Brains nervously cleaned his glasses for the hundredth time as FAB 1 raced towards the scene of the disaster. He wasn't even consciously aware that he was doing it, but he just had to give his mind something to do and something to focus on. If he wasn't preoccupied, his mind might just wander to those two engineers trapped at the bottom of the river...

Lady Penelope put a calming hand on his knee. "Not long now, Brains," she smiled reassuringly. "We're just a few miles from the bridge."

"Oh, uh, thanks, L-l-lady Penelope," Brains said, smiling weakly. They'd both had quite a shock when the Allington Bridge had collapsed live on air and the Martian Space Probe had tumbled into the water below. Brains had never known himself to be quite so animated, jumping out of his seat and crying out helplessly as he could do nothing but watch the television screen as the calamity occurred.

"Do you think the men working aboard are still alive?" Lady Penelope asked.

"I... I don't know," Brains admitted. "I don't g-g-give much for their chances. But I've got to do something! I've just got to!"

"I quite understand, Brains," Penelope nodded. She had immediately taken charge of the situation and ordered Parker to rush them to Allington so that they could assist wherever they could. "Now then, it seems we have reached a diversion. Slow down, Parker, let me handle this."

Parker gently slowed the Rolls Royce down until it reached a stop just before a barricade that was guarded by several police officers. One made their way over to the car with a smile on her face. Penelope rolled down her window, ready to talk her way out of the situation.

"Thought I recognised the car, m'lady," the police officer said. "You'll have to go another way, I'm afraid. Spot of trouble at the river."

"How inconvenient," Penelope mused. "Isn't there any way through? We have a charity event to attend."

"'Fraid not, m'lady," the officer shook her head. "There's a large crowd gathering. All paths are completely blocked."

"Oh dear," Penelope sighed. "The auction will have to be rearranged. Thank you, officer." She rolled her window back up as the police officer returned to her post.

Brains turned to Penelope with horror on his face. Were they really giving up that easily? "We've got to get through, L-l-lady Penelope! I just couldn't face the boys back at base if I did nothing!"

"You will get through, Brains, but you shall have to do it alone," Penelope said firmly. "You should be able to cut through these fields while I cause a distraction to disperse the crowds."

Brains thought to the hidden weapons he had personally installed in FAB 1. "What kind of d-d-distraction? You're not gonna blow up a research centre or something?"

"Brains, my dear," Penelope beamed. "I am Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. Don't you think that is distraction enough?"

With a charming wink from her ladyship, the conversation was over. Brains exited the car and made his way towards the fields as instructed, while Parker pulled the car around, presumably to find a good spot for Lady Penelope's great distraction. It wasn't long before he reached the edge of the field. Through the trees he could see the huge crowd of people that had gathered to witness the collapsed bridge. The police officer was right; there was no way through the masses.

Without warning, there was a sudden scream. The onlookers twisted and turned, frantically searching for the reason of the immediate panic. It was, of course, the unexpected appearance of a bright pink Rolls Royce, and the surprising entrance of the sweetheart of England. In seconds, the crowd had turned its attention from the Allington Bridge and were soon flocking Lady Penelope, who was graciously greeting them, whilst subtly drawing them away from the scene.

Brains took his opportunity, walking in the opposite direction to everyone else and slipping past the crowd unnoticed. Not even the authorities attempting to control the crowds were aware of his breach of the blockade. Now well clear of any potential disruption, Brains made his way to the bridge, where he could see the destruction firsthand.

"Oh, wow," he breathed. The bridge had been torn apart, its centre ripped and crushed like an unwanted model dispatched by a toddler having a tantrum. It was horrifying. The river below was churning wickedly, as if daring anyone to try a rescue attempt, and it was so deep that Brains had no chance of seeing the rocket. If he was going to discover what had happened, he would need to access the control room.

To his surprise, he had no trouble whatsoever. There was a perfectly accessible lift that took him straight to the top. Or at least, it was perfectly accessible once he'd used a handy little gadget in his watch to hack the system and open up the secure top level. As the elevator escorted him to the control room, he saw a hive of activity down below. A team of boats were towing some ancient looking cranes above the danger zone while divers were bobbing in and out of view on the surface.

As he neared the top, he heard a voice. "Frank? Bill? Can you hear me? Please, come in Frank and Bill."

The elevator doors slid open and Brains stepped out. A man in a suit and tie was the source of the noise, barking down his radio with only a small hint of desperation in his voice. Another man who was slightly smaller and dressed significantly less smart was busy at work, quietly giving orders through a headset while examining several instrument panels. Brains went to clear his throat before suddenly realising how crazy it was that he was even in this room, let alone assert himself into a sensitive situation.

"Frank and Bill, please reply," the suited man repeated. "If you can hear me, just know that we are doing everything we can to get you out of there. Wise, how are those cranes coming along?"

"They've only just got them into place, sir," Wise replied, briefly removing his headset. "It'll take at least an hour to fit the cables."

