International Rescue responds

Jeff was halfway down to Thunderbird Two's hangar when the emergency alarm went off. He turned on his heel and hurried back to the lounge. Virgil was already in discussion with John when he entered the room.

"What do you have for us?" Jeff asked, approaching his desk.

"New Brunswick authorities have called to say that they have three hikers lost out on the International Appalachian Trail, Father," John said, referring to his data pad for the information. "The Search and Rescue units in the area are fairly sure where they went, but they can't accurately pinpoint the hikers' location. Snow is forecast, it's already heading for midnight, and if the hikers are left out there, they may die of exposure."

Jeff turned as Scott, Gordon, and Alan entered the lounge. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

"New Brunswick, right?" Scott responded.

"Right. Off you go, Scott. Winter gear, everybody."

Scott made his way to the portion of the wall behind which was hidden Thunderbird One's silo. A push of a button and he was inside the hangar, moving on a telescoping platform to the cockpit of International Rescue's flagship.

"Alan, Gordon, go with Virgil," Jeff said. He stopped to think for a moment. "I'm not sure what to tell you to take. We don't have a lot of winter weather equipment."

"If it will help any," John piped up, "the hikers have been tracked as far as the head of an old trail that leads along the Restigouche River. It's been closed for decades because of its difficulty, and I'm told that even satellite phones don't work in this area."

"Okay. Thanks, John. Take the Jodrell and the hover bikes. The bikes would give you a good deal of flexibility on parts of the trail, and the Jodrell can bounce communication signals from the area to Thunderbird Five and base. John, I'm counting on you to liase with Scott and find a suitable place to put the Jodrell where it will be most effective. Make sure you've got plenty of lighting equipment, too," Jeff said. "And bring along climbing equipment. You may find you need it. Boys, on your way. Thunderbirds are go!"

Virgil stepped over to his floor-to ceiling painting and stood with his back to it, letting its hidden mechanisms flip him up and send him, head first to begin with, down his favorite personal amusement park ride. Alan and Gordon ran from the lounge, heading for the terminus to Thunderbird Two's passenger elevator, prepared for the quick trip to the cargo carrier's cockpit. Jeff glanced at the screen that showed him if there was any sea or air traffic in a twenty-mile radius of the island. All was clear, and when Scott asked for launch permission, he granted it. Thunderbird One flashed by the lounge windows with a muffled roar, and Jeff sat back down at his desk, waiting for Virgil to ask the same question.

Tin-Tin entered the room, a coffee service in her hands. "Coffee, Mr. Tracy?"

"Yes, Tin-Tin. Thank you."

She poured a cup for him and handed it over. He took a sip of the strong, black brew.

"Base from Thunderbird Two. Requesting launch permission."

"Thunderbird Two, you are cleared for departure. Be careful and good luck."

"F-A-B."

Jeff didn't get up to watch Thunderbird Two launch; the villa's position on the top of the cliff made it difficult to see the airstrip. But he heard the green craft lift off, and closed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer that his boys would successful and return to him unscathed. When he opened his eyes, he turned his attention to Tin-Tin, who had taken a cup of coffee for herself and was sitting on Thunderbird Three's couch.

"How is Mother?" he asked.

"Sound asleep. I have given Brains the name of the antiviral medication she is taking, along with the dosage instructions. That way, if it does not seem to be helping, he can order something else from Wellington."

"Good. Thank you, Tin-Tin, for checking on her. I'm sure you were more discreet and quiet than the hospital staff back in Topeka. I think that half the battle in her recovery is for her to get some solid sleep and rest, which the hospital environment just didn't provide." Jeff sipped his coffee again. "Of course, the problem here is to keep her from getting up and doing too much, too soon."

Tin-Tin smiled. "That will be a challenge. She has always hated being inactive."

"Yes, she has." Jeff's eyes strayed across his desk, and rested on the letter from Lou. He picked it up, and read it again.

Dearest Jeff,

Of all the beaches, on all the islands, in all the South Pacific, I had to wash up on yours.

