Thunderbirds and The Tracy Family are the creation of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson
Author's Note: While all other characters are mine the personality of and the name of Jack Flannigan belong to the fertile imagination of my friend and medical advisor, FellowRiverrat. My thanks for letting me borrow him to fly that rescue helo.
Chapter 72
Scott put the radio back in his pocket and looked at his friend; he was not looking in very good shape at all. "They're comin for us, Jez…..just a little…longer…..hold on for me….just a little longer," Scott encouraged him.
Jez gave him a weak smile and nodded, unable to stop the shivers of the fever. It was daylight now, though with the sun not yet having cast its warmth the early morning chill still hung in the air, an ethereal mist rising from the jungle floor. The early morning birdcall along with the shrill cry of monkeys awakening from their nights sleep began high in the treetops, signalling the dawn of the new day, the day of their salvation. Scott lost no time in pulling off his woollen combat hat, not giving a thought to his own needs or comforts and putting it on Jez, over his own, anything to help keep him warm.
His next priority was to go and get them some breakfast. Scott forced himself to his feet, wincing as he held his side and making sure Jez was covered up safely he started to scavenge around for what he could find. His eyes eagerly fell on a new delicacy, presenting no problems or danger in gathering them, for there, around the base of a large tree and moving in slow motion, were huge jungle snails. As he picked them up they retreated back into their shells for safety, though it would do them no good, their fate had been sealed by a greater need. Scott gathered as many as he could, putting them into a large leaf parcel and continued to look around for what else he could serve along with them. He spotted something that he recognised, small green leaves on a low growing bush. They had been told in their familiarisation class that the more remote villages used these as a natural remedy for a fever, brewing them up as a 'tea' and drinking it. There was nothing Scott would have liked more than to have been able to light a fire and brew them up a herbal tea, to be able to take in something hot and warm them up but they would just have to settle for chewing them raw. Apparently they were sweet and juicy so if he cut them up into little pieces they would be easier to take and would help disguise the taste of raw snail. He set about gathering them, taking them from different parts of the bush so it would not be obvious someone had been here picking them. All the time Scott was keeping in his mind the need to be 'invisible' to his enemy, his combat survival training in the art of evasion coming quite naturally to him. It was a matter of common sense really, take a good look around your environment and make sure all trace of you is erased.
He winced a half smile as he spotted something else. Hunkering down he started to dig with his knife into the soft earth around some leaves that were growing up from the ground and eventually pulled up some tubers. These, they were told, were used by the local people to flavour their stews, almost like an onion and tasted not too dissimilar, although they were meant to be cooked they would, again, have to settle for eating them raw. Scott brought back his finds to the safety of their cover and putting down a tough large leaf set about cutting everything up into tiny pieces, digging out the snails with the point of his knife. He then mashed everything together with his fingers until it was almost like a soft pulp, knowing this way it would be easier for Jez to take and swallow for he barely had the strength to eat anymore. It would also be infinitely more palatable than eating the snails on their own, being now disguised by the sweet leaves and 'wild onion' and it had the added benefit of helping his fever.
Scott now positioned himself behind his friend, pulling him back against his chest and wrapping one arm around him, hoping Jez would benefit from his body heat and taking some of the 'mash' in his other fingers and thumb Scott pushed it into his friend's mouth. Jez sucked on it and swallowed.
"Say buddy…..that ain't….half bad……just please….don't tell me what's in it. Whatda ya goin call it, huh. You gotta…..give it a name," Jez wearily joked.
The glimmer of a smile pulled at Scott's mouth. "Just call it 'Jungle Mash', buddy." Lifting some more in his fingers Scott took some for himself and had to admit, the 'wild onion' and sweet leaves certainly helped. With Jez shaking from the fever he could not even attempt to feed himself so Scott continued pushing the mash into him and alternately taking a few mouthfuls until it was all done.
"Don't suppose….you'd have any….maple syrup….to go with that…would ya, huh," Jez quipped in between mouthfuls.
