A Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons story for
Christmas 2003 by Tiger Jackson
The Christmas
Eve watch is always a lonely one.
On
Cloudbase, Rhapsody Angel was on duty in Angel One. She also had four more hours
on standby in the Amber Room. All the holiday festivities would be over by the
time her shift finished, long after midnight. It would be a lonelier and longer
night than usual.
At Coningsby
airbase, Royal Air Force fighter pilots were on duty as well. This year, Group
Captain Kingsley and his wingman, Flight Lieutenant Rickman, had drawn the short
straws. Most nights, the duty office and ready room were far from lively but
there always were more than two people around. On Christmas Eve, however, those
unlucky enough to be on watch had to rely on each other and the telly for
companionship. It was depressing.
Rickman
stifled a yawn. “Long night, isn’t it, sir?”
Apart from a
nod, Kingsley didn’t answer. There was no excitement at all. Even the weather
was ideal: a cold, moonlit, cloudless night and so clear a man could count stars
if he was inclined to. Or bored enough.
“We could
almost wish for a war to break out,” chuckled Rickman. “Just for variety.”
You should
always be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.
The alert
klaxon sounded. “Scramble!
Scramble! This is not a drill!”
Reflexively,
both men had leaped to their feet even before they heard the order, grabbing up
their flight helmets as they ran out of the hut towards their Merlins. The
flight crews were already there, waiting to strap the pilots into their cockpits
and remove the boarding ladders. Kingsley and Rickman swarmed up the sides of
their respective craft and were halfway into their harnesses before touching
down in their seats. The crew-chief snapped the last buckle into place then
barked orders to her crew to stand clear.
In accord
with RAF procedure, the Merlins’ engines were routinely kept warm in case of
emergency. They fired immediately. Both fighters rose into the night sky and, in
seconds, diminished to the size of pinpoints as they raced away at hundreds of
airspeed kilometres per hour. The crew chief glanced at her watch. From the time
the klaxon had sounded to the Merlins’ launch, less than three minutes had
elapsed.
Group
Captain Kingsley and Flight Lieutenant Rickman listened grimly to their
assignment. Radar had picked up an unidentified craft flying over the Channel,
approaching the coast of Lincolnshire.
“At least
we’re dealing with only one bandit and not a blitz,” radioed Rickman.
Kingsley
agreed. But he was uneasy. A single aircraft could be an advance scout for a
much larger attack force, of missiles if not aircraft. And the RAF’s skeletal
Christmas Eve duty watches would be hard pressed to meet and hold them until all
the off-duty pilots could return and get airborne. Even now, the recall orders
would be going out and defence stations preparing for the worst. He and
Lieutenant Rickman were the first into the air. It was up to them to identify
the bandit and relay the information as fast as possible, so others could
prepare for the worst.
The Merlins
levelled out at 25,000 feet. It was becoming cloudy out over the Channel.
Kingsley’s headset crackled. “Wolfhound, Control.”
“Control,
Wolfhound.”
“We’re
feeding the bandit’s coordinates to your onboard computers.”
Kingsley and
Rickman both acknowledged, then sped towards the bandit’s reported location at
Mach 1. The onboard radars picked up something. “Keep your eyes peeled, Rickman.
We should have visual any time now.”
“There,
sir!”
Kingsley
couldn’t see anything at first, then spotted the bandit as it ducked in and out
of the clouds. If not for a faint red glow, Kingsley doubted it would be visible
at all.
“Seems
strange,” Rickman commented, “to have only one red light showing. Can’t tell if
it’s on a wing or maybe its nose.”
“Strange it
should be showing a light at all,” said Kingsley. “Not exactly the thing for a
stealth flyer to let itself be seen.” He attempted to contact the unidentified
craft but got no answer. Warnings that it would be fired on also went unheeded.
“Rickman, prepare to fire on the bandit.”
“Sir,
something’s going wrong with my radar. It keeps losing the bandit. I can’t get a
lock on target.”
Kingsley
immediately discovered he was having the same problem. “It must have some kind
of jamming signal.”
