Bob Meddings waited patiently as Commander Norman conversed with the Fireflash pilots over the radio. They had been attempting to shake the bomb loose with some violent manoeuvres in what they believed was their only chance to get out of the dire situation alive. However, with the craft still holding all six hundred of its passengers, there was a limit to how extremely they could tilt the plane, as they could hardly force their passengers to endure loops and corkscrews. It wasn't looking hopeful.

"Standby, Fireflash," Commander Norman said, his luscious moustache almost quivering with nerves. "We are checking to see if there has been any movement of the bomb."

A silence fell over the control room in London Tower as the image loaded up on the screen. Norman sighed. The bomb was just as firmly secure as it always had been. Bob could tell what Norman was thinking. How long could they keep this up before they accepted the inevitable?

"Excuse me, sir," Bob finally said, stepping forwards so that he could be clearly seen and heard.

Norman turned to face him, looking exasperated. "This had better be important."

"Well, it's the Fireflash situation, sir," Bob explained. "I think we can all see that you can't just shake that bomb loose."

"And what do you propose, Meddings?" Norman snapped. "Do nothing and wait for them to die?"

"Well, no, sir," Bob said, trying his hardest not to flush. "But the way I see it, the only way to remove the bomb, would be to get somebody aboard the Fireflash."

"We have already explored this possibility," Norman said, shaking his head. "The only access to the hydraulics is through a hatch on the exterior of the wing. It would be impossible for the crew to reach it."

"I know, sir," Bob said. "I wasn't suggesting the crew would access the bomb. I would."

Norman looked at him, stunned. "How would that be possible?"

"We use the only available entrance; that exterior hatch you mentioned," Bob said, slightly sweating under the intense gaze of his commanding officer. "If we could use some kind of target carrier, I think it would be possible for me to board the plane from the outside."

Norman was silent for what seemed like an age. "Board from the outside, while it is still flying?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is one of the most outrageous schemes I've ever heard!" Norman yelled. "You come up here when we are all desperately trying to save lives only to spout this utter nonsense?"

"Well, can you think of anything better, sir?" Bob asked. Immediately, he knew he'd crossed a line.

"May I remind you how to talk to your superiors," Norman said quietly, his rage palpable. "This hare-brained idea of yours has a million to one chance of working and you expect me to jump for joy."

"With all due respect sir," Bob started, not wishing to anger the commander again. "A million to one chance is better than no chance at all."

Once again, Norman went quiet. He seemed to be genuinely considered Bob's words. His thoughts were interrupted by an incoming transmission from Captain Hanson. "Fireflash to London Tower, what now?"

"Standby, Fireflash," Norman said, his voice barely even a whisper. "I may have some news for you."

Bob waited with bated breath for Norman to make a decision. "Well, sir?"

"We do not have the time to properly plan out such a dangerous rescue attempt. There would be almost no chance of success. Do you understand the risks involved?"

"Perfectly, sir" Bob replied eagerly.

"Then get into your flying gear. I will organise your target carrier and update Fireflash."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir."

"Meddings," Norman began just as Bob was turning to leave. "Thank you. And good luck."

Bob nodded in acknowledgement before quickly exiting and hurrying down the tower to the changing rooms. His clothes flew everywhere as he scurried to get his gear on, nervous adrenaline fuelling his rapid movements. In mere seconds, he had put on his flying suit, had his harness attached, his oxygen mask was at the ready and both his parachute and emergency parachute were secure. He was ready.

Just as promised, there was a target carrier waiting for him on runway two-nine. It was an old aircraft that had been used during the war by the air force. They would tow a target resembling an enemy aircraft behind them using a cable that would then be used for shooting practice. Since the end of the war, the need for this had greatly decreased, but old aircraft were never disposed of as you never knew when they would become useful again.

This TX-204 model hadn't been used in years but it was still in good condition, and as fortune would have it, there was still a pilot working at London Airport who knew how to fly it. The pilot was seemingly finishing off some final checks on his old plane before turning towards Bob and firmly shaking his hand.

"Not much time for introductions," he said, not even giving Bob his name. "But I want you to know I'm right with you. This is a bloody brave thing you're doing."

"Thanks," Bob mumbled. He'd never thought of himself as being particularly brave, but this just seemed like the right thing to do. Hundreds of lives were in danger. They simply had to at least try to save them.

Bob strapped himself into the backseat and readied for take-off. The pilot waited for the green light from London Tower before kicking the carrier into action. At first it seemed to slowly lumber along the runway, before eventually picking up enough speed for the old craft to become airborne. It only took a few seconds of flying before they could see the epic Fireflash in front of them. Even in its desperate situation, the wonderful aircraft looked truly magnificent.

"Target One to Fireflash," the pilot said. "Hold her steady, I'm going to fly in front of you and get into position."

Captain Hanson responded over the radio. "But this is suicide! You don't stand a chance!"