They finally finished off the breakfast with Scott giving Jez a swallow of water from their last bottle along with some more antibiotics, taking a swallow for himself. Once they had finished Scott took out his watch and checked the time, they had an hour to wait and all he could do now was pray the Huey would be on time and that they would not be discovered. He put his watch back in a pocket and wrapped both his arms round his friend.
It was almost time and as Scott looked up through the trees the first large drops of rain began to splash on his face. But that wasn't what alarmed him. In the distance he could hear irate voices and they were gradually getting louder. 'Charlie' was coming this way. Surely they couldn't have discovered their tracks or any evidence they'd passed this way; he had been careful, he had made sure of that, even to the point of adding another dressing on top of Jez's wound when some blood seeped through. Then he heard it. Before it was drowned out by the deluge of rain Scott heard the faint though distinct sound of a Huey's rotors. Due to its rotor blade configuration it was the only helo that made that distinctive and almost hypnotic 'whomp whomp' sound. It was unmistakeable.
While it may have been the sound of their salvation Scott figured 'Charlie' had also spotted the American helicopter heading this way and since this was the only clearing for miles they would assume the helo was heading to pick up the two American airmen they had been looking for. Now it would be a race against time, who would get to them first. Then he heard the gunfire.
Well, Scott had no intention of making it easy for his enemy, not with their salvation being so close at hand, he would go down fighting if he had too. Pulling the cover away from them and thoroughly drenched now Scott, for the last time, hauled Jez onto his shoulder in the Combat Carry.
"Just…one…more…time…Jez," Scott gritted out and as the rain beat down on them he swung the assault rifle over his right shoulder and started to run for the clearing just meters away. Breaking through the trees and out into the open there was now no cover or shelter from the onslaught of the driving rain as it beat down on them mercilessly, almost blinding Scott as he tried to see his way ahead. All the time he could hear the ever louder, excited voices of 'Charlie' as they closed in on their prize.
Almost as soon as they crossed the northern coast the Huey was rocked and buffeted by strong winds Then the rains began, sudden and intense, as though a huge tap had been turned on full force in the heavens, sending the Huey plummeting down to the jungle canopy. It took all of Lieutenant Jack Flannigan's experience and ability to keep her steady and out of the trees, the crew in the back grasping what hold they could as they endured the white knuckle ride.
The crew consisted of, besides the Aircraft Commander, Jack Flannigan, his co-pilot of 3 years, Matt McGyver who, more often than not, just got Mac. In the back and strapped to a safety harness, the Crew Chief, Hank Cooper, who was just referred to as Chief and doubled as senior door-gunner. A hardened veteran whose face bore the weathered features of one who has seen the tougher side of life, largely due to his upbringing in the tough New York city streets of New Bronx. Also strapped to a harness, manning the other door gun was a young Airman 1st Class, Bud Gillis. Bud hadn't been with the crew very long, just a few months, having been a replacement for the previous crewmember that was given a medical discharge due to being blinded by a flare in a rather unfortunate incident. Although he was fitting in very well he still hadn't quite got used to Lt Flannigan's, shall we say, casual approach to taking orders but he was learning all the time and making up the compliment for this trip one medic.
"Hey Jack….what'd are ya tryin to do….introduce us to the birdies in the trees," the gum chewing Crew Chief called out good-naturedly. "I think the kid's left his guts behind…..he's lookin a bit green……reckon he's gonna 'power puke' on us….aren't ya kid," he laughed heartily as he clapped the youngster on the back. Power puking was one of those aviator terms the old hands found amusing to use about the youngsters who weren't used to a less than smooth flight and was really rather self explanatory. The young airman gave him a sickly grin at having to endure yet another of his Crew Chief's jovial swipes and swallowed hard in an effort not to embarrass himself.
"Just showin you guys the wonders of nature, that's all," Jack called back laughingly as he, too, chewed on his usual stick of gum. For some unknown reason he found it helped him concentrate and between him and his Crew Chief they kept the chewing gum manufacturers in business.
