SANTA WEARS BLUE by PURUPUSS RATED FRC

An unexpected visitor drops in on Tracy Island.

Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven - Epilogue

<< back to Part One

Chapter Six

Verna Obale entered the windbreak beneath Thunderbird One. "How's it going?" she asked Scott.

He gave her a rueful smile. "Slowly."

She held out a mug of steaming fragrant coffee. "I thought you might like something to keep you warm and awake."

Scott accepted the mug gratefully. "Thanks."

Verna raised her own mug. "Merry Christmas." He must have looked surprised because she added, "It's after midnight. It's Christmas Day."

Scott looked at Mobile Control's local-time chronometer. "So it is. I'm so wrapped up in what we're here for that I'd forgotten the date."

"Was it already Christmas when you left home, or hadn't it arrived yet?" Verna asked. Then she checked herself. "Whoops! No, forget I asked that. I suppose it comes under classified information about International Rescue."

Scott chuckled. "Afraid so."

"I don't suppose it makes much difference anyway," Verna admitted. "Whenever it is you're not going to be spending it with your friends and family. You're not even getting to spend it with your colleagues... In fact, you're not having much of a Christmas at all!"

Scott shrugged, his professional demeanour disguising the fact that a large part of him was indeed disappointed at being separated from his family.

"I'm sorry you've been dragged away from your Christmas," Verna waffled on. "I suppose being on call on Christmas Day must be one of the drawbacks to being part of International Rescue... And hard on your families."

"It can be," Scott agreed. "But if we all remember that by helping someone we're giving them a pretty special Christmas present, it helps put everything into perspective."

"How far away are your team from the cage?"

Scott checked a monitor. "Almost halfway."

Verna gestured towards Mobile Control. "Are you still getting a reading from your ORB thing?"

Scott looked at the indicated screen. "Yes." He glanced at his watch. "There's been no change to it since we started. I'm not sure whether that's a good sign or a bad one."

"You would expect changes if it were the children?"

"Usually," he admitted. "They've been trapped in an airless space for hours. I would expect some change since they've probably been exposed to a decrease in oxygen and an associated increase in carbon dioxide. Even if they were getting fresh air, their combined body heat would make them pretty lethargic, changing their breathing and heart-rate patterns."

"So you think your seeing an animal?" Verna guessed.

"No. Even that doesn't make sense. The patterns are too consistent. I would have thought that an animal would have picked up the Mole's vibrations and taken fright; but there've been no changes whatsoever." Scott shrugged. "I can't explain it. I can only hope that Christmas miracles do happen."

"How long have we been down here?" Alan griped.

"About four hours," John responded. There was a sound in the cabin and he turned from the Mole's control panel. "What is he doing?"

Gordon was sitting on one of the seats with his legs tucked up so he was able to rest a notebook on his knees. He was wearing a pair of headphones and every now and then he would chortle to himself, pause whatever it was he was listening to, make a note in the book, and then switch the player on again.

Virgil watched his younger brother. "I hate to think. He's clearly plotting something judging by that grin he's got on his face."

"Do you know anything, Alan?" John asked.

"Me? No." Alan shook his head. "He did say that he had something planned. But..."

Virgil pounced on this titbit of information. "What?"

"Spill it, Alan," John commanded.

"I don't know," Alan insisted. "I only know that he thought of something while we were getting the reindeer feed from Thunderbird One's hangar. The only information that I could get out of him was that it wasn't me that he had in his sights. That and the fact that he didn't consider his plan to be bad enough to put him back on Santa's naughty list."

"But you think he's planning something against somebody?" Virgil asked.

"Yep. In Gordon's words, he was going to 'spread a little Christmas cheer'."

John groaned. "The mind boggles."

"If it will put your boggling minds at rest," the voice came from the seat at the back of the cabin, "I'm not planning anything against any of you guys."

"Then what are you planning, Gordon?" Virgil demanded.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Gordon responded, removing his headphones. "...Yet," he added. "But I might need your services, Virg."

"Mine?" Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Doing what? You know I'm no good at practical jokes."

"Relax. It's not a practical joke," Gordon reassured him. "It's just a... joke joke."

"A joke joke," John repeated dead-pan. He shook his head. "I wonder if I can get leave to go straight back to Thunderbird Five when we've finished here."

"I'll take you," Alan offered. "Anything to get out of the house for a few hours."

Gordon snapped off the music player, stood and stretched. "I'm feeling hungry. I wonder if Brains has hidden any other goodies back here." He disappeared into the store cupboard.

"What could I help him with?" Virgil wondered as he made a slight adjustment to the life-support systems.

"Don't ask," Alan advised. "Maybe he'll have forgotten by the time we've finished."

John snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Hey! Look at this!" They turned to look in the direction of the muffled voice. "Crackers!"

"Water or Animal?" Alan asked.

"Neither," Gordon emerged from the cupboard. He was holding four brightly coloured cylindrical tubes. Each tube appeared to be roughly 20 centimetres long, about five centimetres in diameter, and pinched in four centimetres from each end. "Christmas."

His brothers stared at the four silver, red and green Christmas novelties. Christmas crackers had been part of the Tracy family Christmas tradition ever since Scott had bought a couple of packs home with him from England after his tenure at Oxford University. Lady Penelope, having discovered this custom, had routinely purchased boxes of the novelties from Harrods as gifts for the family; and this year's present was already residing under their Christmas tree at home.

"Why put four Christmas crackers in the Mole?" John muttered. "This is getting weirder and weirder."

If Gordon heard him he didn't respond. "There're no names on them. Here," sprayed in a fan shape, he held the four crackers out to Alan, "pick one."

Tentatively, as if he was expecting it to bite, or at least explode, Alan selected a cracker. He examined it closely.

"Your turn, Virgil," Gordon instructed, holding out the three bon-bons.

Virgil declined to make a choice. "I don't know that we should, Gordon. It doesn't seem right that we should be enjoying ourselves. Not when those kids are in trouble."

"Relax, Virg!" Gordon rejoined. "We haven't been able to do anything for hours, and we're not going to be able to do anything for hours. Sitting here, stewing over it, isn't going to help anyone. Now chill out and pick a cracker."

"Well..." Virgil eyed up the cylinders that his brother was offering him. "This isn't one of your tricks, is it?"

Gordon looked affronted. "Of course it's not! I haven't seen them before."

Using the tips of his fingers and then holding it at arms length, Virgil took a cracker.

"Left or right, John?" Gordon asked, holding the two remaining crackers behind his back.

John glanced at Virgil and Alan and then back at Gordon before responding with an uncertain, "left."

Grinning, Gordon handed him the cracker that had been held in his left hand. "Now, who wants to help me pull mine?" He was answered by a resounding silence. "Come on, Fellas. I swear I've never seen these before. Alan," he pleaded, "grab the other end." He held out his Christmas cracker in the accepted manner.

Alan hesitated. Then he looked at his two eldest brothers present. "You'll give me a good funeral?"

"With more trimmings than a Christmas turkey," John assured him.

"Oh, come on, Alan," Gordon complained. "Pull the thing."

Wondering what he was letting himself in for, Alan grasped the other end of Gordon's cracker. There was a bang of an acceptable volume, a small shower of confetti, and Gordon's Christmas cracker snapped into two. He pounced on the little parcel that fell out and slid across the downward-sloping floor. "What have I got?" He removed a ribbon and then unrolled the orange paper crown that was wrapped around the package. After pulling the hat onto his head he unfurled a piece of white paper. "Why did Frosty go to live in the middle of the ocean?"

Silence.

Gordon looked at his brothers. "Well?"

"We don't know, Gordon," John stated.

Alan agreed. "Why did Frosty go to live in the middle of the ocean?"

Gordon read the answer and burst out laughing."Because snow man is an island!" His brothers rolled their eyes as he unwrapped the final brightly coloured parcel. "What else have we got?" His face lit up. "A stink bomb!"

"No!" John exclaimed. "Take it off him quick!"

"Give it to me, Gordon," Virgil instructed, making a grab for the novelty.

Laughing, Gordon jumped up onto one of the seats and held the joke high out of Virgil's reach. "Make me!"

"Get it, Virgil!" John commanded. "Don't let him use it."

"I'm trying!" Virgil insisted; chasing his brother as Gordon bounded from one seat to another. "Help me, Alan!"

"Guys," Alan replied calmly from his seat where he'd been watching his brothers' escapades. "We're inside the Mole. It's an enclosed cylinder. He's not going to set it off in here because he won't be able to escape the smell either."

"Oh." Subdued, Virgil returned to his place at the life-support systems console. "I didn't think of that."

If he was going to admit the truth, which he wasn't, Gordon hadn't thought of that either; he'd simply been enjoying teasing his brothers. "Never mind, Virgil," he said magnanimously. "Would you like me to help you pull your cracker?"

Virgil, still disgruntled and feeling like an idiot, held the amusement out. "If this thing explodes in my face, Gordon..." There was a pop and the cracker split in two. Virgil picked up its spilt contents and pulled out a yellow paper crown.

"Put it on, Virg," Gordon insisted.

"I've already made a fool of myself once. Isn't that enough?"

"Nope," Gordon grinned. "Put it on."

With less than Christmas cheer, Virgil pulled the yellow hat onto his head and then unrolled the joke. "What does Santa get if he gets stuck sliding down a chimney?" No one attempted an answer. "Claustrophobia." Everyone groaned. "I see the jokes are up to their usual high standard this year... What's the gift?" He unwrapped it and brightened when several plastic pieces constrained in a plastic bag fell onto his hand. "A snap together model! I always loved these things."

"Come on, Virgil," John held out his cracker. "Help me pull mine." After the pop, the confetti and he'd retrieved his packet, he put on his violet paper crown.

"Very fetching, Darhling," Gordon teased.

John ignored him. "If athletes get athletes foot, what do astronauts get?" Mystified his brothers looked at him. "Missiletoe... These jokes get worse every year!" He unrolled the final part to the cracker and several sheets of stickers fell out. "Glow in the dark stars," he read and smiled. "Now that's one of the better gifts I've seen in these things... Your turn, Alan."

Alan was staring at his unused cracker, turning it over slowly in his hands. "Why do I get the feeling that I already know what's in here?"

"Huh?" John stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Look at what you guys got," Alan instructed. "Your hats all match your sashes, your gifts are all something that you, but not necessarily someone else, would get some enjoyment out of... And the jokes are all terrible..."

"No surprises there," Gordon chuckled.

"But they were all relevant to you or your interests," Alan insisted.

"Coincidence?" Virgil suggested.

"Before I open it," Alan held his cracker out to John. "See if there's anything on there linking it to me."

"You're giving me a case of the chills, Alan," John warned. He took the cracker and examined it closely. Then he compared its wrapper with the remains of his own. "I can't see any differences." He held the cracker out to his youngest brother. "Let's see what you've got."

There was a pop, a shower of confetti, and the parcel, tied up in ribbon, lay on the floor. Its exterior wrapping, the paper crown, was white.

The brothers stared at the innocuous parcel. "We have just entered the 'Twilight Zone'," Gordon stated.

"See what's inside, Alan," Virgil prompted.

"Okay..." Alan untied the ribbon and, after a moment's hesitation, donned the white hat. He read the joke and a smile crept onto his lips. "This one's not bad. How do we know Santa is such a good race car driver?"

"We don't know, Alan," John replied. "What's the answer?"

Alan chuckled. "Because he's always in the pole position!"

Gordon groaned. "Only a tarmac-jockey could find amusement in that one."

"What's the gift?" Virgil asked.

Alan unwrapped the final gift and held it up for all to see. "A toy car." He ran the red convertible across his hand.

"Has someone got a calendar?" Gordon asked. "I think we've traveled back in time from Christmas to Halloween!"

"...And still the world waits for news on the fate of the five children trapped in the Blaque Hill mine on the outskirts of the small town of Puzz. It has been over seventeen hours since International Rescue started the rescue. Seventeen long hours and there are those who are beginning to question whether or not it would have been quicker for local rescue services to use more conventional methods... I am joined by Bryce Fuller, manager of the Puzz mine... Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed, Bryce."

Bryce Fuller, clearly made nervous by the microphone jammed under his nose, mumbled "'Smy pleasure."

"Could you and your team of trained mine rescue specialists have reached those children before now?"

Bryce shook his head. "No. Just as International Rescue are doing, we would have had to dig. We don't have the digging equipment that they possess and, to a large extent, would have had to rely on manual labour."

"So you are happy with the way International Rescue are proceeding with this rescue?"

Bryce nodded. "I am. International Rescue does this kind of thing all the time. Our rescue team are fully trained, but don't have actual experience. They would have exposed themselves, and the children, to continuous danger all the time that they were underground."

"I understand that you and one of the men from International Rescue were nearly caught out by a rock fall earlier."

"Well..." Bryce prevaricated. "I wouldn't say 'caught out'. We were both aware of the potential dangers when we went into the mine. That's why he..."

"What's the mood like up in the marquee?"

"Pretty tense. We've got some worried families and friends up there."

"Do they have any concerns about International Rescue's methods?"

Bryce gave an emphatic shake of his head. "No! They are frustrated that they can't help and that they're not getting any news about their children, but they don't have any con..."

"Thank you, Bryce Fuller, mine manager of the Puzz mine located near the abandoned Blaque Hill mine..."

Bryce frustrated by the interviewer's abrupt manner and line of questioning, glared at him and then stalked away.

The interviewer turned back to the camera. "Over the past few years, we have become accustomed to International Rescue effecting rescues successfully and at high speed. But, the length of time that this rescue is taking has many observers wondering if perhaps this time will be one of those rare occasions when International Rescue will fail. Although infrequent, failures have happened in the past. The first, well publicised occasion was..."

"We know full well when that was..." Jeff Tracy snapped off the television set. "We don't need to be reminded!"

"Why does he want to repeat International Rescue's failures?" Tin-Tin asked. "We're doing our best. It's as if he's trying to make people believe we're going to fail."

"He's the sort who thinks the only good news is bad news," Grandma Tracy snorted.

"Don't worry about him," Jeff advised. "It's been a long seventeen hours, everything's happening underground, and they can't film International Rescue. They're trying to keep everyone interested in the story until something tangible happens. Isn't that right, Santa...?"

The videophone rang and Jeff answered it with as big a smile as he could muster. "Merry Christmas, Penny."

"Merry Christmas, Jeff. I thought I'd make a quick call to wish you and your family season's greetings before Parker and I take to the piste."

"That's right," Jeff recollected. "You're in Germany for Christmas this year."

"Courtesy of His Royal Highness the High Baran of Mikon. Dear Titch throws the most delightful parties."

"I can't imagine Parker taking much interest in skiing."

"I've given him the day off. I understand he's, ah, going to have a 'right knees up' with some of the lodge's off duty staff. Ah..." Lady Penelope looked off screen. "Here is Parker now. Would you care to wish Mr Tracy a merry Christmas, Parker?"

"Don' mind h-if h-I do." Lady Penelope's visage panned out of shot and Parker's face filled the screen. "Merry Christmas, Mr Tracy."

"Merry Christmas, Parker. Enjoy your day off."

"H-I h-intend to... H-I 'ear your not 'avin' much h-of h-a family Christmas."

"No," Jeff agreed. "But then, neither are those families we're helping."

"Jeff?" Lady Penelope's voice sounded concerned and the view shifted slightly so she was in shot with Parker standing at her shoulder. "Have your services been required?"

"Afraid so, Penny. Five kids trapped down a mine shaft. The boys have been crawling towards them in The Mole for the last seventeen and a bit hours and I'm not expecting to see them any time soon."

"Oh, dear. Well, if Parker and I can be of any help..."

Jeff chuckled. "I know, you'll be there quicker than Scott in Thunderbird One. No, there's nothing you can do. You and Parker enjoy the holiday and recharge your batteries so that you're ready when we do need you."

Lady Penelope smiled. "F-A-B, Jeff. Give our love to everyone and wish them all a merry Christmas, whenever you get to enjoy it."

"Thanks, Penny. I'll pass your message onto the boys when they get home."

"And we shall be simply glued to the radio until we hear they have been successful. Frohe Weihnachten, Jeff."

"Yeah," Parker agreed. "Fro-he Whynotin, Mr Tracy."

Jeff chuckled again. "Merry Christmas to you too."

Scott tried to suppress the yawn that threatened to split his face in two, and failed. He attempted to focus on one of the buttons on Mobile Control, but was disconcerted to see the silhouettes of two teapots hover side-by-side, merge into one, and then fly off past each other.

It wasn't as if he'd resisted sleep, on the contrary, now that his two 'helpers' had deserted him, leaving one of Bryce's two way radios, he'd taken the opportunity to try and have a power-nap of his own. He did consider sneaking away into Thunderbird One for half an hour, but couldn't bring himself to leave Mobile Control unattended.

So, here he was, trying to catch a few Zs on the fly. But it seemed that every time his eyelids grew heavy, every time he'd let his chin fall onto his chest, there'd be a beep from Mobile Control and a report that The Mole was reducing speed yet again.

It had been eighteen hours since they'd started this rescue and now it was beginning to feel as if they were going backwards...

Where Scott had failed, Alan and Gordon had succeeded; with the assistance of the slow-wave sleep generators.

Alan was driving along a long straight road. He could feel the wind in his hair, the sun on his face, and the thrill of the speed and power being unleashed by the scarlet convertible that was responding to the slightest twitch of his fingertips. Beside him, wearing a Sugar-Plum Fairy's outfit, which left little to the imagination and would never have graced the stage of any reputable ballet company, was Tin-Tin. He turned his face towards her and smiled...

Gordon's dream could hardly be described as more innocent than his brother's. He was at the point of unleashing his grandest practical joke ever. Involving a stink bomb, a FAB1 coloured Thunderbird Two with a pod full of feathers, the World President, a sack full of Gummi Bears, and an unsuspecting Ned Cook presenting his television show; this was going to be Gordon's pièce de résistance, his crowning glory: the Everest of all pranks! If the Tracy family had known what he had in mind they would have been trying to stop him, and if that failed, denying all relationships with him. Wrapped up in the buzz of pre-prank expectations, Gordon chuckled in his sleep.

