total darkness, there was only confusion and panic! Telephones, radio, all communication systems were useless. Target ship Ocean Trader cut from its control, and with only it's self-contained apparatus working, continued unchecked towards the edge of the red circle safety zone. Masterstrike, under it's pre-set course, was completely divorced from all human control. Admiral Johnson's voice was high-pitched with fear.
"Ocean Trader's on a locked course! Its homing device is going to click on and pull down that bomb! We can only guess where the ship's going to be when it strikes!"
In orbit above the Earth, Thunderbird Five had been tuned to the transmissions from the Research Centre, Now the transmission had suddenly gone dead, and John Tracy wanted to know why. It didn't take the young man long to flick over the directional switches and pick up the frantic scramble of messages between Northern California fire departments. Once he'd learnt of the situation at the power station, he was able to fit the pieces of the jigsaw together. He relayed what he knew to Tracy Island. It was Brains who supplies the rest of the puzzle pieces. He reached the same desperate conclusion as Admiral Johnson.
"Where's the Ocean Trader going to be when the rocket makes its dive, Brains?" Jeff asked grimly.
"Th-That's just it, stuttered Brains. "Ocean Trader is heading this way. I e-estimate it will have reached within four miles of Tracy Island!"
Alan, Virgil and Scott had come into the lounge. They shifted their feet, nervously, as their father sprang upright from his desk. The had to turn that ship on another heading. The problem was that Brains didn't have the know-how to access the controls. Only the technicians from the Research Centre had the authority. Their only chance was to reach out to the Centre for help. Jeff swung round to Scott.
"Get Thunderbird One into the air, immediately." he snapped. "Virgil. You'd better follow in Thunderbird Two. Take Brains with you. You'll have to play it by ear, but first thing is to get aboard Ocean Trader and quickly!"
Three-way radio contact was in full operation as Thunderbird One hurtled at a low level across the blue mirror of the Pacific. Scott could hear Brains from Thunderbird Two, twenty minutes behind him.
Have you s-sighted the ship yet, Scott?" We're running out of time! By my calculations, the Masterstrike is approaching the end of its orbit. We've got no more than ten minutes!"
Scott gripped the controls of his craft until his knuckles showed white.
"How long after that, Brains? How long before the Masterstrike comes down?"
After a brief silence, Brains replied; "Fifteen minutes. T-The rocket's in high orbit."
Suddenly, Scott yelled with triumph, "There she is! Ocean Trader...dead ahead!"
Scott slammed down the switch that fired the down thruster rockets beneath Thunderbird One and brutally hauled the craft into a metal-wrenching turn. Quietly, menacingly, the target ship steered its relentless course beneath him.
"Five minutes," he licked his lips. "Brains, is there any point in sinking the ship?"
Brains groaned aloud. "Unless the homing device still works, there's a coral shelf down there. The explosion might not hit Tracy Island, but the tidal wave..."
"I'm going to land on the deck," Scott interrupted. " Join me as soon as you can. I'll need you to identify the equipment."
Scott stood on the forepart of the deck of the Ocean Trader. His left hand was held level with his face. His eyes flickered constantly from the dial of his watch to the huge bulk of Thunderbird Two which hovered above. Slowly, the great craft dropped down lower and lower. A steel ladder lowered, and Brains scrambled down it until his feet touched the deck. One minute and fifty seconds remained on the clock. Brains rushed past Scott and climbed down the main companionway towards the old freighter's bridge where the computer control panel had been installed.
Scott had extensive knowledge of computers, but he didn't know how to disarm the homing device. Then again, Brains was the genius. He took precious seconds to study the read-outs and cursors that flashed across the monitor screen before him. Scott glanced at his watch in frustration and willed Brains to hurry. Then the scientist operated some keys, turned some switches and pressed several buttons. As he activated the last control, a shrill buzzing sound screamed from the computer. In the same instant, the second hand of Scott's watch hit zero hours. Brains stumbled back. He looked around crumpled like a man faced with a certain disaster.
"We were too late," he said thickly. "Just a fraction of a moment too late."
Scott gripped his shoulders. There had to be something they could do? But Brains shook his head in defeat. Had failed in preventing the homing device from making contact with the missile. The Masterstrike had taken its new course. In fifteen minutes, it would hit its target and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Scott's lips were dry, but his hands were moist with sweat. He glanced up at the sky as if looking for the impending doom. Then he nodded, and a determined look came into his eyes.
"There is a chance," he said softly. "Can you isolate the homing device from the rest of the computer? Is it on a separate circuit...a chip, a disc?"
W-Wait," Brains hesitated as he studied the controls. "I suppose I could work it out."
Scott shouted at him again."Don't just stand there! Get on with it!
Five precious minutes were taken up as Brains located the homing chip deep within the computer's grid. He warned Scott that it wouldn't change a thing. The rocket was still locked on course. Scott snatched the device from his hand. He breathed deeply.
"Take Thunderbird Two back home," he instructed as he ran up the companionway. "This baby is coming with me. I'm going to outrun the Masterstrike and drop the homing device in the original target zone."
Brains tried to warn Scott about his slim chances of success, but his words were lost to the blast of Thunderbird One's motors.
The sky over Tracy Island was sultry and overcast. Thunderbird Two stood out green against it as she made her final approach. Virgil and Brains were silent. They didn't look at each other nor said anything as Scott's voice crackled over the intercom for possibly the final time. The two boys convinced themselves that they would never be heard from him again.
"I'm over the target zone. Preparing to jettison the homing device...now!"
Brains glanced at his watch. Two minutes remained. Even now, if Scott happened to be looking skywards, he might see the flashing streak of Masterstrike. Thunderbird Two came down beside it's concealed hanger, and Virgil and Brains sat there, watching the horizon. Scott's voice sounded again with tension.
"I see it! I see..."
Then silence, and in the same second, the gloom of the sky gave way to what appeared to be a blazing sunburst. A five-second flaring over the horizon followed by the first breath of a powerful and fierce wind. Virgil and Brains climbed down to the ground and walked slowly towards the Tracy house. A full five minutes passed by before anyone in the lounge spoke. They stood like statues. Jeff, Gordon, Alan, Virgil. Tin-Tin and Brains, even Grandma and Kyrano. Their eyes were fixed on the portrait of Scott as the eyes flashed on and off. Jeff managed to move and snatched up the microphone from his desk.
"Base to Thunderbird One. Are you alright, Scott?
The portrait flashed over to a video picture. An ashen-pale and strained Scott reported his success.
"I made it, Father. Don't ask me how, but I made it. Thunderbird One is a mess, but I had time yo get my protective gear on. I don't think the radiation's penetrated. Guess it was a so-called clean bomb."
Virgil sat down with a crash on the sofa. Tin-Tin rushed out of the room, and Grandma followed her. It looked as if they had been crying. Aware that Thunderbird One was going to crash into the sea, Virgil and Gordon fell over each other in the rush for Thunderbird Two. They headed back into the pen, selecting Pod Four for its marine salvage equipment.
Already, the huge waves whipped up by the nuclear blast were lashing the sea to fury. It would be a tricky rescue, but Gordon and Virgil laughed as Thunderbird Two began her lift-off. Somewhere to the west of the island, Ocean Trader sailed on the limit of its fuel tanks. The old ship, too, had had a reprieve from certain death.
END