#captain rigby

So Charles found himself on one of the most luxurious trains he’d ever seen in the company of men and women who in general hated Spectrum and some even hated him personally… but there was one person who had smiled at him – smirked actually – and Charles had relaxed a little.

He and Sam Shore had some catching up to do when they had a moment.

But today’s session was really just a meet-and-greet for those invited to get to know each other a little. They were, after all, going to spend the next 10 days in close quarters discussing some of the most important information in the world.

There were many familiar faces present. Some Charles knew by name only, others he’d worked with – and on occasion against – in his various roles.

Colonel Valerie Casey, present as representative of the GDF along with Captains Rigby and Foster. The two Captains looked to have different roles, Rigby standing by the Colonel wherever she went and Foster acting more like an aide than a bodyguard.

Charles looked across to his own ‘aide’. Ochre also stood beside him but, while he was in uniform he was relaxed as befit his role this time. Charles knew that with his close protection training Fraser had been the perfect choice for his aide, and while he couldn’t see Blue, Charles knew his Captain wouldn’t be far as his unofficial role was to blend in and hide in plain sight.

In the centre of the room Younger was talking to Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, whose aide was a surprise to Charles in particular. Scott Tracy wasn’t the kind of man to play the role of “second” to anyone other than his Father, and Charles wondered what his old friend Jeff was up to, but that was a question for later, and as he watched the Lady’s well-known shadow detached from the wall and discreetly touched her shoulder. Lady Penelope inclined her head to him, they had a short conversation before the man left. Scott chose that moment to look over and cast a brilliant grin at Charles on seeing him, and once more he wondered what on earth the Field Commander of International Rescue was doing at a security conference…

Sam had not acknowledged him since the grin earlier, but Charles was aware of him making the rounds of the room. As he himself turned to greet Shane Weston, head of the London division of WIN Charles could see Shore and his daughter Atlanta heading towards Lady Penelope and Scott.

There were other players at the table, but Charles had yet to find out who some of them were.

The only organisations Charles had yet to lay eyes on was FAB – although he was pretty certain that that was who Lady Penelope was representing – and USS, though that was less of a surprise.

It wasn’t as if the Supreme Commander of Earth Forces could just amble around the room…although, as he thought that, one person in particular caught his eye. The man nodded and Charles reciprocated and Agent 21 melted away.

Interesting…

But then they were called to order and everyone moved to the larger carriage that had been designed for the conference. Charles took his seat with Ochre sat behind him to the side.

And they began.

By the end of the first day Charles was so glad he was able to keep a passive face. He knew that it was only the outlining of what they were going to discuss for the rest of the time, but some of the others obviously didn’t know that day one was not the time to be questioning things…

Ochre and Blue joined him for a late drink and to discuss their own observations of the attendees. They all agreed on some of the unexpected delegates and there were some discussions around what to expect going forward. They also discussed if there were any signs of outside influences likely to make a play…

Lady Penelope rather grudgingly awarded them points for knowing how to make an entrance – even though said entrance was a £700,000 hole in the wall that destroyed two Ming Vases – reproductions, of course, but of an age and quality that meant they were of cultural and monetary value in and of themselves.

From there chaos had spread. Kayo, Lady Penelope and Parker, playing Keep Away with a briefcase that supposedly held a rare and immensely valuable star sapphire – second only to the famous ‘Star of India’. Exactly the kind of thing a cash-strapped Hood seemed to be targeting of late.

As the situation continued without either side managing to gain the upper hand, Kayo summoned their backup – Scott, Virgil and Gordon, along with Captain Rigby and his hand-picked team of GDF fighters.

Slowly the defenders made headway against the Chaos Crew’s all out attack. Fuses’ explosive charges were being defused before they could detonate and Virgil’s shoulder-mounted laser had scored a direct hit on Fuse’s power suit, disabling his ‘Power Punches’. While Havoc’s decoy hologram emitters were systematically destroyed, and well placed beanbag rounds had put enough of her acrobatic landings off that she was now moving with a distinct limp.