John had deserted his post at the life-support systems console and had decided to stretch his legs with a few laps of The Mole. Now he stood between his brothers, looking down on the sleeping pair. "You know how I said that I was going to ask Brains to come up with something so that we could remember our dreams after being under the slow-wave sleep generators?"

Virgil turned away from the main console. "Yes?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

John indicated the sleeping twosome. "Look at their faces! I think there are probably some instances when it's better off not knowing."

Virgil grinned. "What do you think they're dreaming about?"

John bent down to examine his brothers closer. "Alan's probably doing something obscene to Tin-Tin and Gordon's..." Gordon chuckled again. "I don't think I want to know..." The buzzer sounded and John scooted back to his seat. He was sitting there innocently when the younger men yawned, sat up and stretched.

"Are we there yet?" Gordon asked.

"About three quarters of the way," Virgil replied. "Pleasant dreams?"

Gordon shrugged. "I can't remember. I think I was planning something." He frowned. "Something big!"

"I think I was going for a drive," Alan said. He picked up the car he'd won in his Christmas cracker. "I think it was in this."

An irritatingly familiar sound beeped from the main console and as one the four Tracys groaned. "If we go any slower," Gordon griped, "We'll be standing still. There must be something we can do. Maybe the ORB's too sensitive to vibrations. Just because it's picking us up, doesn't mean that we're going to bring the whole mine down on those kids."

"I'll ask Scott." Virgil opened up a communications channel. "Mole to Mobile Control."

"...Cobile... Montrol here."

Virgil frowned. "We've backed off another half point."

"... Right..."

"Have you got any sleep yet?"

The answer was evident in Scott's voice. "... Shleep? No... 'm 'kay."

"Are you sure?"

"...Shure..."

"Get some sleep, Scott."

"...Shleep..." Scott slurred again. "Mole won' le' me." There was a dry chuckle.

"We'll be okay for an hour, Scott," Virgil pressed. "Go and get some sleep in Thunderbird One..."

"...'m 'kay..."

"...Or, better still, use one of the beds in Thunderbird Two..."

"...Nno..."

"Scott!"

"...Mobile... Conrol... out."

"Scott..." Virgil grabbed at the disconnected microphone. "Scott!" He turned in his seat and looked at his brothers who had gathered around. "He's sounding tired."

"That!" John said with emphasis, "has got to be the understatement of the decade. One of us should have stayed up there with him." He sighed in frustration. "Well, it's too late to second guess that decision. But I wish he'd forget about us and the children and go and get some sleep."

"I tried to tell him that," Virgil said. "You heard me. He can be a stubborn as a mule when he wants."

"And he's worse when he's tired," Gordon agreed.

"Tell you what," Alan suggested. "I'm fresh..."

"We know," Gordon sniggered. "We keep on hearing complaints from Tin-Tin."

Alan ignored him. "Why don't I take the hoverjet and head back up? I'll man Mobile Control while Scott catches some Zs and then come back down again. The speed we're moving I won't hold things up much."

"Scott won't accept that idea," Virgil noted.

"He won't if we tell him," John responded. "But if he doesn't know until Alan gets there, what's he going to do about it?"

"So I'm going?" Alan asked.

"You're going," John confirmed.

"And if he complains, just remind him that we won't let him fly Thunderbird One home if he hasn't had enough sleep," Gordon said.

Scott sighed and sat back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, which he knew must be red from lack of sleep. As they closed a picture of Jenni Teeasi, standing on his chair, her face alight with the thrill of talking to the 'real' Santa Claus, came back to him.

When had he last seen such delight? Had he ever been that excited about meeting someone?

He remembered the days when his brothers had been children and believed in Santa. A vision of Alan was clearest. A young boy... about Jenni's age... his unruly mop of blonde hair and baby-blue eyes staring up at his big brother...

"Can we go thee Thanta, Thcotty?" This particular Christmas Alan could have been the inspiration for the iconic song, 'All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.'

"I can't, Alan. I was going to meet my friends."

"You pwomithed."

This was true, Scott had promised to take his youngest brother to see Santa in the mall 'sometime this week'. "I have homework to do..."

"Pleathe..."

"But, Alan..."

"Jutht quick. Pleathe, Thcotty."

It was that final 'Pleathe, Thcotty,' that always did it. Despite the fact that he'd other things he'd planned to do, despite the fact that his friends always teased him, 'did you enjoy sitting on Santa's knee, Scott?', it was always that beseeching mispronunciation of his name that weakened Scott's resolve. He'd find himself, yet again, down at the local mall, waiting in the queue with a whole lot of other excited kids.

But it was after they'd exited Santa's Grotto that had always been the best time as far as Scott was concerned. When, despite the fact that 'Santa's' beard wasn't real... despite the fact that 'Santa's' suit didn't fit properly... despite the fact that it obviously wasn't even the same man that it had been last time, Alan had always emerged overflowing with the excitement, the awe, thejoy of having seen the 'real' Santa Claus! He would then throw his scrawny arms around Scott and look up at him with his big, beaming, broken-picket-fence smile... "Thank you, Thcotty! You're the betht big bwother in the whole world!"

He hadn't always been the 'best' big brother, Scott reflected. Sometimes he'd been "the worst, most controlling, big brother in the world", occasionally followed by a screamed "I hate you!"

But now... Now that they'd been through all those difficult developmental periods in their lives... Now that they'd discovered their individual personalities, skills, quirks...

...Now it was possible to regard Alan as his brother, his team-mate, his equal, and his friend.

"Scott?"

Scott looked up at those eyes, still the same baby-blue, but the hair was less unruly and the teeth could only be described as 'perfect', thanks to a small fortune spent by their father. "Oh... Hi, Alan."

"You seem to be miles away."

Scott sighed. "...Years... would be more like it."

"Are you okay?"

Scott rubbed his tired eyes again. "Yeah... Why?"

"Because you haven't asked what the heck I'm doing here."

"Oh..." Then Scott frowned as realisation dawned. "What the heck're you doin' here?!"

Alan grinned as he placed his mask on the ground and swung the oxygen cylinder off his shoulders. "That's more like it. I'm here to relieve you while you get some sleep."

Scott waved a dismissive hand. "Don' need any shleep."

Alan snorted. "Not much you don't. Look at you! You're practically falling off your stool. We're wasting time. The longer we argue here, the further away The Mole's gets from the surface, the further I'll have to travel to get back, and the longer The Mole will have to shut down its motors so I don't get cooked. You don't want to hold things up." Scott gave a slow nod and Alan pushed home his argument. "And when we get to the business end of things you're going to want to be wide-awake and on the top of your game." He softened his voice. "Go on, Scotty. Nothing much is happening now and if anything happens that I can't handle I'll call you."

"Scotty..." Scott repeated thickly. Then he gave another tired nod. "'kay, Alan." He clambered to his feet and his younger brother replaced him at Mobile Control. He stood there, leaning on the console, swaying slightly.

Alan looked at him in concern. "The hoverjet's over there. I'll give you a lift down to Thunderbird Two, okay? Then I can put it on to recharge and run back; it won't take me long. I'll let the guys know that Mobile Control's going to be out of action for a short time."

Scott nodded.

He was barely aware of the trip down the hill to the great green transporter, or of Alan leading him into the rest area of Thunderbird Two. It was only when Alan started assisting him off with his boots that he managed to rouse himself. "No..."

Alan looked at him with a quizzical expression. "No?"

"I can handle that. You'd better get back."

"Are you sure, Scott?"

"I'm sure."

"Well..." Alan sounded reluctant. "Okay. How long do you want to sleep for?"

"Ah...Um..." Scott appeared to have trouble focusing on the question. "Half hour."

"Half an hour..." Alan entered three hours into the slow-wave sleep generator. "Right! That's done. Bring the hoverjet back for me when you feel up to coming back to work."

"Yeah..." Scott pulled off the first of his boots and dropped it on the floor by the bed.

"See you soon, Scott."

"See ya." The second boot formed an untidy heap on top of the first.

"I'll call you when you're due to wake."

"Thanks." Scott undid his belt, pulled off his sash and dumped them both on the boots. "Hey, Alan!"

Alan had just about made it out the door. "What?"

Scott was looking at him with an earnest expression. "Thanks for everythin'..."

"No worries."

"...Thanks... Thanks for bein' such a grea' brother."

"Huh?"

"I think I mus' be the luckies' big brother in the world."

"Ah... right," Alan said, nonplussed by what he was hearing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," leaving his boots and other paraphernalia where they lay, Scott stretched out on the bed, pulled a blanket over him, and slid a slow-wave sleep generator over his head.

"Pleasant dreams, Scotty."

Scott was having just that before the door closed behind Alan.

Chapter Seven

Marteen Batim stepped out of the shadows of Thunderbird Two. It was mid afternoon in Puzz, but already the shadows were growing longer. Ahead of him, wisps of gas and steam floating out of the entrance, was the gaping hole left by The Mole nearly twenty hours ago. Twenty agonising hours in which he'd felt hope slowly slip away. Twenty hours of waiting! Twenty hours of doing nothing!

He eyed up the hole.

He couldn't take much more of this.

He'd seen the International Rescue operative exit this hole on that strange machine that didn't appear to touch the ground. He'd seen that the operative had been wearing breathing apparatus.

He'd seen the operative escort Scott into Thunderbird Two.

He came to a decision.

"How was he?"

"He was that zonked," Alan said to Virgil's image on his watch as he ambled down Thunderbird Two's ramp, "that he was raving. He was going on about how lucky he is."

"He's lucky he doesn't make himself sick. He's also lucky Grandma didn't see him. If she did he'd have no chance of having a merry Christmas."

"I know. I asked him how long he wanted me to programme the slow-wave sleep generator for and the idiot said half an hour."

"Half an hour!" Virgil exclaimed. "Even in the SWSG half an hour won't refresh him!"

"I know," Alan said smugly. "That's why we won't be seeing him for another three..."

"Scott...! Scott...! Sco... Uh..." Bryce Fuller realised that the man from International Rescue that he was yelling at definitely wasn't the man he was expecting. "We need your help!"

Alan jumped off the ramp. "What's wrong?"

"It's Marteen Batim, one of the fathers of those children, he's gone after them."

"After them?" Alan stared at the man. "What do you mean? How?"

Bryce pointed ahead to The Mole's exit. "He went down there."

Alan didn't hesitate. "Shut down The Mole!" he ordered into his watch.

Virgil knew better than to argue about an order like that. "Shutting down."

Alan turned his attention back to Bryce. "How long ago? If he somehow manages to survive the fall and the heat of the jets, the exhaust gases will kill him!"

"He's one of the mine's fire crew. He took his breathing apparatus."

"What other gear did he have?"

Bryce thought quickly. "None that I know of. Kyla, that's his wife, tried to stop him, but he was determined that he had to do something."

"Okay, I'll go get him," Alan said, resigning himself to retrieving another body. "I want you to keep everyone well clear of the tunnel. Even if The Mole's not operational there's still going to be enough exhaust gas around the entrance to be lethal." He turned and ran back into the pod. Getting Scott wasn't an option. This was one rescue he'd have to do alone...

"Did you hear that?" Virgil asked his brothers.

"Idiot," Gordon said. "If the fall doesn't kill him then the exhaust gases will!"

"He's a worried idiot," John reminded him. "Truth be told, he probably hasn't had much sleep over the last 36 hours and he's like Scott, not thinking straight."

"Not thinking straight's right," Gordon agreed. "We can't move while they're in the tunnel. He's holding the rescue up, not helping it!"

"Well, since we're not moving," Virgil said. "How about you guys keep an eye on things?" He vacated his seat at the main console. "I want to have a word with Brains and see if we can work out some way of reducing The Mole's vibrations. We may as well see if we can get something constructive out of this enforced break..."

Alan had got together all the equipment he'd thought he'd need and was lugging it on a hoverkart towards the tunnel.

Descending the tunnel in the hoverjet was not an option in this situation. The machine was okay moving up and down the slope between ground level and The Mole, but if it ceased motion, gravity would take over and it would simply fall further down the hole, taking its rider with it.

Some of the abseiling gear fell off the hastily stacked hoverkart and Alan was replacing it when someone jogged up to him. Harri Teeasi held up his breathing apparatus. "I'm on the fire and rescue crew at the mine. Marteen's a friend as well as a colleague. Can I help?"

Alan knew a solo rescue would be difficult. "On the condition that you do exactly what I tell you."

"Deal."

"Good. Thanks," Alan acknowledged. He indicated the breathing apparatus. "Better put that on now." He dropped his gear and pulled his own oxygen mask over his head, before tuning the two-way radio to Harri's channel. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." Harri picked up some of Alan's kit. "Do you want this all over there?"

"Yep."

"Just how lethal is this gas?"

"Depends," Alan replied. "It becomes harmless upon contact with water. But in a concentrated gaseous form in an enclosed space... I wouldn't give you more than a couple of seconds."

"What are you going to do?"

"Abseil down to him," Alan explained. "And then pull him out. The big problem is that we don't know how far down he's fallen..."

"Are you sure he's fallen?" Harri asked.

"I'd practically guarantee it. The entrance is relatively flat, but then it drops away steeply. Remember we're trying to drill down 300 metres."

"I've got no chance of forgetting that," Harri said grimly. "Two of my kids are down there."

Alan was saved from formulating a suitable reply when there was a call from behind the cordon Bryce had set up. "Harri!"

Harri stopped. "That's my wife... She's got Marteen's wife with her..."

"It'll take me a little while to get set up," Alan said. "Go and talk to them. Tell the wife we're doing all we can."

Harri took a step towards the cordon and the abseiling equipment toppled off again. "But your gear..."

"Leave it here. I'll come back for it."

With a hasty apology, Harri dropped the equipment and jogged over to Jeanne who was trying to comfort a distraught Kyla. "It'll be okay, Kyla. International Rescue's on the scene. We'll get him. I promise."

"They haven't been successful so far," Kyla sniffed. "First Clive... Now Marteen... I don't think I can take much more."

"Shush, Kyla," Jeanne soothed. "Be careful, Harri... Please." She was looking grey and exhausted and he felt a measure of guilt at putting her through this extra strain.

"I'll be careful," Harri promised, and then crouched down so he was at his daughter's eye level. Jenni, clinging to her mother's legs, looked at her father with big eyes. "Look after your mother, Petal. I'll be back soon."

Jenni gave a solemn nod. "I know. Santa will bring Mr Marteen back."

"Oh, Jenni," Harri pulled her into a big hug. Then he stood and kissed Jeanne. "I'll be careful," he promised again. He tried to give a reassuring smile. "I'll be with International Rescue, remember."

Jeff Tracy looked at his watch. "It's been hours..." he reached out for the communications link that would connect him with Mobile Control. "No," he said, pulling his arm back and resting it on his desk. "Alan will think I'm checking up on him. That's the problem with him being the youngest; we tend to treat him as a child even though he's not. Do you think we'll ever stop doing that, Santa?" He looked over at his guest. "Santa?"

Santa Claus was staring into space again, seemingly caught up in another trance.

"Santa?" Tin-Tin enquired. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

There was no response.

Alan had entered the mouth of the tunnel and had guided the hoverkart until the floor started to dip away into the earth. At this point he shut down the hoverkart's motors, allowing it to sink onto the ground, and removed a large object, which he placed close to the edge of the precipice. Pressing a button detonated four small explosive charges and rods were fired into the ground, holding the object in place. Satisfied that it wasn't going anywhere Alan pressed another button and a pole extended upwards. The head of the pole unfurled revealing a lamp which switched on, bathing the surrounding area and the beginning of the downward shaft, in a white light.

Harri came running up. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "It's almost like daylight in here."

Alan was pointing something down the shaft. "There he is," he indicated a recumbent figure lying face-down about ten metres below. "Lucky we made a course correction at that point."

"Is he alive?"

Alan looked at a screen on the item in his hand. "Yes he is. He's a lucky man, he didn't land on his oxygen tank, at the very least that would have broken his back. I hope his mask has a good seal."

"What do you want me to do?" Harri asked.

"Put this on," Alan held out a harness, "and clip yourself to this line so you don't fall." He pulled out a short length of thin, strong wire from the immobilised object, which, now visible in the light, was revealed to be labeled with the legend 'SAVER'.

"Done," Harri said. "Now what do I do?"

"Control this," Alan replied, laying his hand on the 'SAVER'. "This is the Subterranean Abseiling Victim Escape Reel. It's easy enough to use. This line..." he pulled out a longer length of wire and clipped it onto his own safety harness, "and this safety line," he snapped it into place, making sure it was held securely, "are controlled by this lever. They work in tandem. If you need to operate just one line, flick this switch." He demonstrated. "Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. You have four additional lines to send down the equipment I'll need. Send down the first aid box first and make sure the gas-tent follows close behind."

Harri looked at the gas-tent. Whatever it was it was packaged in a box. "Okay."

"I'll go down and check on Marteen. When he can be moved I'll get you to send down the stretcher using all four lines. Okay?"

"Okay." Harri repeated and took a deep breath. He heard the oxygen whistle along the tubes of his breathing apparatus.

Alan withdrew an electronic device the size of a notepad from his pocket and slid a stylus out from the top. He held it out to Harri. "If I list his injuries and first aid, will you write them down? The medical authorities will need to know everything."

"Sure." Harri pocketed the 'notepad'.

"Any questions?"

"No."

"Right. Let's get started." Alan took up the slack of both of his lines and stepped over the edge. "Let me down slowly."

The descent was easy and Alan quickly reached the narrow ledge that supported the obviously injured man. "Send down the first aid kit."

"On its way."

Marteen was unconscious and unresponsive. Alan quickly felt along his body searching for sites of injuries. "Some broken bones here, but I don't think there's anything life threatening." He reached up and unclipped the first aid kit, placing it at Marteen's side away from the edge of the precipice. "Where's the gas-tent?" Looking up he saw it was already waiting for him. "Good work." He reached up, but before he unhooked it he pressed a button. The bottom of the box opened and clear plastic unfolded itself until it made a box of its own, long enough to cover a prostrate man and high enough to accommodate another, so long as he stooped.

Alan manoeuvred the gas-tent until it covered Marteen, then he shifted the package it had descended in so it sat on the ledge outside the unit. Finally he disconnected the abseiling wires. "Retract lines and connect all four to the stretcher, but don't send it down until I tell you."

