Twelve
John was nervous. They'd tried Thunderbird Two's Automatic Retrieval System once before on the simulator. It had been a dismal failure. He'd crashed two minutes into the flight, due to a sudden updraft that John had been unable to sense. Virgil had not been impressed.
Brains had assured them that new sensors that had been installed since that initial test would avert a repetition of that disaster, but they'd never found the time to confirm his theories.
This was not a good time to be making a test flight.
It was one of those rare occasions when it was decided that International Rescue would be out of contact with the outside world. With both Thunderbird's One and Two stranded countries away, International Rescue was largely powerless anyway, but up till now Thunderbird Five was still able to receive distress messages.
Jeff decided to shut the world-wide communications link down, leaving only links between Thunderbird Five, Thunderbird Two and Tracy Island open. He wanted nothing to distract John while he was concentrating on the task ahead. To John it felt eerie sitting in a completely silent Thunderbird Five. It was as if he'd suddenly gone deaf.
The sensory connection reminded him poignantly as to why they were undertaking this rescue.
He stared at the video screen in front of him. A camera mounted on Thunderbird Two's nose gave him an approximation of what the pilot would normally be seeing. Around the edge of the screen a range of numbers told him various factors about Thunderbird Two's altitude, velocity, wind speed and direction, as well as a host of other things he would need to keep track of. A companion monitor showed a conventional radar screen. It's scanning circle rotating endlessly. A reasonable facsimile of Thunderbird Two's steering unit had been plugged into the computer and was awaiting John's instruction to lift the great craft skywards.
He rubbed his hands on his trousers to dry them. It was amazing how sweaty they could get in the temperature controlled environment of the space station.
"Are you ready John?" John could hear an edge of impatience in his father's voice.
"Ready Dad. I'm activating the Automatic Retrieval System now!" John punched in a code into the computer. Speakers around him replicated the sounds of Thunderbird Two coming to life. "I have control."
"Good John. We know you can do this. I'll keep radio contact down to a minimum. Any problems let us know immediately. Good luck."
Words of encouragement came from his family.
"Good Luck John."
"Break a leg, Johnny."
"Bring her home safely."
"D-Don't worry, John. I-It's perfectly safe." Brains offered his own support.
"Thanks. I'm lifting off now." John felt the steering wheel shudder as it mimicked the forces of the vertical jets thrusting into the ground. It was the closest Brains had been able to get to full sensory replication, without building an extra simulator room onto Thunderbird Five.
The picture on the video monitor started to change as Thunderbird Two lifted off.
Numbers around the edge increased at a rapid pace as Thunderbird Two gained height and speed.
In the distance John could now make out the hole that The Mole had made when Scott and Virgil had set off on their rescue mission. He hoped that the next time a member of the Tracy family saw that chasm it would signal the start of the rescue of his two oldest brothers.
He rotated Thunderbird Two so that it was pointing homewards and started to accelerate.
Back on earth Jeff and the others were watching the same image that John was. "So far so good Brains."
"Yes, M-Mr Tracy. He is d-doing well."
John was starting to relax. Not totally, but enough so that his muscles weren't taut with the strain of what he was doing.
His eyes flicked over to the radar screen. There was another aircraft in the distance. He gained altitude to avoid crowding the other plane. The blip disappeared off the radar.
His eyes scanned the numbers on the screen. All seemed well. He was beginning to enjoy himself. It was like a giant, ultra realistic flight simulator game, and he'd always done well playing those, sometimes even managing to outperform his more experienced pilot brothers. If only he could push that nagging voice, that kept telling him that this was not a game, out of his mind, then he'd be able to totally relax. Still it wouldn't hurt to have that little voice there to keep him on his toes. To remind him that this was NOT a game, that his brother's lives relied on this mission.
"Thunderbird Two, ah, Five to base."
"Go ahead John."
"I'm making good time. This is easier than I thought."
As he watched fluffy white clouds soar past the monitor it was easy to forget that he was in fact in orbit around the planet and not soaring only a few hundred metres above it. If he'd taken the time to look out of Thunderbird Five's windows the illusion would have been instantly destroyed, but he concentrated on his task and lost himself in his work.
Another image appeared on the radar screen. This wasn't the blip of an aeroplane but something larger and more ominous.
"Thunderbird Two to base."
"Go ahead John."
"Storm clouds ahead. Looks like a big one."
Jeff felt a twinge of apprehension. "Can you fly around it?"
"Negative. It's too big. I'll gain altitude and see if I can fly over it."
