Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds or Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons
A few background worldbuilding notes about this fic before we get started:
*The specific canons used are Thunderbirds Are Go (2015) and Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons
*In order to equalise the two series' tech, Cloudbase now uses holographic technology as found in TAG. The officers' communication devices function the same as they do in CSatM with no holograms
*The fic is set approximately one year prior to TAG season 1
*International Rescue's identity and location is still a secret, as in TOS
*Thunderbird Five does not yet have the space elevator installed
*The Mysterons' threats are only broadcast to Spectrum, and not on all frequencies - while Thunderbird Five is theoretically capable of picking them up if John (hacks) monitors that frequency, he doesn't, so TB5 doesn't
This fic is structured to roughly follow an episode layout - as such, there's a warning for minor character death to start the fic off (the aforementioned cannon fodder!)
Captain Greg Rollings, decorated and long-serving member of WASP currently in Command of the Sea Leopard, knew that something wasn't right. Call it a hunch, call it decades of experience of the world's oceans and their fickle natures, but there was something distinctly off.
None of the ship's instruments thought so. From his position at the helm, he could see everything that they were recording, parameters all well within the acceptable ranges. The ship herself was performing flawlessly, cutting through the surface of the water with ease as she sped along the designated co-ordinates provided by Aotearoa's base as part of their manoeuvring exercises.
Once fully put through her paces, darting in and around the Manawatāwhi on their way out, they were scheduled to branch out to the south-east of the Kermadecs, outside the boundary of the protected status those islands held, and perform drills on several targets. Fully laden with weaponry capable of both submarine and surface combat, so far the Sea Leopard had performed exactly to the high expectations held by WASP.
It was down to both the ship herself, a veteran of several combats and an old girl of the seas, and her fresh-faced crew of new recruits. Green and wet behind the ears most of the cadets might be, but Greg was confident that they'd go far in their WASP careers. They were a credit to their trainers, overseers, and – dare he think it – himself, too.
Still, the niggling feeling of something being off persisted, and he turned his attention to Lieutenant Peter Wilkins, the only other member of the crew who had seen more than a year of active service. The pair of them had served together on many ships, including the Sea Leopard when she'd been a front-line craft in both the Global Conflict and Bereznik Uprising, rather than the training vessel she'd been retired into half a decade ago. Subsequently, Wilkins had over two decades of experience in reading his tells, so when he glanced over at him, his long-term crew mate promptly gave him his undivided attention.
"Any issues so far?" Greg asked, looking over his shoulder at the instrumentation streaming in constantly.
"She's sailing as smooth as the day she was launched," Wilkins replied. "The maintenance they performed on her last week seems to have fixed the navigation error she was displaying."
"That's good to hear," Greg said gratefully, "but…"
"You think something's up." Wilkins knew him too well. "I can confirm no issues on performance, hull integrity, or personnel." He even brought up all the necessary data so that Greg could take a more thorough look for himself; sure enough, no problems.
No problems, but that didn't soothe the sensation at all. If anything, it intensified them. Everything was going too smoothly.
Out on the open ocean, when things went this smoothly it just meant that something foul was brewing. Despite his words, Greg suspected that Wilkins, likewise, felt uneasy.
Their new cadets were about to be tested. He hoped they were up for the challenge.
The challenge was quick to come.
It also left Greg stymied for a heartbeat – far too long for his experience, but the large mass of the Sea Leopard suddenly swinging around, her helm locking itself despite the frantic attempts of Cadet Dani Fletcher – the woman currently on duty – and sending them into a wild spin, was a new one even for him.
"Check the rudder!" he ordered, hurrying over to the helm to assist in attempting to realign it. The rudder had to be jammed, or snarled on something. "Cut engines!"
In answer, the engines roared, accelerating sharply beyond the Sea Leopard's safe parameters, all the while still caught in her frantic spin. Greg and Cadet Fletcher were both hurtled away from the helm, slamming into the side of the control room with a thud and painful knock to the head.
His vision blacked out for a moment, and with it came a temporary blip in awareness. "-reg!" Wilkins was calling, voice tight with a supressed panic. With a groan, he hauled himself back to his feet, dragging his body upright with the help of the wall.
