Are you still trying to find the references? There are some very obscure ones included in this chapter, plus some bonuses…If you find them, email them to us at turton-tracyathotmail .com
How many of the 16 points on offer this time can you score?Five: Escape?
Scott Tracy paced the maintenance room, the boots of his International Rescue uniform squeaking slightly on the concrete floor. "How long does it take for paint to dry?" he demanded of no one in particular.
"Settle down, Scott. We can't rush these things," Jeff admonished him gently. He watched his eldest son pace back and forth some more. "Calm down and have something to eat. You've been on the go for at least the last six hours. And you'd put in a full day on the Mark II before we got the call out. If you're going to fly us all back to the North Pole I want you fresh!"
"I'm all right," Scott grumbled.
"Scott," Jeff leant forward and held out a chocolate bar. "Have a break. I know you're worried about them, but you won't make the paint dry any faster by stressing. Now sit down and relax."
Reluctantly Scott half obeyed the order by taking the snack and sitting down, but he still wasn't able to relax. He crossed one leg over the other knee, and then reversed position. He uncrossed his legs, and folded his arms. Then he uncrossed his arms and folded his legs. He unwrapped the sweet and bit into it without enthusiasm.
As he watched his son fidget, Jeff shook his head ruefully. "I hate to think what you'd be like if you had sisters."
Tin-Tin gave a soft laugh at the mental image. "I think I've got some idea," she admitted before turning to the agitated man at her side. "They'll be okay, Scott," she reiterated for what seemed to have been the hundredth time that day.
Scott was on his feet again. "How can you just sit there, Father? I can't think of anything worse than… than…"
"Watching paint dry?" Jeff teased.
"I don't know how you can be so calm! It's been nearly five hours since we heard from them!"
"I've had plenty of practise," Jeff informed him. "I've had five years of worrying about you boys while you've been out on rescues, not to mention the years before that as you were all growing up. And I've come to realise that there's no point in worrying, until you have a reason to worry."
"You've got three sons trapped at the North Pole, you've had no communications from them for five hours and you think you don't need to worry?" Scott shook his head in bemusement.
Brains walked from the hangar into the maintenance room. "I-I think the paint will be dry by the time we've…"
Jeff Tracy was out of his seat and through the door, Brains following him. "M-Mr Tracy…"
Before Scott had a chance to follow them both, Tin-Tin stood and took his arm, holding him back. "See! Your father does worry. He worries about you all. You don't see it because you're always out on rescue and you're one of the ones he's worrying about. But I do see it. I know when he's worried." She gave the blue uniformed arm a comforting squeeze. "He's just as worried as you are, Scott. But he's had more practise at hiding it than you."
"He does a good job of it," Scott conceded.
"They'll be all right," Tin-Tin insisted again as they began walking out of the maintenance room and into the Mark II's hangar. "You know they're not quitters… John, Virgil and Gordon won't give up at any cost. You know that."
"I know," he admitted.
"They'll be looking after each other."
"I know."
"They have the skills to survive."
"I know," Scott repeated.
"Then keep positive." Tin-Tin released his arm and stood back so he could enter the Mark II.
"Ladies first," he gestured.
"Gladly," Tin-Tin stepped inside. "I'm sick of the smell of paint."
Parker stared down the gun that was about to take his life.
As Lady Penelope tore a bead from her pale pink blouse, she gave silent thanks that she had chosen this day to wear this particular garment. As usual, the fates had been smiling on her.
There was a soft popping sound as the bead hit the Hood on his broad chest and exploded. Pungent, green fumes rose and smothered his face. Choking, his eyes and nose streaming, he staggered backwards. His finger, already tensed around the trigger, contracted involuntarily and the resulting bullet tore across the face of a leggy animal gambolling on the calendar.
Parker redirected his attention to the laser shoe in his hand and resumed attacking the final link that still bound him to the chair.
Lady Penelope took the opportunity to step between her butler and their assailant, forming a human shield.
The Hood shook his head, trying to clear his vision. His turned his bloodshot eyes back to face the two prisoners. "You can not escape that easily," he snarled, blinking against the enduring stinging pain. "No more games. Your slave will die… Now!"
"No," Lady Penelope said quietly. "I will not let you."
"You are of use to me or I would take your life too. But him…" the Hood gestured with the gun as he wiped his eyes with the back of his other hand. "He is of no use. Move aside!"
"No," Lady Penelope repeated. "I will not let you kill, Parker. Not without killing me first."
"So!" the Hood sneered through his tears. "There is some loyalty in the privileged classes towards their slaves... But it is misguided loyalty… I said get out of my way!" He stepped forward, intending to push Lady Penelope to one side.