Truly, I had no idea that you lived out here. It was pure serendipity that the island I saw in the distance was where you had decided to retire from the rest of the world. What a shock to see your boys, all grown up and still living with their Dad.

Please apologize to Scott for me. I could see in his face that he knew he knew me from somewhere, but I was having too much fun watching him try to figure out just where to actually speak up and say anything. What a letdown it would have been to realize that the woman who he had saved from certain death had once been his babysitter and possibly his first real crush. I bet he'll be really embarrassed when he remembers.

I was amazed at how much Virgil has grown to resemble Lucille. His hands, his eyes, his hair, all made me think of her. He's got the same technique at the piano, too, though I think his taste in music runs in decidedly different circles. Ask him to tell you about his impromptu concert; he was terribly funny even with his bad Danish accent.

Gordon and Alan have grown to be such wonderful, high spirited young men, though I can't say much about Gordon's taste in clothing! What does he see in paisley? Alan's got more fashion sense, but how much of that is him and how much is the influence of that lovely Tin-Tin, I can't tell. Better keep an eye on those two; even I can see that there's something smouldering between them. Give my thanks again to Kyrano and tell Brains... well, maybe not. Tin-Tin told me his real name and I realized that he's better off using his nickname. Still, he could have his name legally changed.

I really wish I had been able to see John, but I understand that you've got a business to run, and your boys have to help. Please give him my love... that is, if he remembers me. And remember me to your mother, as well. I'm sure she won't be too terribly pleased to know I was there, but she'll be happy that I went home.

Next time you're back in the States, please give me a call, or even drop me a line. I'm enclosing my number and address for your convenience. I really wish I could have stayed long enough to see you, but duty, in the form of my cats, called, and I had to go.

My porch light is on for you. Hope to talk to you soon.

Lou Myles

Jeff smiled again, then folded up the letter and put it in his desk drawer. He had just closed it when Scott's picture sprang to life.

"Base from Thunderbird One. I am approaching the Danger Zone."

"Man, this place seems fifty miles from nowhere," Scott muttered as he zeroed in on Kedgwick. The flight took all of 35 minutes at his top speed. A light snow, visible through the light cast by his running lights, fluttered down in the night sky. He knew that Virgil, whose top speed was a third of his, was at least another hour and a quarter behind him. The plan was for him to do a low level sweep of the area, using the thermal imager, and once he had pinpointed the location of the hikers, use his loudspeaker to try to get them to move down toward the river. He hoped that he could provide enough light for them to see their way down. The slopes of the river where they had been hiking were covered with trees and sending Thunderbird Two's rescue capsule down would be nigh impossible.

"Scott, I have an update for you," John's voice sounded in the cockpit of the rocket plane. "Search and Rescue in Kedgwick tells me that the hikers got hold of a very old map of the IAT, one from the turn of the century. They followed it and ended up taking a part of the trail that had been changed in 2002 because of its difficulty."

"How much trail would be left after nearly seventy years?" Scott asked.

John snorted. "Not much, I'm sure. There was some kind of footpath left by hunters. Maybe these hikers thought that was the trail. It was removed from the IAT because of the deep gulches along the way."

"Oh, lovely," Scott groused. "These guys might be down in one of those gulches. What the hell possessed them to go out in this kind of weather?"

"One guy, two gals," John corrected. "Or at least that's what the authorities in Glenwood had to say. And the weather's been relatively good the past couple of days. Mild and sunny according to the weather service. This snow is coming in on a cold front." John's words were beginning to be punctuated with static.

"Still, they should have gotten a weather report," Scott grumbled. "I hope Virgil gets here soon with the Jodrell. You're already beginning to break up."

"I have... crackle... for the Jod... hiss... when he arrives," said John. Suddenly, John's voice came over clearer but fainter. "Scott, can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, John. Strength four but clear," Scott replied. He began to make his first run along the trail indicated by the programmed coordinates. "I'm going to prep the mobile camera. It might be a help once I've found the hikers."

"Good idea, Scott," Jeff's voice issued from the cockpit's speakers. Scott looked up to see his father's face in the communications screen. The picture was occasionally awash with white static, but for the most part it was clear. "John's been relaying updates and is testing to see if his signal boost will help us stay in contact."

"Yes. If we can get away without using the Jodrell, that would be helpful," Scott said. "It would mean one more pair of hands... wait, I think I saw something... I'm turning around."

Scott flew his rocket plane back over where he thought he'd had a hit. Moving over the spot slowly, he kept an eye on the thermal imager's readouts. "No... uh, maybe... hmm. I'd better use the camera; the thermal hit is just too dicey to tell for sure." He toggled a switch and activated yet another video panel in his ship. "Releasing mobile camera."

Using a joy stick, Scott maneuvered the camera down toward the moving dot that represented the imager's target. With one eye on the camera's output, one eye on its destination, he kept his ears busy listening to Thunderbird One's engines as he kept a hand on her controls. This was possibly the trickiest part of his job, and he was glad that he didn't have to do it too often.

Fat, snowflakes floated down lazily in the light of the camera. Scott started and stared at the screen intently as movement caught his eye. He followed the movement with the camera and the lights, then sat back suddenly as the gleam of animal eyes shone in the lens and a mouth full of black nose and red tongue and sharp teeth opened with a strange, almost roar.

"Damn! It's a bear!" he muttered. "Shouldn't that thing still be hibernating?" He quickly pulled the camera back to Thunderbird One. More time lost following that critter, he cursed internally. Those hikers don't have time for me to be fooling around with the wildlife!

The equipment back on board, Scott moved forward slowly again, waiting for another hit from the thermal imager. He thumbed a switch. "Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One, what's your ETA?"

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two," Virgil's voice came, soft but clear. "I'm forty minutes out, Scott."

"F-A-B, Vee. Put the pedal to the metal. The snow is picking up and I don't have a hit on those hikers yet."

"F-A-B. I'll see what more I can squeeze out of my girl. Thunderbird Two, out."

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One. You still with me, John?" Scott asked.

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One," John's voice was still faint but without static. "I'm with you now, but I don't know for how much longer. The farther you get down that river, the harder it will be for me to read you. And the more difficult to bounce the signal to base."

"Understood. Hopefully you can keep track of where I am and can relay it to Virgil. Though I have no idea where he's going to put the pod down..."

"I'm onto the police in Kedgwick and in Glenwood," John replied. "Kedgwick seems... hiss...closer... crackle... put the... hissssss..."

"Thunderbird Five from Thunderbird One, do you read me? Come in, Thunderbird Five. Base from Thunderbird One, do you copy?" Scott's hails were answered by the hiss and crackle of static. The communications screen was awash with white snow, not unlike what was coming down outside. "Lovely," Scott said under his breath. "Well, once I've got coordinates for the hikers, I'll gain some altitude and hopefully reconnect with John."

"Base from Thunderbird Five," John's handsome, concerned face looked his father in the eye. "I've lost communication with Thunderbird One."

"That was to be expected," Jeff said calmly. He turned to Virgil's portrait, which was also active. "Base to Thunderbird Two, your ETA?"

"ETA to Kedgwick, 23 minutes, base," Virgil reported. "We're running at maximum speed."

"F-A-B," replied Jeff. "Thunderbird Five has coordinates for the pod and the Jodrell, Virgil."

"F-A-B," Virgil said. "I have them, base."

This is the part I hate, Jeff thought as he sat down behind his desk. Waiting... just waiting.

Scott's attention was caught by another flash on the thermal imager. Better not be another bear, he thought as he turned back to pick up the hit. Or a deer, or a rabbit, or any other form of wildlife that this area has to offer! Slowing down to what was, for him, a snail's pace, he swept back along the trail again. The imager's screen flashed with not one, but three dots, all gathered close together.