"Hell….that was nothin kid….you just wait….old Jack'll give you some real 'pucker factor' when he takes us down to the deck….then you'll see some real fancy flyin," the Chief grinned admiringly, slapping Bud on the back again, the 'deck' referring to ground level and a pilots ability to skim as low along the ground as possible. And the 'pucker factor'! Well, that was another of those 'quaint' pilots terms for how scary something is. "Guess if you'd known we'd be doin this you wouldn't a had that big breakfast, huh kid," he added with a laugh at which the young man hastily searched through his flight suit pockets, pulled out a small bottle and downed a couple of anti-sickness pills, making the older man howl again with laughter.
Jack cleared the expanse of trees and dropped down into a valley, weaving and winding as he skimmed along, following the valley floor, justifying his Crew Chief's admiring remarks in his flying ability and all the time heading towards the co-ordinates of the remote jungle clearing. Flying once more over the trees the weather worsened, making the Huey buck like an unbroken mustang refusing to have a rider on its back, so much so that young Bud Gillis worriedly thought they should turn back.
The Chief, holding on to the side of the open door, stuck his head out, getting lashed by the rain then turned back grinning and chewing to his young crewman. "Naw kid….this ain't no storm…this ain't even a breeze…..besides there's a couple of our guys down there….relyin on us…..and old Jack ain't about to let them down…..never let anybody down yet….he ain't about to start now," he continued, reminding the young man just why they were here. "Now…you just keep you eyes peeled, kid….and if 'Charlie' so much as dares poke his ugly face outta them trees….you give him hell….you here me kid."
"Yes Chief," Bud acknowledged and tightened his grip on the door machine gun so much his knuckles were turning white. Hank Cooper nodded, tightened his own grip and chewed a bit more vigorously on his gum as he scanned the trees.
The next moment there was a burst of gunfire and as the medic dived for cover Chief Cooper opened up, scything down the trees with the rapid burst machine gun; Lt Jack Flannigan took the Huey into evasive manoeuvres.
At that very minute Jack Flannigan was acknowledging a call from the USS Liberty. "I got ya Ranch….this is Cowboy….I repeat….this is the Cowboy."
"Cowboy….we have reports that the weather has worsened and will get worse….you have orders to return to the Ranch….effective immediately…..I repeat…..return to the Ranch….acknowledge Cowboy," the officious sounding voice ordered. Jack shot a look at Mac and pulled a face on recognising the voice of the man who found his relaxed and casual attitude more than a little annoying, Master Chief Sanchez.
Jack grinned as he scrapped his fingers over the mic and still chewing replied, "Say again, Chief…we're …experiencing a little…eh…interference…."
"Cowboy…..you have orders to return immediately to the Ranch….do you copy….and do not give me that interference crap, Cowboy," Chief Sanchez repeated and knowing Jack Flannigan only too well. It was at that moment the gunfire sounded. "Is that gunfire I hear! Cowboy….acknowledge….is that gunfire…..you get your ass back to this Ranch immediately or so help me I will bust your balls….you helo jock….I will bust you so low you'll be….swabbing decks with your….your toothbrush for the rest of your miserable little life," he added and beginning to sound just a little irate, barely able to get the words out. If there was one thing Master Chief Sanchez would dearly love to do, that would be to haul Lieutenant Jack Flannigan up on a disciplinary charge for refusing to obey a direct order.
Was Jack Flannigan worried? Was he heck as like. Turning to Mac he shook his head in bemusement. "Gee…Chief…..you sound like you're about to rupture a blood vessel…..or somethin….you wanna be careful…..I mean at your time of life….you could do yourself some serious damage….you know what I mean!" Jack replied flippantly and without any regard whatsoever for orders. He scrapped his fingers over the mic again. "Say Chief….gotta love ya and leave ya…..this interference….is getting bad...Cowboy...yeha," he finished with a flourish and with that he cut the comm, Chief Sanchez's voice still ringing in their ears.