Beside him, Cadet Fletcher was slumped out cold, blood oozing from a cut in her head. Part of his own hair felt uncomfortably warm and sticky, too. Instinct had him raising one hand to the area, even as he forcibly dragged his mind back into the game.
"Everything's locked," Wilkins told him, a little desperately. "We're still accelerating, and she won't take much more of this. Structural integrity's already fallen by twenty seven percent, and it's dropping further every second. At this rate, we'll be in the water in less than a minute."
"Can the lifeboats be launched?" he asked, staggering against the centrifugal forces trying to flatten him against the walls and attempting to reach the comms panel.
"They can, but they'd never get clear before her hull swings around and smashes them," Wilkins swallowed. "None of the aircraft would be able to launch in these conditions, either."
And even if they could, they had no pilots on this excursion in order to actually pilot the Helijets or Hummingbirds stored in the stern hangars in the first place. Not pilots that stood half a chance at launching in rough seas, anyway.
"Send out a Mayday," he ordered, losing his balance and toppling back over again. Without a miracle, there was no way help would reach them in time, but they had to try.
"Communications are down," Wilkins told him. "Something must have damaged them."
Beneath them, the Sea Leopard let out a concerning squeal of cahelium under duress. As far as metals went, cahelium was second to none in terms of durability, but even it had limits.
The Sea Leopard was in her last moments.
"Abandon ship." It wasn't an order Greg made lightly. "Use the bow and sterns for evacuation." It was likely suicide, but it was a less certain death than remaining on the ship would be. The resigned set of Wilkins' face as he reached for the internal tannoy showed the same weary knowledge.
"All personnel, this is an order from Captain Rollings. Abandon ship from the bow and stern," he announced. "Use whichever is closest to your position." The words echoed around them as the system transmitted the words ship-wide.
"You too," Greg ordered. "Take Cadet Fletcher and go."
What about you, Wilkins broadcast but didn't verbalise, although he began to obey the command regardless.
What about him, indeed?
Well, they say the Captain always goes down with his ship.
In a speedboat, concealed from casual glances by an outcrop of rocks off the nearest island, a man dressed all in black watched through binoculars as the Sea Leopard gave one final shudder, rather like that of a dying whale, before her cahelium hull crumpled in on itself at her centre, unable to stand up to the forces inflicted upon herself.
Everything hung still for a moment, a heartbeat outside the reality of time, before the engines deep in her hull heaved against the compression once, twice, and exploded on the thrice, sending sections of the vessel scattering amongst the waves in all directions.
Those who had yet to abandon the ship were no doubt killed instantly. The frantic men and women in the water had to contend with the debris crashing around them like fatal hail; those who escaped impact fell victim to the unruly, untamed currents caused by the ship's spin of destruction.
The speedboat rocked lightly from side to side as the first of the waves reached it, causing it to bob up in down in place. The sole man aboard kept his balance perfectly, binoculars trained unerringly on the disaster site.
After a minute or so, the pent-up waves dispersed, leaving the entire area subject to minor ripples of displaced water, rather than the crests and swells provoked by the explosion. Colour danced across the area – two rings of light, flickering as the surface of the water moved but a steady intense green, almost neon in colour.
The torn and mangled remains of the Sea Leopard shimmered in an otherworldly haze, slowly fading away into nothing. In their place emerged a perfectly intact vision of the same ship, solidifying from a misted-out mirage into a tangible creation of cahelium and steel.
The Sea Leopard, fully formed and as flawless as the day she first launched, changed bearing a fraction, stern pointing around towards the next chain of islands. Slowly, flawlessly, she began to head directly for the Kermadecs.
Captain Black lowered his binoculars as she moved away, instead tracking her large shape with his bare eyes as she slowly yet steadily advanced on her new course.
And so it had begun.
THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS. WE KNOW YOU CAN HEAR US, EARTHMEN. IN THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, YOU WILL LOSE YOUR SYMBOL OF HOPE. INTERNATIONAL RESCUE SHALL BE DESTROYED.
I'm back with a new fic! The good news is that this fic is fully written, and I'm planning on weekly updates, so there should be no pesky hiatuses.
Thanks to janetm74 for putting up with my ramblings about this, and also for naming the cannon fodder characters in this prologue. Also thanks to gumnut for letting me borrow some aspects of her Kermadec AU.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari