1While taking Thunderbird 2 for a joyride after a mission, John ponders why his family seem to distrust his competency. But what will his father think when the joyride ends in a collision?
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, etc, etc.
Hope you like my first offical fanfiction work posted.
Goatbacked Mountain
John sat at his writing desk, looking down at a blank notebook, pen in hand.
Right, he thought to himself. You'll be asked a lot of questions, and things could get difficult, so you better get your story straight. He started to write.
A tourist bus was stranded in a flooded river in Sweden. Father ordered me to fly Thunderbird 2 to the danger zone. Scott, who'd arrived earlier in Thunderbird 1, instructed me to use Thunderbird 2's rescue pod to transport the victims to safety. As the rescue pod has limited room it had taken nine trips to rescue all victims. All were saved. The mission was a success.
John looked up from his notes to the window at the far side of his room. The sun had set hours before, but the moon was out, throwing its silvery light on the cliffs that swept around the rear of the house. A moth batted against the window and he couldn't judge if it was outside wanting in or inside wanting out.
He thought back to that morning. He'd been in the lounge with Scott and his father when the call had come in from Alan in Thunderbird 5. As usual, Jeff had ordered Scott to pilot Thunderbird 1. After a pause, he announced that John could take Thunderbird 2, given that Virgil and Gordon had gone out fishing at day break and wouldn't be able to return to the house for over twenty minutes. For this rescue every minute counted. John had not missed his father's hesitancy, or the implication that he was uncomfortable sending John out in Thunderbird 2 on his own.
On the way to the danger zone Alan had supplied more details on the situation. John hadn't paid much attention beyond the weather conditions. There'd be plenty of time for all that once they'd arrived, and anyway, it was Scott's job to know all the ins and outs of the situation and let John know of any critical facts during the mission.
When John had arrived at the danger zone forty minutes after Scott, it was nearly three in the morning and raining heavily. Scott had already liaised with the local authorities and scouted the scene. Due to the wind, Scott had determined that it was safer to use the rescue pod in Thunderbird 2 rather than using Thunderbird 1's ladder. John had agreed. It shouldn't be too tricky, Scott had reassured him. Annoyingly, on hearing these words, John had realised how much more nervous they made him feel.
John had been imagining the bus trapped in a deep cleft between towering cliffs, battered by swirling gale force winds and raging floodwaters, and the rescue hampered by a lack of light and confusion. Instead, he had been relieved to find, the ravine wasn't very treacherous and the local rescue services had obligingly used every available portable light and generator system to spotlight the bus. The scene was lit brighter than a super bowl final.
He got underway, lowering the rescue pod from its slot under the nose of Thunderbird 2 and manoeuvring it towards three people who had tried to swim to the riverbank, only to just save themselves from drowning by clinging to the top of a submerged tree. The raging torrents threatened to pull it out by its very roots. Since John's view directly beneath Thunderbird 2 had been inhibited, Scott had guided his movements over the radio. None of the victims had needed much prompting to scramble into the pod and let it carry them to safety. John had then turned his attention to the victims huddled together on the bus roof, and had spent some time ferrying them to the waiting paramedics on the riverbank.
Yes, the mission was a success.
It was what came after that was a problem.
He wrote some more notes.
Scott had informed me to circle the danger zone while he liaised with the local authorities in case they needed more assistance with other urgent rescues. I circled Thunderbird 2 to the north-east towards the base of the mountain ranges. The weather had improved and due to…
He paused, the pen tip hovering over the paper. Due to…due to…what? He frowned. I'll come back to that, he thought. He drew a very deliberate question mark on the paper, as if it might magically change into a fully formed phrase all on its own.
…due to ? I flew into a mountain valley.
Err, an unfortunate choice of words. He scored the phrase out and wrote another very carefully…
…I flew through a small valley at the foot of the mountain ranges.
That was better.
Waiting for more information from Scott, I decided to follow the valley as it looped back towards the danger zone. I determined this was far safer than attempting a tight turn within the valley or trying to ascend above the mountains in the prevailing wind conditions.
Not exactly true he had to admit, but an acceptable summary. Absentmindedly, he tapped the end of the pen on his chin, thinking again about that day's rescue.