Marteen's reply sounded hollow in his earpiece. "Understood."

Connecting a hose between the box and the gas-tent, Alan turned a timer switch until it read five minutes, then he slid under the gas-tent and fastened its base to the ground. He'd just finished completing the seal along the edge of the precipice when the timer finished counting down and the gas-tent began to fill with clean, clear oxygen.

"That's better," Alan removed his mask, leaving his radio microphone on. "It's easier to work without all that paraphernalia." He placed his oxygen mask on the ground in the corner of the gas-tent before turning his attention back to Marteen. "I'll immobilise him before I transfer him to the stretcher."

"Understood," Harri repeated, feeling redundant at this point.

Alan worked slowly and methodically. Once the injured man's neck had been immobilised he cut Marteen's breathing apparatus free and checked his head for injuries. "Probable concussion," he announced after noticing that pupil dilation in his eyes was uneven.

"Prob-a-ble con-cush-shon," Harri enunciated as he wrote in the 'notepad'. He was surprised to see 'concushon' replaced with a drop-down box and the words 'concussion', 'okay', and 'cancel' appear on screen. He tapped 'okay'.

"Open wound to left temple," Alan announced. "Still bleeding."

"Open - wound - to - left - temple," Harri repeated as he wrote. "Still – bleeding..." He stopped writing. "That doesn't sound too good."

"It's to be expected after a fall of this distance," Alan replied. "And head wounds always bleed a lot."

Working together they progressed down Marteen's battered body, Alan detailing injuries and treatment while Harri took copious notes. After a time the latter looked at his watch and then the gauge on his breathing apparatus. "I have a problem."

Alan concentrating on caring for Marteen's broken left arm, stopped. "What's that?"

"I'm getting low on oxygen. Do you think it's safe for me to take my mask off yet?"

"I wouldn't. Do you have a spare?"

"There's several back at the control centre."

"Go and get another one, plus an extra."

"But what about you?"

"We'll be okay here for a while; we're not going anywhere."

"Okay, thanks," Harri acknowledged. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"F-A-B," Alan replied absently, slipping an inflatable splint over the fractured limb.

"Ten... Nine... Eight..."

"What on Earth is he doing?" John asked.

"Six..."

Virgil, waiting for Brains to come up with some solutions, shrugged. "Beats me. I suppose we'll find out in a few seconds."

"Four... Three... Two... One..." Gordon looked up from his watch. "Happy December 26th, Fellas."

They stared at him. "What?"

"It's the 26th of December at home," he explained. "We've missed Christmas."

"Great," John moaned. "Now I'm nearly as depressed as those families."

Harri sprinted out of the tunnel and up towards the control centre. Several surprised faces stared at him as he burst into the marquee and started pulling oxygen cylinders out of their racks.

"Harri!" Kyla grabbed his arm. "Why are you here? Is Marteen all right? Have you got him out? Can I see him? Where..."

"Whoa!" Harri turned to face her. "Calm down, Kyla!" He grasped her by the upper arms. "Marteen's alive, but he's hurt. That guy from International Rescue is stabilising him so he can be shifted."

"Hurt...?" Kyla stared at him before her face crumbled into tears. "Marteen..."

"Kyla..." Jeanne and Enid came to their friend's aid; Enid placing her arm about Kyla's shoulders and leading her away. "Come and sit down."

Jeanne remained with her husband. "How is he, Harri?"

He looked over her shoulder at Kyla before lowering his voice. "He's not good, Hon. He fell about ten metres. He's unconscious. He's got cuts, bruises, broken bones..."

"What are you doing?"

"Lowering the gear down to International Rescue. I was running out of oxygen..." He gave his wife a kiss. "I'd better get back."

"Be careful..."

A male voice intruded into the conversation. "Can I help?"

Harri looked at his friend and colleague, taking in the sling, scratches and grazes. "I don't think so, Cal..." He picked up two oxygen cylinders and began walking out of the tent.

Cal caught him and held him back. "Don't try to stop me, Harri...!" There was something threatening in his manner.

"Look, Cal," Harri said, trying to sound soothing. "We're wasting time."

"We're wasting time? What about International Rescue? They've been down there for hours and they've done nothing!"

"Cal!" Harri hoisted the oxygen cylinders onto his shoulders and started walking. "You know why that is. You know you can't rush..."

"I know that my kids are down there and so are yours! I also know that if someone doesn't get to them soon they'll be..." Cal's voice broke and he looked away. "Tell International Rescue to hurry up, Harri." He looked back. "If you don't... I will..."

"T-The Mole shouldn't be p-producing that much vibration, Virgil," Brains said when he'd finished going through the printouts that had been radioed to base. "From your point of view, how h-has the ride been?"

"I haven't noticed any difference here in the cabin," Virgil replied. "Do you think something's shifted in the auger, throwing it slightly off centre?"

Brains nodded. "Not wishing to c-cast aspersions on y-y-your piloting abilities," he appeared to find something even more absorbing in the printouts, "b-b-but... I-I-I," he swallowed. "I-I wonder if s-s-some-how The M-Mole was j-jarred on l-l-landing."

Virgil's face remained impassive. He didn't like the insinuation that his piloting of Thunderbird Two had been with less than perfect precision. But he was also honest enough to realise that Brains didn't make statements like that without good reason. "I didn't have any problems with the landing," he said evenly. "And I don't remember it being rougher than usual..."

"I-I'm s-sorry, Virgil. I d-didn't m-mean..."

"Fellas?" Virgil called over his shoulder.

"What, Virg?" Gordon asked, climbing against the incline of the cabin to reach his brother.

"Brains thinks that when Thunderbird Two landed, something in The Mole could have been jarred out of place. Did you have any issues with the landing?"

Gordon opened his mouth to make a flippant reply and then decided that it wasn't the time for jokes. "Nope. And I've flown with you enough times to know if you'd done anything differently."

"No complaints from me," John called up from the main control unit. "Everything seemed fine."

"Take off?" Virgil asked.

Gordon shook his head. "Only the usual kick from the thrusters. Maybe The Mole wasn't secured as well as it should have been and it got knocked then."

"It seemed okay when I readied it," Virgil replied.

"We can deal with what caused the misalignment later," John said. "The question is: what do we do to rectify it now?"

Left alone in the tunnel bored only hours earlier by The Mole, Alan continued working on doing what he could to make Marteen comfortable. When the time came for transferring the victim to the stretcher he'd be doing it solo and he wanted the procedure to be as painless and simple for them both as it could possibly be. He finished bandaging Marteen's left arm and began work on the right.

Marteen's eyelids flickered and he moaned.

"Marteen?" Alan said quietly, shifting most of his weight onto his right leg so he could lean closer to the injured man's ear. "You're going to be okay. Just lie still and let me take care of you."

Marteen groaned and tried to turn his immobilised head.

"Keep still," Alan reiterated. "It won't be long now." He placed his hand on an unstrapped section of Marteen's arm.

One of a human being's most basic responses is known as 'fight or flight.' It's what sets your pulses racing, your body sweating and your nerves on edge when you perceive that you are threatened. Even a semi-conscious man is controlled by this instinct and may lash out to protect himself... Even if this means that the person they were 'protecting' themselves from was actually the person trying to help them...

Marteen, although constrained by Alan's braces, strapping and bandages, lashed out. Alan, already off balance as he tried to calm the injured man, had his right leg knocked out from underneath him causing him to fall against the wall of the gas-tent. Unable to withstand the sudden impact, the seal that held the gas-tent to the edge of the precipice and stopped gases from entering, gave way and Alan, with nothing to break his fall, found himself plummeting through the gap...

...Down into the poisonous gases from The Mole's exhausts...

...Down into a hole over 100 metres deep...

...Down into a black pit of death...

Chapter Eight

"I-I think that one of the annular bearing rings may have shifted position slightly, s-say by one-tenth of a millimetre," Brains hypothesised. "We will have to r-redress the balance."

John frowned, "But that'll mean that we've got to turn The Mole on again so we can align the internal entrances and we can't do that until Alan's got that guy out of the hole."

"And more time wasted," Gordon added.

"Not only that," Virgil mused, "we'll need to keep The Mole under power to facilitate the rotation of the gears. If we do that while someone's working inside the auger, then there's a chance that everything will start rotating of its own volition, trapping them inside."

"Or worse... with all those gears..." Gordon gave a dramatic shudder.

"Th-The only other option is to carry on as you are," Brains suggested. "It's ultimately your decision."

Everyone looked at Virgil. "What do you think, Virgil?" John asked. "You're the engineer."

Virgil stood. "I'll go get ready. As soon as we get the word from Alan that no one's in any danger I'll get the repairs underway...

Alan never knew how he did it, but as he plummeted head-first out of the gas-tent and down the tunnel burrowed by The Mole, he'd managed to snare a tenuous hold on the ledge that he'd been standing on. Now he was hanging on the edge of a precipice by his fingertips, holding his breath, and thinking frantically.

Calling for help wasn't an option. The way that his eyes and nasal membranes were stinging told him that one breath would be fatal. Besides, by the time someone lowered down one of the lines from the 'SAVER' he was pretty sure that he would have either lost his grip, consciousness, or in the case of the latter, both.

He had to save himself.

His gloves being torn to shreds on the rough surface left by The Mole, his face and arms covered with grazes from a wall that was as abrasive as sandpaper, he fought for a hold on life. Scrabbling for a grip on the tunnel wall with his feet, he managed to push himself up so that he was able to slip his arm under the lip of the gas-tent. Even now he couldn't rest: already his lungs were starting to burn.

Reaching out to get a firmer grip on something solid he felt around until he found a rock that jutted enough from the ledge for him to get some leverage. He pulled himself higher, sliding under the lip of the gas-tent; praying that he wasn't bringing those deadly gases in with him. His foot found purchase and he pushed himself further into the capsule of oxygen, falling roughly on top of Marteen Batim. After pulling his legs back inside his sanctuary, all the time fighting the red mist that was clouding his vision, he resealed the edge of the gas-tent.

Only then did he allow himself the luxury of a breath of air. He huddled on his knees on the ledge, lungs heaving as they dragged in the gases stored within this cocoon of life.

When the fire in his chest had ceased and he was seeing clearly again, he sat up and pulled some tissues from the first aid kit to wipe his streaming eyes and nose.

"Is everything okay down there?"

Alan almost jumped at the sound of Harri Teeasi's voice. "We had a slight hiccough," he replied, amazed at how normal he was sounding. "Nothing to worry about."

"Are we ready to pull Marteen out yet?"

"Nearly," Alan replied. "I'll just strap his legs together so he can't kick out. He regained consciousness briefly before..."

"Really!" Harri exclaimed. "That's great! Kyla will be thrilled."

Alan resisted an uncharitable: 'I'm glad someone will be'. He finished his last few chores in silence before donning his breathing apparatus. "Okay, send down the stretcher," he said as he reached into the first aid kit and removed a smaller oxygen mask and cylinder. By the time he'd attached this over Marteen's face and ensured it fit snugly over the injured man's mouth and nose, the stretcher was hanging just above the gas-tent. Alan snapped the first aid kit shut and then slipped out from under the gas-tent, before switching off the oxygen pump that was keeping it inflated.

Its work finished, the gas-tent collapsed slowly, Alan pulling it free so it couldn't cover Marteen like a shroud. "Lower the stretcher another metre."

From there on it was a comparatively simple matter to roll the patient onto the stretcher, clip the first aid kit and gas-tent on to one end to act as a balance, and harness himself to the other end closest to Marteen's head. "Lift us up."

Harri assisted the two men over the lip of the precipice and pulled the stretcher away from the edge. "Now what?"

"We'll put him on the hoverkart." Alan started to remove rescue paraphernalia off the transporter.

"But what about all this?" Harri asked.

"I'll come back for it," Alan replied. "Our first priority is to get Marteen to proper medical help."

Santa Claus blinked and then smiled at the concerned faces staring at him. Tin-Tin placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Are you feeling all right?"

Santa's smile broadened into a beaming grin and patted her hand. "Perfectly all right, my dear."

"You seemed to be in some kind of trance," Grandma stated. "You had us worried."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeff asked. "If you want I could get Brains to check you over."

Santa shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Jeff, but thank you for the offer. I was off to the aid of someone in trouble." He smiled again. "Santa doesn't need to be physically present in order to be of assistance to others."

The ambulance was waiting beyond the cordon, and Alan steered the patient through a crowd of people desperate for news on his well being.

"Marteen! Marteen!" Kyla pushed herself away from Enid and ran to her husband's side. "Marteen! Say something!"

"He's unconscious," Harri told her. "Let us get him into the ambulance. He needs help."

"You'd better go with him to the hospital, Kyla," Jeanne suggested. "He needs you."

Kyla hesitated, torn between the need to go with her husband as he sought medical help and her equally strong desire to remain close to her son.

"Go," Harri said gently. "We'll call you when International Rescue are nearly ready to rescue Clive."

Kyla turned bloodshot eyes to Alan. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything." She climbed into the back of the ambulance.

Now that the pressure was off, Harri turned his attention to the man from International Rescue noting his grazes and dishevelled appearance. "Just what was that 'slight hiccough'?"

Alan gave his assistant a wry grin. "Occupational hazard," he replied. "I'd better get my equipment so we can get this rescue underway again." He turned and, pushing the hoverkart, strode back to the edge of the cordon.

Until his way was blocked.

Cal Doak stood there. "How much longer are you going to be?"

"I'll be five minutes," Alan promised. "I've just got to get some equipment out of the tunnel." He pushed the hoverkart to the side so that he could steer it around the man with his arm in a sling.

The man with his arm in a sling blocked his path again. "That's not what I mean."

Alan, beginning to become irritated by the interruptions, frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The rescue of my kids!" Cal scowled. "How much longer is it going to take?"

"If we don't have anyone else taking foolish risks..." Alan began.

"Foolish risks!" Cal exploded. He indicated the departing ambulance, "Marteen Batim was trying to do what International Rescue seem incapable of doing... Trying to rescue five children!"

Alan drew himself up to his full height. "I can assure you, Sir, that we..."

"Your assurances are nothing: I want action!"

"We all want to get those kids out of the mine," Alan stated, working to control his temper. "Now if you will excuse me, you are holding things up..."

Their altercation had attracted the attentions of bystanders. "Cal," Harri said. "Let the man get on with his job."

Cal didn't appear to hear his friend. "I'm holding things up? You're the one worrying about bits of equipment!"

"Because if one of those 'bits of equipment' were to fall into The Mole's jet outlet, the resultant explosion would destroy this whole mountain!" Alan snapped.

"Cal, come with me," Harri pulled on Cal's uninjured arm.

Cal pulled free, but otherwise ignored Harri. "I'll ask you again, Mister International Rescue," he demanded. "How long is this rescue going to take?"

"It will take until we've got your children back to the surface," Alan replied. "Now, excuse me..." he pushed past.

"You don't have kids of your own, do you!?" Cal yelled after him. "You've got no idea what this is like! You've no concept!" he screamed. "My kids are in that hole and you don't care!"

Struggling not to react to the accusations and pulling on his oxygen mask, as much to block out the raging man's screams as to ensure he could breathe, Alan hurried the hoverkart to the entrance to the tunnel.

"Let me help you?"

Alan hadn't even heard Harri come up beside him. He managed a smile. "Thanks."

"Don't pay any attention to Cal," Harri advised. "He's worried. He tried to rescue the kids himself earlier and failed. That's how he got injured. He's feeling helpless."

"I can understand that," Alan replied. "I just wish people would understand that we're doing our best. We have two options open to us..." He hoisted the gas-tent onto the hoverkart. "We can either drill down at speed and risk the entire mine collapsing on them so they've got no chance of survival. Or we do what we're doing; taking it slow and steady. We want to get your children out alive too."

"I know," Harri admitted as he helped Alan swing the hoverkart around. "It's just hard, you know. Not knowing how they are. You don't realise how important your children are to you until you think you're going to lose them."

There was a beep and the slow-wave sleep generator slid back. Scott, reluctantly at first and then with more vigour as he remembered where he was and why he was there, woke up. He stretched and rubbed a chin, rough with the stubble of a beard.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge before reaching out for his boots placed neatly at its base. He slid the left one on and then took up the right. He was about to pull it on too when he noticed something poking up from its interior. Reaching inside he pulled out a Christmas cracker. He smiled and put the cracker in his pocket. "Nice touch, Alan."

He stood and checked the SWSG. "Three hours! The little..." Then Scott chuckled to himself: he'd been tricked, but he had to admit that it had been a trick for his own good. Now that he was fully refreshed he knew that thinking that half-an-hour would have been enough sleep was absolute folly. It was true that sleep depravation clouded your judgement.

After the briefest of washes, a very quick shave and a change into a clean shirt, Scott felt ready to face the fear and sorrow that awaited him outside of Thunderbird Two. He removed his sash and belt from where they were draped over a chair and deactivated the alarm that protected the rest of Thunderbird Two from intruders. Donning the sash and belt as he walked through the aeroplane, he strode out of Thunderbird Two.

"How are you feeling, Zoomer?" Santa Claus asked. Zoomer stood on the infirmary's bed, stretched, and then bounded onto the floor, showing little sign of lameness. Santa chuckled. "Ready to go outside are you?"

Zoomer looked up at him with big reindeer eyes and made a sound.

"I warn you. It's cooler in here. It might be night but it's still very hot outside."

Zoomer pawed at the door.

"All you'll have to cool you down is a water spray that Brains set up for the others. Rudolph's already discovered how difficult it is to get out of the swimming pool."

Zoomer pawed at the door again and then gave her master a beseeching look.

"Very well," Santa conceded. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Remember that we can't go home yet: I still have work to do." He grasped Zoomer by her collar and led her down the hallway of the Tracy's home. "We won't be leaving until this rescue is over..."

Alan collapsed into Mobile Control's command seat and allowed his eyes to close for a moment. They were still sore and he'd retrieved some eye drops from the first aid kit before he'd stored it in the pod. Not wanting to hold up the rescue any longer, he'd returned to Mobile Control with the idea that he'd insert the drops after The Mole was on the move again. But, the strains of the last couple of hours had taken their toll and he felt the need to gather himself together before speaking to his brothers...

