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A series of Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons vignettes for Christmas
2003 by Tiger Jackson
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The Holly and the Ivy
Model Officer: 20 December
The
Christmas tree’s fairy lights still twinkled but the Officers’ Lounge was
deserted. It usually was this late at night. And if it hadn’t been, the fumes of
modelling glue and paint would have driven everyone out. Which suited Captain
Ochre just fine. He’d
been working on this model for weeks. Just a few more touches and it would be
finished. He eyed his work critically, looking for any flaws or imperfections.
It hadn’t been an easy task, adapting various model kits for this project; he
didn’t often design and build original model aircraft. But with patience and
skill, he’d selected, trimmed, fitted, and painted the assorted pieces and
finally create a scaled down Angel Interceptor. All that remained was to paint
the pilot’s name beneath the canopy. None of the real Interceptors were
personalized, Ochre knew, but since this was a special gift, he didn’t think it
would matter. It
would have been nice if he could have made a model of the pilot, too, but he
just wasn’t very good with human figures. He knew someone who was, though. Or
had known him once. As hard as he tried to forget, every year, as Christmas Eve
approached, he remembered his first mentor. And Josh. Chad
Glenn had been an outstanding World Police officer and also an enthusiastic
aeroplane modeller. He’d struck up a personal as well as professional friendship
with his teenaged protégé, Richard Fraser, and the two men had spent a lot of
time together. And Chad’s son, nine-year-old Josh, had often joined them, to
watch and listen as the men meticulously worked on their miniature aircraft.
Josh was an only child, and looked up to his father’s friend, whom he called
“Uncle Rick.”
Because of his high rank and heavy responsibilities, Chad wasn’t required or
expected to answer emergency calls that were routinely handled by uniformed
local police. But out of habit, or maybe just to keep himself reminded of his
own humble start as a city patrol officer, Chad kept a police-band radio tuned
in at all times when he was at home.
It had
been Christmas Eve. Officer Fraser was enjoying dinner with the Glenn family
when a shop burglary was reported over the radio. There had recently been a
prison break and the police dispatcher warned that the dangerous escapees might
be the burglars. The shop’s address wasn’t far from the Glenns’ house. “C’mon
Rick,” Chad said. “But
Dad,” Josh protested. “We’re still eating. And it’s Christmas Eve! I wanted to
watch ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ on TV with you.” Chad
ruffled his son’s hair. “Can’t let someone else’s Christmas be spoiled, can I?”
He smiled at his wife and his son. “I’ll be back before Santa comes. I promise.” That
promise had gone unkept. Chad hadn’t made it home that night or ever again. For
one little boy, Christmas would never come again. It had been murdered, along
with his father. Ochre shut his mind against the details of the ambush he and
Chad had walked into. Rick
had tried to fill some of the emptiness in Josh’s life. He’d spent hours with
him, working with him on models, hoping he would talk to him. The boy was adept
at modelling. He also showed a remarkable talent for crafting, especially for
sculpting original designs. He wasn’t even a teenager when he first attempted to
mold a bust of his late father from play clay. But
Josh could not stop being angry at Richard Fraser for surviving when his father
had died, for not somehow saving his father from death instead of the other way
around. It made no difference that “Uncle Rick” had worked tirelessly with the
detectives who had successfully pursued and captured Chad Glenn’s killers. Josh
pushed his father’s friend away, and finally broke off all contact when, aged
16, he went to formally study art at the prestigious Ecoles des Beaux-Arts
in France. But
Josh had never forgotten Richard Fraser. And, eventually, he had forgiven him. When
Richard Fraser, supreme commander-elect of the World Police, had died in the
line of duty, Josh had attended the funeral and left a token. Captain Ochre of
Spectrum had arranged, as his own heir, to receive that token. It was
a perfect scale model of himself, thirteen–inches tall and dressed in a World
Police uniform. On a card, Josh had written, “I’m sorry, Uncle Rick. I know
Dad’s death wasn’t your fault. I miss you. Goodbye.”
Captain Ochre regretted that he could not ask Josh to sculpt a pilot for the
Interceptor. He could tell no one he’d left behind that he was still alive. With a
sigh, he dismissed the heavy memories, took up his finest one-haired brush, and
began to paint the Angel’s name onto her fighter jet. Story
Note: This
story is based on fact but the names and some other details are fiction.
Back to: The Holly and the Ivy
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