As John had retracted the pod into Thunderbird 2's nosecone, Scott had radioed him with praise on a job well done, the relief evident in his voice. This should have annoyed John but he'd let it pass since he just wanted to relax in the afterglow of success. Scott had ordered him to circle further out from the danger zone and wait for more instructions.
John had headed north-east, amazed to see a pale glow behind the clouds on the horizon. The rescue must have taken longer than he'd thought. How time flies when you're working hard! He had flown leisurely around waiting for word from Scott. As if the sun's rising was a cue for the storm to behave itself, its winds eased and its clouds had begun to break up. John had begun to hum to himself.
Slowly, without much thought John had flown higher into the mountain ranges, catching sight of the first sunlight to break over their peaks through a small gap in the clouds. His mood rose. There was plenty of room to meander lazily up here. Who else in the world gets to fly a cutting edge technological wonder through beautiful mountains in the morning sun?
Good flying practice too, he had said to himself.
Minutes stretched. How long had he been wandering? Twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? Why was Scott taking so long?
He had turned into a large valley between two of the closest mountain peaks. The evaporating clouds left streaks of mist here and there. Ahead, some distance away, he'd seen a towering rock face where his valley split in two, like a tree branch forking. The sun popped in and out from behind clouds, light peeking over mountain tops, chasing away some of the shadows in the valley.
It was magical. On a ridge line just above him he saw movement. Dozens of goats skipped among the crags, bouncing from perilous outcrop to perilous outcrop. He couldn't help smiling. What nimble little things they are. What a wonder of evolution. They must get cold up here in winter. Or do they go down into the lower valleys, waiting out for spring?
As he had drawn closer he'd suddenly realised that their joyful gambolling was more like a panicked flight away from the big green noisy thing in the sky passing by. Goats jostled each other in their mad flight. John watched as one goat, having been blocked by a fellow goat who'd stolen the ledge it was about to spring to, baulk and then turn and leap out in fright…out off the mountain slope and right at Thunderbird 2.
John, stunned, had turned the steering column sharply away from the mountainside while rising out of his seat to look behind him to see where the goat had gone.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
John looked up from the writing pad where he'd doodled a few triangular mountains. He looked over through the window at the dark cliffs that swept around the house. A blinking beacon sat at the highest peak to warn that it was there. There was not a mountain goat to be seen.
Half laughing at the pointlessness of trying to look out of a rear window that didn't exist in Thunderbird 2, since it wasn't a car, he'd turned back to the front to look out of the flight deck windscreen, only to discover that by leaving his seat he'd oversteered. Thunderbird 2 had veered across the valley and was heading straight towards the opposite mountainside. John had sat down and yanked the steering column sharply back to the left. The craft arced slowly, but oh, so slowly. He'd pushed the steering column harder, and watched with relief as the mountainside had begun to fall away. He'd straightened the steering column, but frowned as Thunderbird 2 still drifted to the right. Damn the delayed steering on this big old tin bucket.
Bright sunlight broke through the clouds suddenly. Parts of the valley remained in complete darkness, while beams of light, caught in the remnants of mist, created silvery curtains that hid the view beyond them. It had been very pretty but also very disorientating. He couldn't tell rocky ledge from innocent and empty shadow.
Where had the rock face he'd seen only moments before gone to? The sun had slipped behind another cloud, and the silvery curtains faded and yes, there was the fork in the valley directly in front of him. He had turned into the right fork, hoping it would take him back out of the mountain ranges into open air.
What had Alan said about the mountains again? He couldn't remember.
'Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird 2.'
'Thunderbird 2 receiving. What's up Scott?'
'John, I've just finished the last rescue – some teenagers caught in a valley – fine time to go mountain climbing. Anyway, the authorities don't think they need us, they can handle it now. Everyone is accounted for and the water is beginning to recede. You right to head back to base?'
Still distracted by his recent scare, John managed to squeak out, 'F.A.B., Scott, heading home.'