"Hey, Alan."

Alan opened his eyes and looked up at Scott. "You're looking a darn sight better than you did before."

Scott frowned as he took in Alan's cuts, grazes, dirty clothes and bloodshot eyes. "And you're looking a darn sight worse. What's happened?" He saw the bottle in Alan's hand and took it. "Tip your head back," he instructed.

Not in the mood to argue, Alan complied. As the eye drops were inserted he explained all that had happened, including his brush with death. "I'm telling you, Scott, it was the weirdest thing... It was almost as if someone was helping pull me back into the gas-tent..." he waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know why I told you that bit. You don't believe in things like that."

"Don't be so sure," Scott handed back the eye drops and then sat on the edge of Mobile Control. "So we haven't moved at all while I was asleep?"

"Nope." Alan blinked, relieved that the drops appeared to be working. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise, it's not your fault." Scott gave his youngest brother an appraising look. "Do you want to stay up here while I go back down?"

Alan shook his head. "You're better suited to this job than I am. There are some worried people out there who want to know that the people who are rescuing their kids understand what it's like to be a parent. I can't even claim to be mother hen to my younger siblings! Besides," he gave his big brother a cheeky smile. "I'm getting more sleep down there than I would up here."

Scott chuckled. "Okay, Alan, point taken. And thanks for disobeying orders; you did the right thing."

"I thought so." Alan stood. "I haven't given the order to start drilling again yet. You might like to let them know you're back on deck. You can also tell them that I've already cheated death in The Mole's burrow once and I don't fancy doing it again, so they're to keep their fingers off the ignition switch."

"F-A-B," Scott acknowledged and reclaimed his seat. He felt something shift in his pocket. "Oh, yeah! Thanks for the cracker. Want to pull it with me before you go?"

Alan, who was nearly at the entrance, turned back, his face expressing some unknown emotion. "Cracker?"

"Yes. The one you left in my boot."

Alan stepped closer, his eyes on the red, green and silver cracker in Scott's hands. It looked oddly familiar and he felt a chill go down his spine. "I haven't touched your boots since you told me not to help you."

"Pull the other one. It plays 'Jingle Bells'."

Alan was shaking his head. "I didn't touch your things. You'd dumped them on the floor and I left them there."

"Come on, Alan," Scott's laugh rang hollow. "You must have put it in there when you tidied up."

"Honest, Scott." Alan spread his hands in a gesture that spoke of his need to be believed. "I got you to Thunderbird Two, tried to help you with your boots, you told me to leave, I programmed the SWSG and left. That's it!" He suddenly looked concerned. "Maybe I forgot to turn the alarm on?!"

"No, I turned that off before I left the sleeping quarters," Scott reassured him. He lifted the cracker closer so he could examine it. "So who tidied my things and left this?"

"You weren't sleepwalking were you?" Alan suggested.

He saw a moment's alarm in his brother's eyes before Scott dismissed the idea. "I've never seen this before and the SWSG's not programmed to operate at a level that allows anything except full, deep sleep." He frowned at the cracker.

"I... I wasn't going to tell you this," Alan said. "But someone left the four of us crackers, just like that one, in The Mole too. None of the guys knew anything about them so we were blaming Brains. But if that's the case how did it get into your boot? He's still at home! And what made it really weird was that, although we each chose our crackers at random, we each ended up with something we appreciated. Mine was a car, Gordon got a stink bomb, Virgil's was a snap-together model, and John's got glow in the dark stars. And our hats matched our sashes."

Scott stared at him. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not," Alan said earnestly.

They both stared at the innocuous novelty.

"Do you still want to pull it?" Alan asked. "I should be getting back."

Scott, not sure what to believe, shrugged. "May as well." He held it out. "Merry Christmas, Alan."

"Merry Christmas, Scott." There was a bang and the cracker split in two, spilling its pale blue contents onto the ground. "This day is getting stranger and stranger..." Alan mused, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. "But I'd better get a move on." He wrote on the page before folding it in two and gave it to his brother. "I'd almost guarantee that what I've written on there is what you've got in that." He pointed at the cracker's contents. "You can tell me if I'm right when we get home... See you."

"Later, Alan..." Scott heard the hoverjet hum into life. He switched on the microphone. "Mobile Control to Mole."

It was John who responded. "Mole here. How's 'Rip Van Winkle' feeling now?"

"Awake enough to keep you on your toes," Scott replied. "I hear you've had a quiet three hours."

"Yes," John replied. "We haven't heard from Alan since he tucked you up in bed."

"Believe me, he's had an exciting time," Scott said. "I'm sure he'll tell you about it when he gets back down there. He's on his way now."

"F-A-B. We weren't planning on moving any time soon anyway. Brains has come up with an idea to reduce the vibrations The Mole's causing, which'll hopefully give us more speed when we start drilling again."

"What's Brains' hypothesis?"

"He thinks something's off plumb with the annular bearing rings and we, that is Virgil, is going to try to fix it." John gave a grimace. "I don't think Virgil appreciated the suggestion that it was his fault..."

Scott stared at the video monitor. "Virgil's fault! Why?"

The grimace morphed into a wry expression. "Brains suggested that perhaps Thunderbird Two's landing wasn't as smooth as it might have been."

Scott gave a low whistle. "I bet that went down like a lead balloon."

"Virg hasn't said anything, but yeah, I don't think he was impressed."

"And was it?"

"Was it what?"

"Virgil's fault."

John laughed. "I think you'd better get another hour's shut-eye. Of course not. At least Gordon and I don't think so."

"So how is Virgil going to fix the problem?"

"Climb inside the auger and make some adjustments."

"What...?" Scott didn't like the sound of this plan. "That's a bit risky. He's going to have to enter through the cabin hatch while The Mole's 'alive'."

"You know Virgil, he doesn't take unnecessary risks. He wouldn't attempt this if he didn't think he could pull it off."

Scott grunted. Virgil's idea of what constituted an 'unnecessary risk' was riskier than most ordinary people's. But then, he reflected, the same could have been said of any of the members of International Rescue. It was the reason why they'd been successful more often than not.

But still, his insides squirmed at the idea of his brother working in close proximity to all that machinery that ground one piece of metal against another.

"Any instructions?" John asked.

"Negative. Keep me informed of developments."

"F-A-B." John signed off.

Scott realised that he was alone on Christmas Day again. He picked up the remains of his Christmas cracker and looked at the pale blue package. He began to unwrap it.

The outer wrapper fell away revealing itself to be, as expected, a paper crown. Declining to put it on, Scott folded it up carefully and pushed it into his pocket. Then he unraveled the riddle. "If a plane full of passengers heading home for Christmas crashes on the border between the US and Mexico, where do they bury the survivors?" He chuckled. "That one's got more whiskers than Santa Claus on it. They don't." In good humour he unwrapped the gift. A tiny aeroplane, a spring and a suction cup fell out. Taking a moment to enjoy the frivolity of it all, he screwed the spring into the underside of the plane and then attached the suction cup to the other end. Then he stuck the suction cup to Mobile Control and gave the aeroplane a flick with his finger. It wobbled cheerfully.

Deciding that Christmas was over, he turned his attention back to Mobile Control's console. His eyes fell on Alan's piece of paper and, curious, he opened it.

I predict that the gift will be a plane, and the joke will be to do with flight.

Scott felt a chill chase down his spine.

"Santa's gone into a dream again," Grandma announced as she watched their visitor. "There must be someone else needing his help. I wish International Rescue could do that, then maybe the boys could have stayed home for Christmas."

"You're only saying that because you're tired," her son remarked. "Go to bed, Mother. It's after midnight."

"I'm not going to bed until you go to bed, Jeff. And that won't be until we know that those repairs to The Mole have been completed successfully. Am I right?

Jeff had to concede that she was right...

"Ready, Virg?" Gordon asked, his hands full of various bits of equipment.

They'd swung a section of bulkhead away from the auger to get to the area of operations. Virgil eyed up the closed hatch in front of them. "Yes... As soon as Alan gets here."

"Alan's here," John called from the other end of The Mole as he admitted his youngest brother. "What the heck happened to you?!"

"I'll tell you later," Alan said. "What are you going to do?"

"Reduce the vibrations," Virgil told him. "I'll do some recalibrating."

"Take a seat, Alan," John suggested. "We can handle this. Whatever it is you've been doing it looks pretty messy."

"It was," Alan admitted. Glad of the chance to relax he sat on one of the passenger seats.

"Mole to Mobile Control," John said into the microphone. "Alan's on board. All clear to start engines?"

"F-A-B. I'll keep radio communications to a minimum so you can concentrate on what you're doing, but I want you to keep me up with what's happened."

"F-A-B." John fired up the mighty machine's motor. The four Tracy men watched as the section of the drill bit that was visible rotated until a hole lined up with the hatch. Then John locked the brakes in position. "Holding."

"Okay," Virgil acknowledged. "Wish me luck everyone." He crawled into the cavity.

"Here're your tools," Gordon called down the chute. "Got them?"

"Yep." Virgil disappeared from view.

His brothers waited ten minutes before John grew impatient. "How's it going, Virgil?"

"I need tool kit three," Virgil responded.

"I've got it," Gordon ran down to the maintenance bay. He returned a short time later with the required tool box. "Here." He leant into the cavity. "Can you reach?"

Later it would take hours of analysis to work out precisely what happened in the space of a couple of seconds. All the Tracys were aware of at that moment was a warning noise from the main control unit, a screech of metal on metal, and the auger slamming back into position.

Gordon, who had been still leaning down the chute, was thrown the length of the cabin before crashing with a sickening thud against the far wall. He crumpled to the floor.

"Gordon!" Alan raced to his brother's side. "Answer me!"

John, knowing that one brother was being tended to, turned to look for the other.

Of Virgil there was no sign...

Chapter Nine

"Gordon!" Alan skidded to a stop at his brother's side. "Are you all right!?"

Gordon gingerly sat up. "Ow...! My head!" he reached around to where his skull had impacted against The Mole's bulkhead. "That hurt!"

"Here, let me look," Alan offered, gently probing the site of the injury. "You haven't broken the skin, but you're getting a lump there." He shifted position so he could look Gordon in the eye. "How do you feel?"

"I'm going to be sore all over," Gordon admitted. "But apart from that I feel fine. I'm only seeing the Milky Way instead of the whole universe." He tried to blink away the stars. "You didn't have to throw me so hard."

Alan pulled an icepack from out of a first aid kit. "Huh?"

"I appreciate you pulling me out, but did you have to do it with such ferocity?"

Alan frowned, concerned by what the accusations could mean. "What are you talking about?"

"You pulled me out of the drill before it clobbered me." Gordon winced as the cold of the icepack was applied to his head. He closed his eyes.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"Gordon," Alan's concerns for his brother's health were growing. "I was sitting on the seat, there. Don't you remember?"

"I remember you were there when I climbed in," Gordon recollected. "But you must have pulled me out. John was operating the main controls, so he couldn't have done it. It had to be you." He opened his eyes and looked at his younger brother. "Wasn't it?"

Alan shook his head. "No. I didn't leave that seat until you went flying past me."

"I'm sure I felt someone grab me and pull me out!" Gordon insisted. "If it wasn't you, and it wasn't John, and we know it couldn't be Virgil, then who..." His face blanched. "Virgil!"

Both men looked down to the other end of the cabin, towards the brother who was standing there... alone.

John, mouth dry, eyes wide, was staring at the bulkhead. It could hardly have been described as a blank wall, but it still told him nothing. Somewhere behind that almost impenetrable barrier, caught up in the various bits of machinery, was his brother. Trying to keep visions of potential injuries to a minimum he worked his way through scenarios and solutions, trying to find the most painless, least messy answer to what seemed to be an insurmountable problem.

"John!" He was hailed from the radio. "What's going on?"

John, relieved to hear their rescue co-ordinator's voice, grabbed at the microphone. If anyone could come up with a workable solution, it would be Scott. "We've got a problem."

"I guessed. I've got Virgil on his wristwatch telecom talking to me in Morse code."

"What? What did he say?" John glanced at Alan and Gordon who had come to stand beside him, the latter holding an icepack to the back of his head as his brother supported him.

"S. OK. V. Save O2. What's going on, John?"

John didn't have time for chat. "Can you patch him through, Scott?" John waited a moment and then spoke again. "Virgil! Are you okay?"

There was a moment's pause and then a series of raps were heard from the speakers. "O.K. How G?"

Gordon leant closer to the microphone. "I'm all right, Virgil." He straightened again, and knocked away Alan's assisting arm. "I'm okay!"

John took control of the microphone again. "I'm going to open the chute..."

"NO!" Virgil's voice was loud and clear before he reverted back to Morse. "Save O2. Fix Mole first. Talk soon."

John responded with a reluctant, "F-A-B." He turned back to his brothers. "We're waiting again."

"Okay, John. While we're waiting you can tell me what's happened," Scott ordered.

John gave him a brief run-down of events. "How much air will he have in there?"

Gordon had discarded his icepack and was already entering some figures into a computer. "Going by the specs for the interior workings of the auger, and the amount of free space in there... I'd give him about twenty minutes, depending on whether or not he's lying to us and he's injured."

John looked at his watch. "I'll give him five. Then I'm calling him again."

"Of course if he holds his breath he'll have longer," Alan suggested. "But it's not the easiest way to work," he added, remembering his own scare from an hour earlier.

Verna Obale entered Scott's sanctuary, noticing the way that he was hunched over Mobile Control. "Is there a problem?"

Not wanting to go into details, he kept his explanation short. "We're trying to improve the efficiency of The Mole."

"Oh..." she replied. "Tricky?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Scott ignored her and looked at his watch. "That's five minutes, John," he muttered.

On cue he heard John's voice through Mobile Control. "Virgil, I want you to count backwards from five."

If Virgil was exasperated by the instruction, there was no hint of it in his voice or delay to his response. "Five, four, three, two, one."

"Good. I'm calling you again in five minutes."

The radio went silent again.

"Ah..." Verna hesitated, unsure if it was a good time to interrupt. "I was wondering if you would like something to eat?"

Scott looked at her. Food wasn't something he'd allowed himself to give much consideration to in the time that he'd been in Puzz. He'd munched on a few energy bars, but they couldn't compare to the full Christmas dinner that he knew was waiting at home. "I wouldn't want to put anyone out."

She smiled at him. "You won't be. We've had mobile caterers on site since four-o-clock."

Scott hesitated. He was hungry, but food wasn't a high priority while his brother was in danger and the rescue was going nowhere. "Would you mind if we waited twenty minutes?"

Verna's smile broadened. "I'm sure that won't be a problem. I'll bring you something then."

Scott managed to smile in reply. "Thanks."

John looked at his watch again. "Five minutes." The radio frequency was opened. "Virgil..."

His question was anticipated. "Five, four, three, two, one."

Gordon laughed. "He's okay."

Time dragged on. As the twenty minute deadline grew closer and closer John shortened his schedule, and instead, his eyes glued to the clock, started requesting reports every minute.

The responses were getting notably slower.

"Virgil... Count back from five."

"Five... Four... Three... Two, one."

The minute hand ticked around again.

"Virgil... Give me another countdown... Virgil!"

"Five... ... Four... ... Free... Two... One."

"How much longer will you be, Virgil?"

"Close... H-Hot..."

"Virgil," those in The Mole's cabin heard Scott's voice. "I'm giving the order to open the chute."

"No... Close... In way..."

"Get out of the way!" Scott barked. "Now!"

"O-One more... Done..."

"Are you clear, Virgil?" John demanded.

"Cle..."

John didn't wait for the word to be completed. With a "Get ready!" he slammed down on the button that rotated the auger out of position. "Get him!"

Alan was already halfway up the chute. His fingers closed around blue material and he pulled backwards. He felt Gordon drag him by the legs and then reach up beside him to assist. Between them they grabbed Virgil's arms, pulling him clear of The Mole's dangerous mechanical workings and out into the cabin. They carried him over to one of the beds.

"Get some oxygen into him," John ordered, seeing his brother's unnaturally red complexion, an early warning sign of carbon dioxide poisoning.

The fresh, clean gas had an almost immediate reviving effect, and Virgil's brown eyes looked up at three worried faces. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" John checked. "Take it easy for a while."

Virgil tried to sit up and was held down by Alan and Gordon. "I'm fine!" he insisted. "Let's get this rescue underway again."

"You can lie there while we do," John instructed. "We won't need your help in the short term... Alan, do you want to take over the life-support console?"

"Sure," Alan slipped into the seat. "I'm ready."

"Can you hear me, Scott?"

"I can. He's okay?"

"He'll be fine. Keep an eye on the readouts from the ORB. I'm going to fire The Mole up."

"F-A-B."

Scott watched the readout that was their main link with the children at the bottom of the mineshaft. "No vibrations reported."

"Increasing speed by point two..." John pressed forward on the accelerator. "How's that?"

"No change."

"Increasing..."

"No change..."

"Increasing... That's the speed we were at when we had to stop..."

"Nothing showing up. Keep going..."

By now Virgil had divested himself of his oxygen mask and was sitting on the edge of the bed watching proceedings. He received a congratulatory pat on the back from Gordon.

"Increasing..."

"No change..."

"Still increasing..."

"Still no change... It's incredible what a difference that repair has made."

"Half speed..."

"Take it easy, John," Scott warned. "I think I picked something up then. Increase by half a point."

"Increas..."

"Whoa! Back off one point... There, that's your sweet spot in the short term. Well done, fellas! I'll let base know we're proceeding at speed."

Gordon held out his hand to Virgil. "Congratulations," he said solemnly as they shook. "You must be the first person ever to be swallowed whole by a mole and survived."

Virgil grinned, his mood buoyant after the successful repair. "It can't have been hungry. It spat us both out." He stood and stretched and walked over to the main console to check the readouts.

John, glancing back over his shoulder frowned. "You're limping! Are you hurt?"

"No," Virgil lifted his foot so his brothers could see the sole of his boot... or where it had been. "I guess The Mole has a taste for shoe leather."

"Boy, you were lucky!" John exclaimed. "I was imaging having to scrape you off bits of metal."

