First flight

My thanks to Purupuss for her contributions to this chapter

Virgil

The moment of truth.

OK, hackneyed I know, but that's the thought that pops into my mind as the elevator doors open and I see the great green craft standing there. We've done all the wind tunnel tests and computer simulations, we've run the engines on test frames and in situ, but today I get to fly her for the first time. Mind you, I had to fight Scott for the privilege. He may be a qualified test pilot, but I'm the one who's got the transport rating on his licence. Besides, I helped Brains design this plane, so I know her better than anyone else.

I suppose it's easy to understand Dad's reasoning behind his selection of crew. Scott is a born leader which made him the natural choice for Field Commander and pilot of Thunderbird One. Gordon's WASP and John's NASA experience made them the logical choices for Thunderbirds 4 and 5 which only left 2 and 3. Dad knows how well Scott and I work together: he also knows from bitter experience that putting Scott and Alan together can be an explosive mix. Those two are just too alike in character and sometimes the sparks can fly. So I wasn't surprised when Dad told me I was going to be the pilot for the big transporter craft. In fact, I was delighted. I've always liked big machines. At engineering college one year we had to do a restoration project. Most of the others in my class worked on cars or bikes – I chose to renovate an antique steam locomotive.

My footsteps echo in the vast cavern as I cross the hangar floor. Brains has come up with an elaborate scheme for a chute that will take me from the lounge and drop me straight into the cockpit, but I'd rather test one thing at a time, thank you very much.

I enter the cockpit, sit down and strap myself in, then open the radio link. "I'm all ready here, Father."

"F.A.B., son. Is everyone else ready?"

Scott's voice came over the link. "All prepped and ready to go. I'll be taking off right behind you, Virg." He'll be flying chase for me in his ex-Air Force fighter, maintaining visual contact at all times.

Gordon spoke next. "Standing by, Dad. Good luck, Virgil!" Now I can see the logic of completing the submarine first. When you're testing experimental planes and rockets on an island, it's comforting to know that if you end up ditching in the sea there'll be someone around to fish you out – however deep you might be. After all, this baby's not exactly built to float.

"R-r-ready, M-mr. T-t-tracy." I don't think I've ever heard Brains sound so nervous. He's in his lab, ready to receive all the telemetry from my flight. Well, this is his creation and I suppose he feels his reputation is on the line but I can't help wishing he sounded a bit more confident.

Dad's voice comes through again, calm and steady. "OK, son, the radar is clear. Take her out." He is up in Landing Control with John and Alan. This island must have a more sophisticated fire control system than any airport in the world. I just hope that we don't end up testing that as well.

I take a deep breath and press a button on the control panel. I can hear the faint whirr of motors as the cliff face drops away outside. Then the metal door in front of me lowers and light floods into the hangar.

We inch forward on the ancillary engines. It's hard not to laugh as I see the palm trees drop away on either side. I insisted on having these wide windows in the cockpit, even though Gordon commented that I'd better not let Grandma in here or she'd be measuring them for curtains. Scott may like flying on instruments, but when you're trying to land something the size of a barn it's comforting to be able to see where you're going.

A signal from the control panel tells me I am now lined up with the take-off ramp, and I feel myself being tipped backwards. Strange sensation when you're still on the ground, but Brains wanted to be able to reach altitude as soon as possible after take-off from base, in order to avoid detection on radar.

I run through the pre-flight sequence that I have practised so many times on the simulator, then open the throttles. With a roar the booster rockets ignite and I am pressed back into my seat as the plane surges forwards. Through the noise I can hear cheers from my brothers watching in Landing Control as I clear the ramp and climb into the sky. There's a change in the engine note as the ramjets kick in, then it settles down to a steady rhythm.

"Levelling off at 5,000 feet. Speed 1,000 mph," I report.

"F.A.B., Virgil." Dad's voice no longer has that note on tension in it. "How's she feel?"

I'm already trying a few course changes, trying to get the feel of my new craft. "Very smooth, Dad. Not heavy at all. Those linkages work fine, Brains!"

"Very good, Virgil. From the telemetry it seems that the craft is performing to expectations." Brains doesn't sound at all nervous now. "Please increase speed to 5,000mph and climb to 30,000 feet. I want to see how she handles at altitude."

"You're looking fine, Virg." I turn my head to see Scott's fighter flying alongside, looking about the size of a gnat.

I wave to him then climb away, following Brains' instructions. She seems to handle better in the rarefied air. Those forward pointing wings might look odd, but they seem to work. Brains gets me to run through a few checks on the instruments. Everything seems fine, apart from the back-up GPS which is insisting for some strange reason that I am somewhere over the south of France. John, who did the programming, doesn't seem very worried when I mention this, saying he'll soon be able to fix it once I land.

I lean back in my seat, pulling gently on the control yoke, enjoying the way the plane responds to my commands. For a craft that weighs over 400 tons unladen, she certainly handles easily enough.. Scott can keep his flying cigar – I wouldn't swap this baby for anything!

"OK, Virgil, I think we'll wrap this one up for today." Dad's words cut into my musings.

"Can't I try dropping the pod and picking it up again – or maybe using the grabs?"

I hear Dad clear his throat to answer, but it is Scott's voice that comes over the airwaves. "It's OK, Virgil, we'll let you play with your new toy again tomorrow." There are chuckles in the background from my brothers, and I feel my face turning red.

I spiral back down towards the island, making my last turn so I am facing away from the cliff before firing the VTOL jets and settling gently onto the runway. The tracking computer lines me up with the entrance to the hangar and I roll the great machine back inside, before shutting down the engines.

"Great job, Virgil!" comes my father's voice from the radio. We'll see you in Brains' lab to go over the telemetry." There is a click as the radio cuts out and silence reigns once more. But my ears are still echoing from the beat of the engines. Dum-di-di-da. You know, that would make a catchy tune. I could call it the Thunderbirds March.