Hold That Tiger

"Scott, please pass the potatoes?"

"Sure, John. Here."

John accepted the bowl of mashed potatoes that Scott passed to him. He had been home for three days now and was still trying to think of what he could do with his father during the holidays. He absently scooped a large helping of the spuds onto his plate, then created a hole in the middle of the potatoes and poured gravy into it.

"A p-potato and gravy c-caldera," Brains remarked. John grinned at him.

"The only way to eat them as far as I'm concerned," he riposted. He was about to eat a bite and let the gravy flow all over his plate when the emergency signal rang through the house.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and put it down beside his plate, then followed his father and brothers to the lounge. He found a seat on his favorite sofa (the one that lowered and took him to Thunderbird Three) and watched as Alan's portrait segued into a real-time picture of the current space monitor, clipboard in hand.

"Thunderbird Five to International Rescue base, come in base."

Jeff slipped behind his desk and moved a switch before sitting down in his chair. "International Rescue base here. What have you got for us, Alan?"

"A submersible from the Hawaii Undersea Geo-Observatory was doing maintenance on its sensor equipment by the up-and-coming Hawaiian isle of Loihi when the volcano that is building the isle erupted. The eruption took out the propulsion system of the submersible so it's now stranded on the side of the seamount, about 900 meters under the surface. They will be running out of air in about 45 minutes and need us to get there, fast!"

"How far is the nearest Hawaiian Island to the seamount?" Jeff asked.

"The big island, Hawaii, is about 30 km from the summit," Alan informed him.

Jeff looked over at Brains. "Is the new Mobile Control unit functional?"

Brains nodded. "It's b-been tested, uh, thoroughly and sh-should be r-ready to go."

Jeff nodded in approval. "Okay, Scott, off you go. You can set up Mobile Control on the big Island. Alan, find some good coordinates for him, as close to the Danger Zone as possible."

"F-A-B," Alan replied as Scott took hold of the light sconces that would eventually deposit him in the cockpit of his beloved rocket plane.

"Virgil, Gordon, take pod four." Jeff commanded. He looked thoughtfully at John for a few moments. "Are you up to a rescue yet, John?"

John blinked at him owlishly, then his face broke out into a broad smile. "After three days of sunshine and Grandma's good cooking, I'm raring to go!"

"Then go with your brothers. I'm sure that Virgil can use an extra hand with the rescue capsule or in triaging for the sickbay" Jeff commented as he waved the blond Tracy away. John got up and scurried after Gordon.

Scott set up the new Mobile Control unit on the public beach outside the town of Naalehu, on the southernmost coast of the big island of Hawaii. The local officials had cleared the parking lot for Thunderbird One to use as a landing site, and they had cordoned off the parking lot and the beach, standing guard over rocket plane and its pilot as he worked to coordinate the rescue efforts.

The new Mobile Control was so easy to push out of Thundebird One's belly that Scott almost overcompensated and pushed too hard. It's almost like setting this up on a beach at home, only cooler. And darker. It's almost hard to believe though that it's really winter here. But the sun is still shining back home while it's been dark for hours here. He grabbed a jacket against the chill night air.

Setting up took no time at all, he just unlocked the cabinet and swung things around and out. Brains had supplied the unit with a long lasting, rechargeable battery for a power source so he didn't have to hook the control panel up to Thunderbird One to run it. He grinned as the computer screens came up ready to go. The vid screen remained dark, but he was sure he'd have that in use as the rescue continued as well. The whole console had light strips running around it, and he activated them against the darkness.

With a few keystrokes, he was ready. He radioed his brothers.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. What is your ETA to the danger zone?" Scott asked.

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control, ETA 5.5 minutes. We are pushing this lady to the limits, Scott." Scott looked out to see, trying to spot the big green machine. But it was too far out.

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two. Drop that pod as soon as you arrive. There's no time to lose on this one."

"F-A-B, Mobile Control. How's the new unit working?" Virgil asked.

"So far, so good. We'll see how it performs as we put it through its paces. Mobile Control out." Scott pressed a touch sensitive screen and brought up the specifics of the submersible that they would be dealing with. He grinned again. He was going to enjoy shaking down the new piece of equipment.

Pod four hit the water with a tremendous splash. Inside his Thunderbird, Gordon quickly threw the switches that opened the pod and extended the rails. He was concentrating deeply on his work; the flight to Hawaii had left them little time in which to accomplish the rescue. John sat in the fold-down seat behind him. Gordon had asked Scott if John could double-crew with him.