Brains brought up a weather map on a computer screen. "Th-There it is." He pointed
"Can he, ah, Thunderbird Two climb above it?"
Brains punched in some numbers and data was fed back to them. "No."
"Did you hear that John?"
"I heard. So I cut straight through it then. Any idea of the wind speeds?"
"C-Current wind speeds look to be at a m-maximum of 100 km/hr."
"Tricky." John said flatly. "What's the terrain below the storm?"
"Two m-mountain ranges, one city and t-three large towns."
"How long will it take for the storm to pass?"
"Estimates range f-from eight to f-forty eight hours."
"So," John sighed, "sitting out the storm isn't an option."
"Only if you feel that you're going to be putting lives at risk." Jeff told him.
"The only lives that I think I'm going to be endangering at the moment are Scott and Virgil's." John told him. "I'll carry on. Brains' sensors are working well. I should be able to get Thunderbird Two through safely."
"Fine John. I'll leave all decisions over to you. If you think you're in trouble bail out - even if it means ditching Thunderbird Two in some remote area."
"F.A.B. Father."
On the radar the storm cell grew bigger and bigger. In the distance on the video monitor John could make out thick black clouds. Occasionally a bolt of lightening flashed across the sky.
John gave Thunderbird Two's systems one last check before he flew the transporter plane into the edges of the storm. Rain started to fall. It grew heavier and thicker. He changed the monitor view from video camera to video imaging to see through the rain. But all he could see was more rain.
The steering column bucked under his hands as a wind gust caught Thunderbird Two. John easily maintained control of the craft. The radar showed that he was traversing the width of the storm. A bolt of lightening flashed across the monitor.
The data readouts started increasing:
Wind speed = 55 km/hr - 60km/hr - 70km/hr...
Wind direction = northerly, nor easterly, southerly...
Rain volume = 10ml, 15ml, 25ml...
Another wind gust hit and it took John several seconds to bring the craft back under control. Once again he realised that he was sweating. "Five! Atmosphere! Reduce temperature two degrees!" he ordered. Thunderbird Five's ambient temperature was reduced accordingly, but John's stress levels remained the same.
He did a ground check. He was flying directly over the city.
A flash of lightening hit...
The screens went blank...
"What the..." for a moment John stared at the screens dumbfounded, before reopening the link with base. "Brains! I've lost contact with Thunderbird Two!"
John was nervous. They'd tried Thunderbird Two's Automatic Retrieval System once before on the simulator. It had been a dismal failure. He'd crashed two minutes into the flight, due to a sudden updraft that John had been unable to sense. Virgil had not been impressed.
Brains had assured them that new sensors that had been installed since that initial test would avert a repetition of that disaster, but they'd never found the time to confirm his theories.
This was not a good time to be making a test flight.
It was one of those rare occasions when it was decided that International Rescue would be out of contact with the outside world. With both Thunderbird's One and Two stranded countries away, International Rescue was largely powerless anyway, but up till now Thunderbird Five was still able to receive distress messages.
Jeff decided to shut the world-wide communications link down, leaving only links between Thunderbird Five, Thunderbird Two and Tracy Island open. He wanted nothing to distract John while he was concentrating on the task ahead. To John it felt eerie sitting in a completely silent Thunderbird Five. It was as if he'd suddenly gone deaf.
The sensory connection reminded him poignantly as to why they were undertaking this rescue.
He stared at the video screen in front of him. A camera mounted on Thunderbird Two's nose gave him an approximation of what the pilot would normally be seeing. Around the edge of the screen a range of numbers told him various factors about Thunderbird Two's altitude, velocity, wind speed and direction, as well as a host of other things he would need to keep track of. A companion monitor showed a conventional radar screen. It's scanning circle rotating endlessly. A reasonable facsimile of Thunderbird Two's steering unit had been plugged into the computer and was awaiting John's instruction to lift the great craft skywards.
He rubbed his hands on his trousers to dry them. It was amazing how sweaty they could get in the temperature controlled environment of the space station.
"Are you ready John?" John could hear an edge of impatience in his father's voice.
"Ready Dad. I'm activating the Automatic Retrieval System now!" John punched in a code into the computer. Speakers around him replicated the sounds of Thunderbird Two coming to life. "I have control."
"Good John. We know you can do this. I'll keep radio contact down to a minimum. Any problems let us know immediately. Good luck."
Words of encouragement came from his family.
"Good Luck John."
"Break a leg, Johnny."
"Bring her home safely."
"D-Don't worry, John. I-It's perfectly safe." Brains offered his own support.