"Geez Jack…..you really know how to sail close to the wind….don't you. You know he's gunnin for you….he wants to haul your ass over the coals and you're handin it to him on a plate," Mac tried warning him, incredulous sometimes of Jack's devil-may-care attitude. "Maybe we oughtta turn back, huh."
Jack knew Mac only had his best interests at heart but now he looked seriously to his friend and co-pilot. "The Chief is clueless, Mac…he has absolutely no idea what it's like out here…..all he's interested in is his rules and regs…..keeping his little corner 'ship shape'…well…I don't give a…damn….what he says…..there's two guys out here….down there….and we are gonna get them. Why!….cus it's the right thing to do. You heard that gunfire… 'Charlie' knows we're here and where we're headin…..and that means he knows where our boys'll be too….you really wanna leave em down there….cus I sure the hell don't. Now if you have a problem with that Mac and you really wanna get back to the ship….then you just feel free to leave…anytime," Jack stated, unmoveable in his resolute determination. Mac nodded his agreement. They would just have to face the consequences later.
Jack accessed the inter-ship communications. "OK…heads up guys….the LZ's dead ahead….and we'll be goin in tight…..keep an eye out for our boys."
At that the Huey bucked and shuddered in the wind, the wiper blades going all out to clear the driving rain from the forward windshield to allow Jack to see where he was heading. More gunfire rang out, this time bullets ripped through the Huey's cockpit floor where one caught Jack a glancing blow across his left thigh as he instinctively threw himself to the side.
"Jack! You're hit," Mac called out in alarm.
"Dammit," Jack swore, looking down to his leg as he fought to keep the Huey on course. "Naw….it's only a nick…..Mac….get out the kit….tie it off for me, would ya."
Mac reached under the seat and pulled out the First Aid kit, rummaging through it he pulled out a rolled bandage with an attached dressing. He tore open Jack's flight suit leg with the small scissors and clamped the dressing on the wound then rolled the bandage round to hold it in place. In minutes they cleared the tree line and all eyes were strained through the driving rain to the clearing below, trying to see if there was any sign of the two airmen.
Half way across the large clearing an excited shout came over Jack's headset. "I got him Jack….I got him….he's below," Chief Cooper shouted above the noise of the rotors and the rain..
Jack kept the Huey in a hover. "Can we get him up on a rappelling line, Chief?" Jack called out hoping he wouldn't have to go down into the clearing for it would make for a much quicker rescue. A rappelling line is that line extended from a helicopter down which the Marines or soldiers slid to deploy them quickly into a combat zone, though it can also be used to pick up a person quickly but it requires, of course, that they are able to hold on to the line.
"Not a chance in hell, Jack…..the guy's all in….and he's carryin his buddy," Hank Cooper called back as he looked down from the open door.
"Aye aye Chief….that's a copy," Jack acknowledged while he chewed intently on his gum. Just then gunfire erupted from the tree line, some of it directed at them and some at Lieutenant Tracy who now picked up his pace as he made for the far side of the clearing. For a few seconds, though, when Jack had manoeuvred the Huey round, he looked down and saw, for the first time, the men he had come to rescue, one man desperately running for his life with his buddy across his shoulder. Then he had stopped, looked up and for a brief moment in time Jack looked into the face of the man who had given his all and had not much more left to give. "Lieutenant Scott Tracy I presume…it's an honor, buddy," Jack said quietly to himself as he chewed his gum and nodded in total admiration. He watched as Scott turned and started running again.
"Give them covering fire…NOW," Jack ordered, suddenly feeling a tremendous respect for this guy's bravery and courage. There was no way he would turn back now without him and his partner. Chief Cooper cocked back the hammer after having reloaded the machine gun and let rip into the trees, that being the side that was facing the enemy. Jack gunned the engines and the Huey moved off at an angle to begin its descent just beyond where Lt Tracy was running too.
