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There’s exactly one sound on Tracy Island that causes everyone to snap to attention, no matter what it is they are doing at that point. Food is discarded, activities are dropped, conversation silences.
The sound of Thunderbird 5 hailing down an emergency call is the one thing that has the power to bring life on the island to a complete halt, no matter what.
Except for today, it seems, for when John radios down to contact the island, he is instantly greeted with -
“Hey, hey, HEY!”
“Alan, don’t let go -!”
“WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M DOING?!”
The sight of the two youngest Tracy’s doing what looked like complicated gymnastics to hang up tinsel around the lounge, with the younger brother dangling precariously from the ceiling, a ladder sprawled on its side beneath him, Gordon racing from the other end of the room to pick it up and rescue him.
John was taken aback at the sudden chaos, but knew he shouldn’t be too surprised. Rescues have been back to back recently, the time for putting up Christmas decorations around the island is easier said than done in the little down time they do have.
It seems that without Scott and Virgil to maintain order, the terrible two were always bound to make a mess sooner or later. The boxes that have been opened are upended messily more or less everywhere, with baubles and tinsel littered around the floor. John was surprised that neither of them had tripped on them like in an old cartoon.
Once Alan’s two feet were safely back on the ground (a string of tinsel still attached to his belt, for some reason), John decided that this was the best time to announce himself.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation,” the pair looked back up at him as he prepared himself for what he was about to say, “And it’s, uh…"
“Is it Fischler?” Alan piped up, clearly sensing his hesitation.
Gordon interjected with a roll of his eyes, “he’s so lucky Scott’s out with Virgil, dealing with that avalanche.”
“Surprisingly no, it’s not Fischler. It’s actually Francois Lemaire. He’s decided to take on the role of Santa Claus in real life and um. Well… it’s not gone as well as he hoped.”
Suddenly the pair he was talking to burst into chattering questions, ones that John could hardly blame them for. The absurdity of the situation still spun around in his own head.
“What do you mean, Santa Claus in real life? Has he annoyed a herd of reindeer by trying to make them fly?”
“Oh wait wait! Has he got stuck down a chimney, and now he’s being roasted like a chestnut on an open fire? But why does he need International Rescue to free him from a chimney, he could just -”
John sent down the recording of the distress call Lemaire had sent out, it seemed to be the quickest way to explain the situation.
There he was, Lemaire in a whole Santa suit, complete with the silver hair and beard, still recognisable through the sheen of the hologram projector, yet somehow still the most condescending Santa Claus to ever exist.
“Hello, I-International R-R-Rescue? Francois - I mean, it’s F-Father Christmas here, and I am in a bit of a s-spot of bother, my new r-eindeerless sl-sl-sleigh has hit a snag, and I’m stranded.”
The recording stopped there. “From what I was able to get out of Francois Claus, he built a self propelling sleigh and tried to fly around the world, but he got caught out by a pretty nasty storm brewing in northern Sweden. Local emergency services are bracing themselves for the storm so won’t be able to help until it clears.”
The grin spreading across Gordon’s face as John gave the briefing was palpable, but John had to fight to keep his expression serious. Lemaire was in real danger up there if he was stranded for much longer, it won’t take long before hypothermia sets in, putting him at serious risk of injury and death.
“I have advised that he takes shelter until you arrive but you know what he’s like, so, gear up boys. You’re heading out to Sweden.”
Alan unravelled the tinsel from the belt loop of his shorts, discarding it where he stood, and practically skipped to the couch in the conversation pit, Gordon joining him seconds later. “I guess we’ll have to take Thunderbird 3, since 1 and 2 are out of the question right now.”
“Awesome! Let’s get going. John, tell Lemaire we’ll have him back on his way to the North Pole in no time.”
“Maybe I should have Brains paint a Santa beard on TB3 when we get back, the colours…”
“Not now, Alan! Just say Thunderbird 3 is go and let’s go get him!”
Thunderbird 3, as International Rescue’s resident space-faring vessel, is certainly adept at racing across the planet, despite needing to fly away from it under normal circumstances. Either way, the sensation the young astronaut feels at the helm of the rocket is one that never gets old. Technically, this rocket is bigger and faster than Thunderbird 1, but that’s in large part because it needs it to exit the Earth’s atmosphere with significant velocity behind it.
Either way, flying around the globe is a speedy affair in the rocket designed for space flight, and the beacon directing them to Lemaire’s location is minutes away.
And sure enough, John’s assessment was correct. Of both the storm brewing and the… sleigh that Lemaire had difficulties with.