"What do you mean it'll take over an hour?" the man cried. He looked over at Wise as if he was about to shout a perfect blend of orders and profanities before stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Brains. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Brains stood there for a moment, frozen. Eventually, he spoke. "Never you mind how I got here," he said. "W-w-what's the position?"

The suited man looked baffled. "Wise, get security up here right now."

Wise looked up and noted Brains' appearance with mild amusement. "Sorry, Morecambe, sir. It's all hands on deck with the rescue attempt."

"You mean this is a rescue attempt?" Brains cried, gesturing out the window to the cranes on the surface of the river. "With this equipment? Haven't you even thought of c-c-calling International Rescue?"

"International Rescue?" Morecambe sneered. "We're not gonna sit by and hand this over to some secret cult nobody knows anything about and risk the lives of those engineers. We're more than capable of handling this ourselves. And what, may I ask, is wrong with our equipment?"

"Oh, it belongs in a museum!" Brains scoffed, unsure of where he had gotten this sudden burst of confidence. "It was f-f-fifty years out of date fifty years ago!"

"These cranes have served the Allington docks proudly since before you were born, boy, and they are not about to let us down now," Morecambe retorted, a vein in his forehead looking dangerously close to bursting. "What are you anyway, some kind of rescue expert?"

"Well, I, as a m-m-matter of fact, I, uh, I..." Brains' confidence faded away almost as quickly as it had come on. He couldn't reveal his identity as a member of International Rescue and without any credentials, there was no way he could offer any assistance.

"That's what I thought," Morecambe said triumphantly. "Now, get out of here before I throw you out myself."

Brains didn't need telling twice. He retreated into the lift, looking glumly out onto the river as he was carried downwards. The dock cranes that were being positioned at the scene really were pitiful. At one point in time, they would've appeared as the shiniest metal imaginable, but they had long since rusted over. And then the rust itself must have rusted over in a new layer of rust. They weren't even fit to lift puppets, let alone thousands of tonnes worth of wreckage.

It hit him that he had to act. He had gained one crucial piece of information in his visit to the control tower; the engineers were still alive. So, lives were at stake and nobody else was capable of saving them. This looked like a job for International Rescue.

Brains stepped out of the elevator once he reached the bottom. He pulled his watch up to his mouth and spoke clearly, "Calling International Rescue."

For a few seconds, he was met with only silence. Then suddenly, his watch face disappeared, replaced with a screen displaying John Tracy, his beautifully kept curl of hair looking as pristine as ever.

"Brains!" he cried out in surprise. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, uh, h-h-hi John," Brains replied. "I'm at the Allington Bridge, and there's a p-p-pretty dangerous situation here."

"Oh, yeah, I've been following the whole thing," John nodded. "Still no call put out yet though, they seem to think they have everything under control."

"They're wrong," Brains informed him. "They've g-g-got no chance of saving those engineers."

"I hear what you're saying, Brains, but you know the rules. Now that people know about us, we can't go butting into other people's business. We need someone on the scene to make the call."

"But J-j-john, I am on the scene!"

John stopped for a moment before throwing back his head and laughing. "Well, you can't say fairer than that! Shall I send Thunderbirds 2 and 4 your way?"

"Well, uh, I think that might be a little r-r-rash, John," Brains said. "I have very few details, so I c-c-can't be exactly sure what equipment we'll need. At the m-m-moment I don't think there's any real time pressure here, but what if that changes and we have to retreat to base because we've brought the wrong equipment?"

"I hear you Brains, nothing wrong with a little caution," John said. "I'll get Scott to scope out the scene and then we can make some well-informed decisions. I'll update you on an ETA."

"Thanks, John." His watch returned to normal, showing him the time. It had gone one o'clock already; those poor engineers had been trapped at the bottom of that river for four hours. Even so, it was pointless to risk a quick rescue only to find themselves ill-equipped to deal with the situation effectively. That was exactly what the Allington Bridge controller was doing and it was exactly why their attempt was going to fail.

Brains had a little time to kill while waiting for Scott's arrival, but he saw little reason in moving from his spot. Directly below the control room, he was unseen from almost all angles. The bridge controllers wouldn't be able to spot him unless they fancied some impromptu abseiling, and he was far enough from the bridge blockade where the police were unlikely to see him. He was free to use his vantage point and watch the disaster area.

Eventually, a collection of divers surfaced, signalling that whatever rescue the bridge operators had planned was ready. Brains watched curiously, wondering if there was anything he could learn from the operation. The ancient looking cranes went about their work, their winch rotors slowly beginning to turn. The cranes creaked and groaned, no doubt already feeling the immense stress and strain of lifting either the rocket or the rubble. The trio of cranes began to tilt in towards each other, creating a massive imbalance of weight when suddenly, the rescue was over before it had even begun. One of the cranes gave up, the struts at its tip snapping completely, causing the whole crane to topple over. The other two cranes now had no hope of surviving and quickly followed suit, joining their fallen brethren in its capsized state.