As Scott made his way across the clearing the long, wet grass clung to his legs making it difficult to move through, hampering his progress. He heard more gunfire and shouts which kept him moving but halfway across the clearing he had to stop to take a breath then, as if everything seemed to happen in slow motion, he looked up and saw their salvation, the Huey, hovering above them like a protective angel. He could feel the powerful downdraft of her rotors on his face and grimaced when he caught sight of the bullet holes in the cockpit floor, hoping that brave men hadn't paid the ultimate price for trying to save them then, for a brief moment in time, two men locked gazes, knowing neither one could forget the other. Although Scott could not see the face of the pilot who had put his life on the line to save him and his partner because his face was obscured by his helmet and headset he knew their lives would be forever entwined, having been thrown together in this one moment in time. Even if he never got to know who he was Scott would always be grateful and, perhaps, one day he would get to thank him in person.
Scott was brought sharply out of his reverie by bullets whizzing past him and as the Huey's door gunner opened up he turned and started running again. With every step his burden was getting heavier, his legs and shoulders feeling like lead, his breathing heavy and laboured and his side burned like fire but the driving thought of freedom kept him going, gave him strength. He was aware of the Huey moving off above him and his heart filled with encouragement as he saw her drop down ahead of him and remain now in a hover a mere few inches off the ground, ready to welcome him on board. He could see the crew in the open door, beckoning him, waving their hands frantically, willing him and urging him on.
Scott was aware 'Charlie' was now in the clearing and closing behind as bullets rained past him, the door gunner having only a limited sweep of fire for fear of hitting the two airmen. But Scott was not going to down without a fight. With his young face set in steely determination and his finger on the trigger Scott turned and again, as if in surreal, slow time, he brought the assault rifle up level with his hip and let go a sweeping burst of automatic gunfire. He turned and started running again.
Then, just meters away from safety, something hard and hot slammed into his lower right shoulder. It was as if the world stood still right at that moment and he buckled to his knees, having had the wind knocked out of him. He felt for a few moments he was outside of time, looking at this scene that was being played out like it was happening to someone else. Breathing heavily Scott raised his head and could see the rotor blades turn, hear the slow 'whomp whomp' sound they made. He closed his eyes slowly and on opening them again he could see the guys in the open doorway, in slow motion now, beckoning him, urging him to get up, he could see they were shouting, their mouths were moving but he just couldn't hear them. He knew he had to get up.
"He's down….he's down…..'the package' is down!" Bud shouted anxiously through to the cockpit, referring to their code for Lieutenant Tracy, having unbuckled himself from his safety harness on the far side door-gun ready to help the two men into the Huey.
"What! Is he hit……has 'the package' been hit!" Jack called back full of concern, not wanting to think that just at the last minute all hope would be lost.
"I…I don't know Lieutenant……he just stumbled and fell….he's all in," Bud called back.
"Well…get him on his feet…..now…..this place is gettin hotter than hell….can't hold her here much longer," Jack shouted back, gritting his teeth as he fought to hold the Huey just off the ground. It was standard practice to hover just off the ground, to effect a quicker get-away for if he actually landed it would use up vital, precious seconds to get fully airborne again, seconds they did not have. For the same reason the crew could not all go out and physically help him to his feet as it would take time to get them all back on board.
His body felt heavy, so heavy but he just had to get to his feet. He would not give up; Scott Tracy did not know how to give up. "Agghhhh," Scott cried out and summoning all his strength in a last supreme burst of effort he hauled himself, with Jez, to his feet and ran. Then he felt his heavy burden lifted from his shoulders as eager and willing hands grabbed Jez and hauled him into the Huey. Within seconds hands grabbed him by the shoulders of his flight suit.
"Is 'the package' on board? Have we got 'the package' on board…..have we got him?" Jack shouted back, wanting to know the minute he was safely on board so he could get out of there in double quick time. He knew if they had Lieutenant Tracy they would also have Lieutenant Numann since he was being carried.