The Chaos Crew had been in retreat towards the Basher for five minutes, when there was suddenly, shockingly, a canine scream of pain.

Everyone froze in place, and all eyes swung to where Fuse stood, balanced awkwardly on one foot, his face stricken as Sherbet cowered at his feet, his left front leg pulled up against his body, whimpering pitifully.

“Bertie!” Penelope rushed forward to rescue the dog, hugging him to her breast and retreating to where Virgil was already pulling out a medi-scanner.

Gordon and Parker advanced on Fuse, their body language and expressions telegraphing violent intent.

Fuse backed away. “I didn’ mean ta…” he protested, his eyes wide, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. “I wouln’…”

Rigby and the closest of the GDF fighters joined in the advance as Fuse backed towards the Basher. He jumped as he bumped it to it, and scurried inside, looking back out as Havoc jumped up onto its roof.

“I’m sorry.” It was almost a whimper, and Penelope went to respond but Havoc chose that instant to strike, one of her reinforced lines flashed out, and snagged the briefcase, tugging it out of Scott’s unresisting grip, and whipping it into Havoc’s hands.

Scott gave a wordless yell of shock, as Havoc saluted sardonically and jumped onto the running board before launching herself into the vehicle yelling, “Get moving!” at Fuse.

A moment’s hesitation and the engine of the Basher revved violently, before careening back towards its entrance hole, sending several people jumping for their lives before it.

Kayo and Rigby didn’t hesitate, running at full tilt after the departing vehicle; Kayo already summoning Thunderbird Shadow via her wrist controller, and Rigby barking rapidfire orders for GDF flyers and road blocks stationed discreetly around the area.

It was later that day when Colonel Casey, with Captain Rigby – newly showered and in a fresh uniform – in tow, paid a visit to Creighton-Ward Manor.

“Eyes front, Captain,” she ordered, trying to keep hide her amusement at her subordinate’s open mouthed gawking at the combination of ultra-chic and traditional furnishings. “You wouldn’t want to be mistaken as casing this house, believe me.”

Rigby flushed, embarrassed, as Parker snorted his disdain, and didn’t quite keep his muttered “HI’d like ta see ‘im try pull hoff a caper,” from being heard.

“Colonel Casey, h’and Captain Rigby, M’Lady,” Parker announced at the door to the sitting room, before hurrying off to the kitchen for a fresh pot of tea, newly brewed coffee and appropriate cake and biscuits for the visitors. It was all well and good for some to sit around all day, he reflected, but a good butler was never idle when there were guests in the house!

Lady Penelope was much calmer than when Rigby had seen her at the ersatz auction-house. She sat in the centre of the main sofa, Gordon Tracy sitting as close as he dared to her on the left, and Sherbert, his left forepaw so solidly wrapped it looked like he was wearing a boxing glove lay on a large squashy velvet cushion to her right, submitting to Virgil Tracy’s petting from where he stood reaching over from behind the lounge. Occasionally, as Virgil’s hand paused, Sherbert whimpered pathetically, prompting the pilot to keep moving.

Scott was standing by the large picture window, half-watching the scene outside as he nodded his acknowledgement of the newcomers.

“Colonel, Captain, please do come in. We’re expecting Kayo shortly.”

Colonel Casey nodded regally and took a seat on the low backed sofa opposite Lady Penelope, as Rigby continued to stand awkwardly at the side.

“Do sit down, Captain,” Penelope’s voice was amused. Rigby flushed again, and perched awkwardly on the far edge of the sofa.

“Kayo’s here.” Scott’s voice came a heartbeat before the distinctive whining roar of Thunderbird Shadow’s engines passed over head.

It was only a couple of minutes more before Kayo strode into the room, unaccompanied. “Parker’s just on the way,” she reported, taking a seat on the small upholstered ottoman close to the door. Penelope nodded, as Scott, apparently having been waiting for Kayo to arrive, moved into the room from the picture window. He sat down in time to gingerly accept a delicate-looking cup with steaming coffee from Parker.