"There is a chance," Bob replied. "It may be a very slender chance, but it's one we have to take."

"Bob, listen to me," Hanson pleaded as the Target One pilot got into position, completely ignoring the Captain's protests. "You can't just throw your life away like this."

"I'm not throwing it away," Bob replied calmly. "I'm trying to save yours."

"I know, I know..." Hanson muttered. "And if you go through with this, we're fully behind you and appreciate the risk you're taking. But it's just not worth it. Have you got a family?"

Bob swallowed hard. "Been married nearly a year. We've been trying for a baby, but no luck so far."

"Just think about your wife," Hanson said. "What would she think?"

"I... I don't know," Bob admitted. "I'll have to ask her when I'm home. Get the cable ready."

The debate was settled. Bob made his way to the back of the target carrier, where the targets would usually be stored. There was a powerful winch system that tightly held what seemed to be miles of sturdy cable, on the end of which was a conical structure that would normally hold the targets in place. Bob squatted down, putting his legs inside the cone and gripping it tightly. Everything was in position.

"Ok, Fireflash," the pilot said. "Hold her steady and maintain current course. I'll do any adjustments on this end. We'll both keep as quiet as possible and let Lieutenant Meddings call the shots. Ready, Bob?"

"Ready," Bob replied confidently.

"Then away you go!"

The rear hatch of the target carrier slowly opened, and Bob felt an immense rush of wind against his back. It suddenly hit him just how terrifying this was going to be. But there was no backing down now. The winches started to rotate, allowing Bob to slide backwards out of the carrier and into the sky.

The wind flapped at him ferociously, buffeting him around. There was no use waiting for the turbulence to end; he was one small man in a sea of open air. The wind would always win that battle. The cable continued to reel him out, edging him closer to his destination.

"Left left, one degree," Bob said, noticing that he was marginally off course. With the minor correction made, it wasn't long before the enormous Fireflash loomed over him, ominously bathing him in shadow. "Stop winches!"

"Stopping winches!" the pilot reacted quickly. Bob was almost directly under the wing of Fireflash.

"Ok, Fireflash, open inspection hatch number four," Bob said. The crucial exterior hatch on the left wing of Fireflash opened, revealing the interior. "Keep her steady, Fireflash, one false move now and I've had it."

"Bob, are you in position?" Hanson asked.

"Very nearly," Bob replied, "I'm going to ask for more cable, one foot at a time. When I'm ready, I'll attempt to board."

The wind howled away around Bob and yet somehow it still seemed silent as he gave orders. As instructed, the target pilot continued to give him an extra foot of cable, slightly moving him closer to position. Bob couldn't help gulping as he crept closer and closer to the open hatch.

"Ok, that's enough," Bob said, taking a deep breath. The hatch was directly above his head. "Ok then, on the count of five, pull me up."

"I'll have to immediately retract the cable to stop it tangling with Fireflash," the pilot said. "You'll only have a split second to get this right."

"Understood," Bob said. Everyone anxiously anticipated his command. "Five, four, three, two, one... now!"

His makeshift seat jerked upwards and he desperately reached out, barely managing to cling on to the side of the hatch. His palms were sweaty and his arms already ached, but he desperately gripped the hatch door as if his life depended on it. Well, actually, his life did depend on it.

"Bob!" Hanson cried. "Are you ok?"

"I'm ok!" he managed to reply, somehow squeezing the words out of his lungs. "I'm aboard... I can't see inside yet, I need to get a little higher."

He had no idea where he found the strength to climb, but he managed to heave himself up the hatch, where a convenient pole gave him a better vantage point. The only trouble was, he had to hang from the pole, and his arms were crying out for mercy, begging for him to let go. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, somehow giving him the strength to hold on.

"I can't see the bomb!" Bob cried, scanning the interior but only being met with regulation pumps, pipes and machinery.

"It should be located near the master cylinders, on the yellow hydraulics system," Hanson explained.

Bob could see the master cylinders, they were massive and chrome coloured, so quite difficult to miss. The yellow hydraulics were around to the right... "I can see it! I'm going to try and get nearer!"

The bomb was exactly where Hanson had expected; its angry red colour making it visible amongst the sea of yellow in the hydraulics systems. He desperately tried to reach towards it, but it was no good; his fingers were only met with air. The pipe he would need to cling on to was too far away. He could jump onto the hydraulics from here, but even if he successfully made that jump without falling to his death, how would he be able to get to the bomb?

"It's no good," he gasped. "It's no good. There's so much machinery in the way, I'd have to dismantle the pump to get anywhere near it! I'm going to try the other side."

He reached out to climb around the hydraulics system, but his arms gave up, failing to cling on any longer. He tumbled from the plane, spiralling towards the ground in a sickening spin. After an immediate reaction of pure panic, he pulled his parachute. It failed.