It was the opening Lady Penelope had been waiting for. Already prepared for such a move, she kicked out, catching the Hood squarely between the legs.
He let out an unholy screech of pain.
Equal to the occasion, Parker picked his metal chair up and brought it down on the back of his would be assassin, who collapsed, unmoving, onto the floor. The force of the blow was enough to sever the final obstinate link in Parker's chain. "Thank 'eavens for that," he said, examining his freed wrist.
Lady Penelope looked down on their assailant. "I dread to think what Mother would think if she knew that I had to attack a man in such a way. She would be spinning in her grave."
"If your mother knows wot you've bin up to since she passed away, M'lady, she must 'ave spun a 'ole all the way to China," Parker grinned.
Lady Penelope replaced her shoes on her feet. "I would have thought that your most efficient, er, clobbering act would have knocked our friend out for some time, Parker. But knowing this particular gentleman I believe that there is every chance that he will regain consciousness before we manage to find our way out of here. We must make haste."
"Indeed, M'lady." Parker strode to the door and looked through. "All clear." He stood to one side. "After you, M'lady."
"Thank you, Parker."
"No," he said, with feeling. "Thank you, My Lady."
"We'll be leaving in a moment, Mother."
Mrs Tracy looked relieved. "At last!" She looked at her watch. "It's been five hours since we heard anything."
"Don't I know it," Jeff growled as he looked at her image in the telelink. "Keep your chin up. They'll be fine."
"I'm sure they will be," Grandma said with determination. "They're from good solid stock! Now, Jeff, before you head north I want you to stop off at home. I've packed some food hampers to take with you."
Jeff shook his head as Tin-Tin and Scott entered the flight deck. "Thanks, but we'd better head straight for the Pole."
"But they won't have had anything to eat for the last five hours! They'll be starving!"
"If they've got access to a survival kit they'll have their energy bars, and we've got some food on board the Mark II…" Jeff glanced over at Scott who'd slid into the pilot's seat. "I'll talk to you later, Mother."
"Be careful… All of you. And give those three my love."
"It won't be long and you'll be able to do that yourself. They'll be hanging out for something freshly baked from your kitchen." Jeff braced himself as the Mark II started rolling out of her hangar and into the pelting rain.
"Let me know when you're leaving the North Pole and I'll make sure it's ready to eat as soon as they walk into the house."
"F-A-B, Mother. We'll be in contact as soon as we hear anything." Jeff shut down the link and retreated to a seat beside Brains before strapping himself in.
"Thunderbir… Mark II to Thunderbird Five," Scott said into the microphone.
"Thunderbird Five," Alan replied. "How's it going?"
"We're about to take off," Scott told him. "Can you confirm we've got the all clear?"
"There's nothing near you except that dirty great storm cell. If any other planes are flying in that weather their pilots must be suicidal."
"Or desperate," Scott added. "We know the Mark II's handled well on short trips in fine weather, we're about to see how she goes flying to the other side of the globe in some of the worst Mother Nature can throw at her. Lifting off now."
Mateo Island wasn't equipped with the launch pad that characterised Tracy Island's runway, so Scott had no option but to take off vertically. As he fired up the VTOL jets, and the rains obscured the view through the windscreen, there was no visual evidence that the great 'plane was leaving the Earth's surface. Apart from a slight juddering sensation as the jets forced themselves against the tarmac of the runway, the Mark II's passengers had no knowledge of the exact moment when the aeroplane left the ground. To Scott it was eerily like the white out conditions he'd experienced at the North Pole.
The Mark II powered away from Mateo Island.
Lady Penelope and Parker ran through the complex, trying to retrace their steps to the Rolls Royce. They stopped short when they came up against a steel door.
"How tiresome," Lady Penelope pushed at the door. "It appears to be locked."
Parker was examining the lock. "Piece a cake," he said. "It'll be h-even h-easier than the Bank of H-England. H-And that was a doddle."
"Lord Silton would not be pleased to hear you say that, Parker," Lady Penelope admonished him.
"Well, 'e asked me for me professional h-opinion and I gave it to 'im," Parker said with dignity. "H-I can't 'elp it if 'e didn't like h-it. Now, H-I just need a bit of wire. You wouldn't 'appen to 'ave a 'airpin, would you?"
"I'm afraid I can't oblige you," Lady Penelope admitted. "He took anything that he thought could be used as a weapon." She placed an unruly curl behind her ear. "I must look a fright!"
"Doesn't mat'er," Parker had spied a solitary desk lamp on a table in an adjourning room. He unplugged it and carried it into the still lighted hallway so he could see what he was doing. Then, pulling his sleeve down over his hand for protection, he gingerly unscrewed the bulb. "'Ot, 'ot, 'ot!" he exclaimed as he juggled it between his hands.