"We got 'em….we got 'em……we got 'the package'," Bud shouted out excitedly, as both he and Chief Cooper grabbed Scott by his shoulders and hauled him in. As soon as Jack got the word and even before Scott was fully hauled in he was taking off at a crazy angle, all fire now being directed at them. Jack pulled away from the danger area as the Chief kept firing, while the odd bullet ricocheted off the fuselage, keeping everyone's heads down. Soon the noise of gunfire died away and as soon as Jack Flannigan thought it was safe he turned and headed for the coast, intending to follow the coastline and come in to Da Nang from the sea rather than fly down country. Now all they had to do was battle the foul weather.
Scott sat back against the partition separating the cockpit from the inside of the Huey and watched the medic work on Jez, getting an IV drip into him and checking over his dressing and splint. Putting his head back he closed his eyes for a few moments, totally exhausted, totally drained of everything, emotionally, he felt nothing, drenched with sweat and rain, he was hot and in pain. Now that he had got Jez to safety, now that he was safe he found himself letting go, the hypnotic 'whomp whomp whomp' of the rotors lulling him into a far away place but he fought to stay in the present, there was something he had to do.
Scott could see Chief Cooper was otherwise occupied, keeping a vigil at the door with his both hands firmly on the machine gun, the Huey's only defence. He turned to look at the young man who had momentarily turned his back to him. "Hey…kid….," Scott called, his voice heavy with tiredness. His left hand went to his Survival Vest because his right arm just felt too heavy to lift; he tried several times and eventually pulled open the zip, reached in and took out his NVS visor.
"Y..yes Sir," Bud responded, the awe and respect with which he replied very evident . There may have only been 4 years between them but to Bud, Lieutenant Scott Tracy was a veteran, a young man of enormous courage and resolve, Lieutenant Scott Tracy was a fighter pilot, a 'Sierra Hotel' fighter pilot and they were a world apart and, as such, deserved his awe and respect. Sierra Hotel was the phonetic phrasing pilots used when describing their fellow pilots exceptional flying ability, it standing for s..t hot, as in, 'he is one s..t hot pilot' and was the highest compliment any pilot could receive from his colleagues.
Bud pulled off his helmet and knelt beside the exhausted pilot and when Scott looked up into the young man's face he frowned in puzzlement. It couldn't be, how could he be here, he thought to himself. "Alan! Alan…what are you doing here?" Scott asked as he dazedly tried to focus his eyes. Now just why would Scott think the young man was Alan? Was he so full of pain he was on the point of confusion and delirium? Perhaps, but it could also be that young Bud bore such a striking resemblance to the youngest Tracy brother with his blond hair and handsome, youthful features that it was an easy mistake to make, especially for one bordering on physical and emotional collapse.
The young man was puzzled and winced nervously, unsure of what to do. "Sir! My name's not Alan…..it's Bud…..Bud Gillis, sir."
Shaking his head and blinking his eyes, Scott tried to stay focused. "Bud! Bud….listen. You gotta….you gotta give this….to Colonel Adams….Da Nang….," Scott said, his voice becoming no more than a rasping whisper. He thrust the NVS visor into the young Airman's hands. "……and the rifle…..the assault weapon…..that too….," he added, nodding to where it lay on the floor.
"Sorry sir!……I don't understand," Bud exclaimed, not quite sure if he heard the young Lieutenant right and not knowing what he was talking about.
Scott felt frustrated, he knew he didn't have much time left; he could feel everything around him beginning to recede, slip away from him. "Just do it……give them to Colonel Adams….Da Nang…"
"Give these to Colonel Adams at Da Nang…..y..yes sir," Bud Gillis repeated obediently.
"Yeah…..right…..," Scott replied. Now weak and all strength gone from him and with the added blood loss his eyes began to roll. Everything got farther and farther away from him, like he was looking down a long tunnel and he could see the concerned young man's face; he was saying something to him, though he just couldn't quite make it out. Scott felt himself slowly slid sideways and forwards as the blackness enveloped him, exposing his blood-seeping wound. The last words he heard echoed in his head.
"Medic! Medic! Lieutenant Tracy….he's been hit. MEDIC!" Bud called out frantically.
Then….nothing.