As he signed off he wondered why Scott hadn't asked him to help in any of the other rescues. He frowned at the valley walls which had become steeper, the slopes much closer. More of a gorge than a valley really. Ledges jutted out at here and there, and much larger mountains reared up behind them. He was sure this valley must lead out of the ranges. Maybe he should power-up and ascend now. Yes, he'd do that once he had cleared this large outcrop of rock.
As he'd passed the outcrop he'd been surprised to see another valley appeared to his left. Actually, it was accurate to say that his gorge feed into this much larger valley, almost like he was heading into a contorted T-intersection. Mountain cliffs reared up sharp and dark in all directions.
John paused. Should he turn left or right into this new valley before ascending?
Just then Thunderbird 2 had shuddered and started to tip slightly on to its right side, as if a giant had put a finger under its left wing and tried to flick it.
Cross-winds. He had flown into cross winds that pooled and buffeted at the valleys' intersection. He had no choice but to turn Thunderbird 2 with them and hope to straighten up and fly out as soon as he had gained control.
He'd never practiced flying Thunderbird 2 in high cross-winds in a mountain range. It was a hell of a time to start.
He turned the steering column a little more, not wanting to risk losing control if a wind gust pushed him over further, but eager to complete the turn and power up out as soon as possible. Thunderbird 2 began to roll further on its side as it continued its turn, but at an increasingly frightening angle. Damn this thing steered like a cow!
He didn't like the unusual whining the craft's engines were making.
Was he going too slow? Was he going to stall?
John looked up from his notebook and over at the moth. It rested there with its wings folded flat against its body. Do moths sleep?
What was Thunderbird 2's stalling speed anyway? How far off horizontal could it fly before it became unflyable? He couldn't remember. He'd ask Brains about it sometime.
He looked down at his doodles of craggy mountains and little stick goats.
He'd gripped the steering column so hard that his palms had ached. He'd heard himself grunt with the effort of trying to get the craft horizontal again. The steering shouldn't be this hard, it was computerised after all. But the craft responded languidly, like a reluctant donkey.
The valley wall to the right had been too close for comfort or safety, and getting closer. This is the moment he realised a crash was imminent. Panicking, he pushed the steering further to the left. How would his family get Thunderbird 2 back to base if it was crumpled in the bottom of a valley? How could their anonymity be maintained if the locals poked around in the wreck? Then he realised he'd probably be dead so it wouldn't be his problem.
He felt light-headed.
He remembered the moment he had looked out through the flight deck window, at a worrying angle, and had felt his heart jump into his mouth. Dead ahead was a slash of brightness, heralding open sky beyond. Silhouetted against this welcoming sight was a pair of concrete pylons, one on each side of the gorge mouth. A blinking red warning light topped each. And between them straddled cables.
Lots of cables.
The disaster that was about to happen to him registered, but he could do nothing but continue to fight the steering to keep the craft from hitting the cliff face that was still perilously too close. He just hoped that those cable didn't take a wing out.
He'd kept his eyes open right to the last split second, even though he'd badly wanted to close them. He'd hit the cables dead on. There was a clang and the craft lurched a moment, and John waited to fall from the sky like a brick. But that didn't happen. He'd cleared the narrow valley mouth and flew into the clear sky beyond.
For the second time turned his head as if expecting to see the valley laid out behind him. But Thunderbird 2's metal had not become suddenly invisible and he just saw the back wall of the flight deck.
He'd turned his head back to the front, straightened up his steering, checked his instruments and ascended out of harm's way. He would have vomited up everything in his stomach if there'd been anything there to eject, and if he'd be able to spare a moment to leave the flight deck.
His relief at being unharmed had been mixed with shock. There could be cars on that line somewhere – he had no way of knowing. Dozens of people could have plunged to their deaths. He'd called Scott.
Scott had been stunned, but his professional demeanour took over and he had immediately set about contacting the local authorities. He'd also turned Thunderbird 1 around and had flown to the location to assess the damage himself.
John looked down at the note book. He'd drawn a doodle of little cables across a valley. He sighed and added to what he'd already written.
As I flew round the valley bend sudden windshear made steering difficult and by the time I had regained control I had, unfortunately, flown through a cable car line.