While her butler was preoccupied with the task of releasing them from their prison, Lady Penelope spent her time examining the fixtures of the adjacent rooms. She opened a cupboard. "This is indeed our lucky day, Parker," she noted as she removed his uniform cap and jacket.
"Even bet'er," he said, examining his clothing thoroughly as he looked for some of the tools of his former, illicit trade. He found nothing. "'E's taken me kit."
"Never mind, Parker. I'm sure that whatever you have planned will work just as well."
Parker picked up the now cooled light bulb. "Mind your eyes," he instructed and broke the globe on the edge of a table. Lady Penelope continued searching as he carefully removed the filament from the shattered light bulb. "There ya are," he said with satisfaction. "One bit o' wire. We'll be out of 'ere in no time."
"Wonderful, Parker," Lady Penelope said as the lock snicked open. "I should hate to be late for Jeff's party." She reached into the drawer that she'd opened and pulled out a small satchel. "Is this what you were looking for?"
"That's it," Parker confirmed and shoved his wallet into his pocket. "That's bet'er. I felt quite naked without me tackle."
"And I without my trinkets," Lady Penelope agreed as she removed the remaining contents of the drawer.
Beyond the door FAB1 was waiting for them in all her glory. They hurried over to the car and Parker gave it a quick once over. "'E's tried to h-open h-it," he said in disgust. "'E's scratched it."
"Never mind, Parker. It's nothing that a quick touch up with some paint and a polish won't fix."
Muttering to himself about, "no respect for 'onest folk's things," Parker assisted her ladyship into the Rolls Royce. He then reclaimed his seat in the front of the car.
Ahead of them was a solid steel and rock wall. "H-I trust you don't mind the use of h-a little firepower, M'lady," Parker asked.
"Not at all, Parker. Please proceed."
"Very good, M'lady."
The slats on the radiator grill rotated open. The barrel of a gun was extended. A sniper sight rangefinder rose up out of the dashboard. Parker lined the cross hairs up with a point low down on the door…
There was an explosion and rock and steel rained down on the glass steel canopy of the car as FAB1 sedately drove forward.
"Well done, Parker."
"Thank you, M'lady."
They were barely 100 metres away when a series of subsidiary explosions started detonating in the complex behind them. "Our friend must have stored some flammable goods in there," Lady Penelope said calmly. "Most careless of him. He should have known better."
"Yes, M'lady. H-I quite agree. Very careless. Someone could get 'urt."
They drove at speed across the desert until they had reached the road, where Parker spun the Rolls Royce on to the highway heading back for Los Angeles. The resulting shower of gravel startled a snake and it slithered out from under a bush, away from the perceived danger, its winding sideways movement leaving a pattern of parallel J-shaped markings in the sand…
"Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue – North Pole," Alan tried again. He'd said those words so many times over the last five hours that he was hoarse. He took a sip of water and turned his attention to the blip on the scanner that marked the rescue aeroplane's progress through the cyclone. He changed frequency. "How's it going, Scott?"
Scott's face was grim. "We're airborne, but we're not making much headway. My scanners say we've got to climb to 7,000 metres to get above the storm. Can you confirm?"
"Affirmative," Alan agreed. "Looks like your weather computer's right as usual, Brains."
Scott adjusted the trim as the aeroplane was buffeted by the strong winds. "This is nearly as bad as it was at the Pole. I hope the fellas haven't had to put up with weather like this for the last six hours!"
There was a bang and the Mark II lost altitude briefly. Scott fought the controls, using all his considerable skill to bring the great 'plane back under control.
"Lightning strike?" he heard his father's voice behind him.
"Yep."
"A-Any d-damage?" Brains stuttered.
"Nope." Scott decided to concentrate on gaining altitude rather than continue their northbound flight. "Don't worry, Brains. Thunderbird Two could handle weather like this, and you've made this baby even stronger. We'll be all right…"
A streak of lightning flashed past the window…
John manipulated one pair of tweezers. Gordon had another pair in his hand and was keeping two wires crimped together. On John's other side, Virgil mirrored his brother in steadiness and concentration.
"Near-ly… got… it… There!" John straightened and rubbed his eyes. "You can let go, thanks, Fellas."
Carefully, so as to not undo all of John's hard work, Gordon and Virgil released their tweezers from the mess of wires and electronics that they hoped was going to be functional radio.
"Will it work?" Virgil asked as he shifted position and tried to uncramp his legs.
"Do you want me to be honest or optimistic?" John looked at his brother.
"Optimistic," Gordon requested.
"In that case. It'll work a treat."
"Honestly?" Virgil asked.
