Fair warning - Strong Language
But you can probably already see that from here.
John did not swear. He considered it unprofessional and discourteous.
"Shit!"
John clenched his hands into fists, and slammed them on the console.
"… I repeat, if anyone can her us, please, respond!"
The computer had woken John a few minutes ago. He had slept for longer than he had meant to; it was now well into his 28th day on the station. The voice at the other end of the call was young, male and terrified.
"We're trapped! The building just came down on us!"
When John indicated to the computer that he was co-ordinating a rescue, all frequencies except for that of the rescue call and International Rescue were muted. But by the silence coming from Tracy Island, that radio might as well have been muted as well. A light flashed on the screen, indicating that another call was coming from the same area as the first. John flipped the switch, and another voice started to speak.
"… Some kind of explosion, a huge bang, and a whoosh, and then we were surrounded by darkness!"
John winced. He didn't go on many rescues, but one that he had been on was recovering people trapped beneath a collapsed building. Memories of that horrific experience flooded John. Without International Rescue, many more people would have remained trapped, never to be found under the rubble.
"Please, I'm scared… my kids… Help us!"
John jammed his eyes shut, but he couldn't block out the image of a family, huddled together in the dark and the dust, praying that they would be saved. He keyed the button to broadcast to Tracy Island, although that was the first thing he had done when he had woken, and again, no response. Another light started flashing on the screen. A different light this time, a frequency which the computer recognised. That meant whoever was at the end of this radio had called Thunderbird 5 before. Reluctantly, John flipped the switch to let the voice speak.
"… This is Emergency Response Unit 243 calling International Rescue. Thunderbirds, if you're up there, we need help."
John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and then switched on his microphone.
"Thunderbird 5 reading you loud and clear. Go ahead ERU 243."
The Emergency Response Units were the government's response to International Rescue. As much as everyone, everywhere appreciated the help of the Thunderbirds, it was embarrassing for a nation's leadership to have to admit that a family of individuals had done what government funded public services – the Fire Brigade, Police and Ambulance Corps – could not do.
John remembered when the ERUs had been announced. He had watched their training and development closely, keeping his Father up to date. Jeff had been ecstatic, though of course in his stoic, authoritarian way.
"This will create a world where the Thunderbirds are no longer needed."
Alan had taken some convincing.
"But Father, what happens to us?"
Jeff smiled, in that stern, fatherly way he had.
"What happens to us is not important. What is important is that the world is growing up. When the Governments no longer have to rely on us to rescue their citizens, that day will be the beginning of a new era."
Of course, no rescue organisation in the world was as advanced as International Rescue, so the Thunderbirds remained busy.
"Thunderbird 5, am I glad to hear your voice. I thought we were all alone for a moment."
John stared solemnly at his console. He fought off a rising sense of panic. Once more, hoping against hope, he keyed the button to talk to Tracy Island. Again no response.
"There are people trapped in the basement levels that we just can't get to. We need the Mole. How soon can we get her out here?"
John swallowed. He checked the source location of the calls. Thunderbird 1 would take about half an hour to reach the city; Thunderbird 2 would take just under an hour. His breath hitched as he did something he never thought that he would, and was deeply ashamed that he could.
"Thunderbird One will be with you in just under thirty minutes, and Thunderbird Two will be about 28 minutes behind."
John stood back from the console and ran one hand through his bleach-blonde hair. The horror of what he had just done to sunk in slowly. International Rescue was the absolute last resort, the final fall-back when you had no other hope. But International Rescue always came through, they always won. There was always hope. But for these people, there was no hope. They were relying on rescue equipment that was never coming. John swore again. The damage to International Rescue's reputation would be irreparable. Who would call an organisation that lied about coming to save you?
John seethed internally, though he knew there was nothing he could have done differently.
You didn't have to lie...
John was on the verge of tears. He needed something, anything else to take his mind off the people trapped under the building. To take his mind off what he had done.
John muted all the radios, and brought up a list on the computer. Every radio that was broadcasting was on this list. The frequency that John was most interested in was coming from Cape Canaveral. The Kennedy Space Centre was preparing to launch a manned mission to the Moon. Once the Americans had won the space-race against the Soviets and later the Russian Federation, travel to the moon halted. Now, however, missions were being set up to explore the option of mining the moon for its resources. Iron and Titanium were found to be present in high abundance in samples recovered from the lunar surface. With these minerals being in high demand on earth, mining the moon seemed like an efficient option. This program was being called Demeter, after the Greek Goddess of harvest.
John pressed a button, and the internal communications of Kennedy Space Centre emanated from the speakers. John walked into the dining area of the station, listening to the radio. At this stage, Demeter III would be to launch in four days. John had been watching the preparations for this launch out of an interest in space industry, but now he realised, that rocket could be his only chance of getting home.