Brains sighed. There was only one word to describe the attempt: pathetic. He only hoped that his machines would fare better. Just as the thought crossed his mind, there was a change in the air. The low hum of an aircraft engine filtered through the sky, starting out as a faint whisper, then it was a light rumble before rising to an almighty roar. Brains tightly gripped his glasses as the wind suddenly swirled around Allington Bridge. There was only one explanation: the arrival of Thunderbird 1 was imminent.

One moment the sky was empty and the next, the mighty rocket had appeared, smoke billowing from its jets as it swept gracefully across the scene. Brains couldn't help but feel a tinge of pride to see his elegant design in action. Testing the Thunderbird craft had been one thing, but actually seeing one on a real operation was a special feeling.

The watch on Brains' wrist beeped a few times before the watch face once again disappeared, this time now displaying the face of Scott Tracy. "How's it going, Brains? Heard you needed a rescue!"

"S-s-scott!" Brains replied, being forced to raise his voice over Thunderbird 1's engines. "How does it look from up there?"

"Pretty bad," Scott admitted. "Doesn't look like I'll be able to land anywhere near the danger zone. I'll have to set up somewhere on the riverbank and organise things remotely."

"Ok, Scott. When you're in position, send down the remote-control camera and feed it back to me. Then we can have a look at what's really going on down there."

"FAB, Brains," Scott said. "And I've just had contact with the Allington Bridge controller—turns out they put a call out no less than five minutes ago and they're very impressed with our response time!"

"You don't say?" Brains said with a smile. It seemed the bridge controller had eventually seen some sense after all, and at least now they knew they could work with the bridge staff—not against them.

Thunderbird 1 moved swiftly down the river as Scott tried to find a suitable place to land. It didn't take long, but it had meant Scott was a fair distance from the danger zone. Once he had finished his reconnaissance, he would be able to have little impact on the rescue operation. After a few seconds, a small drone was released from Thunderbird 1 and it soon zipped towards the damaged section of the bridge. It was a simple design, a small yet robust camera, mounted onto four strut-like legs and carried by four whirring turbines.

"Say hi to yourself, Brains!" Scott's voice came through Brains' watch, but the video feed now showed his own face, looking down at his wrist. He looked up and was met with the remote-control camera hovering in front of him.

"Alright, S-s-scott," Brains nodded with mild amusement. "The feed is working great. Now let's take a look at that crash site."

"FAB."

The camera dived down to the churning surface of the river, quickly submerging and being lost from view. Brains looked back to his watch to see the little drone swiftly making its way to the bottom of the river, fighting the fierce currents seemingly with ease. Soon, they could see the rocket. Or rather, they could see the incredible wreckage that the rocket was buried in.

The Martian Space Probe was lying on its side and was almost entirely covered in rubble and debris. Half crumbled concrete entangled with ravaged steel girders, trapping the rocket like a makeshift prison. It was hard to tell on such a small screen, but it seemed like the rocket had also half sunk into the river bed below, its almighty weight forcing its way through the soft sediment. Even attempting to lift the rocket would be a fool's errand; the fact that the bridge controllers had tried to lift it with a few old cranes was utterly outrageous.

"I'm going to circle the whole crash site," Scott said, as the remote-control camera began moving around towards the nose cone end of the ship. "Then we can try to get in contact with those engineers."

"It's going to be a b-b-big job," Brains admitted. "Thunderbird 4 could cut through some of the metal and then maybe Thunderbird 2 could airlift some of the concrete away, but then p-p-perhaps it would be possible to—"

"Uh, Brains?" Scott interrupted. "Are you seeing this?"

Brains snapped out of his trance and looked back at the screen. Scott had the remote-control camera pointed at the rear of the rocket, showing off its epic booster engines. But something wasn't quite right. The fins seemed to be trying to move outwards, but were failing to push the rubble away. And was it a trick of the light, or did the engines seem to be... glowing?

"Of course!" Brains cried out. Then, he gasped. "Oh no!"

"What's happening, Brains?" Scott asked

"The rocket has activated itself!" Brains exclaimed. "How could I have not thought of it s-s-sooner? When the rocket fell into the river it must've landed in an upright position, automatically activating the countdown procedure."

"What does that mean?"

"When the countdown hits zero, the rocket will blast off—and there's no way of stopping it," Brains explained.

"But with the rocket trapped at the bottom of the river..." Scott began.

"It'll launch itself into the river bed," Brains finished.

"Brains..." Scott breathed. "With that amount of force and nowhere to go, what'll happen?"

Brains took a moment to process what washappening. "The engines will o-o-overheat in seconds. The rocket—and theengineers along with it—will be blown to pieces." This was no longer adifficult rescue. This was an impossibly difficult rescue against the clock,and the equipment they'd need wasn't even on the way yet, all because Brainshad wanted to be overly cautious and not rush into things. Those poor engineerswere doomed and it was all Brains' fault. The countdown to disaster had begun.