"Thanks. I'm lifting off now." John felt the steering wheel shudder as it mimicked the forces of the vertical jets thrusting into the ground. It was the closest Brains had been able to get to full sensory replication, without building an extra simulator room onto Thunderbird Five.
The picture on the video monitor started to change as Thunderbird Two lifted off.
Numbers around the edge increased at a rapid pace as Thunderbird Two gained height and speed.
In the distance John could now make out the hole that The Mole had made when Scott and Virgil had set off on their rescue mission. He hoped that the next time a member of the Tracy family saw that chasm it would signal the start of the rescue of his two oldest brothers.
He rotated Thunderbird Two so that it was pointing homewards and started to accelerate.
Back on earth Jeff and the others were watching the same image that John was. "So far so good Brains."
"Yes, M-Mr Tracy. He is d-doing well."
John was starting to relax. Not totally, but enough so that his muscles weren't taut with the strain of what he was doing.
His eyes flicked over to the radar screen. There was another aircraft in the distance. He gained altitude to avoid crowding the other plane. The blip disappeared off the radar.
His eyes scanned the numbers on the screen. All seemed well. He was beginning to enjoy himself. It was like a giant, ultra realistic flight simulator game, and he'd always done well playing those, sometimes even managing to outperform his more experienced pilot brothers. If only he could push that nagging voice, that kept telling him that this was not a game, out of his mind, then he'd be able to totally relax. Still it wouldn't hurt to have that little voice there to keep him on his toes. To remind him that this was NOT a game, that his brother's lives relied on this mission.
"Thunderbird Two, ah, Five to base."
"Go ahead John."
"I'm making good time. This is easier than I thought."
As he watched fluffy white clouds soar past the monitor it was easy to forget that he was in fact in orbit around the planet and not soaring only a few hundred metres above it. If he'd taken the time to look out of Thunderbird Five's windows the illusion would have been instantly destroyed, but he concentrated on his task and lost himself in his work.
Another image appeared on the radar screen. This wasn't the blip of an aeroplane but something larger and more ominous.
"Thunderbird Two to base."
"Go ahead John."
"Storm clouds ahead. Looks like a big one."
Jeff felt a twinge of apprehension. "Can you fly around it?"
"Negative. It's too big. I'll gain altitude and see if I can fly over it."
Brains brought up a weather map on a computer screen. "Th-There it is." He pointed
"Can he, ah, Thunderbird Two climb above it?"
Brains punched in some numbers and data was fed back to them. "No."
"Did you hear that John?"
"I heard. So I cut straight through it then. Any idea of the wind speeds?"
"C-Current wind speeds look to be at a m-maximum of 100 km/hr."
"Tricky." John said flatly. "What's the terrain below the storm?"
"Two m-mountain ranges, one city and t-three large towns."
"How long will it take for the storm to pass?"
"Estimates range f-from eight to f-forty eight hours."
"So," John sighed, "sitting out the storm isn't an option."
"Only if you feel that you're going to be putting lives at risk." Jeff told him.
"The only lives that I think I'm going to be endangering at the moment are Scott and Virgil's." John told him. "I'll carry on. Brains' sensors are working well. I should be able to get Thunderbird Two through safely."
"Fine John. I'll leave all decisions over to you. If you think you're in trouble bail out - even if it means ditching Thunderbird Two in some remote area."
"F.A.B. Father."
On the radar the storm cell grew bigger and bigger. In the distance on the video monitor John could make out thick black clouds. Occasionally a bolt of lightening flashed across the sky.
John gave Thunderbird Two's systems one last check before he flew the transporter plane into the edges of the storm. Rain started to fall. It grew heavier and thicker. He changed the monitor view from video camera to video imaging to see through the rain. But all he could see was more rain.
The steering column bucked under his hands as a wind gust caught Thunderbird Two. John easily maintained control of the craft. The radar showed that he was traversing the width of the storm. A bolt of lightening flashed across the monitor.
The data readouts started increasing:
Wind speed = 55 km/hr - 60km/hr - 70km/hr...
Wind direction = northerly, nor easterly, southerly...
Rain volume = 10ml, 15ml, 25ml...
Another wind gust hit and it took John several seconds to bring the craft back under control. Once again he realised that he was sweating. "Five! Atmosphere! Reduce temperature two degrees!" he ordered. Thunderbird Five's ambient temperature was reduced accordingly, but John's stress levels remained the same.
He did a ground check. He was flying directly over the city.
A flash of lightening hit...
The screens went blank...
"What the..." for a moment John stared at the screens dumbfounded, before reopening the link with base. "Brains! I've lost contact with Thunderbird Two!"