OPERATION CHRISTMAS T by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

It's Christmas and the Tracys are in the middle of their most dangerous mission ever.
And this time they're up against an even more fearsome foe than the Hood...

There were only a few precious minutes left available to them...

"Right, Alan. Up you go?"

The youngest Tracy glared at the oldest. "How come I've got this job?"

"Quit your whining," Scott told him. "You've got this job because, if anything goes wrong, you'd be in less trouble than the rest of us. You're always asking to be involved more, and here you are complaining when you've got the most important job of all."

"Only because none of you guys wanted to do it."

"We value our skins too much," Virgil told him. He pressed a few keys on the instrument in front of him and felt satisfied with the result. "At this rate Christmas will be over by the time you've finished."

"Get a move on, Alan. The sooner you've done your bit the sooner we can pack up," Gordon reminded him. "It's hot and there's a nice cool pool waiting for me."

Grumbling to himself Alan started ascending. "Someone will have to help me."

"We'll help," Scott assured him. "Just make sure you do it properly. You know how important this job is!"

"Will you stop going on about how important this is!" Alan snapped. "I'm well aware of the consequences if I don't get this right."

"It would not be a happy Christmas," Gordon noted. "Not a happy Christmas at all."

"Be careful with it!" Virgil warned. "It's still wet. It took a lot of work to repair it..."

"I know! I'll be careful!" Alan whined as he inched his way higher. He was getting more and more uptight. "Virgil! Will you shut that contraption up!" He stopped and glared at his older brother. "I can't concentrate!"

"I'm trying to make things easier for you," Virgil told him, affronted. "If you're not happy with my efforts..."

"Don't listen to him, Virg," Scott said. "Keep going."

Virgil did so.

Gordon was watching Alan's movements critically. "You want to move to the left a bit."

"No he doesn't. He needs to be more to the right," Scott contradicted him.

"Nope. From this angle he definitely needs to be more to the left."

"Gordon!" Scott folded his arms and frowned. "Who's in charge of this? You or me?"

"Who elected you President?" Gordon was starting to get a petulant look that was a twin of Alan's. "I thought this was a democratic family."

"Will you both shut up," Alan said testily. "And hand up the thingamabob."

"Thingamabob! It does have a name," Scott stated as he stretched a long arm towards his brother.

Alan reached down as far as he dared before straightening up again. "It's no good. One of you will have to bring it up to me."

"Up you go, Gordon," Scott ordered.

Gordon folded his arms and glared at him. "Why me? If you're going to order people about why not Virgil?"

"Virgil's otherwise occupied..."

"Then why not you? You should lead by example."

"Gordon! Will you shut up and get up here," Alan said tightly. "We're running out of time!"

"Poor John," Gordon said theatrically. "Stuck up in Thunderbird Five. Missing out on all this. There must be times when he must feel so left out." He took his first step upwards.

"How long have we got?" Scott looked at the timepiece that was counting down valuable seconds. "Heck, Alan. We haven't got long. Get a move on!"

"Don't rush me!" Alan was whining again. "Hand it up to me, Gordon."

Gordon stretched up. "There you go. Careful where you grab it. Have you got a good grip?"

Alan's fingers closed securely about the object. "Yep. Thanks." Gordon started descending again. "Whoa. Stop rocking the boat!"

"This is not a boat," Gordon reminded him. "I wish it were, then I'd be able to jump overboard into the cool water. It's so hot!"

"Well get down quickly. This doesn't feel too secure."

"What ever you do, don't drop it!" Virgil warned him.

"I won't...! I think I might just be able to reach from here." Alan stretched out, gingerly trying to place his 'thingamabob' in its correct position.

There was a beeping sound from behind him.

There was a collective gasp of horror from his brothers as he nearly dropped the object, instead juggling it a few times before getting a firm grip again. He held it tightly and steadied himself a moment, trying to get his nerves to calm down. "John! Don't do that!"

"Don't do what?" John asked from his video image. "What have I done?"

"Have you broken it?" Virgil sounded anxious. "We haven't got time to fix it again!"

"Have I broken it?" Alan asked incredulously. "If I have, it wasn't my fault. It was John's."