On a small tropical island somewhere in the South Pacific an anxious father waited for news of his eldest son. Beside him, and equally anxious to hear news of his brother, his second son, Virgil stood. Jeff Tracy drummed his fingers on the desk, well remembering that numbing call he had gotten two days ago. He had been sitting at his desk doing his usual Tracy Enterprises business, catching up on important paperwork when the call had come through. A cold chill had clutched at his heart when the sombre young man in pristine Air Force dress uniform appeared on his vid-screen.
"Mr Tracy….Mr Jefferson Tracy!" the terse young man said, formally addressing the older man to which Jeff nodded an acknowledgement and a very wary, 'Yes'. "I'm very sorry, sir to have to inform you that your son, Lieutenant Scott Tracy, along with his WSO, has been forced to eject his aircraft and is now formally listed as missing," he proceeded in a detached military tone but on seeing the elder man's face turn ashen gray he felt moved enough to give him some extra information. "But I do understand, sir that Lieutenant Tracy had landed safely."
In those few seconds Jeff felt his world had come to a stop, that his heart had stopped beating, thinking he was about to hear the worst possible news. He breathed a sigh of relief on hearing the last few words. When the initial shock wore off, though, his mind was filled with questions.
"Where did this happen? Why was he forced to eject? Was he on operations?" Jeff demanded and being a man who was used to having his questions answered. Jeff knew very well his eldest son had been deployed to Vietnam for his latest duty and he was only all too aware of the dangers that country held.
"I'm sorry, Mr Tracy….I'm not at liberty to discuss that…..you will, of course, be kept informed," the officious young man curtly replied, much to Jeff Tracy's annoyance.
"Gawd dammit….you will discuss it with me……don't you know who I am! This is my son you're talking about," Jeff thundered, not in the mood to be put off and incredulous that this young shavetail had the nerve to be condescending to him, a 'shavetail' being the term by which a young and inexperienced 2nd Lieutenant was referred.
Beads of sweat broke out on the young man's forehead but he held his nerve and his calm composure. "Yes Sir….I know who you are…..Colonel Jefferson Grant Tracy….Air Force and Space Agency… among the first astronauts to help set up the moon's first colony," the young officer responded, giving a brief summary of Jeff's career as if to prove he was well aware to whom he was talking. "But I'm sorry, Sir….I still can't discuss operational details with you…..as I said….you will be kept informed…Sir." And with that he cut the link, leaving a dumbfounded and angry, though very worried Jeff Tracy.
Once he had calmed down he thought of who he could call to get more details, unwilling to just wait to be kept informed. On accessing his list of contacts Jeff quickly keyed in the appropriate number and within moments a face he hadn't seen in years appeared on screen, that of Major General Steve Ryder, now in Air Force Intelligence and attached to the Pentagon. Steve Ryder was about the same age as Jeff and they had come through the Air Force together but had went their separate ways when Jeff had went on into the Space Agency and Steve had veered towards Intelligence, rising eventually to the rank of Major General, two promotions higher than Colonel. Although they hadn't seen each other in recent years they had kept in touch for a good while and vowed they would always remain friends. If any one should need the other then all they had to do was call. Well, now he was calling.
"Jeff Tracy……as I live and breath….you old dog….whatda you doin with yourself these days….still makin millions, huh," his old friend laughed, genuinely pleased to see him. Jeff smiled politely, exchanging a few pleasantries but Steve could see he had other things on his mind. "OK, my friend…I gather this isn't a social call….so…how can I help you."
"Steve…I've just been told. Scott…my eldest boy….was forced to eject from his F-16 and is listed as missing. He's on a tour of duty in Nam…that's all I know….that's all they're telling me….and dammit…I want to know what happened. I know Scott…..he's an excellent pilot…..he would not eject for no reason….and I want to know….and I want to know what's being done to find him and his partner," Jeff Tracy insisted, giving his friend the little detail he had.
Major General Steve Ryder pondered thoughtfully and felt for his friend, knowing how much his sons mean to him. "Jeff…I'm so sorry to hear that…..but..if that's all they're telling you then maybe that's all they know…..and then…maybe it's classified. I don't know what I can do, Jeff," Steve told him apologetically.
