Thunderbirds Blast Off
By Lee Homer
Disclaimer: A collection of short adventures based on the comic strips from the Thunderbirds Annuals of the '60s and '70s. All rights reserved. I don't own Thunderbirds.
Envoy of Danger
Sir Gerald Smith, a World Government Envoy was returning to Washington after successfully negotiating a contract to mine Uranium in Zawahiri. His yellow sonic jet whizzed over the dense jungle below. The contract was due to take effect from midnight, approximately, Seven Hours from their present time. If Sir Gerald didn't deliver the contract to his superiors within that time frame, the Uranium concession would fall to the hands of the hostile power of Bereznik, an Eastern nation the bordered with Russia. It was 2066, and the Western powers shared a power struggle with the Eastern Alliance that Bereznik was a member of. Sir Gerald checked his wristwatch with a smile.
"Ah, we're making good time. " He said.
"Yeah, but that's rugged country down there. Just the sort of spot for an ambush." replied the Pilot, doubtfully.
Sir Gerald smiled at his pilot. "My dear boy, you worry too much. We'll be across the American coast in under an hour. Bereznik wouldn't dare make a move on us if they tried."
However, the pilots' fears were justified. Three red, unmarked fighter jets appeared in the sky behind them, in a close wing attack formation. The Pilot instructed Sir Gerald to brace himself as he pulled back on the throttle, attempting to outmanoeuvre them. His valiant attempt failed. The lead fighter hurled a missile at the unarmed jet's tail section. The guided rocket found its mark, striking the Jet in its right wing. Engulfed in flames, the jet plummeted towards the jungle below. Making a hurried radio call before his radio could die out, the pilot spotted a clear area in the dense jungle. He guided his jet towards a murky late, skimming it along the surface of the water like a stone. As they came to a rest on the surface, the pilot opened the cockpit hatch above them. Bruised and shaken, Sir Gerald looked for his vital luggage.
"There's no time to get the documents!" He yelled. "Get out fast! She's going down any second!"
Desperately, the pilot pulled Sir Gerald into the cold murky waters of the lake. The VIP resisted for a moment as he attempted to retrieve his contract.
"Swim!" cried the Pilot. "You'll be sucked under with the aircraft!"
Sir Gerald struggled. "But...But the contract!"
His words were cut short as the water filled the statesman's mouth. Using what little energy he had left, the Envoy swam towards the swampy shoreline, following his more agile pilot. Eventually, the water grew shallow, and the two men staggered onto the shore. Confused and enraged, Sir Gerald bald his hand into a tightly clenched fist.
"The contract will never get to Washington now!" He snarled. "We've failed!"
The Pilot removed his soaked cap and rubbed the back of his head.
"Looks that way, " He said. "My call probably got through to a nearby tracking station, but I only had time to give a sketchy location."
"Then we'll never know if they picked up our location or not. If Bereznik gets that contract, which they will, then they'll harvest all the Uranium to fuel their weapons. We've had it now."
In Washington, the World Government board of directors grew concerned with each passing hour. Two decorated men sat down to assess the situation with Sir Gerald's superior. The chief director rose from his seat to address the situation.
"One of our tracking stations received a garbled communication from Sir Gerald's flight," he began. "They couldn't make it out but they believe it to be an SOS call."
A General raised his hand. "Do you think Bereznik was involved in some way?"
The Director shrugged in response to the question. "I don't know. But what I do know is this. In less than three hours, the Uranium will go to Bereznik."
The other General nodded in agreement. "Yes. There's not a thing we can do. We'll never find that aircraft without their locator beacon."
The first General rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.
"There's one organisation that has been known to pull off miracles." He said.
Suddenly, the director snapped his fingers.
"Of course! International Rescue! How do we contact them?"
"Apparently, you just sent out a call on any frequency and somehow they pick it up," the General explained. "If anyone can find him, they can."
As soon as the meeting was adjourned, the Director switched on his radio transmitter and made the call.
A few moments later, the vital SOS call was received by the sophisticated monitor aboard Thunderbird Five, International Rescue's Space Monitor. Distracted from his stargazing in the observation dome, John Tracy took the call. After receiving a detailed breakdown of the situation, the ever-vigilant Tracy Brother relayed the message to his father.
"Base from Thunderbird Five. I've got a hot one for you father. It's a priority call from Washington."