Once everyone was suitably fed and watered, and with Parker standing ‘guard’ at the door, Penelope spoke. “Colonel Casey, was our little trap successful?”

“Signs are positive, Lady Penelope,” Casey replied. “It was disappointing that The Hood didn’t show up himself, but we were prepared for that possibility. Thanks to the tracker in the briefcase, we were able to follow the Chaos Crew to what appears to be one of the Hood’s centres of operation. Maybe even his main one for the London area. The Hood didn’t appear to be ‘in residence’, as it were; but every resource we deny him is another brick removed from the wall of secrecy he has erected around himself.”

Penelope nodded as Scott moved in. “And the Chaos Crew?”

“Likewise evaded capture, I’m afraid. But Fuse’s suit appears to be damaged, and Havoc injured, so that will, thankfully, slow down their rate of operation, maybe even stop them for a time.”

Kayo frowned. “That just means that they’ll have time to better plan their next attack,” she cautioned.

Casey nodded. “We are hoping we’ll have leads on what they’re planning on doing next,” she responded. “There was a computer system in place in the Hood’s hideout, I’ve got techs going over it now. Hopefully we’ll be able to tap into his files, see what he has planned in the future. Maybe even work out how to tap into his communications so we can monitor him remotely.”

Penelope nodded. “So all in all a successful operation,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t say an unqualified success,” the Colonel frowned. “I don’t like casualties during my operations. How is Sherbet, Lady Penelope?”

Penelope reached out to stroke the pug. “There are a couple of bones broken in his foot, but the vet is confident they will heal properly provided he leaves his bandages intact,” she said softly. “He’ll have to rest, of course. No public appearances for the forseeable future, which is a great pity. Wimbledon is on soon, and Bertie does so enjoy it.”

“Runs h’off every year h’and chases the balls, y’mean.” Rigby was starting to think Parker actually intended everyone to hear his muttered commentary.

Penelope shot him a look that from anyone else would be called ‘dirty’. “He is, of course, an honorary ballboy. But I’m afraid this year they will have to do without his services.”

“Of course,” Colonel Casey said gravely. “I know our original plan called for someone to feign injury if the Chaos Crew couldn’t manage to get the briefcase away, but I am most upset that an actual injury was sustained.”

Her demeanour hadn’t changed in the slightest, and Rigby couldn’t help but agree with Parker’s, “Whouldn’t ‘urt you ta h’act like hit, h’even hif it is for th’ mutt.”

The Colonel continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Unfortunately, there is no avenue for me to recommend Sherbet for recognition of his injury in the line of duty. Please accept this as a substitute. Captain?”

Rigby stood and presented Lady Penelope with the large gaudily wrapped basket he had been holding awkwardly.

“Thank you, Captain, Colonel. It is very kind of you.” She set the package down on the coffee table and began to unwrap it, pulling out each item and offering them to Sherbet for his inspection.

Rigby wasn’t much fussed on dogs, to be honest, but he knew Lady Penelope loved hers, and that Penelope was a good friend of Kayos, one whose opinion Kayo valued. He had hoped to win points with Kayo by offering a gift to the ‘sick’ dog. He’d been quickly trying to shop online while waiting for Colonel Casey to take his report, when she had appeared at his elbow, demanded an explanation for what he was doing, and nodded at her explanation before disappearing into her office.

A moment later his email pinged, and he found a list of recommended products, along with authorisation to charge expenses to the mission. As Rigby deleted his hastily cobbled together cart, and went of in search of the recommended products, he was soon grateful for the authorisation. In the end, the ‘gift box’ for Sherbet was almost two months of his wages. And all for a dog!

Once all the items had been removed from the box, and thoroughly sniffed by the pug, her Ladyship lifted the dog off it’s cushion. “And what do we say to Colonel Casey and Captain Rigby, Sherbet?”