That was not what Jeff Tracy wanted to hear. He leaned menacingly into the vid-screen. "Classified! Then unclassify it, Steve…..that is….if you don't want…THAT…little indiscretion to become public knowledge all over the Pentagon!" Jeff threatened with narrowed eyes. When it came to his sons Jefferson Tracy was not above using whatever means was at his disposal and this little gem of information had been stored away in that steel-trap mind of his for years for just such an occasion.
Steve Ryder gulped and winced at the long forgotten memory, which came now very clearly to his mind. "Jeff Tracy….you old dog…you drive a hard bargain," he winced with a resigned half laugh, shaking his head.
"Steve…this is my son….and I will do whatever it takes to find out," Jeff stated firmly.
Steve Ryder could see that his old friend was not going to be put off. "All right, Jeff…..let me see what I can find out for you…..I will get back to you," he promised.
And just what was 'that little indiscretion' that had the Major General jumping through hoops for Jeff Tracy! Well, it could very well be the incident when the two men were still Captains at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada and Captain Steve Ryder was having a, shall we say, dalliance with the Base Commander's wife; the incident in question being, that as the Base Commander was entering by his front door Captain Steve was exiting via the back bedroom window, pants in hand, after having been warned by his good friend, you guessed it, Captain Jefferson Tracy.
"Thank you, Steve…..I appreciate that," Jeff acknowledged to which Steve Ryder returned a nervous grin, as if to say, 'You didn't really leave me much choice'.
Steve Ryder was as good as his word and later that evening his grave face flashed onto the vid-screen. "Jeff….I have managed to find out a few things….but I don't think you're gonna like what I have to tell you," he began.
"Just tell me what you know, Steve," Jeff insisted, trying to prepare himself for what he might hear, his facial muscles tightening at Steve's opening words.
Major General Ryder drew a deep breath. "Scott was flyin reconn, north of the old DMZ, they were trying to evade a SAM but were forced to eject somewhere over the north when it hit……they came down in remote jungle…..from what I understand, though, he landed safely, Jeff…..there was radio contact shortly after…but his WSO was injured…an open fracture……Scott is attempting to get them both to an LZ some 7-8 klicks south," Steve finished, wishing there was an easier way of breaking this news. The SAM that he referred to is Air Force speak for a surface-to-air missile.
"I see," Jeff acknowledged, knowing in his heart this was a grave situation. He knew only too well of the conditions out there and that they would be in hostile territory as well as trying to survive but something else was bothering him, his military instincts coming immediately into play. "So…why didn't they just use their Sidewinders to defend themselves?"
He could see Steve shift uncomfortably. "I'm afraid they weren't armed with Sidewinders, Jeff….or anything else….Scott was ordered to fly unarmed….diplomatic pressures….I'm sorry," Steve winced as he told him, knowing his friend would be none too happy.
Jeff Tracy's face gradually became darker and tighter as he listened. "HE WAS WHAT! And just who was the idiotic greenhorn who passed such an order?" he thundered, showing no leniency whatsoever when he heard it was it Colonel Lauren Adams, Base Commander at Da Nang. Steve assured him everything possible was being done to bring them home and that a rescue was planned for two days time. "I want to know the minute they're picked up….is that understood……please Steve," Jeff added with his full weight of authority as though he were still in the Service, though his voice softened to finish on a father's plea.
"Of course, Jeff….I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything," General Ryder promised.
As soon as the link was cut Jeff Tracy sat back heavily in his chair and closed his eyes, putting his hand to his head, as he thought of his eldest son and the grave danger he was in. He thought, too, of how he was going to break this news to his brothers, knowing it was something he couldn't keep from them. It was surely going to be a long two days.
Two anxious days later the vid-phone screen blinked into life and the sombre face of Major General Steve Ryder appeared. "Jeff….I've just received news about Scott……I think you'd better be sitting down for this."
