//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: Tailspin // by michaelb958 //------------------------------// "Thunderbird 5 to Thunderbird 1, what's your status?" "Still here, I'm afraid. Plan A has failed; I'm going in with Thunderbird 1 as Plan B." "..wasn't that Plan A?" Scott's silence was telling. "Scott! It should have been obvious that the pod wouldn't hold up to those conditions!" "It was more suited to finding and manipulating the control panel!" "In the wind conditions in there? Forget it! How bad is it?" "Well, we didn't find the control panel-" "How badly did you break the pod, Scott." "...one turbofan's out." "Better than I expected. But it still could have killed you! Be more careful with Thunderbird 1!" "What's this about, John? Why the sudden protectiveness? I'm meant to do that." "I do get concerned when International Rescue operatives randomly disappear from my scanners!" More silence, as Scott forced the issue by saying nothing. "...hell, I'm worried, Scott. At least when you pull this kind of thing on Earth I know that we'll probably find your body." "...that kinda went morbid fast." "Scott Carpenter Tracy, do you want to be the first human to die on another planet!" Scott had nothing to say to that. "Thought not. So act like it! We'd appreciate it if you actually came back after this. For everyone's sake." John closed the connection, and Scott noted that perhaps he'd been pushing himself a bit hard lately. But could he keep up International Rescue's success record if he turned down the pressure? Minutes later, it was time to force the issue. The cyclone just kept on growing - worse, it was growing exponentially. He wasn't an expert, so he deferred to Fleetfoot, who was. "That's bad," was Fleetfoot's wisdom on the issue. "The generator's going to blow everything to pieces sooner or later, and that means it'll be sooner." Great, so the clock's ticking even faster. Like there wasn't enough pressure on us already. Still, constantly increasing pressure was the norm for IR, and Scott was used to looking like it didn't faze him that much, so he kept up appearances. After all, someone had to keep him calm, and it wasn't like anyone else was going to. Certainly not Alan, who was wondering how on EarthWherever-this-was Fleetfoot got her name. Surely it should be Fleethoof or something? Scott and passenger rose into the air on four VTOLs to take the sting out of the storm. Scott, at least, felt better with the might of Thunderbird 1's engines behind him. Fleetfoot, having been given the ten-second explanation of jet engines, had trouble not cringing as jet exhaust ripped through even the most hardened clouds like a hot knife through butter. Better than the whole place being destroyed, though. Despite the worsening storm, the larger and more powerful craft had an easier time getting through most of it. Most. Naturally, the trouble started up again as it approached the centre. Scott compensated for the alarming windshear easily enough, but then it occurred to him: "Thunderbird 1 doesn't have any kind of grasping mechanism. How are we going to work the controls?" His passenger remained silent, planning. Alan filled the void. "The grapple could do it, right?" "That would involve opening the recovery bay, and I do not want to do that." After a few seconds of furious thinking, both Tracys realised they were out of options. Scott left it to Alan to break the news, which he (Alan) did with his usual lack of tact. "Uh, Wild Fire, how upset would important peoplecoughponies be if we had to destroy the generator?" A few seconds of quiet consideration, and then "I do not believe the Princesses would be terribly reluctant to trade a wind generator for the lives of their little ponies." "'Their little ponies'? That sounds so cheesy." "Alan!" Scott arrested the conversation before it could commit any more lèse-majesté than it already had. This was not an easy feat while simultaneously holding an aircraft steady near a cyclone's eyewall. Then to Fleetfoot: "All right, new plan. What's the fastest way to destroy the generator without making the situation any worse?" From Fleetfoot's jumpseat came the three deadly words: "I don't know." "Well, that's not good,", Alan bitingly observed from the ground. "Commander Fleetfoot," Wild Fire asked hesitantly, "how long have we got to come up with a plan?" "From what I've seen, I think we have about, say, twenty minutes before the generator overloads." A flash of inspiration. "Okay, I've studied these generators, I know how they work. We used to stop miniature ones by punching holes in them. Your airship's prow looks sharp enough to make a hole; should we try that?" It took Scott a moment to decipher the naval terms. Once he had, though: "Makes sense. If it might work, we might as well try it!" Several dozen ponies cowered in various crevices of the factory as the wind got worse and worse. A shining red spear - no, wait, blue, but red-tipped - shot through the wall as if thrown by Tirek and embedded itself in the side of the wind generator. Just as quickly, it was shot back again by the generator's pressurised inner workings. "What was that?!" "It's a feathering self-healing model! I had no idea this place had one!" "Any other ideas?!" "Try again, but with more power! The pressure inside pushes us out - stay in the gap and keep it from healing!" Thunderbird 1 breached the generator chamber for a second try. This time, Scott steadily opened the throttles as they impacted, hoping to keep the hole in the generator plugged with his Thunderbird's body. With the engines running at emergency climb power, it seemed to be working. "What now?" "Stay put, it'll weaken eventually!" So Thunderbird 1 stayed put, partially embedded in the generator, as the latter's self-healing began to realise the futility of functioning- Technical explanation ahoy Aircraft jet engines work primarily by drawing in air at the front, and pushing it out at the back - much faster. In forward flight, the aircraft's speed pushes the engines forward into the air they desire; when stationary, the engines must rely on their own suction power. Turbulent air in front of the engines, if severe enough, can override this suction power and leave the engines to suffocate without sufficient airflow; due to speed aiding this suction, it becomes easier to foil at lower velocities. Thunderbird 1 was currently so far embedded into the malfunctioning wind generator at the centre of the cyclone consuming Cloudsdale that its port engine air intake was drawing from the generator's inner atmosphere. The main problem with this is that said inner atmosphere is quite turbulent, even in normal, safe operation. This particular aircraft had such overpowered engines that they could create their own suction to draw in normally unusable airflow - as they were currently doing - but this relies on the continued smooth operation of the engine. As it began to appear to the craft's occupants that they might have finally succeeded, an engine on the port side suffered the engine equivalent of a hiccup. Normally, this is a non-event. With the situation as precarious as it was, this impaired the airflow to all engines on that side. This reduced the power of those engines, which further interrupted their airflow; and the situation spiralled out of control until, for a moment, there was no engine power on the port side. That moment was enough to be a disaster. End technical explanation TL;DR: the port engines sputtered for a moment, which was bad Alan heard the alarm a second before he saw the cause - Thunderbird 1 hurtled end-over-end out of Cloudsdale and over the horizon. "Scott!"