Tracy Island basked in the Southern Pacific Sun. While the Tracy family lounged about, lapping up the sun's rays, Jeff Tracy, head of International Rescue, looked glum. John relayed his report to him through a concealed video screen behind his portrait.
"Yes father, the plane was shot down near the reference I gave you."
Jeff rubbed his chin. These types of calls usually went against his principles.
"I don't know, Son," He replied. "We vowed never to involve ourselves in anything political. We believe in neutrality."
John nodded. "I know, father, but two men are lost in the jungle...even though one of them is a politician, they still need help."
Jeff smiled as John disappeared from the video screen. He turned to face his family who had all overheard the conversation. Scott Tracy, his eldest, stepped forward.
"John's right, Boys. Those men need help." He said as he made a snap decision.
"And if we just happen to retrieve that contract and get it to Washington in time, I don't think anyone will mind." Added Scott.
"Yeah and you never know when we might want to borrow some Uranium from the World Government." came Gordon.
"Okay. You've made your point. This is what we'll do," Jeff replied as he raised his hands to silence his sons. "Scott, Launch Thunderbird One and proceed to the reference John provided. Thunderbirds Two and Four had better go, too. Good luck boys."
Swiftly, the boys made their way to their launch stations. Thunderbird One was the first to launch within a matter of minutes. Her jets screamed to life, propelling the supersonic rocket plane through the swimming pool and into the sky. Thunderbird Two followed shortly after, taking off from her raised launch ramp with Thunderbird Four, stowed away in her Pod. They were soon underway and on their way towards the danger zone.
An hour later, Scott streaked towards the dense foreboding Jungle in Thunderbird One. When he reached Sir Gerald's last known location, he switched on his tracking computer. A radar image flashed on the small monitor screen ahead of him. He swooped down low towards the lake where their jet had plunged. A few minutes later, he found what he was looking for. He smiled confidently as the jet appeared on his radar screen.
"Good! If those two guys got out, they can't be far from here.," He muttered. "I'll sweep the area with the voice phonetic device."
Suspended on a cable, the small phonetic device descended towards the water from the Thunderbird's cramped cargo hold. It was designed to detect human speech about all other sounds. He hovered there for a while, keeping his ears tuned to the radio receiver. Then suddenly, he heard two voices come through the radio receiver. They belonged to the anguished Sir Gerald and his pilot.
"Listen...I can hear an aircraft!"
"You're right! It's above us. Look!"
Scott smiled as he switched the channel to Virgil.
"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One. I've located Sir Gerald and the Pilot. I'm going to land by the lake, Virgil."
"FAB, Scott. I'll be with you in Twenty Minutes." Acknowledged Virgil.
Thunderbird One gently touched down on a grass verge. Scott looked out of his side window to see two frazzled gentlemen stumble towards him. Their clothes were tattered and muddy, their faces plastered with cuts and bruises. They were Sir Gerald and the Pilot whom he had heard just moments before. As he disembarked the craft to set up his mobile control station, Scott heard the sound of motors humming from above. Thunderbird Two appeared over the treeline and touched down on the surface of the lake. Scott contacted his brother as he watched the green bulk, raise on four hydraulic legs, resting Pod Four on the sand. Scott signalled his brother.
"Are you ready Gordon?" He asked him. "We'll need Thunderbird Four. The contract is inside the sunken plane. You must find it!"
"FAB. I'm preparing the launch in just a few seconds." came the confident reply,
The Pod flap lowered towards the edge of the lake. A narrow ramp extended out of the Pod and angled itself down into the water. Seconds later, Scott could hear the sound of twin motors powering up and with a powerful hiss, Thunderbird Four catapulted down the ramp, submerging into the depths. Despite the poor visibility, Gordon Tracy used his powerful torch beams to navigate through the murky waters. He eventually found the sunken wreck. He cut his motors and placed them on his scuba suit. He swam over towards the plane, entering it through a crack in its hole. He found himself inside the cockpit and located a suitcase. It matched the description Sir Gerald gave. Gordon's eyes gleamed with hope.
"I've found the document, Scott," He reported. "It appears to be intact inside Sir Gerald's briefcase. I'm returning to Thunderbird Four, now."
Back on the surface, Scott and the two men breathed a sigh of relief. Thunderbird Four appeared on the surface a few minutes later. Gordon steered her towards the shore where she was immediately winched back into the Pod. Scott called his brother to congratulate him.
"Good work, Gordon," he said as he looked up at Sir Gerald. "Now if you'll collect Sir Gerald and his pilot, I'm sure they'd like a ride back to Washington."