The animal wiggled impatiently in her arms, and she set him down on the ground to trot limping over to the Colonel, he put his front paws up on her knees, and barked once, tail wagging madly. The Colonel lifted him up to her lap, Sherbet once again stood on his hind legs and the Colonel only just managed to turn her head in time to avoid a doggy ‘kiss’ direct on her lips. Sherbet barked again, and leapt off her lap, to trot across the sofa to Rigby. He received the same treatment, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid a ‘kiss’ on the lips.

To Rigby’s surprise, instead of opting to return to his cushion, Sherbet lay down on his lap, and nudged at his hand until he started stroking the animal down the back. Rigby looked up at Lady Penelope when the little animal promptly began to snore.

“Well, Captain, I can see Sherbet has correctly deduced who was truly responsible for his present,” Penelope said. “Although I am not quite certain of the paygrade for a captain of the GDF, I trust Sherbet’s favourite treats were not too much of a financial burden?”

Rigby flushed again. “As the Colonel said, Ma’am, it was a gift from the GDF. I can, uh, assure you I endured no financial burden.”

Penelope smiled benignly. “Then I am touched by the GDF’s consideration.”

Kayo spoke up, “And, of course, by yours. Don’t think we didn’t notice you didn’t deny that you were responsible for coming up with the idea.”

That prompted a general chorus of agreement from the room, and Rigby flushed again, both in embarrassment and pleasure. He was embarrassed now to remember how he had original dismissed International Rescue as a bunch of rich kids playing hero and getting in the way of the ‘real’ heroes.

He had been proven comprehensibly wrong and was now proud to work with them.

Even the dog.

Notes:

Well, this went on a winding roadtrip to nowhere. What started out as ‘Fuse steps on Sherbet – whoops’, ended up with Rigby being a soppy bugger. Did not see that one coming.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

Gunfire rang out, sharp cracks as bullets rushed through the air to the space Havoc occupied, but the woman was crafty and highly skilled in evasion.  Her hostage situation failed, she cut and ran.

“Get her!” the Colonel barked, even as Val was moving forwards, towards the rasping, struggling young man.

“Yes, Ma’am!” came the automatic response.  She trusted them to do what they could without her; she had a life to save.

Scott was still conscious when her knees hit the ground before him, but the way he was thrashing around, trying to get free but just tearing more and more of his skin apart on both his throat and wrists, told her that rational thinking had fled, leaving little more than the instincts of a snared animal.

He was going to kill himself if he kept this up.

Val felt sick as she reached out and gripped his head, pinning it in place in a cruel mimicry of Havoc’s own actions.  Bloodstained metal disappeared into flesh, scrapes and tears criss-crossing his skin at random where the cruel barbs had sunk in and moved against his thrashing. The collar of his flight suit went high, but not high enough to protect him from this.

Scott fought against her grip, still trying to jerk away from the barbs hooked in his skin as alarming choking noises came from his throat.

Val wasn’t a nurturing woman.  Not a mother, and never the one to look after distressed little boys – that had always been Lucille’s role.  Empty reassurances always fell awkwardly flat and hollow, failing to do their job, if she said them, so she didn’t.

In the military, no-one had time for soft spoken false promises that everything would be okay.  She dealt with logic, hard facts, and the laws of the world.

“Scott, stop moving,” she ordered, the exact same tone and sharp expectation she’d used barely seconds earlier on her own team.

It wasn’t soft.  It wasn’t nurturing, or reassuring.  But Scott’s military instincts were still strong despite being out of the organisation for years and his obedience was immediate. Blue eyes were hazed over with shock and pain, and she knew he wasn’t seeing her, but as long as he was hearing her, she could do this.

“I’m going to get you out,” she told him – not a promise but a fact.  “You need to stay still while I do.”  He didn’t acknowledge her words, verbally or otherwise, but when she cautiously released his head from her grip he remained motionless.

A glance over to where her team had been showed them still attempting to capture Havoc.  There was a high chance that if they hadn’t caught her by now then she would escape, but that was a problem for the Colonel to address later.  One of the men was hanging back, and seemed to be favouring an ankle.