"Yes!" he shouted. "This has to be them!" He busied himself with launching the camera again, and guiding it down to the coordinates of the three markers. He kept glancing over at the screen, watching as the snow filtered down and the camera seemed to descend for a long time. Damn it, Tracy! Watch those trees! At last the bright lights attached to the floating device reflected off three frightened faces, all who were shielding their eyes from the unaccustomed brilliance. "Got 'em!"

He reached over and toggled a switch, then spoke into his microphone. "This is International Rescue." The faces of the three hikers lit up with hope and they nudged each other. "I need to know if any of you are injured. You may speak to the camera and I'll hear you in my Thunderbird."

One of the hikers, a woman with long brown hair made stringy and wet by the snowfall, shouted, "BJ here has broken his leg, and Maggie is in need of some medication. Otherwise, we're mostly scratched up, cold, and wet."

"Acknowledged," Scott replied. "Where can we find this medication?"

"I'm afraid that we lost it when we fell down into this ravine. It's in Maggie's backpack, and that's stuck high up in a tree off in that direction," the speaker yelled, pointing in the direction to the camera's right and back toward Thunderbird One.

"Okay. Thanks for the information. The bulk of our rescue team will be here soon. I have your coordinates. Just stay put and stay close together for warmth. We'll be getting you out soon. I'm going to bring the camera back to me and see if I can find that backpack for retrieval. My colleagues need to know what's going on, and this trail has cut off my communications with them. I'm going to gain some altitude, give them a report, and be back as soon as possible. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" the speaker called. "We understand!"

"I'll be back soon." With that promise, Scott pulled the camera upwards slowly, turning it 180 degrees and making it move along in the general direction of that the hiker had indicated. He caught a flash of bright red against the snow and maneuvered it over. There, caught in the upper branches of a tall spruce tree, was the backpack. Scott made note of the coordinates, and brought the camera back to its berth in Thunderbird One's belly.

"Now, let's gain some air!" he said to himself as he took Thunderbird One straight up into the snowy night sky.

"Alan, you'd better be careful," John warned. "Because no matter what injury you do to yourself, you are taking your stint up here, on time, mister!"

Alan laughed at John's stern glare, seen on his telecomm watch screen. "Okay, okay. I get the picture. Sheesh!" He shook his head before donning his flight helmet.

Gordon checked the straps on Alan's harness. "I'm glad I'm not the one going down this way," he said. "Scott says 'thar's bars in them thar woods'!"

"Cute, Gordo, real cute," Alan replied. He was wearing a heavy duty flight suit to keep him warm and repel any branches he might encounter on his way down to the trio who waited for them. It had been decided to send one person down into the gulch, so they could stabilize the injured and direct them to a clearing some forty meters away where the rescue capsule would await them. On the way down, Alan was to retrieve the backpack so that the woman who needed her medicine could take it.

On his arrival at Kedgwick, Virgil had set his baby down in the town's athletic field, then opened up the pod and let Gordon take the Jodrell to the coordinates which John had indicated. It was accessed by an old logging road, and more than once Gordon silently cursed his space-bound brother for not selecting an easier route. Once he had set up the Jodrell for maximum efficiency and locked it down, Virgil picked him up so that he could work the winch for Alan, and come down to assist in the rescue capsule when it was time. Scott, instead of setting up Mobile Control in friendly Kedgwick or settling down and making the Jodrell his command post, opted instead to hover over the Rescue Zone, adding Thunderbird One's belly lights to the illumination provided by Thunderbird Two.

Gordon strapped a medikit to Alan's back, making sure it was secure. Then he took his place by the winch controls. Alan looked over at him, a bright grin shining through the faceplate of the helmet. He gave Gordon a "thumbs up" and stepped out into thin air. Gordon carefully played out the line that held his brother, listening intently for the verbal cues that would make him stop the winch or measure out more cable.

Virgil listened, too: listened for the directions from Alan so he could make minute adjustments in Thunderbird Two's position. In an operation like this, even the slightest variance from his position could have dire consequences for the person in the harness. He kept his hands tight on the steering yoke and pretended his palms didn't sweat.