He looked at that sentence. If it didn't convince him, how was it going to convince anyone else?
Luckily, it had turned out the cable line had been shut down due to the bad weather knocking out the power grid. Only then had John remembered Alan saying something about power outages shutting down the bridges and cable cars system.
Why hadn't Scott reminded him about these details during the mission? He wouldn't have gone into those mountains if he'd known there were cable car lines.
He'd started for home after reassuring Scott he was fine and no he didn't need to land and gather himself together first. He just wanted to get home. He just wanted to pretend that he wasn't that badly shaken. Scott had soon caught up, leaving the authorities to deal with their empty cable car line, and John was irritated that Scott felt he needed to shadow him home as if Thunderbird 2 was a wounded bird needing the company.
When he'd landed at Tracy Island it was late evening. He'd taxied to the Thunderbird 2 hanger where he powered down and done his quick basic checks. When he'd left the bird, he saw Gordon and Virgil on the high gantry inspecting the outside of it. Virgil was looking up at the left wing. There was, to John's complete surprise, the top of what looked like a tree branch sticking out of the wing, caught up in one of the flaps. There was also blood streaked and splattered on the left wing edge. The goat, no doubt, hadn't survived.
John had turned and strode up the stairs before his brothers could question him. When he entered the lounge Scott was nodding as their father finishing saying something he couldn't quite catch.
His father had looked up and told him to get cleaned up and grab something to eat before debriefing. The fact that neither Scott nor he was dirty didn't register at the time. Now John could see it was to give him time to collect himself and for Dad to grill Scott for more background information.
He'd had a shower, but couldn't eat a thing, his stomach clenched like a fist. He had sat here at his desk in his room since, trying to compose his thoughts.
I am a good pilot. I am reliable, safe, experienced and dependable. I am an asset. I flew into a cable car line through no fault of my own. It was the cross-winds that did it. I had no manoeuvring room. It could happen to anyone.
It was not my fault.
He stood up and went to his window. The moth was on the inside. He cracked open the window just slightly in case it wanted to get out.
A sudden knock on the door made him jump. On the way to the door, he pushed the notebook under some other papers on his desk. He pressed the open button and the door slide revealing a very hesitant looking Brains.
'Your f-f-father would like to see you in the lounge, J-John,' Brains said, as if delivering a death sentence. Or was John just imagining that?
John nodded, then realised it would be politer to say something.
'Thanks, Brains.'
There was an awkward silence. Brains came to his senses, took two steps back, and then turned and walked away. John was used to this slightly weird behaviour but then realised that perhaps Brains had been waiting for him to say something more. He should have said he didn't think Thunderbird 2 was badly damaged, since it was clear Brains was not going towards the lounge. He was probably going down to do some preliminary checks on it.
John turned and put on his favourite jacket, not because he was cold but because he felt he needed something to cover him, as if he could get strength from it. He turned out his light as he left. Perhaps it would help the moth make up its mind to leave or stay.
As he approached the lounge, he heard voices and instinctively stopped in the hallway.
'He was probably too busy looking at his reflection in the windscreen,' Virgil said nastily.
'I just can't figure out which direction he was going in to hit those cables?' said Scott as if he hadn't heard Virgil. 'Why would he fly into a narrow valley when the cable line is right there in full view.'
'I don't know,' said Jeff. 'I'll ask him.'
'What was he doing in the mountains anyway?' asked TinTin.
No-one said anything, but he could imagine a shrug from Scott.
'The cable line didn't have warning lights maybe. It could've been hard to see,' said Gordon.
'Nope, the emergency battery lights were on, even if the power grid was down. I asked the local authorities,' said Scott.
'Maybe the sun got in his eyes,' said Gordon.
'It was raining,' said Virgil.
'No, it had stopped by then,' said Scott, but John could tell that he hated to say it.
'You don't think he did it deliberately,' said Virgil in exasperation.
There was silence as everybody absorbed what Virgil had just said.
'Why would he do that?' Gordon said, offended.
'I don't know. How else can you explain flying into a narrow gorge in early morning, during squally conditions, and through a cable line? It's marked out on the map. It's like he went looking for it,' said Virgil angrily.