“Corporal!” she barked at him.  “Find me wire cutters and a stretcher.”

His acknowledgement was immediate and she returned her attention to Scott.  Even though he wasn’t moving, his chest was still heaving with panic, and there was a disgusting gargling noise emitting from his throat as he tried to breathe with limited success.

It sounded horrifically like he was choking on blood.

Val prioritised.  The wrist injuries were nasty and blood loss was a major concern, but there was no sign of an arterial bleed.  His throat was rapidly approaching fatal.

There was little she could do until the wire cutters arrived, laser cutters worse than useless so close to Scott’s skin, but she gripped slippery wire with her fingers and started easing the outermost coils away, loosening the snarl in an attempt to distance it from his bloody throat and jaw.

The results were negligible at best, but she had to do something while she waited.

Wire cutters were easily located on a flyer as a staple part of an engineer’s kit.  Even with a dodgy ankle, the Corporate returned barely a minute later, holding the tool out in shaky fingers while an equally shaky voice caught her attention.

“Colonel.”  He was pale, too, face white as his eyes focused on Scott and a sheen of sweat across his skin.  He’d been too fast, but at that moment she could feel nothing but gratitude for his determination.

“At ease,” she allowed, snatching up the tool and immediately deploying it on the loosened strands.

The ones furthest from Scott’s skin were easy to cut away, blood spattered rather than coated and falling obediently into a discarded heap by her side.  It was the closer ones, more red than the original dull silver of the metal and slippery that gave her trouble, even before she reached the ones still embedded.

Each barb had to be cut out individually, the twisted wire either side being cut as close as possible before she withdrew the metal from skin that was almost reluctant to let it leave. There were more of them than there ought to be for the length of the wire, and in the back of her mind she wondered just how prepared Havoc had been.  Blood dribbled free from the exposed punctures, running down his skin and soaking into the collar of his flight suit.  Crimson and blue made a dark, bruising purple.

The last barb came out with a sickening suction noise and Scott’s head immediately lolled forwards. She let him for a moment, blood trickling out of his mouth as well as the holes in his throat as he weakly coughed it up, before tilting his head back slightly.  Her fingers left bloody streaks across his cheeks and in his hair.

There was no good position for him while he stayed upright, his choices to bleed out externally or choke on blood internally, and she dived straight for the snarl of barbed metal keeping him pinned to the wire fence.  Her own hands picked up superficial scratches that were ignored as inconsequential as she hacked away at the wire, disentangling the short scraps until she could pull his hands apart and forwards.

Blood trickled across his wrists, the metal still tangled around them and biting in, but he was choking on blood again, his body wracked with coughs and head bowing forwards in an attempt to expel the liquid before it flooded his lungs.

The Corporal reappeared in her periphery, still too pale but nudging a hoverstretcher in range.

“Do you need assistance, Colonel?” he asked, and he was in no state to be lifting anyone but Scott was tall and the rest of her team had yet to subdue Havoc – or admit defeat and slink back with their tails between their legs.  She made a mental note to ensure he got plenty of rest and treatment as soon as circumstances allowed.

“Take his legs,” she instructed as she shifted around enough to grip onto Scott’s torso.  Her eldest godson hated being stretchered anywhere and always fought for the right to walk no matter how badly injured he was, but this time he didn’t even begin to resist as they bundled him down onto the stretcher and over onto his side in a bastardised version of the recovery position.

Blood splattered onto the surface by his mouth the moment they had him rolled over.  Both his arms were arranged loosely in front of him, wire still tight around his wrists, and with the danger of choking alleviated as much as possible, Val turned the wire cutter’s attention to them.

While the damage was older, it was clear that Scott had had his wits about him up until his throat had been impaled because they bore no more signs of struggle than could be attributed to his shock-induced panic.  The wounds were deeper, though, and some barbs Val elected to leave in until he was in the hands of a medical professional.  Scott had already lost too much blood.