“It’s
getting out of range!” And indeed it was. Although the Merlins were pushing
their top speed, the mysterious craft was rapidly pulling away from them.
Group
Captain Kingsley felt cold. Nothing on Earth could move that fast. He radioed to
Control and told them to report a possible Mysteron invasion craft to Spectrum.
Rhapsody
Angel’s epaulets flashed green.
“Angel One —
Immediate launch!”
“S.I.G.”
Within seconds, the Interceptor was in the air. As the Angel flew to the
rendevous point, Lieutenant Green briefed her about the strange, unidentified
aircraft being pursued by the RAF.
The Merlins
had managed to keep the UFO in sight, barely. Rickman had noted that they were
straining their engines and burning fuel rapidly. Rhapsody eased her Interceptor
alongside the RAF fighters.
“Good
evening, gentlemen,” she radioed. “Rhapsody Angel, Spectrum, here. What seems to
be the problem?”
Forgetting
the darkness, Kingsley and Rickman shot a glance towards each other. Although
the RAF had plenty of female pilots, they somehow hadn’t expected Spectrum to
send one in an emergency like this.
Group
Captain Kingsley outlined the situation, particularly their inability to catch
up to or make contact with the bandit or UFO, whichever it was. “Can you handle
it?” he asked doubtfully.
“Not a
problem.”
The
Interceptor sped away from the Merlins, leaving their pilots slack-jawed.
Ahead,
Rhapsody could see the faint red glow, which grew ever brighter as she
approached. “I have visual contact with the UFO,” the Angel reported. “It
doesn’t resemble any kind of aircraft I’ve ever seen. It’s long and narrow with
no visible wings. There’s some kind of red light on the nose.”
“It could be
a missile of some sort,” Lieutenant Green responded. “But there’s no known kind
that carries a light in Spectrum’s databases.”
“Acknowledged. I’m going in for a closer look.” Rhapsody pushed the Interceptor
to its maximum speed but found she could not close with the UFO. It maintained
the gap between them, yet didn’t seem to be making an effort to get away from
her.
“Angel One
to Cloudbase and Wolfhound. I can’t catch up to the UFO. I am within missile
range and I have a lock on the target. I’ll attempt to make radio contact before
firing.”
“S.I.G.,
Angel One.”
Rhapsody
broadcast her identity and a request for identification to the UFO. The reply
surprised her.
“Happy
Christmas, Lady Dianne!”
Rhapsody was
astonished. How could the UFO’s pilot know her name?
“Cloudbase,
Wolfhound, the UFO has responded. Are you receiving the transmission?”
“Receiving
what?” Lieutenant Green and Group Captain Kingsley both asked.
“The
bandit’s transmission, of course.”
“Rhapsody,
we can hear you, that’s all,” replied Green.
“Ditto,” echoed
Kingsley.
Rhapsody’s
radio crackled. The strange yet familiar voice spoke again. It was deep and
resonating, and sounded as if it contained years, no centuries of
laughter and smiles. “I remember the year you asked for a pair of wings and
flying lessons. You were all of five years old!” The speaker chuckled warmly.
“Not a typical request, not at all. That’s why I remember you, lass. And why I’m
not surprised to see you tonight. Come alongside, my dear! Come alongside!”
The UFO
slowed down, allowing the Interceptor to catch up. As she drew closer and saw
what she had been pursuing, Rhapsody was astonished.
“I don’t
believe it. It can’t be —!”
The
transmission broke off abruptly.
On
Cloudbase, Colonel White and Lieutenant Green both tensed.
“Cloudbase
to Angel One. Respond Angel One.” The receiver crackled. “Rhapsody Angel,
respond! Rhapsody!”
Group
Captain Kingsley snapped on his transmitter. “Angel One! Angel One! What is your
situation? Respond please!” The seconds stretched out. Ten, eleven, twelve
. . . he counted silently. “Rickman, prepare to fire on the UFO.”