"You nearly had to," Virgil admitted. "I was right in the path of the gears when The Mole kind of shoved me out of the way, just as the whole thing shut down."

Alan twisted around in his seat to fix his brother with a querying look. "The Mole 'kind of shoved you'? How do you mean?"

"Well..." Virgil said slowly as he thought. "The gears had almost grabbed my leg when something shunted me into the void." He rubbed a bruised shoulder and then noticed a graze on the back of his hand. "It sure packed a wallop!"

"Almost as if someone had pushed you out of the way?" Alan asked.

Bemused by the question Virgil frowned. "Well... I suppose you could describe it that way... Why?"

"Because the same thing happened to Gordon and me."

"Hang on, Alan," John exclaimed. "What do you mean the same thing happened?"

"Gordon told me that someone pulled him clear and that's why he flew across the room. Except that none of us were anywhere near him!"

"Alan!" Gordon complained as he received worried looks from his elder brothers. "You're making me sound like I'm more nutty than one of Grandma's Christmas cakes!"

Alan resisted the temptation to agree with him. "I had the same thing happen to me topside." He told his brothers about his narrow escape. "I'd almost swear on Thunderbird Three's maintenance handbook that someone helped me up. But the only other person there was Marteen, and he was in no shape to help, plus I'd strapped him up so he couldn't move... mostly."

"I'm getting that Christmas cracker feeling again," John admitted, turning back to check The Mole.

"And how about those kids?" Alan asked. "Scott hasn't reported any changes to the ORB's readings. So, either that means that it's not working, or it's picking up a constant signal from something..."

"And the only organisms within range likely to give off a signal as strong as that are five children," Virgil mused, trying to make sense of the evidence. He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "But that's impossible...! Isn't it?"

"As impossible as the three of us being helped to safety when no one's about?" Alan asked. "And Scott didn't seem to be willing to disbelieve me when I told him. D'ya think that he'd experienced something similar when he nearly got caught by that cave in?"

"He'd never admit it," Gordon asserted. "He'd try and convince himself that it was just his super fast reflexes."

"Well," Alan said. "I'm beginning to think that we're getting help on this rescue... And I'd hazard a guess who from..."

Santa Claus stood and stretched. "Well, now that we know that all is well, if my host will permit me, I think I might retire to bed. It might no longer be Christmas Day on Tracy Island, but it is late."

"Good idea, Santa," Jeff agreed. "And I might do the same. I'll tell Scott to let me know when they're about to make the final push to rescue those children."

"You'll come and get me when you get word?" Santa asked. "You never know, I might be of service."

"Sure," Jeff replied. "Hopefully from now on it'll all be plain sailing."

"Sailing? Underground?" Santa let out a belly laugh. "The mind boggles."

Jeff chuckled.

"Are you ready?" Verna poked her head through the entrance to where Scott was working.

"Yep!" He gave her a broad smile as she entered carrying a foil-covered plate. "Good news! We've managed to get some more speed out of The Mole. Things should be happening soon..." He caught a whiff of something warm and fragrant and his spirits lifted even further. "That smells great!"

Verna lifted the edge of the foil. "Roast ham and vegetables. There's pudding later."

Scott's mouth watered as he removed the foil and the aromatic steam rose. "My compliments to the caterers."

"Well, it is Christmas Day. They're making that little extra effort," Verna replied. She watched him savour his first bites. "Do you realise that the caterers will have 'by appointment to International Rescue' printed on all their stationery?" She smiled. "I'll leave you to enjoy your meal and I'll come back later with your dessert."

Scott already enjoying what was, after so many hours, a feast, swallowed hastily. "Thanks."

Verna beamed at him. "You're welcome."

"...And the world waits breathlessly for the news of the fate of the five children trapped in the old Blaque Hill mine in the town of Puzz."

"We know that," Grandma scolded the television set. "Tell us something we don't know!"

"We'll know before anyone else." Jeff glanced away from the TV towards his mother. "Scott said he'd radio through when they were getting close..."

"Base from Mobile Control."

"Speak of the devil," Santa chortled.

Jeff had the radio link open faster than you could say 'Merry Christmas'. "What's the situation, Scott?"

"All good. They're nearing stage two. I've told the locals they can listen in, and I'll keep the link open on one-way so you can hear what's going on." Scott heard an excited babble nearing his shelter. "I'd better sign off before someone hears your voice."

"F-A-B, Scott. We'll be listening to every word."

"Reducing speed," Gordon's voice announced. "We're in line with the cage... now!" He applied the brakes and, apart from its auxiliary motors, The Mole was stilled.

Scott was no longer alone in his shelter beneath Thunderbird One's undercarriage. Bryce Fuller and Verna Obale, the Teeasis, the Doaks, and the mine workers who had helped earlier were all waiting impatiently. Kyla Batim was there too, having been summoned from her vigil at Marteen's bedside.

Scott's full attention was on Mobile Control. "That's good, Gordon. Start boring."

"Start boring?" Bryce asked. "I though they'd just stopped."

"Obviously The Mole can't get too close because of the risk of further cave ins," Scott explained. "So they've stopped ten metres away, but parallel to the cage. Now they've got to use a laser borer to drill a half-millimetre diameter hole. Once that's done they'll increase the diameter of the hole a millimetre at a time. When it's ten millimetres in diameter then we'll send a microphone across to try to pick up signs of life. What we find will determine how we proceed from there."

"Do you think there's any chance of them being alive?" Jeanne asked.

With all the assurance of an innocent five-year-old, Jenni looked up at her mother. "Santa will look after them. He told me he would."

Wishing that he had the little girl's confidence, Scott attempted to supply a more realistic answer without dashing anyone's hopes. "They've been underground twenty four hours. We don't know their condition or the conditions of their surroundings and we won't know that until we've got the mike in there. We can only wait."

"We've penetrated," Gordon announced. "Widening hole."

Harri put his arms about his wife and daughter and held them close. "The suspense is killing me."

"Hang in there, Harri," Bryce replied placing a hand on his employee's shoulder. "It won't be long now."

"Two millimetres," Gordon said.

"Eight to go," Enid breathed.

"Three millimetres."

Cal held up his uninjured hand, his fingers roughly three millimetres apart. "It's got to go from this..." he pulled his fingers further apart. "To this... How long will it take?"

"Four millimetres."

"Not long by the sounds of it," Don Subish said.

It didn't take long, but it seemed an age to those waiting impatiently in the makeshift shelter. Finally they heard the words they'd been waiting for. "Ten millimetres. We're sending down the microphone." There was a pause. "Well... I guess this is the moment of truth..."

"Patch it through to here on one-way, Gordon," Scott instructed. "We want to hear every sound and I want a readout of every signal."

"F-A-B." Another pause. "Switching on receiver."

There was a breathless silence beneath Thunderbird One. Even the winds appeared to sense the gravity of the situation and had died down.

Scott stared at the readouts he was receiving from below ground. He could not believe what he was seeing... It was impossible... Not after 24 hours...

The voice from underground broke the silence. To Scott's ears, trained for years to interpret the nuances of his brothers' speech, Gordon sounded just as disbelieving. "This is International Rescue," he announced. "Can you hear me?"

There was an excited clamour of childish voices over the radio. Eventually the racket died down enough for a single voice to be heard. "International Rescue! For real? Minty!"

Gasping in shock, Enid put her hand to her face. "That's Steffen! He's alive! Cal! Steffen's alive!"

Cal's face was wreathed in smiles. "I know, Honey. I heard him."

"For real," Gordon was responding to the youngster's query. "Is anyone hurt? Is anyone, ah... not moving or seems to be in a really deep 'sleep'?"

"I'm thirsty," Steffen complained.

"I'll bet you are," Gordon said. "Don't worry; we've got some special drinks waiting for you when we get you out of there. How's everyone else?"

oHHH

"Darrell's hurt his arm," a girl said.

"Tara!" Harri exclaimed. "Jeanne! Did you hear her? It's Tara! But where's Liam?"

"I know what you mean by 'really deep sleep'," Tara continued on, "But we're all alive."

A cheer went up above ground and Scott found himself caught up in an exuberant hug of joy. "Oh..." Blushing furiously Verna backed away, realising that she'd just hugged a virtual stranger. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"That's okay." Scott winked. "I couldn't wish for a better Christmas present."

"Can I join International Rescue when I grow up?" Steffen was asking. "I want to fly Thunderbird Two!"

"We'll see," Gordon laughed. "Her pilot might have something to say about that. Now, I'm going to switch on a light. It's going to get brighter slowly. Let me know if you want me to stop."

Jeanne grabbed Scott by the arm. "Can we talk to them? I need to hear Liam's voice. I want him to know we're here!"

Scott shook his head. "I'm sorry, but not yet. They're calm now and we want to keep them calm. If they panic they might bring everything down on top of them."

"Not even a 'hello' or an 'it won't be long'?" she pleaded. "I want to tell them I love them and I miss them."

"I know you do, and I'm sorry," Scott apologised again. "I know you've waited a long time but I promise you we're beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Please be patient for a little while longer." He turned back to his microphone. "John. See if Gordon can get each of them to say something without worrying them. Their parents want to hear their voices."

John must have relayed the message, because those above ground could hear Gordon speaking again. "Now, let me see if I've got this straight. There's five of you, right?"

There was a chorus of "Right!"

"Who's youngest?"

"Me," Steffen replied. "I'm six."

"Who's got the closest birthday?" Gordon asked.

"I'm going to be nine in two weeks," Laim said proudly. "I'm going to have a big party."

Scott glanced over to Jeanne in time to see her close her eyes in relief and relax back against her husband.

"Who's the bossiest?" Gordon asked.

"Tara," Liam announced. "She's my big sister."

"Liam! I am not," Tara complained.

"Yes, you are. You're bossier than Darrell."

"No, she's not," Steffen declared. "Darrell's bossier."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"Don't worry about it, guys," Gordon suggested. "They'll always be bossy. Mine still bosses me about, even at my age." Scott listening closely, fought an impulse to make a flippant remark in reply. "Who's the cleverest?"

"Me!" came the reply and there were chuckles from the adults listening in.

"Hiya, 'Me'. Do you have another name?"

"Clive!" Clive replied. "My teachers all say that I'm the smartest in my class."

"Do they," Gordon replied. "I have a puzzle for you then. What do you have in December that you don't have in any other month?"

"Oh, oh! I know!" Liam chanted. "Christmas!"

"No," Gordon replied. "Try again."

"Hanukkah," Clive suggested.

"Nope. Try again." There was silence. "Do you give up?"

There was a three part chorus of, "Yes."

"Are you sure you've given up?"

"Yes."

"Really, really sure?"

"Yes!"

"Really, really, really sure?"

Scott smiled. That was Gordon. Endearingly irritating.

"Tell us," Clive demanded.

"The letter 'D'," Gordon supplied

One of the younger children burst out laughing as the adults groaned. Scott shook his head. "Sorry, everyone. That's about his level of humour."

"Who's oldest?" Gordon was saying.

"Darrell," Steffen replied.

"We haven't heard much from you, Darrell," Gordon said. "Is your arm very sore?"

There was a pained "Yes" in reply.

"In what way is it sore? Does it hurt to touch?"

"Yes," Darrell ground out. "Looks funny too."

"Well, hang in there, Pal. We'll have you out of there as soon as we can. We've already started drilling a hole towards you... Who wants to hear some more jokes?"

"Me!"

Bryce looked at his watch. "10.05pm. Do you think you'll have them out by midnight?"

Scott checked his own chronometer. "We're not going to rush unnecessarily, but if nothing goes wrong it's possible."

"Thanks." Bryce grinned. "I'd better let the outside world know." He spoke into a radio. "They're all alive..." He'd opened his mouth to continue when a euphoric roar was heard from the marquee.

"Someone's happy," Don said dryly.

"Bce," the radios squawked. "This is Tre of the Wrld Nes..."

"What?" Bryce shouted into the radio.

The owner of the voice raised his voice to make himself heard over the raucous noise. "How are the children? Do we know if any of them are hurt?"

"Darrell, the 13-year-old boy, appears to have hurt his arm," Bryce replied, and then had to yell to repeat himself."

"Badly?"

"We don't know..."

"...And so, the townsfolk of Puzz are hopeful that they may yet receive the Christmas present they've been praying for all day. Word from International Rescue is that they will have them out of the mine before Christmas day is over..."

"That's not what Scott said you idiot," Grandma told the TV set. "Listen! He said that they might be out by midnight, depending on how things proceed."

"Calm down, Mother," Jeff told her. "You know how these journalists are."

"I know they're a bunch of idiots," she retorted.

Santa Claus burst out laughing. "A journalist once asked me to what I attributed my long life."

She favoured him with a bright smile. "What did you tell him, Santa?"

"That I had had a long life because I was born centuries ago." Santa's belt buckle rode up and down as he laughed.

Scott glanced out through the transparent sheet that looked down over Thunderbird Two. Next to the trolley The Mole had originally been transported on, some people had erected floodlights and appeared to be assembling some scaffolding. Concerned he turned to Verna Obale. "What's going on?"

"The media want to capture the moment when the children are reunited with their families," Verna explained. "But we don't want to compromise your security. When your 'Mole' returns to the surface, then the children can exit it behind the screen and come out to meet their parents. It's a win-win situation."

Scott had his doubts about the plan, but appreciated the effort that was going in to ensuring that everyone's interests were taken into account. Besides, it was Christmas! Just... It couldn't hurt just this once.

"How's the drilling going, Virgil?" John asked.

"We're kicking up a lot of dust and some of it's making its way into the mine shaft," Virgil replied, his attention on the readout from the larger drill that was boring its way through the barrier between them and the trapped children. They had already bored another hole through with the laser and the larger, mechanical drill was following this path. "We're going to have to drill another hole to extract the dust so the children don't breathe it in."

"I'm onto it," Alan said, settling at the controls. Minutes later two holes of the required size had been pushed through the rock. "Sending down extractor tube and oxygen feed."

In the dim light that lit up their prison, five children huddled. Tara had removed her sweatshirt and was in the process of wrapping it around Darrell's injured arm. The younger children were still enjoying Gordon's jokes.

"What do you call a gigantic polar bear?"

"Dunno," Liam replied. "What do you call a gigantic polar bear?"

"Nothing," Gordon replied. "You just run away!" The children laughed.

"I know I would," John muttered.

"What is black and white and found in the Sahara Desert?" Gordon asked.

"Tell us," Steffen begged.

"A very lost penguin." Gordon laughed along with the children's giggles. "What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?"

"Oh! Oh! I know!" Clive exclaimed. "Frostbite!"

"Well done," Gordon congratulated. "Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters...?"

At that moment Alan's vacuum pump started sucking dust from the inside of the mine shaft, while at the same time another pump replaced the extracted air with clean oxygen.

"What's that noise?" Steffen whimpered, his eyes wide.

"What noise?" Gordon asked, concerned by the fear in the young boy's voice.

"Something's whistling... It's a flute! It's the ghost! The ghost of the mine...!"

"No, Steffen," Gordon soothed. "It's not a ghost..."

His words were lost as the other children picked up on Steffen's anxieties. "It's the ghost! He's playing his flute!"

"No..."

"He's going to get us!"

"No, it's not a ghost..." Gordon tried to calm the five youngsters, but panic had set in.

"Don't want to see the ghost!"

There was a scream. Scott, listening with visions of success being ripped from their fingers within metres of victory, opened up the radio link. "Alan! Shut down the vacuum!"

"Shutting down."

"Calm them down, Gordon!"

"I'm trying! They're not listening to me!"

Panicked voices were still filling the airwaves.

"I'm s-scared!"

"Marda!"

"It's going to take us away!"

"I want to go home!"

"I don't want to see the ghost any more!"

"I want my Marda and Parda."

"Don't like it here!"

"Help me!"

Over the screams and tears Scott turned to face some fretful parents. "This is where we need your help. Enid, you're Steffen's mother. See if you can calm him down..."

"All right." Enid stepped closer to Mobile Control. "What do I say?"

"Anything that you know will calm him down... Gordon," Scott ordered. "Patch us through."

"F-A-B."

Scott indicated the microphone. "You're on."

"Steffen..." Enid croaked into the microphone. Then she cleared her throat. "Steffen... Darrell... Can you hear me...?" There was no response. "Stef-fen... Dar-rell..." she cooed. "Listen to me." Hesitantly at first and then with more assurance, she started to sing a local Christmas carol.

"Quiet..." the radio said. "Can you hear something? Listen!"

Enid continued singing and the sounds of panic started to fade away.

"W-Who's there?" a child asked.

"Stef-fen... Dar-rell... Can you hear me?" Enid repeated. "It's Marda."

There was a big sniff. "Marda?" Darrell whimpered. "Is that you?"

"The g-ghost scareded me," Steffen added.

"It's all right, Steffen. There are no ghosts. Isn't that right, Darrell?"

"My arm hurts, Marda." They could hear a quiver in the eldest boy's voice.

"I know, Sweetheart, and I wish I could kiss it and make it better. As soon as International Rescue get to you they'll help you."

"Is my Marda there?" Tara asked.

"I'm here," Jeanne replied. "I think you and Liam are being very brave."

"I'm scared too, Marda," Liam sniffed.

"Don't be scared, Liam," Jeanne cajoled. "It won't be long and we'll see you again."

"Am I being brave, Mrs Teeasi?" Clive asked.

"You're very brave," Kyla said. "You all are."

"Marda!?" Clive sniffed. "I miss you and Parda."

"And we miss you. We love you." Kyla said. "We'll see you all very, very soon."

Apart from an occasional sniff, the mine shaft was silent.

"I'm sorry that the whistling scared you," Gordon apologised to the trapped children. "It's not a ghost. It's one of our machines taking all the dirt out so you can breathe. You can't hear it now, can you?"

"No," Tara admitted.

"Now, in a moment my friend is going to turn it on again," Gordon continued. "I want you to all listen to it." He nodded at Alan, who flipped a switch. "Can you hear the whistling?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't sound like a flute, does it?"

"No."

"There's nothing to be frightened of, is there?"

"No." The quiet voice belonged to Clive.

"Good. Now where were we? Who can remember my last joke?"

"Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters?" Tara asked.

"Tara's asked the question, does anyone know the answer?" Gordon asked. "No...? They both drop their needles. What's the..."

In the chilly air of a pre-midnight Christmas day, Bryce Fuller groaned. "Is this guy ever going to run out of corny jokes?"

"Knowing Gordon, probably not," Scott admitted. He grinned at Bryce's exasperated face. "You think this is bad? Consider yourself lucky. You don't have to work with him. He's diabolical when he's let loose!"

"You have my deepest condolences." Bryce gave the man from International Rescue a conciliatory pat on the back. "Putting him underground must seem like a dream come true!"

Scott laughed.

The drill broke through.

"Light! Look, Darrell. There's a hole! I can see light through the hole!" Tara exclaimed. "We'll be out soon."

Darrell groaned in pain, unwilling to move.

Clinging to the cage's framework, the three younger children crowded closer to the beacon to freedom; frustratingly beyond an iron barrier and stretching away from them.

"There you are, John." Alan held a laser out to his brother.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why me? I don't remember discussing this."

"Because you're the scrawniest of us all," Alan informed him.

John pulled himself up to his full height, inches above that of his brothers. "I am not scrawny, Runts. I am sinewy." He reached into a cupboard and pulled out his caving overalls and a harness.

"You're a bean-pole," Alan said. "And at the moment we need someone with the physique of a stick insect to climb through that tunnel. You're the man for the job."

"Bean pole. Stick insect," John muttered as he got dressed. "I'm just as strong as any of you guys," he protested. "Once we're finished here I'm challenging each and every one of you to any contest of strength you can dream up." He held out his hand. "Where's that laser and the jacks?"

Alan gave him the tools. "Be careful," he said, now serious. "We've been lucky up till now, but I don't want to stretch Santa's generosity too far."

"If you'd said that twenty-four hours ago I would have been trying to find a nice white jacket with extra long sleeves to give you as a Christmas present," John said as he checked the laser. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good luck, John," Virgil said.

"Good luck, John," Gordon echoed. "Hang in there, kids. There's a man coming down the tunnel. He's going to cut the cage so you can get out. It won't be long now."

Even with John's lithe body, the tunnel they'd carved through the ground was still a tight squeeze. The ten metre crawl, pushing his tools in front of him, seemed to take an age, but at last John was at the end and face-to-face with five grimy children. They were in a space that gave them room to move, but not to stretch out. "Hiya, Kids."

"Hello, Mr International Rescue," Clive said.

"That's a mouthful," John replied. "You can call me John."

"Can I call you John too?" Steffen asked, his eyes gleaming.

"You can," John grinned.

"Which Thunderbird do you fly?"

"Technically I don't 'fly' my Thunderbird," John informed the excited six-year-old. "I'm usually in charge of Thunderbird Five."

"Oh." Steffen seemed to lose some of his enthusiasm. "The space station."

"It's an important part of our fleet," John explained as he readied the laser. "If it wasn't for Thunderbird Five we wouldn't have found out that you were stuck down here."

"I guess."

John could imagine his brothers laughing at the conversation. So what if Thunderbird Five wasn't as glamorous as the other craft: she still performed a vital role in the organisation. And John was proud of her. "Right," he said, trying not to sound too disgruntled at the perceived slight against his beloved satellite. "I'm going to place these two jacks here..." he wedged each of the tools on either side of the tunnel entrance, "...so that when I cut away this ironwork everything can't collapse on top of us." He extended the jacks so they were braced against the rock ceiling above them. "Now, I want you all to turn around and not look at the laser while I'm cutting. I'll tell you when you can turn back..." He put on a pair of safety spectacles. "Shield your eyes."

Tara put her arms over the heads of the two younger boys, forcing them to look away. John grinned. "We've got a female Scott here," he thought as the blue light of the laser filled the chamber with an eerie glow.

"How's it going, John?"

"No problems, Gordon," John replied; trimming the base of the ironwork so that it was free of sharp and jagged edges. "Coupla minutes should do it."

With no way of disposing of a complete section of cage, John cut the side of the frame up into smaller bits that were able to be disposed of easily. The last piece fell away. "There! That's it! You can look around again."

"Can we leave now?" Liam asked.

"In a moment. How's your arm, Darrell?" John looked at the boy who wasn't looking very happy.

"Okay."

"Do you think you can crawl through the tunnel?"

Darrell gave a reluctant nod.

"Good. We'll start with the youngest and work our way up to the oldest, okay?" John explained. "So that's Steffen first. Then Liam..."

"Then me!" Clive interrupted.

"That's right," John chuckled. "Then Tara, and finally Darrell. Does everyone understand?" Everyone understood. "Good... Come on, Steffen. You can help push me backwards down this tunnel."

Steffen wasn't much help, but Alan and Virgil were, pulling on the straps that were attached to John's harness. When they were able to reach John's feet they grabbed him and pulled until he popped out of the tunnel like a cork. "That gives me a whole new appreciation of what it's like to be a worm," he said, stretching.

"Wow!" Steffen was standing, blocking the tunnel entrance, gazing about him in awe. "Is this The Mole?"

"It is," Virgil guided the youngster away to the passengers' seats so Liam had room to slither out of the tunnel. "You wanted something to drink, didn't you, Steffen?" He gave him one of Brains' reviving tonics. "This will make you feel better."

Steffen appeared to be more interested in checking out The Mole. "It's not as big as I thought it would be."

"It's a lot bigger on the outside," Virgil told him. "Upsadaisy!" He lifted the boy onto one of the seats and strapped him in for the return trip.

Steffen slurped at his drink. "Yum! Strawberry!"

Virgil frowned. Brains' concoction was tasteless. "Strawberry?"

Steffen downed the liquid and then held out his cup for more. "What Thunderbird do you fly?"

"Thunderbird Two." As he handed the child the refilled cup, Virgil was treated to a look of awestruck admiration and couldn't resist glancing over to see his elder brother's reaction. John remained poker faced.

"Wow! Can I see her?"

"Wouldn't you rather see your parents?

"I guess... Then can I see Thunderbird Two?"

Virgil laughed. "We'll see."

"Here's a drink for you, Liam." Gordon held out a cup of the flavourless revitalising liquid.

Liam took it eagerly and downed it in one sitting. "Can I have some more?" he asked. "I like chocolate."

"Chocolate?" Gordon refilled the cup.

"Mine was strawberry flavoured," Steffen boasted.

Gordon and Virgil shared mystified glances.

Liam was staring up at Gordon in adoration. "Tell me a joke."

"Okay." Gordon dismissed the mystery of the multi-flavoured drinks from his mind. "What's the best thing to put into a Christmas cake?"

Liam screwed up his face in thought. "Ummm... I give up."

"Your teeth..." Gordon buckled a giggling Liam onto one of the seats.

Clive was assisted out of the tunnel by Alan. "Tara's not coming."

Alan stared at the boy. "What? Why?"

"She says she's not leaving Darrell and he doesn't want to move."

Gordon got back on the microphone. "Tara, please crawl out."

"No, Darrell's hurt and I'm not leaving him."

"Do you want to crawl out first, Darrell?" Gordon asked. "We want to get you both out in one piece."

"My arm hurts."

"I know," Gordon admitted. "Does it hurt too much to move?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to have to go back in," John sighed. He gestured to Gordon to give him the microphone. "Tara, this is John. I'm going to have to give Darrell some first aid, but there's not enough room in there for the three of us. You're going to have to crawl out before I crawl back in."

They could hear a whispered conversation coming out of the speakers before Tara spoke again. "I'm coming."

"Thanks, Tara. I'll go back in as soon as you're in The Mole." John handed Gordon the microphone and waited by the tunnel entrance. A short time later Tara's head poked out through the hatch, and she was assisted into the cabin. "See you soon."

"John's on his way, Darrell," Gordon told the injured boy. "He'll be there to help you in no time. Do you know any jokes?"

"No."

"How about this one? What's the most popular wine at Christmas?" There was a quiet sniff, but no reply. "Darrell? Do you know the answer?"

"No."

"Do I have to eat my Brussel sprouts?" Gordon whined and Liam cracked up. "Ah, a fan."

John reached the end of the tunnel. Full of children, the damaged miners' cage had seemed tiny. Empty apart from a very wretched boy, it still looked small. "I'm not sure I can fit."

"What are you going to do then?" Gordon asked.

"My best," John pulled himself forward, for once in his life wishing he wasn't so tall. Somehow, feeling like a piece of origami, he managed to fold himself in the cage in such a way that he was able to look at Darrell's injured arm. "It's broken," he said. "A greenstick fracture by the looks of it. I think an inflatable splint will hold it still until we get you to proper medical help." He gave Darrell a reassuring smile, and was rewarded with a timorous one in reply.

The inflatable splint did a lot to help Darrell's confidence, and when he realised that the pain was at a more bearable level, he became almost cocky again. "How're we gonna get out?"

"Shuffle," John replied. "We'll shuffle about until you can climb out. "I'll follow you... Gordon..."

"Yes, John?"

"I'm going to undo the straps. They're going to be more of a hindrance than a help." John undid the fastenings that attached the straps to his harness. "Right, they're free. Pull them out." His link with The Mole slithered away down the tunnel. "Okay, Darrell. Let's move."

They developed a kind of shuffling rhythm. Darrell would slide around a couple of inches, stop, and then John would follow until he couldn't move any further and Darrell had to start sliding again. Eventually the boy reached the tunnel's entrance. "I can get out now."

"Good," John grunted, dying for a stretch. "Off you go."

Keeping his injured arm clear of all obstacles, Darrel rolled into the tunnel and started crawling. As he tried to gain traction his foot pushed against one of the jacks, knocking it out from where it was supporting the roof. John grabbed at it, but his cramped position meant that his constrained fingers didn't even make contact.

As the rumbling sound above his head reached a rapid crescendo, and dust and debris started pelting down on him, all John could do was cover his head with his arms and hope that Santa's generosity extended as far as him...

Chapter Ten

People were crowded around Mobile Control, waiting for that moment when the nightmare they'd endured for the last 24 hours would end. They waited... Listening...

"Come on, Darrell. You're nearly there..."

The crowd held its collective breath.

"That's it... Give me your good arm and I'll help to pull you out..."

The air was thick with the suspense of waiting.

"Welcome aboard The Mole. How are you feeling?"

"My arm's sore."

"Let me..." The rest of the sentence was obliterated by the cheer that roared out above ground.

"He's okay!" Cal grabbed his wife with his good arm and swung her around. "Our boys are safe! They're both okay!"

"I can't believe it!" Enid exclaimed, somewhat breathless from her unexpected spin. "My babies are alive! Oh, Cal! They're coming home!"

Harri wrapped his arms around Jeanne and planted a kiss on her which a tough miner like him would normally have only given when they were alone in the privacy of their own home.

Kyla, was trying to make herself heard on her mobile phone. "Tell my husband that the children are all safe! That's right! They're safe! All of them! Tell Marteen that Clive and I will be seeing him soon!"

The mayor of Puzz and the manager of the Puzz Mining Company, temporarily forgetting their animosity towards each other, embraced; thrilled by the sheer joy of the moment.

"I told you Santa would look after them," Jenni insisted, but no one was listening. The adults were all caught up in the wave of euphoria that spilled out of the temporary shelter and into the nearby marquee.

All except for one person.

Verna Obale was the first to realise that the man from International Rescue was not joining in their celebrations. Instead he was hunched over Mobile Control, his ear close to the speakers as he struggled to hear the conversation that was going on below ground. "What's wrong?"

Bryce Fuller saw the intensity in Scott's posture. "Is everything all right?" he asked and then, realising the problem, turned to the ecstatic group. "Quiet!" he yelled. "Be quiet everyone!"

Slowly the hubbub died down as, first curiosity, and then concern filtered through the assembly.

From Mobile Control's speakers, not panicked, but definitely stressed voices could be heard.

"John! Can you hear me?!"

"How much damage is there to the tunnel?"

"I can't tell..."

"John! Answer me!"

"...There's too much rubble in the way. Gordon, don't worry about getting him on the radio, it's probably damaged. You look after the kids. Get Darrell fixed up and we'll get John."

"F-A-B, Virgil."

"Do you want me to climb down there?"

"Get suited up, Alan. Just in case. I'll contact Scott."

"What's happened?" Harri asked. "Has something gone wrong?"

Scott indicated the monitor that had previously been showing the ORB's readouts. The screen was blank. "There's been another cave in."

"Are the children okay?" Cal asked.

Scott suppressed the briefest flare of anger. To heck with the children! What about my brother? "They're fine," he responded with no hint of his frustrations. "They're all safe in The Mole. We've lost contact with the operative who went in to get Darrell." The console beeped and he turned his back on the parents, needing to be able to concentrate on his own family's troubles. "Scott, here. How bad is it, Virgil...?"

"Oh, no... Please, no..." Jeanne whispered to no-one in particular. "Not now... They've done so much..."

"Hush, Jeanne." Harri held his wife close, feeling her body start to shake, as the strains of the last 24 hours took their toll. "He'll be okay..." He looked over her head towards Mobile Control. "He's got to be!"

Back at International Rescue's base, all but one of the island's inhabitants were on their feet. They'd heard every frightening word that had been picked up by Mobile Control, without the interference Scott had received from jubilant locals.

"Jeff! Is he okay?" Grandma exclaimed.

"I don't know, Mother. Let's hear what Virgil has to say."

"Santa!" Tin-Tin turned to the elfin man. "Is John all right? Can you help him?"

Santa Claus, staring off into space, did not respond.

"Mister Claus appears to assisting someone," Kyrano hypothesised. "Perhaps it is Mister John."

"I h-hope so," Brains stuttered. "This is n-not, er, the Christmas gift the Tracys would w-want to receive th-this year..."

"Calling, Mobile Control... Calling, Mobile Control... Come in, Scott."

"John!" Scott pounced on the microphone. "Are you okay!? What happened?"

"I'm okay... I think Santa Claus has been keeping watch over me too."

The profound sense of relief was too much for Jeanne. She burst into tears and had to be comforted by her husband. "Shush, Darling... He's all right..."

Jenni nodded knowingly. "See, Marda. I told you Santa would look after him."

Jeanne gave her daughter a hug. "You did, Darling," she sniffed. "I should have listened to you."

John, curled up in the fetal position, couldn't remember having ever been less comfortable... Or feeling more fortunate. The huge boulder that had fallen, grazing his arms as he protected his head, was now acting as the prop that was keeping most of the rest of the rubble off him. He was very aware that if his saviour had fallen a millimetre closer to his unprotected body, the outcome would have been totally different.

In the dim light of his torch, via his wristwatch telecom, John continued to talk to his brothers. "There's a big rock blocking the tunnel that doesn't appear to be supporting anything. If you can get rid of that somehow, I should be able to slide out. My head's right next to it."

"Are you sure removing it's not going to bring more rubble down on top of you?" Scott asked.

"I'm kind of curled around the one that's the main support. So long as we don't shift that one I think I'm safe."

"I'll crawl down the tunnel and attach a line," Alan offered. "Maybe then we'll be able to pull it out."

"Won't work, Alan," John replied. "I found it a struggle getting down here. You'd find it impossible."

"I'll climb down!" Clive offered. "I'm smaller than you."

"Thanks for the offer, Pal," Gordon smiled down on the eleven-year-old. "But we've just rescued you once. We don't want to have to do it again."

Clive stuck his chest out. "I won't need rescuing again!" he asserted.

"Your parents are probably listening," Alan informed the boy. "I don't think they'd be too happy with us if we let you put your neck on the line."

"They can hear me?" Clive asked. "Let me help International Rescue, Parda! Please, Marda, I can do it. You know I can!"

There was a brief pause and then a female voice seemed to materialise out of nowhere. "Clive, listen to those men."

"But, Marda...!"

"I want you safe. I need you to come home safe and your Parda needs you to come home safe too. Do you understand?"

Downcast, Clive responded with "Yes, Marda."

"'Sides," Steffen said. "I'm the one going to join International Rescue, not you!"

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. You're too little."

"Yes, I am. Gordon said I could! Isn't that right, Gordon?"

"Boys!" Gordon shushed them. "Be quiet! International Rescue members don't argue."

His two brothers shared a disbelieving glance before Alan leant closer to Virgil, whispering so he couldn't be overheard. "He must have hit his head harder than I realised."

"How close are you to that rock blocking the tunnel, John?" Scott was asking.

John felt above him. "I can fit my fist between the rock and my head..." he replied. "Just."

"Is your face towards or facing away from it?"

"That's with my face pressed up against this dirty great big boulder!"

"Okay, John," Scott soothed. "Hang in there. We'll soon have you out. We'll try vaporising the blockage."

"Sorry," John apologised. "But I'm not very comfortable at the moment. Vaporising sounds like a good idea."

Virgil heard his brother's plan and started preparing one of the lasers. "I won't try to break right through, John. I'll reduce the rock's size so it's small enough for you to push out of the way. Are you happy with that?"

"At the moment, if it meant me getting out of here any quicker, I'd be happy with you planting a stick of dynamite and blowing the thing up."

"Ohhh. Pyrotechnics!" Gordon enthused winking at his brothers. "Let me at 'em!" He went to some of the storage cabinets at the far end of The Mole and pretended to search through them.

"On second thoughts, I think I'd prefer Virgil's laser."

"John..." Gordon pretended to be gutted. "That's not fair. I'd only make it a little explosion. Not too loud." He froze, seeing something unexpected. "What's this?"

Alan, going through the neighbouring cabinets for further equipment of genuine use for John's rescue, heard a note of disbelief in his brother's voice. "What's what?"

"This?" Gordon pulled out a box. In contrast to the utilitarian greys, reds, and browns and the occasional splash of rescue orange and yellow that made up The Mole's colour scheme, the box was a brightly coloured affair. Gold and silver stripes shimmered amongst the green and red.

"It's pretty," Tara exclaimed. "What does the label say?"

Gordon turned the box so he was able to read the aforementioned label. "From Santa Claus..." He looked at Alan. "Why aren't I surprised?"

"What's inside?" Alan asked.