'I don't think so,' said Scott sharply, but rather than keep Virgil silent it seemed to nettle him more.
'Well, what then? He was asleep? And what about the tree branch in the wing? And the blood?!' Virgil practically shouted.
'He hit a tree during the rescue mission at the river. And a flock of seagulls hit him on the way home,' offered Scott.
John appreciated the attempt but he had been very careful to avoid any trees at the river, and there had been no flock of birds on the way back.
'Nope, I don't buy it,' said Virgil testily.
'May be he was tired,' said TinTin, 'and got disorientated.'
'I'll ask him,' said Jeff Tracy sternly.
Virgil either ignored or missed the warning tone in his father's voice, because he added, 'We all get tired, TinTin. He shouldn't have been in the mountains in the first place. I for one can't wait to hear his excuses. Let's see what they are. Mountains came out of nowhere, surrounded him, and tripped him up with cable lines on purpose, I suppose.'
John wasn't surprised at Virgil's anger. Virgil didn't like it when anyone else flew Thunderbird 2, and he didn't like it at all when he was left back at base during a mission. And he certainly didn't like it when someone damaged his bird. John was touched that Gordon and TinTin defended him, but he was surprised by Scott's attempts to calm Virgil since they were very close and usually agreed on everything. Scott's avoidance of asking what had actually had happened as they'd flown home said more to John about Scott's concerns on his competency than any critical comment could.
'I'll ask him,' said Jeff more loudly and the warning edge to his voice was now clear. 'I'm sure he must have had a very good reason to have been in those mountains in bad weather.'
John's heart pounded. Yes, this was going to get as nasty as he'd imagined.
He took a deep breath and walked into the lounge.
Everyone fell silent and looked up when he walked in. They were gathered around Jeff's desk where a map of the danger zone was spread out before them. Gordon moved out of John's way and went and sat on the black leather sofa that faced the desk. Virgil leaned back on the desk and crossing his arms, glared at John as he approached. TinTin moved further off to the side but didn't leave the room.
'Right,' said Jeff decisively, as if John's appearance settled everything. He looked expectantly at him.
What John had planned to say flew out of his mind. The silence stretched embarrassingly. He took in a slow quiet breath.
'I got trapped in a narrow valley and bad cross-winds and hit a cable car line. There was nothing I could do to avoid them,' he said rapidly.
Looking at the expectant faces he realised that this sounded extremely lame and more words of explanation died on his lips.
Jeff straightened up in preparation to say something but Virgil beat him to it.
'What were you doing flying around mountain ranges, in low light, in a storm, with cable lines running left, right and centre?!' Virgil said more loudly than the close proximity required.
John looked at him as if he'd never seen him before. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Virgil this angry. At another time John would've answered dismissively Virgil, I don't have to explain myself to you, and a heated but civil discussion would have ensued until their father had made some commanding statement about not apportioning blame and finding a solution to the problem.
'I was trying to fly out of a narrow valley and the cable lines were blocking my way,' he answered, knowing it would just invite more questions. He dreaded the grilling his father would inevitably start.
Virgil snorted in derision, an unpleasant sound that was not typical of him. John turned and looked at Scott and then his father as if they offered escape. They looked perplexed. His father drew in a breath as if to speak, but Scott spoke first.
'How did you get into a valley that small?'
'I got lost,' John said stepping forward and pointing at the map, not really sure if he was pointing at the right spot, but not wanting to look hesitant and more unsure than he actually was. 'Round about here, and there was a rock outcrop in the way, and this narrow valley got narrower, and,' he shrugged, 'my orientation was steep so there was no way to ascend safely, and then the cables where there and…'
John stepped back and looked around at the incredulous faces. When he glanced around at Gordon he saw nothing but pity, but also a bit of amusement. Gordon would be loving this – someone in trouble for mucking around during a mission and it wasn't him.
Suddenly, remembering the moment when the goat had hurled itself off the mountainside to its death, tears welled up into John's eyes. If he'd never been distracted by the goats he doubted any of this would have happened. A wave of exhaustion swept over him.