"Yes. We can just about make it in time," Sir Gerald replied. "If our journey is not interrupted again that is."
However, as the International Rescue craft prepared to leave, Danger reared its ugly head once again. Approximately Ten miles away, four red fighters, each baring the Bereznik flag, flew in a delta wing formation over the jungle. They were the same craft that attacked Sir Gerald's jet earlier on with orders to return to the scene. It seemed that International Rescue had caused quite the concern. The leader received his orders from his Bereznik superior.
"Read leader to base. We're approaching the area. We'll make visual contact in Twenty minutes."
The deep gravelly voice of his superior officer crackled over his small circular radio.
"Base to Red Leader. You are ordered to attack the International Rescue craft. Destroy the quarry and retrieve the documents! Do not fail again! "
The Bereznik pilot grinned smugly. He wasn't going to fail this time. For a pilot in the Bereznik Air Force, Negligence could lead to dismissal or worse, execution.
Five miles ahead of the advancing fighters, Thunderbird Two took off from the Danger Zone and headed on a direct course for the American Capital. Her sister rocket, Thunderbird One, was seven times faster and was streaking well ahead. As they left the Jungle behind them, Virgil's thoughts were broken by a detection alarm on his radar. He looked at it worryingly as four blips blinked before him. He pulled back on his nose, raising his Thunderbird skywards. Then, he made visual contact.
"Oh no! Bereznik fighters!" He cried.
Sir Gerald bit his lip anxiously. "They've come for the documents! They'll shoot us down within minutes!"
"Not if I can help it," Virgil muttered as he stabbed a button, calling out to Scott. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One. Request immediate assistance. I've got four Bereznik bandits on my tail!"
Responding to his brother's plea for help, Scott swung his ship around. He reversed direction and sped towards the attacking fighters like a speeding bullet. He prepared to engage the enemy by switching on a computer that was mounted to the wall on his right.
"Okay, Virgil. The sonic jammer will fix these boys," He replied calmly. "Keep them distracted while I'll get behind them with the beam."
"FAB, Scott. Make it snappy. I don't think I can shake them for long."
When Thunderbird One arrived at the scene, Scott watched on as the lead fighter fired its missiles. Virgil dived to avoid them. He heard the missiles screaming over his head. He then threw Thunderbird Two into a jackknife, avoiding a second volley of missiles. A sweat broke out across his brow as he tried to drown out the alarm sirens that wailed around him. As the third fighter closed into the fire, its pilot gasped when his instruments started to malfunction. Scott had hit him with the jammer, frying the circuits in his plane. The other jets split off when they saw their comrade hit the ocean below. Scott was prepared to let them escape though. He zapped another jet followed by another until the leader was left in the air.
Unfortunately, the leader was prepared for him. He increased his speed, closing the gap on the struggling Thunderbird Two. Scott screamed towards the advancing fighter, thumbing the jammer button. The Bereznik pilot pressed the firing button, but the jammer intervened before they could hit their target. The missiles veered off course, exploding into a cloud inches below Thunderbird Two. Scott hadn't finished with the lead fighter just yet. He matched his speed and trajectory with the fleeing Bereznik craft, lining his nose up with its jet exhaust. He pressed the button again, zapping the jet with an ultraviolet beam. He pulled away and watched as the lead jet spiralled out of control. The Bereznik pilot screamed into his radio.
"My instruments have gone crazy!" He cursed. "I'm out of control! I'm going to eject!"
Pulling firmly on the lever, the Bereznik pilot flung himself into the sky, avoiding the explosion which followed. As his body hit the water, he watched up to see the Thunderbirds whizz over his head. His fellow pilots also managed to eject safely resulting in no casualties. International Rescue had successfully foiled another Bereznik plot. The Thunderbird Machines returned to their original course and set their sights towards Washington DC.
Scott wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed into the microphone. "Okay, Virgil, let's get these guys to Washington. I don't think those jokers will bother us anymore."
Across Thunderbird Two, Virgil agreed. "Reckon not, Scott. Guess International Rescue has done it again!"
A few hours later, Thunderbird Two touched down on the grounds behind the White House. Thunderbird One remained in a hover position. Jeff congratulated his boys on another fine rescue but tensed at the thought of future encounters with Bereznik. He told his boys to prepare themselves for another encounter with the superpower. He knew it wouldn't be the last time.
END