Gordon opened the parcel. "Christmas crackers... Five of them..." He smiled at the five children. "It looks like you're starting your Christmas celebrations underground." He held out the mystery package and allowed each of the children to select a cracker. Even Darrell, who'd been playing for sympathy, was eager to claim a novelty. There were a series of pops and squeals of delight.

Alan and Gordon wandered back over to where Virgil was still calibrating the laser. "I'll keep the kids occupied," Gordon whispered. "You guys can concentrate on helping John."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied.

"Gordon!" Liam exclaimed as the man from International Rescue sat beside him. "What do you get if you cross Father Christmas with a duck?" he read.

"I don't know, Liam. What do you get if you cross Father Christmas with a duck?"

"A Christmas Quacker!" Liam burst out laughing.

Gordon laughed with him. "That's a good one. Who else has a riddle?"

"Me! Me! Me!" Steffen held up his hand. "What's red & white and red & white and red & white?"

Gordon chuckled. "Tell me, Steffen."

"Santa rolling down a hill!"

Gordon groaned. "That's terrible!"

"My turn," Clive enthused. "Who is never hungry at Christmas?"

"Well, it's not my big brother," Gordon said. "Who?"

"The turkey, 'cos he is always stuffed."

"I was wrong. It is my brother."

"Can I say mine, Gordon?" Tara asked.

"Go for it."

"What do penguins and polar bears ride?"

Gordon's forehead frowned in thought. "Let's see. Penguins and polar bears... Both animals that live on ice... But they live in different Poles... I give up."

"An ice-cycle!"

"That," Gordon stated, "is definitely Christmas cracker standard. What's your joke, Darrell?"

Darrell, moving gingerly so he didn't bump his injured arm, shifted position so he could look at the man. "Umm," with difficulty he unfolded his riddle. "What kind of motorcycle does Santa ride?" A small smile crossed his face.

"I thought Santa rides in a sleigh," Gordon said.

"He should fly in a Thunderbird. Right, Gordon!" Steffen stated.

"Better in than on," Gordon agreed, trying to suppress a smirk. "Anyone know the answer to Darrell's riddle?" No one did. "Tell us, Darrell."

"A 'Holly' Davidson!"

The children, along with Gordon, roared with laughter.

"Sounds like they're having fun," Virgil said to Alan.

"Hey, Alan!"

"Bother," Alan whispered, suppressing a groan. "I'll try to keep them looking elsewhere." He stood and walked over to the group of children. "What can I do for you, Steffen?"

"Which Thunderbird are you in charge of?"

"Thunderbird Three." Alan felt a sense of pride swell up inside him as he saw how awestruck little Steffen became when he heard the name.

"Thunderbird Three!" The six-year-old squeaked. "That's my favourite!"

"A rocket ship?" Gordon scoffed. "Come on, Steffen. All Thunderbird Three does is act as a taxi between base and Thunderbird Five!"

"It rescued the Sun Probe," Clive remembered.

"And then had to be rescued from Earth," Gordon reminded him. "Right, Alan?"

Alan glared at his brother. "Only because we had to go closer to the sun than we thought we would originally. Thunderbird Three was still strong enough to withstand the sun's rays. Right, Gordon?"

"Right, Alan." Gordon couldn't resist a smirk.

Alan couldn't fail but notice. "If you'll excuse me," he said with dignity, "I have work to do." He returned to where Virgil was waiting patiently.

"Have you ever had to be rescued, Gordon?" Liam asked.

"Me?" Gordon was about to reply in the negative when he had a thought. "Weeeeell," he lowered his voice dramatically. "There was this one time..." he glanced over children's heads and saw his brothers were nearly ready to begin work, "when Thunderbird Four got caught by a giant squid."

"What?" Tara leant closer. "You're kidding?"

"Nope. I was cruising along, having just rescued this boat-load of sailors single-handed, when I felt a jolt. Nothing much, just this little tap on the hull."

"It was the squid?" Liam asked.

"Yes, although I didn't know it at the time. I was slowing down and I didn't know why. I accelerated and it made no difference. More throttle... Nothing. Then..." Gordon's voice grew quiet. "I started going backwards." His engrossed audience barely noticed the blue flicker of light as the laser sparked into life.

"I was trying everything I could think of to get moving again," Gordon continued, "when this huge eye rose out of the water and looked through the viewport at me." Gordon closed one eye and stared at the spellbound children. "It was just staring at me! We were eye-to-eye and I'm thinking: 'This isn't good.'"

"What did you do?" Tara breathed.

"I'm in the clutches of a giant squid. What could I do? All I could do was hang on for dear life as it picked up Thunderbird Four and started shaking me about!" Gordon mimed the action of a bartender using a cocktail shaker. "I was being knocked all over the place!"

Bryce Fuller, listening to the open radio communications from The Mole, turned to Scott. "What is this guy talking about? A giant squid!?"

"He's keeping the children occupied so they don't get scared or get in the way of the rescue," Scott explained. "Tell people not to look at something and they'll automatically look at it. Don't draw their attention to it and give them something else to hold their interest and you won't have any problems... And, when it comes to using this technique on children, Gordon's the master..."

As Virgil, wearing protective goggles, was carefully vaporising the boulder that stood between John and freedom, Alan was preparing another type of gun. To the projectile he attached the twin straps that he hoped would ultimately pull John to safety.

As his brothers worked, Gordon was continuing his fictional narrative. "Then I could hear this scraping sound along the hull."

"What was it?" Liam asked.

"Squid have beaks similar to a parrot's," Gordon explained. "The giant squid was trying to use its beak to open Thunderbird Four... Just as well she's made of one of the strongest substances known to man."

"How did you escape?" Clive asked. "Did you kill it with one of your rockets?"

"Kill it?" Gordon was surprised by the question. "Why would I want to kill it?"

"Because it was trying to eat you."

"It probably thought I was this giant funny shaped oyster."

"I would have killed it," Steffen bragged.

"Remember I was in its domain," Gordon reminded him. "I was the intruder. I had no right to harm a squid when it was only trying to eat to survive."

"So what did you do!?" Tara pressed.

"Do any of you know how squid escape their enemies?"

"They shoot out a squirt of ink," Clive said. "Then the predator can't see them and they can escape."

"Right!" Gordon agreed. "Go to the top of the class, Clive."

"Is that what you did?" Steffen asked.

"Yep, or more correctly a cloud of smoke. You see, this squid was holding me out of the water at the time. The smoke stung its eyes and it dropped me into the water with this huge SPLASH!" Gordon stood, flinging his arms into the air to emphasise the size of the impact. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Virgil had placed the laser on the floor of The Mole.

"Then what did you do?" Liam asked.

"I was outta there!" Gordon slapped his hands together continuing with his narrative. "There was no way I was hanging around to see what the squid's reaction was going to be..."

"I think that'll do," Virgil told Alan. "Are you ready?"

"F-A-B."

"I've finished with the laser, John," Virgil informed his entombed brother. "Alan's going to send down some straps for your harness. We'll use them to pull you out."

"Thanks, Virgil."

"Stand by, John," Alan said. "The force of the projectile might knock the rock onto you."

"Okay," John replied. "I've got my head covered."

"Firing... Now!" A suction cup, trailing the two straps, went flying and thumped into what remained of the lasered boulder. "Bull's-eye! Push on the rock, John. You've got plenty of slack."

A tiny light appeared at the end of the tunnel as John felt about for the first of the straps. His fingers closed on the lifeline, he detached it, and managed to clip it on to the right side of his harness. Then he repeated the procedure, attaching the second strap on to his left. "I'm ready."

"Can you help?" Virgil asked.

"I can't find anything secure to get a grip on," John replied. "Can you guys start pulling and I'll assist when I can?"

"Taking up the slack," Virgil responded. "Pulling... Keep it slow, Alan..."

They started straining on the straps, gently at first, but then with greater vigour as they felt resistance.

"Wriggle," Alan insisted.

"I am wriggling. My legs are jammed around some rubble."

"Well, shift them!"

"They won't bend that way, Alan!"

"Gordon!" Virgil panted. "We need your help."

Gordon excused himself from another fictional tale of his International Rescue exploits and grabbed a handful of strapping. Once again they started tugging. "I think he's moving."

"I am moving," John confirmed, gritting his teeth against the abrasive action of the rocks against his skin.

"Keep pulling, Guys," Gordon encouraged.

"Come on," Clive encouraged his friends. "Let's help!" Each child took hold of the straps and started pulling. Darrell hesitated briefly before deciding that a little pain was a fair trade-off for the right to brag that he'd helped rescue a member of International Rescue.

John reached into the tunnel and found something he could grasp. He pulled himself deeper.

"Pull!"

"Pull!"

"Pu..." A rumbling sound was heard.

"The shaft's imploding!" Alan yelled.

"Get me out of here!" Smothered in dust, John began coughing.

"Pull!" Virgil commanded as dust rolled past John and out into The Mole.

"Get clear, Kids!" Gordon directed. Frightened by the noise and dust, they fell back.

"Grab him!" Virgil ordered. He and Alan reached in to their choking brother, got hold of him where they could, and, bracing themselves against the wall of The Mole, pulled for all they were worth. With an almost audible noise, John popped out of the tunnel, landing on his siblings. Gordon slammed home the hatch in time to shield them from the rubble that beat a tattoo against The Mole's hull.

For a moment no-one moved as they all struggled to regain their breath.

Alan, supine on the ground beside Virgil with John laying on top of the pair of them, grinned up at his blonde brother. "Nice of you to drop in."

"Thanks for the invitation," John grunted as he struggled into a crouching position.

"John," Virgil groaned. "Would you mind shifting your knee? It's digging in to... thanks."

John sat back against the bulkhead. "Ow! Pins n' needles."

"Are you okay?" Gordon asked solicitously, bending over his brother.

John nodded and rubbed a gritty face. "Isn't it time we got out of here?" Unfolding his legs slowly he got to his feet and brushed the dust from his hair. "Is everyone okay?" he smiled down on the children, and got an instant reaction from one of them. "Thanks for your help."

"Wow!" Steffen exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Wait'll we tell everyone! We helped International Rescue!"

"You did," John agreed. He took a limping step towards one of the seats.

"Are you all right?" Tara asked, looking up at him with rapturous adoration. "Can I help you?" Tentatively she touched him on his sleeve.

"You already have, Honey," John told her, and felt a twinge of concern when she melted at the platonic endearment.

The girl's reaction didn't go unnoticed by John's brothers. "Why don't you sit with the kids and rest, John?" Alan teased. "I'm sure Tara won't mind you sitting next to her."

"No, I don't mind," Tara said quickly as John glared at his kid brother.

"Good idea," Gordon agreed. "You've had a rough time so you can take it easy for a bit, John. We can manage without you and I'm sure one of the children will be happy to help you clean those grazes."

"I'll help!" Tara enthused, gazing up at John with doe-eyes.

"Ah, no... Thanks..." John gave Tara an uncertain smile and then turned away. "I'm better standing..." He limped down towards the command end of The Mole. How's it going, Virgil?" he asked, deliberately focussing his attention on safer things. "Are we ready to head for the stars?"

"Ready when you are..." Virgil had been humming a romantic tune. "...unless you'd rather we didn't hurry."

John leant closer to Virgil's ear. "I expect teasing from those two, but I thought you'd be on my side."

"Why?" Virgil grinned, in a buoyant mood now that the rescue had been completed. "I think you'd make a cute couple."

"Shut up and drive," John growled. "Or else I'll feed you to The Mole again."

"They're on their way to the surface," Scott announced.

It was a sentence that Harri Teeasi had been waiting over 24 hours to hear. "How long until they get here?"

"Five minutes."

"Five minutes?!" Bryce Fuller exclaimed. "Everyone, we've got five minutes to get down there! Come on!" There was a mass exodus from the shelter.

All except for Verna Obale and Scott. "If you'll come with me," she suggested, "I'll take you down there in my car. It's got tinted windows and you won't be seen."

"Thanks," Scott said, appreciative of the offer and looking forward to seeing his brothers again.

The trip down the hill was quick and Verna went to drive behind the screens that had been erected earlier to shield The Mole from the TV cameras.

"Don't go in yet," Scott advised. "Let the exhaust gases dissipate first. No one will be getting out until the air's clear, anyway."

They sat in silence, waiting. It seemed to be hours, but was only seconds before, in the screened glare from the television spotlights, smoke was visible from The Mole's bore hole. Verna found herself gripping the steering wheel tightly, waiting for the command to drive forward.

The huge mechanical beast reversed out of its burrow and slotted back onto its caterpillar tracked trolley. Verna stared at the apparition. "Wow!"

Scott chuckled. He looked at his watch. "Five to midnight. It looks like we might be giving everyone a Christmas present after all."

"They couldn't ask for anything better," Verna said and watched as The Mole powered down. "Not long now?"

"Not long now," Scott confirmed.

Verna turned in her seat to look at him. "Chances are that things will get rather hectic very soon, so I'd like to take the opportunity now to say thanks for all you've done. This town owes International Rescue a big debt and I don't know how we can repay it."

"No charge," Scott smiled. "We come cheap."

One minute later there was a new voice in the car. "Air's clear. Exiting Mole."

"F-A-B, John" Scott responded.

They drove forward, until the car and its occupants were hidden from the view of the outside world.

Verna exited the vehicle and looked up to where an enclosed platform was being lowered to the ground. She felt a sense of growing excitement. "I almost feel as if I'm going to be seeing my own children again."

"You're the mayor, aren't you? They might be children but they're still your constituents; therefore they are under your care..." The platform reached the ground with a gentle thump and Scott hurried forward to offer his assistance. He reached it in time for the door to slide open and he found himself face-to-face with ten smiling people. "Merry Christmas, Everyone. Kids, if you want to go with your mayor, she'll take you to your parents." He indicated Verna.

There were cries of excitement and a mad rush to leave the platform. Even Tara didn't give John a second glance as she raced to be reunited with her family. Darrell, his splint helping him to forget his wounded soldier act, was first to the car.

"Follow me," Verna said, hurrying them around the side of the barrier.

A cheer went up. There were shouts, screams, and tears of joy, along with laughter, song, and applause; it seemed that every jubilant expression was given voice. Flash bulbs exploded and video cameras whirred, and the world watched as the children of the town of Puzz were reunited with their families.

The noise abated somewhat and the bells of the town clock could be heard in the distance: chiming twelve times.

Scott turned back to his brothers and joined them in a brotherly embrace. The four rescuers were scratched, bruised, dirty and slightly odorous. (Gordon, in an effort to cheer Darrell up, had given the teenager his stink bomb just before they'd surfaced.) "Merry Christmas, Fellas. It's great to see you again." He screwed up his nose. "Even if you do stink."

"Blame Alan," Virgil grumbled. "If he'd let me confiscate that thing off Gordon when I tried to, we wouldn't smell now."

Alan dismissed the offer of blame. "I'd wish you a merry Christmas too, Scott," he said, "except that it's not. We've missed it!"

"Oh, yes, it is," Scott grinned. "Travel 15 degrees that way," he pointed west, "and we've still got one hour of Christmas day to go. A fair portion of the world is still celebrating the holiday!"

"Yeah!" Gordon exclaimed. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go celebrate Christmas!"

"Scott! Scott!" a child's voice could be heard. "Scott!" He turned to the sound as Jenni Teeasi came running up to him.

"Hey, Jenni," Scott crouched down so he was at her eye level. "Are you happy to have your siblings back?"

Jenni gave him an emphatic nod. "Can you say thank you to Santa for me for bringing Tara and Liam and Steffen and Clive and Darrell home?" she asked breathlessly.

Scott gave her a warm smile. "Sure, Honey. I'd be glad to."

"Thank you!" Jenni threw her arms around his neck in a hug, which he returned, and then ran back to where she'd come from.

Scott straightened and turned to find four brothers grinning at him.

"Boys," John drawled. "I think we may have a believer in our midst."

"Well," suddenly feeling coy, Scott shoved his hands into his pockets. "Don't let it ever be said that I'm too proud to change my mind."

"What happened?" Virgil asked. "Did you prefer my dream to yours?"

"I'll tell you when we get back to base," Scott told him. "Come on! Saddle up! Let's go home!"

But their attempt to leave was thwarted again by a not unwelcome party as the Teeasi family stepped out from behind the barrier. "We had to say thank you before you left," Harri explained.

"Steffen, Cal and Enid have gone with Darrell to the hospital and Kyla's taken Clive to see Marteen," Jeanne added. "But they all wanted to say thank you too."

"It's our pleasure," Scott responded. "It's what International Rescue is here for."

"But to give up your Christmas to risk your lives to help total strangers..." Lost for words, Jeanne could only beam at the Tracys.

Harri's smile was equally warm. "'Thank you' seems so inadequate."

"That's all the thanks we need." John was rewarded with that look from Tara and took a surreptitious step so he was hidden from her by Scott.

"But surely we can repay you somehow?" Harri pressed.

"We've received a special Christmas present in seeing your families reunited," Virgil added. "We don't expect anything else."

"Yes," Alan agreed. "This is one Christmas none of us will forget in a hurry."

"You've got some special kids there," Gordon said. "They've been fun to be with and a help too."

"We helped save John's life," Liam said. "Right, John?" John, trying to keep out of Tara's field of vision, nodded.

"Don't forget, Liam," Tara said. "John saved our lives first."

"So did Gordon, and Alan, and Virgil," Liam reminded her.

"And Scott and Santa," Jenni chimed in. "Scott's going to say thank you to Santa Claus for us. He said he would."

"I will, Jenni," Scott reiterated. "I promise."

"I think it's not only Santa and these men we have to thank," Harri noted. "I sure there are lots of people behind the scenes. We have to thank all of International Rescue."

Jeanne looked at Scott. "I said before that I believed that Santa wore blue. Now I know it's true."

"Yes," Harri agreed. "And he doesn't use a sleigh and reindeer: he has Thunderbirds and," he indicated the machine that towered over them and chuckled, "a Mole."

"Come on, Kids," Jeanne placed her hands on her two eldests' shoulders. "Say goodbye, and we'll let these men go home to their families."

"Bye, bye, Scott." Scott had a pair of five-year-old arms wrapped around his legs. "Don't forget what you promised."

"I won't," he reiterated. "Bye, Jenni."