"I have a bad feeling about this rescue, Scott. I may need an extra pair of eyes and hands," Gordon had said. Scott had agreed John could go; it was very, very seldom that the astronaut rode in Thunderbird Four or worked a water rescue.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Two and Mobile Control. Submerging now!" The clear, moonlit air around them was exchanged for dark water in a deluge of bubbles as the trim yellow craft quickly slipped under the swells. Gordon turned on the lights in the adjustable bar attached to his craft. The bright light penetrated the clear water for some distance and made it easier to see where they were going.

Schools of fish rushed out of his way as he sped deeper and deeper. Normally, such a display would evoke a smile or even a chuckle. But not this time. This time, lives were at stake and Gordon and his brothers were their only hope. The atmosphere in the pilot's cabin was tense.

"Thunderbird Four to Mobile Control. You have those coordinates for me, Scott?"

"Yes, Gordon. 562 by 88 magnetic." Scott's voice answered crisply.

"F-A-B, Mobile Control." Gordon replied automatically as he entered the coordinates into the onboard computer. Usually, he wouldn't use the auto guidance system, preferring to use his own skills to pilot his boat. But today, using the auto guidance system would free his mind to the puzzle of getting the oceanographers, seimologists, and vulcanologists out of their submersible and back to the surface.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbirds Two and Four. I have just had confirmed reports about the number of scientists involved. There are seven. The air is getting pretty stale down there, Gordon. I hope you can get them out in time."

"F-A-B, Mobile Control." Gordon answered. I guess our best bet is to take four up at first, leaving air masks for the other three until we can get back down for them. I think we have enough equipment aboard; better check on it. He turned to John.

"Would you check on the air tanks and masks for me, John? I need to know how many we have of each."

"F-A-B, Gordon." John rose from his seat and hurried back to the equipment locker. Opening the one for air tanks, he was pleased to see four tanks stored there. He checked the gauges on each one to see that they were full. Then he looked at the air mask cupboard. He frowned. "Four full tanks but only three air masks, Gords."

Gordon sighed. "That's right. The fourth tank is for the deep-sea suit. This isn't good. If either of us needs one during the rescue, that will leave only two for the scientists." He sat up straighter in his chair and squared his shoulders. "We'll just have to make sure we don't need one then."

John rummaged through the other lockers to see if a fourth mask was hiding somewhere. He came up empty. He reported this to Gordon, who grunted, then made his way back to the fold-down seat.

A warning beep sounded through the tiny cabin. Gordon turned back to the wide viewport to see the glow of the erupting seamount called Loihi coming up fast. He took back the controls and began to survey the area. Finding the submersible was relatively simple; there was a reason that yellow and orange were used at sea, and the little yellow craft was pretty easy to spot, perched precariously on a ledge and with a tail covered in cooling lava. He checked his readings on the water outside his Thunderbird, and grimaced.

Not too bad here, but as I close in the temperature is rising. No way is there going to be any diving today, not even in the deep-sea suit.

He took stock of where the airlocks were on the small submersible. "Thunderbird Four to Thunderbirds Two and Mobile Control, I have visual. The lower hatch seems to be accessible, so I'll try to lock on to that. My plan is to bring up four, and leave airtanks and masks for the other three until we can get back down for them. I'm turning on the outer cameras so you can see the situation."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Four. Sounds like a plan." Scott's voice came over the radio. "Proceed." Scott watched with interest as Thunderbird Four's external cameras came on and began sending signal to his video screen.

Gordon maneuvered Thunderbird Four so it was parallel with the stricken submersible, then eased her along slowly until she was under the hatch. The hatch was just clear of the rock ledge and the top of Thunderbird Four's cabin scraped along it, making Gordon wince. He realized that the rock ledge was going to keep him from getting close enough to the submersible.

Back at base, Jeff, who usually sat in his chair, tense but still, was up and pacing the lounge, muttering to himself. Tin-Tin, who was keeping him company, noticed the aberrant behavior and wondered what was going on in the IR commander's mind. The new Mobile Control unit allowed everyone in the lounge to listen in on all of the radio conversation, and knowing nearly everything that was going on seemed to make Jeff more nervous.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Two and Mobile Control. The lower hatch is a wash. The ledge is in the way of my making a tight lock, or any lock at all." Gordon's frustration at his inability to help was very evident in his voice.