"Honestly? I don't think we've got a show in Hades. You may have salvaged my radio from what's left of my pack, but I don't know what was damaged by the bear or that bit of metal. I don't know what it was in Gordon's radio that was causing it to malfunction. And I don't think our combined watches have the necessary receptive power to transmit any further than Pod Four, even assuming that both radio batteries are still operational. That's without the concerns of the cold and ice that's got into everything."
"I think I preferred the answer you gave me," Gordon said. "You may as well try it anyway."
"At least putting it together killed about an hour," Virgil said. "They must be close to having the Mark II completed by now."
John touched two wires together. Optimistically an LED light came on and the 'radio' emitted a low hum.
"Well, we've got some power," Gordon commented.
"But is it enough?" Virgil watched his older brother attempted to initiate contact.
"North Pole to International Rescue," John said. "Come in, Alan... This is John, calling Alan. Can you hear me, Alan…?"Alan Tracy sat in the control seat of Thunderbird Five and rubbed his eyes. On a normal day he would have been following his normal sleeping patterns and would have been in bed by now. He looked at the computer console's chronograph. This was not a normal day and he had no intention of going to sleep. Not while three brothers were in danger, or worse, and the rest of his family were attempting to reach them by flying an untested aeroplane through a cyclone.
He leant on Thunderbird Five's viewport and watched the Aurora Australis dance over the southernmost pole. It was an awe-inspiring sight at the best of times, and today it was especially spectacular, probably because the Pole was cloaked in winter darkness. As he watched he couldn't help thinking about his three brothers, trapped at the North Pole and unable to communicate because of the twin of this dazzling phenomenon.
He turned his back on it when he thought he heard a welcome sound through the chatter of radio noise. He practically ran back to the communications computer and placed his ear near the speaker, straining to hear something familiar. After several minutes he gave up trying to listen to the real time transmissions and instead rewound the recording of the last ten minutes, placed headphones over his head, and sat back to try to identify what it was that he'd heard before.
After three passes of the recording he came to the conclusion that what he'd heard was only in his imagination. He was tired and desperate to hear something that would reassure him that the Mark II wasn't on its way to find something that he didn't even want to consider.
He opened the teleradio link with base. "Hi, Grandma."
"Hello, Alan, darling. Do you have news?"
"No. I needed to hear a friendly voice. I'm going stir crazy up here waiting to hear something."
"I understand. We're each trapped on an island of sorts at the moment."
Alan managed to grin at his Grandmother. "At least you've got Kyrano to keep you company. I've got the whole planet to listen to, but no one I can hold a conversation with. It's nearly as stressful as when you and I were on the San Miguel Bridge... I suppose you're cooking up a storm?"
"I've got all their favourites ready. I only need your father to give me the word and I'll put them in the oven. They'll be ready for something hot by the time they get home."
"Make sure you leave some for me, Grandma. I'll be home in a couple of days."
She gave her grandson a playful wink. "I haven't forgotten you, Alan. I'll be too busy cooking for the party when you get home, but after that's over and things have settled down again, I'll make you something special."
"After a month of my cooking, anything you cook would be special. Even if you burnt it."
"I thought Brains had designed meals that were supposed to easy and tasty?"
"They are," he admitted. "It's not my cooking so much as the food itself. I know these meals that Brains has designed are meant to be hot and nutritious, and they taste pretty good… But I wish you'd give him some lessons in presentation! The dish I had last night wouldn't have looked out of place in a field of cows!" Alan screwed up his face. "It looked revolting!"
Grandma Tracy laughed at the mental image. "I'll make you something extra special when you're home, then. And you can spend the rest of your time in space thinking about what you'd like that to be."
Alan licked his lips. "You realise you've just made these last few hours into torture, Grandma? I'll be spending my time thinking about your cooking and not listening to the radio."
"Now don't you let me cause you to neglect your duty," she scolded playfully. "You keep right on listening. John's probably making a working radio to contact you right now…."
Half an hour after they'd started, they gave up on trying to make contact with Thunderbird Five via the makeshift radio. Listening to the static had been too depressing.
The three of them sat in silence, since their topics of conversation had long since dried up.
Virgil was struggling to keep his eyes open. He tried fighting against it, but was losing the battle. When he eventually gave up and allowed sleep to overtake him, he'd doze off, his head would touch the cold wall of their shelter, and he'd be jarred awake again.
John was sitting, contemplating the radio. Occasionally he'd pull the pack/work table onto his knee and fiddle with some wire or component, but always with the same negative result. Then he'd lay the pack down again and lapse back into thought.
Gordon was bored. Bored with a capital B... He looked at his brothers. They were boring too. He needed to do something to bring some life back to the group. Something that didn't take up too much energy! Something that would annoy the heck out of his companions. Stuck for any other ideas, he began to sing. "Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall…"
His brothers looked at him. "Has Parker been corrupting you with bawdy ditties again?" John asked.