"What was John's fault?" John asked in concern. "Is there something I should know about? Has something gone wrong?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Scott told him. "I assume you've got news."

"My sensors tell me you've got approximately one minute before everything goes sky high," John stated with authority.

"One minute!" Gordon gasped. "Why didn't you give us more warning?" They became aware of a frightening drone, steadily growing in volume.

"I was going to, but you kept on blaming me for things I had nothing to do with," John reminded him.

"Come on, Alan! Move!" Scott ordered. "You've fifty seconds!"

The drone ceased. This was a bad sign. With their hearts in their mouths they looked upwards towards the youngest member of their family who was inching his way one step higher.

Now they could clearly hear an ominous, rhythmic sound.

Virgil found himself counting in time with the beats.

John crossed his fingers for his brothers.

Gordon held his breath.

"Come on, Alan," Scott hissed.

Moving with the speed and precision borne of years of practise as a champion racecar driver, Alan slid the object home. He then threw a cable down to Virgil. "Here! Plug it in quick!"

"You'd better get down first."

"I'm on my way. Do it!"

Virgil accepted the order and plugged the cable into its housing, but waited until his brother's feet had once again touched the floor before he threw the switch.

A golden glow signalled that their mission had been accomplished in the nick of time.

As one they let out a sigh of relief.

"Yes!" Alan said joyfully. "We did it! And with only seconds to spare..."

The door opened and their Grandmother entered the room. "And what have you boys been up to?"

"Oh, ah, Grandma..." Feeling guilty Scott gave her a kiss on the cheek. "We've been decorating the tree." His father entered the room warily and looked relieved when he saw his sons' efforts."

"And there's the angel!" she cried happily. "Who put it up there?"

Gordon pushed Alan forward.

"Um, it was me, Grandma." He looked at his hands and noticed a telltale spot of gold paint on his thumb. He hurriedly hid his hands behind his back.

"Darling." She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead in delight. "Thank you. It's just not Christmas without the angel on top of the tree. That angel was a gift from my..." her son and grandsons mentally repeated the tale for the umpteenth time in their lives... "Great-Grandfather to my Great-Grandmother on their first Christmas together. It's always stood on top of our Christmas trees..." she started looking around. "Now where did I put that bag? I must have left it in my room..." she hurried out.

"Boys," Jeff finally spoke. "Thank you. We all know what your grandmother's reaction would have been if she'd known I'd broken the angel when I was getting the decorations out. How'd you fix it?"

"Brains glued it together," Scott told him, "Tin-Tin repaired the lacework, and Virgil painted over the cracks."

Jeff was admiring the result. "You'd never know she'd lost her head, and that the wing had been mashed up."

"If Alan had dropped it, you could have blamed him," Gordon informed him.

"I only came close to dropping it when John beeped to let us know you were arriving."

John ignored the attempt to blame him again. "If she'd found out you and I could have swapped places, Dad. It's quite an experience spending Christmas alone on board Thunderbird Five."

Jeff didn't look as if he found the idea appealing.

"The paint's still wet," Virgil informed him. "At least up there it'll get a chance to dry properly..."

His Grandmother came bustling back in. They all looked at her guiltily but she didn't notice. "I know it's become a tradition that that angel sit on the top of our tree..." she started unwrapping a parcel. "But, she's even older than me and I think she's earned her retirement," her family looked at one another uneasily, "so I've bought a new one. Isn't it sweet." She held up the china and lace ornament. "I'm sorry, boys, but one of you is going to have to get her down again, so I can pack her away safely."

No one moved.

Brains walked in, noted the situation, turned on his heel, and walked out again.

"Ah, as it's already up there," Jeff tried to forestall the impending disaster, 'why don't we leave it for this year, and we can put the new one up next..."

"No. I've made up my mind. She's becoming far too fragile and it would only take a gust of wind and she could fall and her head or a wing could break off."

"I think it's safe where it is," Scott tried to back up his father. "Why not leave it there... at least until tomorrow," he looked at Virgil out of the corner of his eye and saw him nod in approval. "Then we'll be able to ease out of the old tradition and into the new one..."

"No. There's no time like the present, and the ladder's already in the room. I'm not having that thing clutter up the house for any longer than is necessary. Please, Alan, be a darling and get it down for me."