Do not cry in front Virgil or Dad or you will never live it down and they will think you don't have the stomach for the job and they will never trust you to take the lead in a rescue mission ever, ever, ever again. And especially don't tell them you are upset about a dead goat or they'll roll their eyes…
But it was too late. Everyone noticed the tears about to overwhelm him.
'John,' his father said so kindly that John looked up in surprise. He hadn't heard that tone of voice directed at him from his father for, well, since he could remember. Even Virgil looked astonished by the tone of voice.
'John,' his father repeated, 'what were you doing in the mountains in the first place?'
'Waiting,' said John, sounding like he was seven years old. 'Flying around and waiting.'
'Couldn't you have picked a better place to fly around and wait?' Jeff said, still kindly.
'Yes,' said John, feeling confused at his father's unusual tone. 'I know that now.'
'Most people would've known that before they flew into dangerous mountains,' muttered Virgil loud enough to make sure John heard him.
'Right,' said Jeff in his usual commanding voice, making everyone jump, and indicating it was the end of the general discussion. 'Virgil,' he continued, 'in the morning I want a full damage and maintenance report on Thunderbird 2.' Virgil nodded but he still glared at John. 'Scott, I want a re-consideration on procedures when there are long delays during a mission.' Scott looked a little lost at the unexpected direction of the conversation, but nodded his agreement. 'Gordon,' their father added, 'I want a cup of coffee.' Gordon raised an eyebrow but didn't complain as he normally would have.
No-one moved.
'Well, go!' Jeff practically shouted. The others left, Virgil reluctantly, TinTin following Gordon to help him with the coffee. It was clear to John his father wanted him to stay to have a private word.
Jeff walked around from behind the desk and then stood in front of his son. He put his hands on his shoulders, but lightly so John wouldn't mistake the motion and think he was about to shake him senseless.
'John. I want you to sit down and fill me in on ever detail of the mission, especially why you went into those mountains.' His tone was conciliatory but stern.
'It was stupid,' said John.
Jeff said nothing.
'I'm sorry,' said John.
His father still said nothing but looked at him encouragingly, like a friendly police officer waiting for a confession so he could tick it off his to-do list and go home.
'They were pretty,' John said in a small voice.
The expression on his father's face was one of stunned disbelief.
'That was idiotic,' he growled through gritted teeth. 'Don't do it again.'
John nodded meekly.
'Now sit down and let's go through the mission step by step so we can learn from it.'
John was in his room getting ready for bed. It was now well into the early hours of the morning. He felt wrung out, a little ashamed and more than a little annoyed with himself. But he was relieved. Worse things could've happened. No-one had died, except for a goat, poor thing.
His father had listened patiently to John's explanation, although John had had enough sense to massage the facts about his inattentiveness during Alan's briefing, and his standing up while flying to look behind him for a suicidal goat. His father had kept his temper although John was sure he wanted to smack him a couple of times because his father's hand kept twitched.
Once John had agreed with his father that he'd made some poor decisions, and, truthfully, for the first time John could see that he had made a series of errors, starting with the idiotic one of choosing to fly into dangerous mountains unnecessarily, Jeff had decided that what John needed was more training in Thunderbird 2 and to re-learn procedures until he knew them backward, frontward and upside down. There was to be no further discussion on the issue.
John had no doubts that thirty or so hours of Virgil bossing him around the flight deck of his bird would help abate his brother's anger. John made a mental note that he would keep his cool and put up with anything Virgil had to say to him, no matter how testy he got.
Gordon would be happy to have something to rib him about for the rest of his life (the only International Rescue member to fly into a goat) and Scott would be fine as long as John didn't disappoint him again although it might take years to prove that.
Meanwhile, TinTin would try to smooth it over between everyone by trying to remind them all that they needed to have more fun or they'd burn out. Grandma, when she found out, would try to get him to eat more food as if a good meal could make everything better.
What John had learned, besides that flying through a goated and cable-coated mountain range was not such a bright idea, was that facing the facts was better than trying to paint a rosy picture that no-one would buy.
He went to his window. The moth still rested on the pane where he'd left it. He gently slide the window shut. The moth could stay with him for as long as it liked.
The End