How he was still conscious – albeit unresponsive and in clear shock – she didn’t know.

With the wires removed and discarded, crimson glistening on the tips of the barbs and stained onto the twisted sections, she looked over to where her team had been and was disappointed yet unsurprised to see Spoiler blinking out of existence as it teared away.

Another failure, and this time all they had to show for it was a badly wounded Scott Tracy.  His family were going to be furious when they found out, and once again she wondered how he’d ended up in Havoc’s clutches. No-one had known about this mission; Kayo and Lady Penelope had been investigating another lead and thereby uncontactable, and while she wasn’t naïve enough to think that John couldn’t hack the GDF information, she doubted he did it unless he had a reason.  She was also certain that he wouldn’t have informed Scott about this even if he had found out about it.

She straightened up as they approached, the hoverstretcher rising with her.  Her heart screamed to ignore Havoc and get Scott to a hospital immediately, but that was Val talking, and she needed to be the Colonel.

“Your orders, Ma’am?”

There were nineteen of them not counting the injured Corporal, and Captain Rigby was standing at the head of the pack looking like he’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon.  Behind him, eyes were divided between looking at her and the limp figure on the hoverstretcher, and she knew there were torn instincts in more than just her.

“Back to the flyer,” she ordered.  “Captain, I want every part of this analysed. What went wrong, why it went wrong, and any new information about Havoc that it’s brought to light.”

He saluted, still visibly frustrated.

“All injured are to report to the medical officer,” she continued, sending a pointed look at the Corporal before sweeping across the ranks before her, seeing a few others standing stiffy.  Havoc had truly lived up to her name.  “We’ll return to base and re-strategise there with the information we’ve gained here.”

A sea of salutes acknowledged her and she barked at them to get moving.

Beside her, Scott made another wet choking noise and more blood splattered out onto the stretcher. Base had hospital facilities; depending on why Scott was coughing up blood, it should do.  If full hospitalisation was required, that could also be arranged there.

Ignoring her team as they obeyed her orders, she guided the hoverstretcher into the back of the flyer, where painkillers, antiseptics and bandages were waiting in bulk.  Scrapes, gouges and punctures alike needed cleaning, and it wasn’t the Colonel’s job but Val needed to do it herself rather than trust the eldest son of her best friend, her godson, to the care of anyone else just yet.

Soft she was not, but when it came to medical treatment she could do precise.  Scott remained limp as she poured on the hydrogen peroxide then dabbed at his throat and the tender skin beneath his jaw, not even flinching against the sting of the disinfectant.  The same was repeated on both wrists as best she could.  The neoprene sleeves had held up against the barbs, and likewise held up against the fabric scissors; blood had seeped through and underneath it, but she couldn’t chase it to clean it up and was forced to leave it as she worked around the deep-set barbs she hadn’t dared remove.

Captain Rigby must have given the order for take-off while she was intent on treating Scott’s injuries, because as she reached for the rolls of bandages the flyer rumbled beneath her feet and she had to steady herself on the stretcher.  It was technically insubordination, but she would let it fly given the circumstances.  The man knew Kayo, and how deep her fury would run when she found out about this.

The crisp white bandages didn’t make things look better when she wrapped the wounds.  It made things look neater, no red smudges and dark wounds ravaging skin, but it highlighted just how pale Scott had become.

Blood loss and shock. Both were dangerous enough to kill and once Val had the blood flow stemmed by the linen strips she located a foil blanket to wrap around her godson.  His eyes were somehow still open, but hazy and unfocused enough that she hesitated to consider him conscious any more.

Val was a Colonel, not a medic.  She could stop bleeding but little more, and even if she could set up an emergency blood transplant, International Rescue’s uniform didn’t come with a useful dog tag containing blood type information, and off the top of her head she didn’t know Scott’s.

Now the wounds were cleaned and wrapped, there was nothing else she could do for Scott.

Well.  Nothing except the one thing she was inwardly dreading.