Alan shot a beseeching look at his brothers and started to move reluctantly towards the tree. "I think Scott's got the right idea, Grandma. And it just wouldn't be Christmas without her up there."

"Go on." She gave him a light push. "Anyone would think you were afraid of heights or something."

"It's the something I'm afraid of," Alan muttered to Gordon who'd moved in to assist.

"You and me both," Gordon agreed in a whisper. "She's going to hit the roof."

"Unplug it for me will you, Virgil," Alan asked.

Virgil vacated the piano stool, started to move towards the power point, and then hesitated. "Can't we leave it just one day, Grandma? I was thinking of doing a painting of the tree with the angel on top this year."

"You'll be able to examine it much closer if it's down here," she told him.

Virgil gave an apologetic look to his father, turned off the electricity supply to the angel and unplugged the cord.

The golden glow was extinguished forever.

"I haven't even been able to say goodbye," John tried gamely, feeling a little foolish. "I didn't get a chance to see her this year."

"Mother. It doesn't seem right to just unplug her and store her away forever," Jeff tried. "Why don't we..."

"I think it's sweet how attached you all are to our little treasure. But I would be upset if she were to be damaged now... That's good, Alan. Now take her down carefully."

Numbly Alan removed the figurine and carefully handed it down to Gordon.

Gingerly Gordon accepted the offering and handed it over to the waiting Scott. He examined it quickly and grimaced when he saw a finger mark in the still tacky paint.

Virgil saw his brother's expression and his heart sank.

John saw it too and felt a sense of relief that he was several hundred kilometres away from his Grandmother. She didn't get annoyed very often, but when she did... It was best to have a large distance between the pair of you.

"Let's have one last look at her," Jeff said. They saw the look of dismay on his face when he saw the fingerprint.

"Now give her to me, Jeff, and I can put her away safely."

He had one last attempt. "Why don't we put her on display in the china cabinet. I'll take her there now..."

"Jeff!" There was no doubting that she meant to what she said.

Reluctantly he handed it over.

"Isn't she sweet. I love the delicate way she's been painted..." Her expression froze and then hardened into anger. "What's this? Who...! Why...! How...!"

Jeff looked around. His sons had clearly decided that this was one rescue where International Rescue was doomed to failure, and had decided that absence would be prudent. He was on his own. "I'm sorry, Mother..."

"You knew about this? Is that why you offered to take me shopping!?"

He nodded numbly. "I'm sorry," he repeated as he backed away until the unforgiving lines of his desk impeded his progress. "It was an accident."

"Did you do this?"

He nodded, unable to look at her.

"And coerced the boys into covering up your mistake!"

He nodded again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled for a third time.

At the poolside, his sons winced when they heard her start yelling.

"Boy, is Dad getting it bad," Gordon stated.

"I haven't heard her this mad since I set fire to her best straw hat," Alan said.

"At least she can't blame me," John said cheerfully through the medium of Scott's watch.

"Do you think we're in trouble too?" Virgil asked.

"You probably are," Alan informed him. "She'll know it's your painting. She'll assume that you all bullied me into putting it on the tree." His brothers stared at him. "At least that's what I'll tell her."

"What happened to family loyalty?" Gordon asked.

"Where Grandma's concerned, it's every man for himself," he was told.

Virgil groaned. "I think I'll spend Christmas onboard Thunderbird Two. The pilot's quarters are fairly comfortable, anyone care to join me so I don't get lonely?"

"Cheer up," Alan said. "Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be a call out, and one of us'll be injured, and she'll put all her energies into looking after him."

"And a Merry Christmas to you too," Scott riposted.

"Tell you what," John suggested. "Why don't you all hijack Thunderbird Three and come and spend Christmas with me? I'd love the company."

His brothers seemed to be giving the idea serious consideration.

Their attention was diverted by the sight of their father walking with haste down the steps that led from the villa. He was slightly out of breath when he met up with them all. "Thanks for your support!"

"We did all we could," Scott offered, "but we couldn't see any point of us all being in the firing line. We've got to be fit and healthy if there's a rescue anywhere. You're..."

"Expendable?" Gordon suggested.