It was certainly a fine looking thing, or at least, it would be when not covered in snow. Through the weather, one could make out the intricate gold plated trimmings and edges, the mahogany wooden frame, the stilts resting it on top of the snow barely visible and partially submerged under the frozen precipitation. It had a fully covered top, with tinted windows and bells ringing incessently in the wind.
Stranded is right, clearly.
Landing a few hundred meters away, and armed with the trusty repair pod, the pair drove up to the snow-covered feature barely visible in the near white-out conditions.
Gordon was already dressed in his winter rescue gear, and knocked on the makeshift door over the structure. The door did not open, but the holographic form of the inhabitants inside projected onto the glass.
“About time you arrived!”
The stern voice belonged to Santa. Or at least, someone dressed as him. A rich, deep red coat, silver curls of hair and an enormous beard on his face, with red cheeks and a hat pulled aggressively far down his head, covering his ears. Big woolen mittens covered his hands, and a broad, black belt with a shiny gold buckle glistened back at them.
Lemaire certainly looked the part, as did Madeline, sat opposite him with her teeth chattering in a similar look to Santa. The only exception being she was wearing a deep red dress with fur trimmings, her brown hair tucked under a bonnet and a pair of gold spectacles rested on her red face. Even on the hologram, Gordon could see the steam coming from her breathing as she looked at him.
Santa petulantly put his hands on his hips as he addressed Gordon, the condecending drawl of his voice still recogniseable despite the disguise, “my experimental reindeer-less sleigh can’t stay like this, we’ve places to be tonight.”
Gordon wanted so desperately to laugh, but he knew better when on the job, especially something like this.
“Good to see you too, Mr Lemaire,” was all he could bring himself to say. “We’re here to get you out of here.”
“That’s Santa Claus to you, International Rescue. I’m trying to spread some joy and cheer with Madel - I mean, Mrs Claus - by taking some gifts to the impoverished children of the world. And we can’t do that if we are stuck here in the snow!”
Alan appeared beside him, clearly unable to contain his impish grin. “Did the reindeer not feel like flying today, Santa Claus?”
Santa huffed, “as a matter of fact, they only work on December 24th. This is my way of getting around during the rest of the year. Flying is dangerous for reindeer, you know.”
“Right…” Gordon shared a look with Alan, whose nose was already red enough to become Rudolph if they weren’t careful, “well, we’ll get you fixed up in no time. Let’s first get you nice and warm in Thunderbird 3 -”
“Absolutely not, I’ve been in that rust bucket enough to know that it would ruin this bespoke costume - I mean, suit of mine.”
Gordon saw Alan jerk at the rust bucket comment, and he could have sworn he heard him mutter “rust bucket?! I’ll show you rust bucket, you -!”
“Do you know how much it costs to keep it this shiny? This is only the best, most expensive velvet on the planet,” he gestured by running a hand down the other sleeve, the soft fabric leaving no trace as he did so.
Gordon grinned, “Millions of glasses of milk and cookies?”
Alan snorted.
Suddenly the door shot open, and Mrs Claus climbed out into the snow and turned back to face the sleigh, her fury evident in her red face (although now that he thought about it, it could have been the cold. Or maybe both!)
“Francois, just come on, I’m freezing out here and I know you are too, since you wouldn’t shut up about it! You’re the genius who didn’t think a heater was necessary!”
Santa tutted from in his sleigh, folding his hands under his arms and storming out into the cold. “Fine, but if either of you so much as chip the frame of my sleigh, I will be -”
“Putting us on the naughty list?” Gordon retorted, holding up the hook of the winch they came to fit, and thoroughly relishing the look on Santa’s face as he said that.
“Hah, you’re already a permenant resident after what you did to Scott last week.”
“Just hurry up Mr Claus, Mrs Claus is not going to stand here all night, and International Rescue have better things to be doing than fixing your machine!”
“Hey, welcome back!” Virgil popped his head up from behind the Christmas tree as Alan and Gordon returned from Thunderbird 3’s hangar with a spring in their step.
Scott was returning down the stairs with an empty tinsel box in hand, “how did your rescue go? John didn’t tell us much about it.”
Gordon smirked at his big brother, “let’s just say… we helped Santa get on his way!”
“I thought he was a December 24th kind of guy,” he replied, unperturbed by the absurdity of the statement.
“Not this one,” Alan jumped down into the pit where the ornaments have been placed for the time being.
“Did he give you an early present, Gordo?” Virgil grinned, “did you sit on his lap and tell him what you wanted for Christmas?”
“I can’t think of anything I would have wanted to do less with this Santa, Virg, he was… well…”
Scott stepped beside Gordon and gestured vaguely with the box still in hand, “either way, this lounge is a mess. Let’s finish the decorating before Grandma comes back from shopping with Kayo.”
“Let’s hope they brought dinner…”