"…Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall…"
"If he sings about anything with a number higher than ten," Virgil began. "You have my permission to kill him…"
"…And if one green bottle, should accidentally fall…"
"…Slowly."
"…There'll be nine green bottles hanging on the wall…"
John looked at Virgil. "We've got nothing better to do. I guess if you can't beat 'em…"
"…Join 'em," Virgil agreed.
A shaky three-part harmony started singing the next verse. "Nine green bottles hanging on the wall…"
"Where to, M'lady?"
Lady Penelope stifled a delicate yawn. "I think, perhaps, we should go straight to Jeff's Malibu house. I'm sure Maxwell is waiting for us. He may have worried Jeff unnecessarily."
"Very good, M'lady. 'Ow are you goin' to explain this to Miss 'Ampton? That creep knocked 'er out too!"
"He did? Dear me, how tiresome. I suppose that means that the police will be involved as well. We had better think up a suitable alibi for our absence. Get your thinking cap on, Parker."
"Yes, M'lady."
Scott looked out through the Mark II's portals at the featureless white expanses of snow and ice. "Thank heavens for GPS readings. Otherwise it would be like looking for the lost pyramid of Kamandadees."
His father stood at his shoulder, straining his eyes for any sign of the front third of the downed Thunderbird. "What's that!" he pointed slightly to port, to where a plume of smoke rose skyward. "Is it the tail section?"
Scott checked his global positioning satellite readings. "No. That's further over to starboard. And it had stopped burning by the time I'd left."
An icy chill seemed to clutch at Jeff Tracy's heart. "Then where's the smoke coming from?"
Scott glanced at the GPS and then up at his father. "It's hard to judge distances out here…"
"But it's where you left the boys?"
Scott nodded. "I think so." He turned the Mark II so it was on a heading towards the smoke that rose like a flag from the snowy landscape.
"…And if that green bottle, should accidentally fall, there'll be no green bottles hanging on the wall."
As the last note of their song died away the silence returned.
"Well," John stretched. "That killed a couple of minutes. Now what?"
"How about another song?" Gordon suggested.
"Not until I'm near my piano," Virgil threatened.
Gordon ignored him. "Ten sticks of dynamite hanging on the wall…"
John chuckled. "Ten sticks of dynamite hanging on the wall…"
Virgil shrugged and completed the trio. "And if one stick of dynamite should accidentally fall. There'll be no sticks of dynamite and no bloomin' wall."
They laughed. "We'll have to get Parker to give a concert at the party," Virgil said. "He's a riot when he loosens up."
John agreed. "We'll have to get him away from Penny for a bit."
"I asked him once if there's a blood bank in England," Gordon commented. "He said, 'No, but there is a liver-pool."
His brothers groaned.
"Gordon!"
"That's terrible!"
"I asked him another time," Gordon continued on, "if he knew of any ruins in England."
"What did he say?" John asked cautiously.
Gordon made an attempt at Parker's distinctive voice. "'There's one close to 'ome, Mister Gordon. She wanted to marry me.'"
It must have been due to the stresses of the day, but both John and Virgil found that extremely funny.
When he no longer had to lean on John for support, Virgil looked over at his younger brother. "I'm glad you've still got your sense of humour, Gordon."
Gordon waited for more of this statement to be forthcoming. "Well?" he eventually asked.
John looked at him. "Well, what?"
"I'm waiting for the next bit. Virgil's glad I've still got my sense of humour because… Because, what? Because it proves I'm an imbecilic idiot? That I've got the maturity of a six-year-old? What?"
Virgil looked surprised. "There wasn't any more. That was it. I am glad that after all that we've been through today, after spending however many hours stuck here in the snow, I'm glad that you can still try to cheer us up. It's one of the things that makes you an asset to the team."
"Oh…" Gordon was nonplussed by this unexpected praise. "Thanks…" Embarrassed he looked at his hands. Then he gave one of his famous impish grins and began to sing again. "100 bottles of beer on the wall…"
"Although, if you don't stop singing songs with bottles and numbers in them I'll personally send you outside to serenade the polar bear," Virgil threatened.
"Okay," Gordon relented. "I promise that I won't sing any more songs about numbers and, or, bottles…" His grin broadened. "'This is the song that doesn't end…'"
"Yes it does!" John pulled his brother's hat over his face to shut him up.
There was a squawk from the radio. John grabbed at it and pulled the pack onto his lap. He made a small adjustment to one of the resistors.
"…ome in… Mark II calling Thunderbird Two. Come in… please…"
"Scott!" John yelled into the radio's microphone. "We can hear you, Scott."