"Thunderbird Four, what about the universal docking collar? Would that give you enough room to make the lock?" Scott asked, thinking hard for a solution to this problem.

"Thunderbird Four to Mobile Control, yes, it would. But it would mean a dive to connect it to the submersible. And the water..." Gordon explained, or tried to.

"How far down are you?" Scott interrupted, impatiently.

"876 meters down. But the water...."

"Mobile Control to base. Brains, how far down would the DSS work? Would it function at that depth?" Scott asked. Jeff turned to his engineer, who had entered the room a few minutes before and was sitting next to the desk.

"Yes, i-it sh-should. Scott. But wh-what I b-believe Gordon is t-trying to s-say is...."

Scott ignored everything after the word "yes". "Thunderbird Four. I am informed that the deep sea suit will function at that depth. Use it to make that dive and lock on to the submersible's hatch."

"F-A-B, Mobile Control," Gordon said dubiously. He was confused and concerned and wondered why his brother wanted him to take such a risk. He looked over at John for support. John nodded and then came over to the microphone.

"Scott," John began to explain, "You don't seem to understand what the situation is here. Gordon can't....."

Scott cut him off. "John, I know what Gordon's capabilities are. He has the right equipment and he can make this dive. Now do it!"

"Belay that order," came Jeff's voice, hard and stern. "Mobile Control, Thunderbird Four is in the vicinity of an underwater volcano. The water temperature is too hot for a dive of any kind to take place. We have to find a different solution."

At Mobile Control, Scott fumed as he looked at the schematics of the vessel in question. He didn't like his father second-guessing him, but he realized that his father was right. How could I forget such a vital piece of information? My excitement at using this new gadget is getting in the way of effective leadership. Wake up, Scott!

He looked again at the vid screen and got an idea. "Thunderbird Four. Is there any way of using the laser to cut away some of the rock ledge so the two hatches can meet?"

"F-A-B, Mobile Control. I think I can do that. It would be tricky; I don't want the submersible to fall off the ledge altogether. But I can cut enough for Four's hull to meet with theirs." Gordon said, a hint of relief in his voice at his brother's alternate suggestion.

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Four. Make it snappy, Gordon. Alan reports he's losing contact with the scientists."

Gordon said no more. He pressed the button that eased the laser barrel from the bow of his craft. It appeared from its housing smoothly and quickly. Gordon fired it up and began to cut away at the rock. The rock, newly formed, gave way quickly and soon there was an opening around the submersible's hatch big enough for Thunderbird Four's upper hull to fit into. John watched, impressed with his brother's focus and skill.

Gordon lost no time in getting under the little sub and joining the hatches. He and John moved the air tanks into the airlock and Gordon climbed the ladder to the round hatch, opening it inward. A small spray of seawater spilled in, but the other hatch was plainly in view. He reached up and opened it, carrying a bottle of air and a mask with him as he climbed up into the submersible. John stood by in the airlock with another mask and air bottle.

"You're right, Mobile Control, the air's pretty stale in here. Where are the scientists located?" Gordon paused at the top of the ladder.

"There is a group of them on the bridge and two of them in the sickbay alcove." Scott told him as he viewed the thermal imaging that Alan downloaded from Thunderbird 5.

"F-A-B, Mobile Control. I'll start at the sickbay. John, can you check the bridge?" He looked back at his brother.

"F-A-B, I'm right behind you."

Gordon found his way in the dim lighting to the sickbay alcove. There, on a fold out bed, lay a woman with an oxygen mask on her face. She looked over at him and pointed to a man on the floor under her bunk.

"He put this on me and then passed out," she said. Gordon checked the man's vitals, and immediately began CPR.

"How puff, puff, puff long push, push, push has he puff, puff, puff been like this?" push, push, push

"Only a minute or two, I think." the woman replied as Gordon continued the breathing and compressions of CPR. He worked in silence for a while, feeling his own head getting giddy with the bad air. He stopped to check the man's vitals again and was pleased to see him breathing again. He took a few breaths from the air tank to clear his head, then fastened the scuba mask over the victim. Then he looked at the woman.

"Why did he put you here?" he asked her as she began to sit up.

"They all sent me back here. They know I'm three months pregnant." the woman replied.

Gordon shook his head. In his mind, gravid women didn't belong this far under the ocean at any point during their pregnancy.