"Bye, Gordon. Bye, Virgil. Bye, Alan," Liam grinned.

"Bye, Liam."

"Goodbye, John," Tara waved.

"Uh... Bye, Ta... uh, Kids."

When the Teeasis had left, the two youngest Tracys smirked at their two oldest brothers. "Awww, that's nice," Gordon said in a stage whisper to Alan. "Our big brothers have finally found themselves girlfriends."

"About time," Alan stated. "Do you think they want some tips?"

"Shut up," John and Scott said in unison.

Virgil snorted a laugh. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to head home." He stepped back onto The Mole's platform. "See you in Thunderbird Two." He stopped when he felt something cold on his neck. "Hey! Snow!"

"Happy now?" John asked. "You're actually going to see a white Christmas this year."

"For about two seconds," Virgil replied. "Even snow's not going to stop me heading for home."

"How about travelling with me, Alan?" Scott asked.

Somewhat surprised, Alan hesitated. Then he smiled. "Sure, Scott, then we'll be home to celebrate Christmas first!"

"I'm planning on sticking close to Thunderbird Two," Scott advised him. "On Christmas Day, families should be together..."

Chapter Eleven-Epilogue

Two Thunderbirds flew side-by-side through the night skies of the world. They passed out of Christmas day and into Boxing Day.

In Thunderbird Two, Gordon was sitting apart from his brothers, making notes in his book, chortling to himself and, more ominously, humming.

John had joined Virgil at the pilot's console for a companionable chat. "What is he doing?"

"I hope he's not planning on singing Christmas carols," Virgil remarked. "That would be enough to put even Santa Claus off Christmas for life..." Gordon barked out a laugh, clapped his hand over his mouth to smother it, looked guiltily at his brothers and then crossed something out. Virgil groaned. "He's planning something. Shall we dump him into the Pacific while we've got the chance?"

"Might be a good idea," John agreed. "I'll open the emergency hatch and you try out a few trick manoeuvres. No one would ever know."

"They might guess what we've done," Virgil pointed through the cockpit windows to the navigation lights of their sister craft; steering an unerring course parallel to their own.

"You're right." John gave a mock sigh. "Oh, well. It was a good idea and might be worthwhile trying some other time. In the meantime I think we'd better keep our fingers crossed that he hasn't got us in his sights."

Virgil crossed his fingers and tried to maintain his grip on the control yoke. "I don't know that I can keep this up and fly safely. You'd better brace yourself; it might be a rough trip..." Thunderbird Two dropped her wing briefly and then straightened.

"Hey!" Gordon picked himself up from where he'd fallen off his seat onto the floor. "What's the big idea?"

"It's called a warning shot," Virgil called over his shoulder.

"Warning shot? Who's shooting? Warning who?"

"Warning you, little brother," John said. "Be aware that we're on to you."

"Oh, yeah?" Gordon climbed back onto his seat and strapped himself in. "Just you wait!" Thunderbird Two tipped again and Gordon's notebook slipped out of his fingers and across the floor. "Will you stop doing that!?" He unbuckled his safety harness and retrieved his book to the sounds of this brothers' laughter.

Scott suppressed a yawn.

"Want me to fly for a bit?" Alan offered.

"No. I'm fine, thanks," Scott stated, not willing to admit that one of the reasons that he'd invited Alan along had been for that very reason. "Just because I haven't had the luxury of as much sleep as some over these last few hours, doesn't mean you can take over."

Alan did some arithmetic. "You must have had about eight hours sleep over the last five days... Eleven if you take into account the deep sleep you would have got in the SWSG. Are you sure you don't want me to fly?"

"I'm sure, Alan. I'm fine." Scott indicated the lightening skies, "We're nearly home anyway."

Alan let the subject drop, Scott was proud of his ability to thrive on little sleep, but not too proud to admit when he needed rest. "When did you start to think that Santa was for real and was helping us?"

"I'd started to wonder who was actually in charge of this rescue a long time before I found you sitting at Mobile Control looking as if you'd been dragged out of the bore hole backwards."

"I felt like it," Alan admitted and watched Scott yawn again. "Are you sure you don't want me to fly? I won't tell anyone."

"No need." Scott pointed through Thunderbird One's viewport. "There's home."

"Here they come," Jeff said as he, Grandma, Tin-Tin, Brains, Kyrano and Santa Claus were standing on the patio in the sun, watching as the two Thunderbirds drew closer. "Are your reindeer all safe, Santa?"

Santa pointed through the patio railing down to the changing rooms. "Rudolph gave me a little trouble, but they're fine."

"Good," Jeff looked up to where Thunderbird One was hovering, coloured lights strobing like Christmas decorations along her length. "We'd better get inside."

They were all waiting in the lounge when the five Tracy boys made their entrance. They were all filthy and tired, but jubilant at what they'd achieved and relieved to finally be home.

"It's so good to see you all again!" Grandma exclaimed wrapping them all in a grandmotherly hug. "It hasn't seemed to be Christmas without my grandsons getting under my feet in the kitchen and with your father moping about. Go and get washed and I'll finish getting Christmas dinner ready. You can tell us everything while we're eating."

"Grandma's Christmas dinner!" John exclaimed. "Now I know it's Christmas! That meal we had in The Mole was close, but not as good as the real thing."

"Yeah!" Alan brightened. "I'm starving! Come on, Fellas!"

Someone cleared his throat. "Before we do..." Scott began, "I made a promise to Jenni Teeasi that I would thank Santa Claus personally for saving her five friends... And I think they weren't the only five people that Santa assisted during this rescue. I believe there's every chance that one or more of us might not have made it home alive without his assistance. " Scott extended his hand. "Thank you for your help, Santa." His family watched as he and Santa Claus solemnly shook hands.

"It was an honour, Scott. An honour and my pleasure."

Virgil was watching his elder brother, who wasn't looking happy. "Why so downcast, Scott?"

Scott shrugged. "I'm being silly."

"Come on," Virgil pressed. "Tell us."

"It just that you..." Scott looked at Virgil and then at the rest of his family. "You all said that you felt great after you'd been touched by Santa Claus. How come I don't feel any different?"

"The simple act of giving is all you need to be touched by Santa Claus," Santa explained. "You and your brothers have given those five children the ultimate gift. You saved their lives and returned them to their families. I didn't have to be physically present for you to feel my touch."

"Oh," Scott responded. He smiled. "I understand."

"Good!" Grandma stated. "Now go and get washed up before the turkey's spoilt!"

By the time everyone had declared themselves unable to eat another thing, and had retired to the lounge to recover from their meal, the full story of the rescue had been told and retold with suitable embellishments.

"That was a rescue that we'll never forget," Jeff said as he ignored his desk and took a seat beside his mother. "But now it's time to relax. Are you going to play some carols, Virgil?"

Virgil had been itching to get back to his baby grand. "I don't know if I'll be any good. I've missed my last few practises."

"Listen to it!" Gordon exclaimed. "Miss a few days playing and he thinks his skills have vanished. Here..." he held a sheet of music out to his brother. "Try playing that."

Virgil took the piece of paper and read the title. "...Composed by Randy Brooks." Then he eyed up the red-head. "We can't do this, Gordon?"

"Why?" Gordon asked. "Don't you think you can play it?"

"I know I can play it. But I'm equally sure that you can't sing it."

Gordon shrugged, used to his family's slurs against his vocal talents. "I'm not singing it. I'm singing something else."

"Gordon," Virgil said patiently. "This isn't a good idea."

"Yes, it is," Gordon persisted.

"We have a guest," Virgil reminded him. "It's bad enough that you intend to inflict the pain of listening to you on your family. But please don't expect Santa to have to sit through one of your concerts!"

"He'll enjoy it!"

"I doubt that very much."

Santa Claus had been sitting back in his chair, enjoying the by-play between the two brothers. "Let him be, Virgil," he suggested. "I've heard young Gordon's singing many times, so I know what to expect." He continued on with an air of brave resignation: "I am prepared."

"You might be, but I'm not sure we are," John said as he shifted in his seat beside Santa. "Anyone for earplugs?"

"You won't need them!" Gordon retorted. "Now, is everyone comfortable?"

"We are at the moment, but I think that situation is going to change very, very soon..." Alan said. "Like when you open your mouth."

"Shut yours, Alan." Usually easy going, Gordon was starting to get a little bit fed up by all the negativity. "Trust me and be quiet."

"Me too?" Virgil asked. He shut the lid of the piano.

"Just shut up and play the stupid thing!" Gordon demanded, reopening the piano's lid with a clang. He turned back to his audience. "Ladies and gentlemen... and Virgil. For your listening pleasure..."

"Or not," Virgil interrupted and ducked as he was hit over the head by the notebook.

"...I would like to give you my version of a perennial Christmas favourite." Gordon turned to Virgil. "If you please..."

Virgil decided that a "and if I don't...?" would be ill-advised at this juncture, and played the introduction. The first few notes were the familiar refrain of 'Jingle Bells', but soon the music changed and Gordon began to sing: frequently straying off key, off tune, and off tempo. Virgil, to the accompaniment of occasional groans from their family, tried to follow his brother's lead until he gave up and reverted to playing the song's original tune, hoping that Gordon might eventually find his way back to something recognisable.

"Santa got run over by a T-Bird

Leaving Tracy Island Christmas Eve

You may say there's no such thing as Santa

But don't tell Scotty Tracy: he believes.

Scott had flown home half dozy

Cos he hadn't slept for days

Was dreamin' of his Christmas dinner

Of Grandma's turkey with sauce Lyonnaise.

If Santa weren't found Christmas morning

At the bottom of the reindeer stack

We would have had for our Christmas dinner

A Thunderbird roasted venison rack.

Grandma patched up one of Santa's reindeer

Scotty ran it over Christmas Eve

He slayed the sleigh that had belonged to Santa

And all that we could find was reindeer feed.

Now we're all so glad that Santa

Has decided not to sue

If he'd taken Jeff for every penny

He could've dumped the sleigh;
and used T.B. Two.

Scott said the collision wasn't his fault

He said he didn't see Santa Claus appear

He said there was a bang up above him

And then he said it started to rain deer.

Santa enjoyed a Tracy Christmas dinner

On Tracy Island, here on Christmas day

You may say there's no such thing as Santa

But to Tin-Tin and Kyrano, he's okay.

Now The Mole served me Xmas dinner

A bump as big as a turkey's egg. Owww

John tried to have a rock 'n rollin' Christmas

And The Mole had a gnaw on Virgil's leg.

Now Zoomer's feeling better

After Scotty had broken all the rules

They should never give a license

To a guy who says he flies through swimming pools.

Reindeer got patched up by my Grandma

Got a poultice in the infirmary

You may say there's no such thing as Santa

But to Brains he is a composite of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen and various other molecular substances - biology.

Santa got run over by a T-bird

Leaving Tracy Island Christmas Eve

You could say there's no such thing as Santa

But ask International Rescue, we believe."

Gordon took his bows to the grudging applause.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Santa clapped his hands in delight. "Well done, Gordon."

Alan gave his brother a thumbs-up. "Nine out of ten for the song."

"And zero out of 100 for the singing," John added.

"Virgil deserves a prize just for making it sound halfway decent." Scott pointed at his songster brother. "Just be glad that we're celebrating Christmas and I'm feeling generous, otherwise you'd be in big trouble."

"Don't blame me," Gordon grinned. "I got the idea from something Alan said. Besides, you should have seen the first draft: it was terrible."

"So was the final rendition." Scott suppressed a yawn. "What did you say to him, Alan?"

"Don't ask me." Alan held up his hands in surrender. "I swear I didn't have anything to do with it!"

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil asked. "Is that why you're the only one who didn't get a mention?"

Santa Claus laughed again. "Thank you all for your hospitality," he slid off his chair, "but my work is done. It is time I must leave."

"Oh." Disappointed, Jeff got to his feet. "Will we see you again, Santa?"

"See me...? I do not know," Santa admitted. "But we will meet again very soon." He walked over to the patio doors.

"How will you get home?" John asked. "If your sleigh's in pieces..." he looked down over the patio railing. There, beside the swimming pool, was an intact sleigh tethered to ten impatient reindeer. One of them waved its bandaged limb up towards the audience on the balcony.

"If I wasn't seeing this with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it," Alan exclaimed. "Your sleigh was in charred pieces. I saw it! I picked a piece up! How did..." He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. "Magic."

"Santa," Virgil began uncertainly. "Before you go, there's something I've been wondering... A couple of years ago we were on our way home from a rescue..."

Santa burst out laughing. "My, that was a close call. It was Rudolph's first year with his fake nose. He was still getting used to it and I'm afraid my attention wasn't totally where it should have been. The look on your face when you saw me!" He laughed again. "I take it you didn't tell your family about our near miss?"

Scott looked at his brother with one eyebrow raised. "No, he didn't."

"Now," Santa turned towards the Tracys and their friends. "Before I leave you to enjoy the rest of your Christmas and the opening of your presents, I will leave you one last gift. I will ensure that International Rescue's services will not be needed for at least a week. In fact," the elf's already beaming smile broadened, "I can guarantee you a two week respite. My advice is that you make the most of it."

"Two weeks vacation!" Alan exclaimed. "That means we've got time to really get away for a break and forget about International Rescue!"

"Yeah," Gordon enthused. "Where can we go? Somewhere we can swim every day? Maybe somewhere with tropical beaches?"

"Or maybe not," Scott suggested. "Use your imagination, Gordon!"

"The idea is to go somewhere different," John added. "Somewhere we'll all enjoy."

"I vote for somewhere with snow," Virgil said. "Let's have a genuine white Christmas for a change."

"But Christmas has gone," Tin-Tin said. "It's the 26th of December, remember?"

"It can be Christmas any day," Santa said, "so long as you are able to enjoy your time with family and friends. And now," he bowed, "I will bid you a fond farewell." He bounded down the stairs to his waiting team and climbed into the sleigh. "Merry Christmas!" he waved.

Everyone waved back at him. "Merry Christmas, Santa."

"Have a safe trip."

"Watch out for low flying aircraft."

"And thank you," Jeff added, "for keeping my boys safe."

A glow surrounded the sleigh and stardust filled the air. The sleigh, its occupant, and the ten reindeer levitated off the ground. They did a lap of the courtyard before stopping level with everyone standing on the patio. "I still haven't given you a ride in my sleigh, have I, Scott?" Santa winked. "You've been a good boy and I haven't forgotten your wish. Don't worry, it will happen soon..."

"I..." Scott began, reddening, but with a "Ho, ho, ho," Santa was gone in a flash of light.

For some time after Santa had disappeared, everyone stood in the hot December sun, unwilling to move, somehow feeling that if they were to do so they would break the magical spell that had been cast over them all.

Grandma was the first to go back inside. "It's too warm for a body out there," she stated as she claimed one of the more comfortable seats facing the gift laden Christmas tree. "Who's going to play Santa?"

They took it in turns to hand out the presents, and when they'd finished unwrapping gifts and extending thanks, sat back in quiet contemplation of the events of Christmas Day.

"Virg?" John said. "Back in Puzz you asked Scott something about him preferring your dream to his. What did you mean?"

Virgil chuckled. "He and I had a talk when he was protecting Thunderbird One from the evil clutches of Santa Claus. I was trying to convince him that he was wrong about Santa, and he was trying to convince me that I'd been drugged somehow... Right, Scott...? Anyway, we surmised that there was a possibility that one of us was dreaming. I said that I hoped it was me because I seemed to be enjoying the dream more than he was."

"I think he's the one doing the dreaming at the moment," Jeff said and nodded to where Scott was slouched on the couch. His son, replete with Grandma's cooking, comfortable in the knowledge that his family was safe, and warm in the summer heat, had finally succumbed to the arms of Morphia. His head had fallen forward onto his chest and he was snoring gently.

"Look at him; dead to the world..." John smiled at the sight. "I'm not surprised; not when you consider the amount of sleep he's had over the last few days."

"He doesn't look after himself," Grandma snorted. "He's crashed. I said he would!"

"I'd prefer him to crash in here and not in Thunderbird One," Jeff said.

Alan stretched and yawned. "And I think he's got the right idea. I might hit the sack myself."

"Scott..." Virgil touched his brother on the shoulder. "Wake up and go to bed, Scotty..."

"Let him sleep," Jeff suggested. "He needs it."

"But he'll be more comfortable in his bed," Grandma stated. "I'll get it ready and you boys bring him through."

Scott barely reacted as his brothers removed his shoes, picked him up, and carried him through to his bedroom. He didn't awaken when they laid him on the bed and Grandma tucked his sheets under his chin.

"Something's missing," Gordon whispered. "Hang on a moment." He went to the wardrobe and, standing on a stool, reached to the back of the topmost shelf. He removed a battered white teddy bear; its aviator's helmet patched and embroidered airman's wings almost worn to nothing.

"How did you know he kept 'Wilbur' in there?" John asked.

Gordon grinned, but didn't reply. He placed the bear on Scott's chest and then gently freed his brother's arm from the sheets and placed it over the toy. "There you go, Scotty. Enjoy your flight with Santa." He watched as Scott rolled over onto his side, pulling his teddy bear closer in a hug.

The Tracys tip-toed to the door, stopping only to turn back for one last look at the slumbering man. "Merry Christmas, Scott," Jeff whispered as, closing the door behind them, they left him to his dreams.

Hearing the door click shut, Scott opened his eyes. He smiled and pulled his bear under the sheets before closing his eyes again and nuzzling deeper into his pillow. "Merry Christmas, everyone..."

The End.

And, finally, a joke of Christmas cracker standard that I did consider using in Virgil's cracker, but decided was not exactly tactful under the circumstances.

What do you get when you drop a piano down a mineshaft?

A-flat minor.

So? Do I believe in Santa Claus? Yes, I do. To me Santa is the warm spirit of friendship and giving that sadly only seems to exist at this time of year. Santa is the symbol of a worldwide festival that has the ability to transcend race, religion, faith and creed. If we could all believe in the ideals that Santa Claus represents then perhaps the world would be a happier, more peaceful place. Perhaps then we could claim that we are all part of International Rescue. An International Rescue that Jeff Tracy and his family and friends would be proud of.

Merry Christmas

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