"He's fallen!" Hanson cried. "His chute has failed!"

Hanson's cries did not help to calm Bob down. With his heart racing and his fingers trembling, he reached for the emergency cord. Just as he was about to pull it, he stopped in a moment of dread. What if this one failed too? He would have none left. The ground was fast approaching, he'd hit it soon, he'd be dead in seconds. He closed his eyes and pulled the emergency parachute.

His body felt an immediate reaction as the parachute thankfully opened, slowing his fall with a satisfying whoosh as the fabric caught large clumps of air. Bob managed to breathe a sigh of relief. For a moment there, he really thought he was done for. He glanced up and saw the Fireflash, still trapped in the sky whilst he had the fortune of safely meeting the ground. The small speck of relief he felt when he escaped with his own life did little to nurse his disappointment. It had been a good try, but ultimately, he'd failed.

*

Commander Norman sat in London Tower, nervously itching his moustache as they awaited to hear news of the rescue attempt. The target carrier had returned to London Airport, but they were yet to hear from either Bob Meddings or Fireflash.

At last, Hanson's voice came through the radio. "London Tower, this is Fireflash. The rescue attempt has failed. Bob Meddings appears to be safe. Our radiation safety factor is now down to thirty-five minutes. Over."

Norman buried his face in the palm of his hand. They'd always known it was a long shot, but at least it had given them some momentary hope. Now there was no time to try again—it was time to accept that Fireflash and its passengers were doomed.

"Roger, Fireflash," Norman responded, preparing himself for the awful truth he had to deliver. "There is only one remaining option. Return to London Airport and land. The area has been evacuated. Our only hope is that the bomb fails to explode." It was the grim reality of the situation. There was simply no hope.

"I've picked up an unidentified aircraft on my radar, sir," Harris the radar operator interjected.

"The whole area should be closed off from air traffic," Norman said. They had been very clear in their warnings; nobody was to come near the area.

"Definitely heading in our direction," Harris confirmed. "Height two thousand five hundred feet, speed seven... point five thousand miles an hour?" Harris slumped back in his chair, gobsmacked.

"Seven point five thousand miles and hour?" Norman stuttered. "Have you gone crazy?"

Before Harris could answer, a transmission came through the radio from an unidentified source that had somehow penetrated their secure frequency. "London Tower from Thunderbird 1. Approaching London Airport, height two thousand five hundred feet, airspeed seven point five thousand miles per hour. Will be touching down in two minutes."

Norman and Harris exchanged glances, both in disbelief of what they were hearing. Neither of them had heard of this Thunderbird craft, nor they had heard of anything that could travel that fast. It made Fireflash look pedestrian.

"London Tower, this is International Rescue," the mysterious man tried again. "Fireflash is in trouble and we are equipped to help you. Requesting permission to land." Whoever this was, they had a strong, authoritative voice, as if their very words oozed confidence.

"International Rescue?" Norman asked, looking at Harris. "What is this?"

"That must be the aircraft I just picked up," Harris said. Already, they could begin to hear the terrific roar of a monumental jet engine, a roar so immense it surely had to belong to something so ludicrously powerful, it almost had to defy the laws of physics. Norman couldn't help giving a smile.

"Now this I must see," he said, before replying over the radio. "International Rescue, you are cleared to land. Use runway two-nine."

"Will not require runway," the man from International Rescue replied. "Coming in vertically."

Suddenly, they saw it. A craft simply dropped out of the sky, appearing in the blink of an eye and darting like a silver bullet towards the ground. Before Norman had even registered the appearance of the craft, it had come to a complete stop, where he could truly take it in in all its glory.

It was no plane. It was a rocket! It had an elegant cylindrical frame, silvery-grey in colour that shimmered in the sunlight as if forged from an otherworldly alloy. It boasted a sleek and aerodynamic design that seemed to defy the known laws of aviation. The body seamlessly led into a beautifully curved and pointed red conical nose, a nose so perfectly designed it gave the craft unparalleled speed through the air.

Near the base of the craft, it widened into a thicker blue section where a number one was proudly displayed. There was a cross-like structure at the rear, which housed a grand total of nine booster rocket engines. It really was something to behold. Simply describing what you saw did not do the wonderful vehicle justice. Norman looked at the craft with sheer astonishment.

"London Tower from International Rescue," the man announced over the radio. "Now listen carefully, I need assistance taking my equipment up to your control tower and I also need your assurance that airport security will be stationed at my craft to guard it against any potential intruders."

Norman shook his head in disbelief. Allowing permission to land was one thing, but allowing entrance into London Tower without even knowing who these people were? That was taking it too far. "International Rescue, please give me more information about your organisation. We cannot grant you free access to our facilities without more details."

"Look, there are six hundred people up there with about forty minutes to live!" the man cried out. "Now you can't help them but I believe we can. So, what's it gonna be?"