"Okay. I'm taking you and this man down to my Thunderbird and I'll take the two of you topside in the first trip." He pulled the man over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, picking up the air tank in one hand. The woman took the smaller oxygen bottle and prepared to follow him down the corridor. Gordon paused to activate his telecomm watch.

"How's it going on the bridge, John?"

John shook his head, trying to squeeze out words while performing CPR on an older man. "Not puff, puff, puff good, Gords. push, push, push. I've puff, puff, puff got two push, push, push unconscious. One puff, puff, puff stopped breathing push, push, push. Two puff, puff, puff weak but awake push, push, push. I puff, puff, puff could use a push, push, push hand here. puff, puff, puff

Back at base, everyone could hear John's application of CPR to whoever had stopped breathing.

"How long has he been at it?" Jeff muttered as he walked around. "Can he keep it up in that bad air?" The voice on the radio switched back to Gordon's.

"I've got two to take down to TB4, John. I'll bring back tanks and masks for you as soon as possible." Gordon said as he urged the woman down the corridor. They reached the lower hatch, and Gordon put down his burden. He turned to the woman who accompanied him.

"I'll go down first and help you down. Once you're in my Thunderbird, you can take off your oxygen mask. I may need your help to bring him down into the airlock, okay?" The woman nodded, and Gordon gave her one of his electric grins. He disappeared down the hatch.

"Come on down, ma'am. Hand me that oxygen bottle first. I won't let you fall."

The woman maneuvered herself down the ladder carefully while Gordon held the oxygen tank. Then he swarmed up the ladder again, carrying one of the airtanks and the mask, leaving it in the corridor. He took his patient up over his shoulders in the fireman's carry again, and started down the ladder, using the edges of the hatch to balance himself and his burden for the first step or two, holding the air tank in one hand.

"Ma'am, please take the tank from me so I can finish bringing him down." The woman, now without oxygen mask and bottle, rushed over and took the air tank from him in two hands. This left Gordon's other hand free to grab the ladder and finish his descent. He sat the man up in a corner of the air lock, removed the air tank from his patient, and substituted the oxygen bottle and mask. Then he took the used air tank and mask with him as he disappeared into the other submersible again.

With an air tank and mask in each hand, he made his way to the bridge. He found John still doing CPR on the elderly man, swaying with every set of compressions he did.

"Here, John. Clear your head with fresh air. I'll take over." He handed a mask and airtank to his brother and watched the red face regain its normal, paler color as John's air-starved lungs recovered from his exertion. He picked up the breathing and compressions where John left off.

John took the air tank over to one of the unconscious men, fitting the mask over his face. The other unconscious one was beginning to stir, so John took his mask off and offered it to one of the scientists who was still awake but weak. He indicated that the two conscious men should share it for a while. He left the third one for use should they revive the elderly man.

"How puff, puff, puff long have push, push, push you been puff, puff, puff doing this?" Gordon asked as John took over the chest compressions again.

John consulted his watch and grimaced. push, push, push "Ten minutes."

Gordon sat back on his heels and looked at his older brother with sadness. "It's no good. We can't get this one back," he said. John nodded in solemn agreement.

John made sure that the three conscious scientists now had two masks and tanks to use between them. Together, the brothers removed the still unconscious scientist and took him to Thunderbird 4. The man who had been on the oxygen bottle was now conscious, so Gordon transferred the oxygen bottle to the new patient, and sent John back up to the bridge of the scientific vessel with the air tank. As John was climbing through the hatches, there was a loud CRACK and the joined vessels shifted position. The brothers exchanged glances, and Gordon headed for his cockpit just in time to see bits of ledge falling and bouncing off of Thunderbird 4's bow in the glow of the lighting bar.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Four, what is your status?" Scott could see the break up of the ledge in the external cameras.

"Thunderbird 4 to Mobile Control. We have three scientists aboard and three still in the submersible with John. One fatality. The ledge is beginning to break up and the submersible is beginning to shift. If the two vessels continue to be joined at the hatch, they will both fall to the seabed." Gordon reported, his expert eyes taking in the scene. "If I break the link, then the submersible will probably fall from the ledge and be crushed by the pressure further down."

"If I knew for sure that the submersible's stern was free of the hardened lava, I'd pull it off the ledge and blow ballast on both boats, bringing us up together. But my cameras are blocked by what's left of the ledge," he added.