"…Come in Thunderbird Two. Can you hear me? Calling Thunderbird Two…"
"Scott!" John tried again and listened as his older brother continued trying to contact them. "We're receiving but not transmitting," he said in frustration. "What's wrong with this thing?"
"It must be your radio, Gordon," Virgil said. "It must be the transmitter that's not working."
"That'd explain why I couldn't get Thunderbird Five…"
John had grabbed his snow mask and was putting it on. "Are you reading me, Scott?" he said into the microphone as both Gordon and Virgil donned theirs.
"John? John, is that you? Are you all right? How's Gordon and Virgil?"
"We're here, Scott," Virgil said.
"All in one piece," Gordon added.
They could hear relief in Scott's voice. "You're all okay?"
"We're fine," John acknowledged. "Where are you?"
"Heading towards Thunderbird Two…"
"Boys," it was their father's voice. "Are you sure you're all okay?"
"Cold and bored, that's all," John told him. "What are you doing here?"
"Do you think I'm going to sit at home and let your big brother take all the glory?" Jeff stated. "I wanted to see how the Mark II performed."
"And how was she?" Virgil asked.
"Faultless," Scott said. "Even better than Thunderbird Two."
"How's Thunderbird Four?" Gordon asked eagerly.
There was a moment's silence before he heard his brother's drawl, punctuated with a background of laughter. "Gee. I don't know, Gordon. For some strange reason we were more interested in finding out if you guys were actually alive. Do you want me to double back and pick her up first?"
Before Gordon had a chance to reply there was a simultaneous, "NO!" from his two fellow captives.
Scott chuckled. "Majority rules. Sounds like you've been outvoted, Gordon."
"I could say," Virgil said, "something like... 'If Gordon wants to wait here until his precious, probably un-broken Thunderbird Four is retrieved, then fine. But John and I would like to get someplace warm'... But I won't."
"Just as well you're not going to say that," Gordon said mildly. "Or else I would have to get very upset."
"Where are you guys?" Scott asked. "I take it you're not still on Thunderbird Two."
"We've dug a snow cave," John explained. "How close are you?"
"I don't know. Brains and Tin-Tin are trying to get the thermal scanners to pick you up. We're getting a lot of heat interference from Two."
Those in the snow shelter became aware of a distant rumbling noise. "Listen!" Gordon held up a hand. "I hear a crash of Thunder… and the Tracy Symphony."
Virgil was almost cheering. "That's the best music I've heard all day."
"You're close, Scott. We can hear the Mark II's engines," John began packing up the radios and shoving them into the remains of his pack.
Flying above the Arctic Circle in the newest Thunderbird craft, Brains and Tin-Tin were concentrating on the readouts from the thermal scanners. "Anything, Brains?" Tin-Tin asked.
"N-No," he said in frustration. "Th-The heat from Th-Thunderbird Two's causing too much interference."
"Same here," she admitted. "I can't see them anywh… Wait!" She pointed at the screen to an irregular shaped orange dot. "Is that them?"
Brains adjusted the angle of his scanner so it was in line with hers. "I-I'm not picking up three individual r-readings…"
"But if they're in a snow cave they'll be huddled together," she reminded him.
Jeff Tracy was on the long-range radio to Thunderbird Five. "Alan! We've found them and they're all fine."
"They are?" Alan exclaimed. "That's great! Shall I let Grandma know?"
"Yes, please, Son. Tell her to start warming up the oven. We'll give her a call when we're leaving."
"F-A-B."
"John," Scott said. "Keep talking and I'll zero in on your radio signal."
"Okay," John agreed. "I should be getting good at this by now. What did I talk about last time guys?"
"About how weird it was," Virgil reminded him.
"And how lost you were," Gordon added.
"And how cold it was… and still is! How close are you, Scott? Are you reading us yet?"
"Gotcha!" Scott said with satisfaction. "Start packing up, boys. We're going to take you home. Coming into land now." He lined up the Mark II so that its wing was sheltering the snow cave and gently brought her into land. The four VTOL jets briefly melted the snow and ice before the great plane touched down. "Okay, Fellas. We're here."
"Great! I'm outta here!"
"Do you think it's safe?"
"Would you hang round if a monster of a 'plane was going to land on you?"
"Have you got your souvenir?"
"Yep."
"Gordon! Watch your elbow!"
"Sorry."
"I can't fit everything into my pack."
"Will it hold the bigger items without falling apart?"
"Should do."
"Okay, we'll do a swap. Give me the smaller ones, I'll put them in my pack."
"Who's going to carry the flight recorder? I've got my hands full with this radio."
"Why do you want to bring that with you? It's broken."