“Arming
weapons,” Rickman instantly replied. “I’ll fire as soon as I’ve got anything
close to a fix on the bandit this time. What do you think’s happened to the
Angel?”
“I wish I
knew.” There had been no sign of weapons discharge, no sign of an explosion, no
trace of smoke or other debris hanging in the air. Just the silence.
Laughter
rang out in the RAF pilots’ headphones and through the Control Room receiver on
Cloudbase. “I’m all right. Everything’s fine!” came Rhapsody’s cultured tones.
“I’ve identified the UFO. It’s not a threat!” Then she sang:
“Peace on
the Earth
“Good will
toward men
“From
Spectrum’s own Angelic choir!
“I’ll escort
Santa Claus through the night — “So gents: please hold your fire!”
Colonel
White breathed a sigh of relief. He turned on the transmitter at his desk.
“Cloudbase to Rhapsody Angel. You’re cleared to take on escort duty. Good luck.
And Happy Christmas.”
“And so the Angel protected Santa and his reindeer all through Christmas Eve. When he’d left presents for all the children all over the world, Santa’s bag still wasn’t empty. He had a gift for the Angel, so she would always know how much Santa appreciated her help. He gave her a little pouch made of red velvet, trimmed with white fur. Inside was a golden sleigh bell. And Santa promised the Angel that if she ever wanted to fly with him on Christmas Eve again, all she had to do was ring the bell.
“And that’s
how a Spectrum Angel saved Father Christmas.”
The children
beamed. “Wow! That was a wizard story!” piped Nigel Simms, who, at age eight,
was not easily impressed.
“Did it
really happen, Auntie Di?” lisped his four-year-old sister Emma.
“Of course
not, silly,” said Nigel, cutting off whatever his aunt had been about to say.
“Santa Claus wouldn’t need Spectrum’s protection! His sleigh is fast enough to
outrun anything, even an Interceptor.”
“Oh.” Emma
sucked her thumb absently for a moment. “I’m going to be a Nangel, too. I asked
Santa for wings.”
The children’s mother, Rowena Simms rose to her feet. “Time you were both off to bed. Father Christmas will be starting his rounds soon,” she added, seeing rebellion in the little faces, “and he can’t come while you’re awake. Say goodnight now.”
“Do we
have to, Mummy?” whined the children in perfect unison.
“Yes,
darlings. You know you can’t have Christmas until you’ve been to sleep.”
“Why not?”
“It’s one of
the rules,” Rowena said firmly, and herded the children out of the room.
Lord
Robert’s eyes danced. “I seem to recall using that same logic on two other
small, recalcitrant children not so many years ago!” He
laughed as his son, Edward, and daughter, Dianne, jokingly rolled their eyes,
then grinned at each other.
Edward
kissed his younger sister on the cheek. “I never dreamed you were such a great
storyteller, Di! You have a marvellous imagination. The way you put yourself in
the starring role made it seem real. The kids were enthralled.”
“I’m glad
they enjoyed it. But I think I’ll call it a night, too. I had a long day at
work,” said Dianne. “You know how busy airline security gets at this season,
with so many travellers.” A chorus of cheery “good nights” followed her out of
the door.
When she
reached her room, she quickly changed into her warmest clothes, then slipped
down the back stairs, through the warm but quiet kitchen, and out the door into
the clear, moonlit night. The crust on the snow was solid but she trod lightly
so she wouldn’t break through and leave a trail to show where she had gone.
One of the
best things about a large country estate, Rhapsody Angel mused, is that there is
plenty of open land. And enough trees around the house to create a screen. From
behind the trees, no one could see the house, but no one in the house could see
beyond the trees, either.
She pulled the fur-trimmed red velvet bag from her pocket and held the gold sleigh bell in her hand for a moment before giving it a firm shake. Then she waited, smiling broadly, as she heard the answering ring of the sleigh bells worn by eight tiny reindeer, led by one more with a shiny red nose.
Happy Christmas to All!
Tiger Jackson 2003
OTHER STORIES BY TIGER JACKSON
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