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Captain Scarlet and The Mysterons
Souls of the Brave
By Big Dave
Three weeks later, Captains Scarlet, Blue and Black all sat in the Cloudbase control room in front of Colonel White. Behind them, Lieutenant Green busied himself at his computer console.
Colonel White spoke: “In recent weeks, our friend and comrade Captain Black was released from Mysteron control. Now, after three weeks recovery and tests of medical and physical fitness, Doctor Fawn and I see fit for him to return to duty. However, I am required to have the consent of at least two other senior officers of Spectrum. Captain Scarlet and Captain Blue, I wish your decision upon the matter.”
“Of course, Sir,” were the two replies to White.
“Thank You Captains,” said White before turning to Captain Black. “Captain Black, it is nice to have you back with us.”
“Its nice to be back at Spectrum, sir,” said Black, before standing to leave the room with his colleagues.
The three captains entered the promenade deck to be greeted by several apprehensive faces. Conrad Turner walked into the middle of the room, with a very solemn face before punching the air and leaping several feet from the ground.
Captain Scarlet scanned the room before calling for quiet and turning to Captain Black: “Conrad, on behalf of all of us, I would like to say how pleased we are to have you back. And to celebrate, Captains Blue, Ochre, Magenta, Lieutenant Green and I have organised a week in San Francisco.”
Captain Black surveyed the room before speaking.
“Well, I would like to thank you all for your generosity and have one thing to say: Party On!”
Several hours later, six men stood in the arrivals lounge at San Francisco International Airport.
Captain Scarlet was in a pair of Levi jeans, a Budweiser T-shirt and red bomber jacket; Captain Blue, cream trousers a light blue shirt and Jaguar jacket; Captain Ochre, a pair of Bootleg jeans, Adidas jumper and a pair of yellow Oakly Sunglasses; Captain Magenta, another pair of Levi jeans, a U.S.S. Missouri Bomber Jacket along with a Team Penske baseball hat. Lieutenant Green wore Levi jeans a Coca Cola T-shirt and an Adidas jacket. Captain Black wore Bootleg jeans, a New Zealand rugby shirt, and a leather jacket.
Making there way to the airport car depot, Paul, Richard and Conrad walked into the office, and a few minutes later, drove out of the Car Park in three Spectrum Range Rovers, pulling up in front of Adam, Patrick and Seymour. Adam climbing into Paul’s car, Patrick into Richard’s and Seymour into Conrad‘s. All three Range Rovers stood outside the office for a few minutes, with three lusty 4.6 litre V8 engine burbling away underneath them. Then Paul threw his machine into gear and performed a four-wheel spin; followed by the other two cars, he roared of into the city.
The three cars soon pulled up outside a raving club and Paul stopped his engine. The others followed suit and the six men walked into the club. Sitting at the bar, Richard turned to Paul.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be a good drinker, Paul. You up for a shot competition?”
“Is that a serious challenge, Richard?” came a sincere reply. The nod was all he needed.
Paul turned to the barman. “Smirnoff ice shots until one of us falls off his stool.” The barman nodded and put two shots on the bar; both were downed quickly. Each enjoyed a further ten shots, before Richard poured half his twelfth down his shirt and fell backwards with his thirteenth.
Patrick looked at Conrad. “Hey, old buddy, you gonna take Paul on?”
“Do Lemmings like cliffs? Yes.” He then moved over to Richard’s stool, whilst Adam and Seymour picked up its former occupant.
Both Paul and Conrad enjoyed a further twenty-six shots, their Mysteronised bodies absorbing the alcohol like a sponge. By this time, a now slightly drunken Adam turned and decided that they were getting nowhere, and they should go and do something else. Returning to the cars, neither Paul nor Conrad showed any sign of drunkenness, whilst Richard was generally sober, after taking an anti alcohol pill. All six boarded their cars, and set off back into the city.
Coming across a street racing gang, Conrad called the other cars on the CB set in the car and told them to wait where they were. He then drove off and returned fifteen minutes later with a S.P.V. He and Seymour waved out of the window and drove over to the gang. Conrad emerged from the vehicle on the sliding door and issued a challenge to the gang before withdrawing into the S.P.V. He then drove up to where the other racers were gathering and revved the engine enticingly. Watching as a member of the gang dropped a flag, he floored the throttle and flew past the slow starting cars. Coming to a corner in the road course, he passed two cars round the outside, finding himself in second place. Looking at the monitor, he saw the burst of acceleration from the lead car, as the driver opened the valves on the last nitro oxide tank. Opening the throttle further, he started to catch the car in front before catching the rear bumper on the S.P.V.’s front mouldings. Pushing harder, he launched the S.P.V onto five of its wheels and moving past the other vehicle before landing on the road in front and crossing the crowded finish before bawling back into the city. Conrad called up the other cars on the CB set yelling a victory cry over the radio net and adding addressing the gang, “You all, dont go street racing unless you think you man enough, this aint a kiddies game!” He brought his vehicle to an almost instant halt outside a small filling station. Driving onto the forecourt the attendant came up to the S.P.V., Conrad, and Seymour got out, thanked the attendant, and returned to their Range Rover. The attendant kicked an oil tank and a doorway opened; he then got into the S.P.V. and reversed it into its hideout. By this time, the other two Spectrum cars had arrived, occupants grinning wildly as Conrad’s Range Rover pulled up to their convoy. Patrick’s voice was heard over the CB sets as he announced he knew a good place to go chill; he heard no complaints and floored the throttle of his machine with the others close behind.
Thirty hours later, Seymour let out an echoing burp whilst sat round a table on a private balcony at a San Francisco country club overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. After enjoying a six-course meal, Richard looked over at him and spoke with mock anger.
“Seymour, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“Why, the Arabic culture regard it as a sign of good manners, my friend.”
“Always got a good comeback, haven’t you Seymour?”
A piercing ringing came through the room, and Adam walked over to the phone, picking it up. He 'ummed' and 'ahhhed' several times, before hanging up and walking over to the table.
“That was the Colonel. He needs us back on Cloudbase within twenty-four hours. Something he can’t reveal over an insecure line.”
Two hours later, a Spectrum jet left the runway of San Francisco international heading toward the Caribbean where Cloudbase was hovering waiting for their arrival.
To be continued in part 3…
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