"Right right one degree." Alan was amazed at how calm his own voice sounded. I almost sound like John, he realized. And why not? I've raced cars, spacewalked, been winched down into mines, recalibrated the antenna masts at home... I've done all that and not had a moment's second thought. So, why do I have this butterfly in the pit of my stomach?

The harness swung him around as Virgil made the requested adjustment and he found his booted feet were skimming the tops of the tall conifers. Boy, am I thankful that there's no real wind tonight. Even this light snow is making visibility difficult.

Scott listened and watched, using the mobile camera to track Alan's descent. He knew where the backpack was. He knew where his brother needed to go. "Virgil, you need to move forward about 1.5 meters," he murmured.

"F-A-B," Virgil replied as he began moving forward ever so slowly. "Alan, Scott tells me I have to move forward. Gordon, put a brake on the cable."

"I'm ready," Alan's steady voice acknowledged.

"F-A-B," came Gordon's reply.

Alan's descent stopped, not with a jerk or any sudden pulling on the harness, it just stopped. He felt himself moving through the air very slowly, and kept himself still. This was neither the time nor the place to set up a swinging motion of any kind. Unfortunately, the laws of physics don't suspend themselves for International Rescue, and Alan felt himself being pulled slightly backwards by Thunderbird Two's forward motion. The craft stopped, and his backwards motion became forward momentum: straight for a tall spruce.

"Alan! That's the tree! Grab hold!" Scott shouted in his ear.

"Gee, thanks for the warning, Scott," Alan muttered under his breath as he swung into the flexible branches near the top of the tree. He screwed his face up for the impact, even though he knew that the polyhexane plate on the flight helmet was more than a match for any stray fronds that might be directed at his eyes. He reached out blindly, and grabbed hold.

"Got it, Scott. Now where... oh, down there." Alan looked down to see the light of the mobile camera several feet below him. "Gords, play out some more cable."

"F-A-B," Gordon's voice sounded in his ear as he felt the slack of the cable heavy on his shoulders and began to climb down and around to where the camera indicated his target rested. "That's enough, Gords!" With one hand on the slender trunk of the tree to anchor him, Alan leaned over, stretching out his hand... and came away with the red backpack tightly clutched in his fist.

"I've got it! Pull me up, Gords!" Alan said triumphantly. The winch began to take up the slack and Alan was pulled free from the tree and back into the sky.

"Weather report shows the snow should be tapering off within the next ten minutes or so," John said, his statement heard in every ear.

"Great," Scott said shaking his head. "Just our luck. The snow ends almost the same time as the rescue."

"Never mind that," Alan called, bringing their attention back to him. "Let's get down there to those hikers and pull them out. That's what we're here for."

"F-A-B," Virgil said grinning as he slowly swung Thunderbird Two around, moving it to the required coordinates.

"Whooooaaaa!" Alan shouted as he swung beneath the green behemoth. "Take it easy up there, will ya, Virge?"

"Oh, sorry, Alan," Virgil said, still grinning. "Just want to get the job done, that's all."

"Right. Sure," Alan muttered. Just wait until we get home...

In North Carolina, a sleepless Lou sat on her sofa, legs tucked up beneath her warm robe, one hand wrapped around a cup of hot cocoa, the other absently stroking the fur of her fluffy gray cat. The light of her television played across her face as she watched a news report out of Canada.

"Today, International Rescue was called in to find and rescue three missing hikers on a particularly treacherous and abandoned piece of the International Appalachian Trail. Their work has been hampered by low temperatures and a light snow but we understand that they have located the three and are beginning rescue operations..."

The reporter's voice ran on and on, and Lou listened intently to the report. As the news show shifted venues and stories, she muted the TV with the remote, and sighed. She turned to the cat, who was purring deeply at the attention.

"Well, Moofums? What do you think? Do you think International Rescue will pull it off?"

The cat had no answer but to yawn at her, sharp white teeth and curling pink tongue illuminated by the light of the TV. Lou turned her face back to the screen, but she didn't see it. She took another sip of the hot drink and admonished silently, Be careful, boys. Just be careful.