"I want to find out what's wrong with it."
"Watch where you're putting your foot, John!"
"Sorry."
"I'll take the flight recorder."
"It's probably frozen solid in the ice."
"Will the 'ice releaser' still be working?"
"I don't know. We won't know until we get outside."
"Should be. It's not like it's your radio."
"At least I didn't lose mine."
"Are you sure it's safe out there?"
"We could always get Scott to come out with a laser gun."
"Don't worry. It wasn't there before. It must be miles away now."
"Famous last words."
"OW! I wish you'd control that thing, Virgil."
"Sorry."
"Well… Out you go."
"It'd be easier if you go first."
"Okay. Then you can hand the packs down to me."
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"Stop panicking!"
"I'm not panicking. I just don't fancy shaking hands with it again."
Those on board the Mark II listened in amusement and bemusement to the conversation that was happening inside the snow cave. "I've got the feeling they've got a tale or two to tell us," Jeff noted.
"Do you think I should take out the laser gun?" Scott asked.
"What for?" Tin-Tin asked. "What on earth could frighten those three?"
Jeff frowned. "Something has."
"I-I hope they don't forget the flight recorder," Brains was staring out the window but couldn't see the cave for the bulk of the Mark II. "Are th-they coming out yet?"
Scott stood up. "I'm going to give them a hand. Anyone else coming?"
They got suited up in their winter survival gear and had only just stepped outside when they caught their first sighting of their quarry. A rescue orange box suddenly appeared from out of the ground and landed on the snow. Scott left the rest of the Mark II's crew in the shelter of the 'plane and hurried over.
A fur covered head popped out of the hole, followed by the torso belonging to someone who'd obviously been assisted out. The person steadied themselves before turning and reached down to grab something.
"Let me help you, John," Scott reached into the trench and grabbed Gordon's other hand. "Ups-a-daisy!"
"Thanks, Scott."
"Hold this, please," Virgil handed Thunderbird Two's control yoke to Scott and reached out to John and Gordon. They hauled him out of the trench. "Thanks," he said, and then held out his hand for the control yoke. Scott gave it back without comment.
"I like the umbrella," Gordon said, looking up at the Mark II's grey, unmarked, forward facing wing.
Scott grinned. "Come on, Fellas. I've got some people on board who want to say hi."
One of the first people to greet them onto the Mark II was Brains. "Ah. J-Just what I've been waiting for," he said, taking the flight recorder from Gordon.
Gordon grinned. "We've missed you too, Brains."
Brains reddened. "S-S-Sorry, G-G…"
Gordon laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "That's okay."
"Are you sure you boys aren't hurt?" Jeff asked.
John removed his hat and mask. "We're fine," he reiterated. "Have we missed anything?"
"Only five hours of back breaking work," Scott said.
"Do you have any idea why Th-Thunderbird Two exploded, Virgil?" Brains asked.
Virgil had divested himself of what remained of his polar survival pack, but was still carrying Thunderbird Two's control yoke. "The thermalene cylinders had ruptured, probably in the initial crash."
"Hmmm," Brains mused. "Interesting. O-Obviously a weak point…"
"We'll worry about that later when you can run the flight recorder through the computer," Jeff said. "In the meantime, Grandma's waiting for the call that we're on the way home. Let's go up to the flight deck, we've got hot drinks waiting for you boys there."
Gordon had his arms wrapped around Tin-Tin, who was giggling as she responded in kind. "Mmmn. Honey, this feels so good. Don't let me go until I get warm… Which should be about February."
Tin-Tin giggled again. "Oh, Gordon," she chided him gently. "Don't be silly."
"Hey! What about us," John protested. "We'd like to get warm too you know."
"Yeah," Virgil tapped Gordon on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?"
"Yes I do," Gordon had his eyes closed as he felt the warmth of his friend's body seep into his own. He began to sway as if he was in tune with some silent music, which set Tin-Tin off into another round of giggles. "Get your own dance partner. I'm sure Scott would be willing to oblige."
Scott grinned and opened his arms out to his brother.
Virgil made a face. "I think I'd rather hug John's polar bear."
"I don't know," John mused as he ran his fingers over his growing beard. "At least Scott's had a shave. That's the first thing I'm going to do when I get home; have a wash and get rid of these whiskers!"
"Mrs Tracy's cooking your favourites," Tin-Tin told him over Gordon's shoulder.
"… After I've had something to eat," John amended.
"Don't you want to see how Thunderbird Four is?" Scott asked Gordon.
"Thunderbird Four!" Gordon released his hold of Tin-Tin and practically ran to the lift that led up to the flight deck. "Come on, Guys!" When they didn't follow he impatiently closed the doors and the lift rose upwards. It was back a short time later, empty.