Jeff listened as Gordon dispassionately reported the fatality and groaned. Was it the scientist John labored over with the CPR? I'll have to make sure John knows that he did all he could to save that person's life. He shouldn't have that life on his conscience. He turned to face the wall of portraits as John spoke again.

"Gordon. I think I can help there," John's voice came over Gordon's telecomm. "The scientists say I can turn their cameras around for a 360 degreeview. Point the lighting bar upwards to give us some light. I'm activating their top camera now. Patching the signal to you, Gordon."

Gordon watched in his viewscreen as the camera atop the submersible rotated slowly to point at the stern of the craft. Both craft shook as the ledge continued to disintegrate and the submersible seemed to slide off the ledge.

"Zooming in, Gordon," John reported, his voice calm. That's the voice people hear when they call Thunderbird Five, Gordon thought, smiling with pride in his older brother. Calm, cool, and soothing.

"Yes!" Gordon shouted suddenly. The picture from the camera showed the propulsion end of the submersible quite clearly now, virtually free of the substance that had entrapped it.

"John, close the hatch on your side just in case we lose the lock, okay?" Gordon rose from his seat to do the same for Thunderbird 4. He reassured the three scientists that they were going to get out of there as he climbed the ladder to close Thunderbird Four's inner hatch. He caught a glimpse of John's blond head grinning at him as the submersible's bottom door was sealed as well.

Gordon jumped down from the ladder and returned to the cockpit

"Okay, John. I'm going to turn Thunderbird Four slowly to my starboard, your port. There's bound to be some scraping....." Gordon's instructions were lost as a violent shift in the submersible's balance caused both craft to fall from the last bit of crumbling ledge. Passengers were thrown to one side of Thunderbird 4's airlock while the scientists in the bridge of the submersible were shaken as well.

John had strapped himself into the pilot's chair on the submersible and was trying to restart the fouled propulsion systems. He cursed under his breath as they failed once and again to come online.

"Gordon? Gords? I can't get the propulsion online here. What do I do? Gordo?" John's calm voice now held a hint of panic at his brother's silence.

Tin-Tin was alarmed to see color drain from Jeff's face as John lost communication with his brother. She scurried out to the kitchen to bring in some coffee.

"Damn this new system! It tells so much and yet so little! What has happened to Gordon? Come on, John! Find your brother!" Jeff urged aloud to the air, heedless of Brains watching him intently.

Gordon had been standing in front of his pilot's chair to better see the disintegration of the ledge, and was thrown to the side of his cockpit. He hit his head on the bulkhead, and the world greyed for a second. Then he shook his copper-topped noggin with a groan and half-crawled back to his seat, strapping himself in.

"I'm here, John. Don't worry about propulsion. Just get ready to blow ballast on my mark." Gordon finally replied, causing John to sigh with relief.

Jeff sighed with relief, too. He sat down heavily behind his desk, the color in his face slowly coming back to normal. Tin-Tin offered him the hot stimulant, and he took it with a small smile.

"Thanks, Tin-Tin."

"You're welcome, Mr. Tracy," she replied as she resumed her seat. Jeff sipped the coffee, then took the mug with him as he left his seat again to lean against the front of his desk.

"I'm ready," John told his Gordon, having figured out exactly which controls would empty the ballast tanks.

"F-A-B, John. Three... two.... one... mark!"

Simultaneously, the brothers pounced on their respective control panels. The sea around them roiled as the water that held the boats under the sea was quickly and violently forced out of the submersible's ballast tanks and the rear nacelles of Thunderbird Four. With the weight of the water gone and replaced by buoyant air, and still joined together at the hatches, the two boats began a slow ascent to the surface.

In the massive, hovering, Thunderbird Two, Virgil sat waiting and watching. This was one rescue where he had little or nothing to do but stand by while his aquanaut and astronaut brothers did the lion's share of the work. He followed the talkback from Thunderbird Four and Mobile Control, between the brothers below the sea, and between Mobile Control and base. Now all was quiet.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. Status, please." Scott asked from his spot on the beach. Funny how even being in the winter air didn't keep one from sweating out the rescue.

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control. Standing by roughly above the position where they should be coming up. No sign of them yet, Scott." Virgil replied.

"Let me know the minute you have any sign of them. Prepare the grabs in case we need to take the submersible up." Scott instructed.