He received an offended scowl from his father.

"I was just suggesting that everyone could come up to Thunderbird Five and spend Christmas with me," John told his father. "She'd have cooled off by the end of the holidays."

"Jefferson!" there was a shriek from the top of the steps. His mother was standing there with what looked like an abnormally large wooden spoon in her hand. If it weren't for her furious expression she could have been mistaken for a caricature of the broken angel on the top of the tree.

"Mrs Tracy?" Kyrano stood at the balustrade. "May I have the spoon back? I need..."

She gave him a withering stare.

He cowered back and bowed low. "You are right. I will use my hands."

The avenging angel started descending.

Jeff grabbed Scott's wrist. The one with the watch and John's video image. "Make up five beds and get the welcome mat out!"

John gave a wry grin. "F-A-B."

The five of them started running towards the Round House.

"Jeff! Where do you think you are going!? Stop at once!" The yell sounded angry. "Don't make me come after you!"

Jeff Tracy froze in his tracks. There wasn't much that he was afraid of. He'd been to the moon and back. He'd built a company up from nothing to a multinational conglomerate. He'd survived the death of his beloved wife. He'd nearly single-handedly raised five sons. He'd created the greatest rescue organisation ever known to man. 'The only thing I'm frightened of, ' he thought ruefully, 'is five foot nothing and is currently carrying a wooden spoon.' Reluctantly he turned back. "Yes, Mother?"

"Come here!" she commanded.

His sons looked on in sympathy as he obeyed her.

"Do you know what you did wrong?"

He nodded, waiting for the blow and unable to look her in the eye.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I know how much she means to you. I didn't want to spoil your Christmas," he mumbled.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't need to know. They did a good job fixing her."

She tutted angrily. "What are you trying to teach those boys?"

"They're hardly boys, Mother. They're all grown men! If it comes to that, so am I!"

"Then don't behave like a guilty child!" She frowned. "Let me get this straight, Jeff, you weren't going to tell me because you didn't want to spoil my Christmas."

"That's right," he nodded, shame faced.

"You were going to tell a lie?"

"Yes, Mother."

"And encourage your sons to lie with you."

"Yes, Mother. Sorry, Mother."

"You know liars get punished!" she reminded him.

"I know," he said quietly remembering his school days.

"Then prepare to be punished!" she said firmly.

He flinched when she suddenly reached out for him.

Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Alan and John watched in amazement as their grandmother grasped their father in a fond embrace.

"Merry Christmas, Jeff," she said. "Now stop being so silly. I thought you knew that the only thing that could upset my Christmas would be if the family couldn't be together or if someone was hurt."

He gave a goofy grin. "I guess I forgot and I panicked. Sorry, Ma."

She tutted again in exasperation and then pointed her spoon at her grandsons. "And what are you lot doing standing there? I've got some Christmas mince pies warming in the oven. And when you've had yours, Virgil Tracy, I've got a job for you!"

"Yes, Ma'am?" he asked his voice an octave higher than normal.

"You can repair the damage to the angel your brother did putting her on the tree. I'm sure she only needs a touch up."

"Touch up! I can do that, no problem." He grinned in relief.

"And when he's done that," the spoon moved from Virgil to Scott, Gordon and Alan, "you can all take some Christmas provisions up to John. I'm sure he'd like the company for a while."

"Thanks, Grandma," John's voice was heard from the vicinity of Scott's watch.

"Mother!" Jeff exclaimed. "We can't take the boys out of action... There'd be no one available here if there's a rescue!"

She ignored him and continued talking to her grandsons. "In fact, you can take me with you. I've never seen Thunderbird Five before, and it would be wonderful to see John just before Christmas."

John began preparing a mental list of things that would need repairing and tidying before she got there. He'd start with Alan's room.

"Mother!" Jeff protested again. "Thunderbird Three is not a public bus service..."

"Jeff!" There was a definite warning in her voice as she turned back to face him, her arms folded with the spoon protruding threateningly.

"Of course we can make an exception this time," he added hastily. "I'll go make sure everything's ready." He started mounting the steps to the villa.

"Good boy," she swatted him gently on the behind with the wooden spoon as he walked past. "Merry Christmas."