"Well, Tin-Tin," Jeff chuckled. "At least you know where you rate with Gordon."
"Yes," she conceded. "Lower than a submarine."
Virgil opened his arms to Tin-Tin. "My turn?" Their hug was awkward since he was still holding his souvenir. "Tin-Tin! This is better than an electric blanket."
"Why don't you put that thing down," John asked before claiming Tin-Tin's embrace himself. "You know, Gordon's right! This does feel good!"
Tin-Tin giggled again. "If it was any man other than you Tracy boys who said that…"
"We'd have to answer to Alan," John winked as he released her.
She blushed. To cover her embarrassment she slipped her arms through John and Virgil's. "Come on, let's go on up to the flight deck."
Gordon was pacing back and forth when they arrived in the pilot's cabin. "About time! Come on, Scott. Let's get this baby moving!"
"Keep your shirt on," Scott admonished him. "Do you want to do the honours, Virgil?"
"No," Virgil shook his head. "I'm still cold. I'll be shivering too much."
"Come on, Scott," Gordon urged his oldest brother again as he received a hot drink from Tin-Tin. "Start 'er up… Thanks, Honey."
Instead of sitting down in a passenger seat, Virgil had spied something out the window. He moved closer so he was pressed up against the glass. From here he had a clear view of the remains of Thunderbird Two. He gripped his souvenir tightly; his knuckles white.
His father brought a drink over to him. "Virgil?" he held the mug out to his son.
Virgil didn't notice as he looked sadly out the window. "It was only a 'plane… wasn't it? Just a lot of nuts, bolts and electronics."
"It was a very special 'plane," Jeff told him quietly. "It saved a lot of lives, including those of you and your brothers… Here," he pushed the mug against Virgil's hands and Virgil looked down in surprise, "…you need to get something warm inside you."
"Come on, Virg," John said as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come and sit down."
Virgil took the mug from his father with a sad smile, and allowed himself to be led to the seat beside Gordon. He balanced the control yoke on his knees as he attempted to do up his safety harness.
"I'm sorry, Virgil," Gordon said, taking Virgil's mug so his brother could complete the operation. "She was a great craft. I'm going to miss her."
"Thanks," Virgil said, claiming his mug back and wrapping both hands around it to warm them. "I hope Thunderbird Four's okay."
Gordon managed a smile. "She will be. If Thunderbird Two could manage to keep the three of us alive after a drop like that, Thunderbird Four should be just fine.
"Everyone okay?" Scott asked, and the way the question was directed made it obvious that he was talking emotionally as well as physically.
There were affirmative murmuring from everyone.
From everyone, except his father who hadn't reclaimed his seat. "I don't like the idea of International Rescue being responsible for polluting the environment here," he mused. "We'll have to do something about clearing Thunderbird Two away… but that can wait till we've had a chance to work out how. In the meantime, I'd like to stop that!" he gestured towards the stream of smoke that still wafted skywards from the downed Thunderbird. "Pity we don't have any dicetylene on board."
"We do," Scott informed him. "When I heard that Thunderbird Two's emergency alarm had faded out, I figured that there may have been some kind of fire on board, so I filled up the tanks."
Jeff favoured his eldest with a nod of approval as he sat down and strapped himself in. "That's why you're the Rescue Co-ordinator, Scott. You plan these things in advance."
While the black smoke writhed around the windows of the Mark II each person was absorbed in their own thoughts. As Scott carefully manoeuvred the Mark II into position, he reflected that it was fortuitous that he'd had the foresight to load the dicetylene… His father remembered the sight of the blackened shell that had once been Thunderbird Two, and felt an immense sense of relief that his three sons had not been caught in the inferno… Tin-Tin smiled as she imagined Alan's arms about her, blushed again and sheepishly looked around to see if anyone had noticed... John felt his sore muscles and wished they were heading straight home to his grandmother's care... Gordon was on edge, willing the dicetylene to hurry up and do its work so he could check on Thunderbird Four... Virgil stared into his mug, tried to ignore the smoke that rose from the remains of his beloved craft and tried to convince himself that he was silly being so emotionally attached to an aeroplane.
At last the scene outside the windows was clear. "That's that," Scott said as he turned the Mark II away from the danger zone. "Now home."
"We can't leave Thunderbird Four!" Gordon declared.
"I wasn't planning to," Scott reassured him. "I guess we can make one stop on the way…"
Thanks to everyone who's attempted to complete the challenge. You're all doing very well. And if you haven't tried yet, it's not too late to start. Send your answers to turton-tracyathotmail .com (remembering to replace the at with the approriate symbol and removing the space before the .com)
PS: Don't blame me for Gordon's jokes. I got them out of a book!