"F-A-B, Mobile Control," Virgil acknowledged as he put his ship on autopilot and headed to the lower level of Thunderbird Two just beneath his cockpit. Once there, he set up the large grabs, making ready for lifting the small submarine. As he thought about the possibilities, he put the rescue capsule on standby so he could easily change over to it if the submersible proved to be too much for the grabs. He knew that his green baby could do the job of lifting; it would be the grabs that would prove to be the weak link.

Jeff had shifted his position against the desk several times in the quiet minutes since Gordon had counted down to his mark. Now he abandoned the desk again, and paced the floor once more. Brains and Tin-Tin both watched the Tracy patriarch try to expend his nervous energy in movement.

Perhaps this new innovation was a poor choice, Brains thought. Especially considering the impact it is having on Mr. Tracy right now. I will have to discuss this with Scott.

His preparations made, Virgil hurried back up to his chair to see if his two brothers had come up yet. He watched out the viewport, and the monitors that were fed by the cameras on either side of Thunderbird Two's belly. Lights from the observation ports tracked along with the camera lenses as they panned the dark ocean surface. He glanced at one screen, then looked back again as area of yellow appeared in the black seas below him. A welling up of water, and the topside of the submersible came into view. Virgil keyed in a sequence of commands and the video feed was sent on to Mobile Control as well.

"There they are, Mobile Control!" said Virgil, a mixture of relief and joy in his tone. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird 4. You are a sight for sore eyes!"

"What do you mean, Thunderbird Two? You can't even see me! I'm under that hulk of a submersible!" Gordon complained good-naturedly. "Now, how do we want to handle the transfer of patients and personnel? Ideas? Virgil, John?"

"Hey, don't forget me," Scott bantered from shore. It had been difficult to wait for Virgil's call that they had surfaced. He had entertained visions of the ballast release being too little, too late and of both craft falling from the seamount to the ocean floor, the submersible crushed by the water pressure and Thunderbird Four crushed by the submersible.

"Forget you, Mobile Control? Never!" John joked back. "So, any ideas on how to get us out of this tin can? Or do we stay here and get picked up and flown to shore?"

Virgil studied the specifications of the submersible again and let out a whistle. "This baby is bigger than I expected. I suggest we use the rescue capsule to pull the scientists out and into Thunderbird Two. The observatory can send out their salvage boat to tow the submersible in."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two." John said. "I can get these three out the top hatch and then come up with the body in a second trip."

"And I can bring my group through the pod entrance once I've put Thunderbird Four back inside," agreed Gordon.

And that is what they did. Virgil sent down the rescue capsule and took John and his charges from the submersible while Gordon broke the link between the two craft and took his group with him as he put his own Bird to bed in her pod. Then, as Virgil picked up the pod, Scott radioed. He had broken his new Mobile Control console down and stored it within his vessel in record time.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One. The hospital at Hilo is waiting for your rescuees. I'm ready to go and I'll see you three back at base." Scott informed them as he took his place in the cockpit of Thunderbird One.

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One. Thanks for giving the hospital the heads up. See you back at base." Virgil replied.

"Don't eat all the dessert, Scott!" John warned. "I expect at least one piece of Grandma's apple pie when I get home!"

Scott laughed. "First come, first served, Johnny boy. You'll be lucky to get that one piece!"

Jeff's voice intervened, "So will you, Scott. We're done with dessert here."

Jeff looked over at Tin-Tin and winked. Now that the rescue was done, he was calmer and able to sit in one spot long enough to eat some pie and drink his coffee.

"Thunderbird One to International Rescue base. Leaving rescue zone. ETA to base, 15 minutes."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One. See you in a few."

Jeff got up from the desk and took his coffee out onto the balcony. The sun had just set and the moon was climbing in the sky. He closed his eyes and just savored the tropical breeze that washed over him.

This had been a difficult rescue for him, especially after his scuba diving scare. He wasn't one to second-guess Scott's command decisions, but he really didn't want to risk Gordon going through what he had when the dark waters isolated him from human touch and sound. Besides, with that seamount erupting nearby, the water probably was too hot for a dive. That's what Brains had been about to say.

He had been so.... itchy... to be out there, gliding beneath the waves with Gordon, lending his hands to help John with the CPR, feeling that rush of adrenaline when the submersible began to fall from the ledge. Listening to it all, pacing the room, he felt like a caged tiger.

Am I crazy to want to do this? To participate in the race against death, against time? To face the danger of the rescue? To feel the heartache when we lose someone we've rushed out to save?

He took a deep swallow of his coffee and made his decision.

The next rescue. I go out on the next rescue.