‘Tis the night before Christmas, in the warm South Pacific
Still a satellite searches, its aims non-specific;
It roves over frequencies, wideband and narrow,
Searches for people and places in peril;
John’s brothers are nestled all snug in their beds;
And it’s not like he wants them to be elsewhere instead;
But the world’s a big place, and big places require,
Someone to watch them in case something’s on fire.
Scott’s not asleep, the lone instigator,
If John is the watcher then Scott is the waiter
When the call hits the comms and the lounge comes alight,
Scott’s already ready for a long winter’s night.
The moon o'er the island shines silver on whitecaps,
But down come three boys in their PJ’s and nightcaps,
A situation’s arisen, that’s all that they know,
Though still sleepy and stumbling, Thunderbirds still have to go.
Thunderbird 1 with its thrusters a'thundering,
Takes to the skies over hearts wide and wondering.
Scott arcs over the ocean, til the mainland’s in sight,
Though it’s not his chariot children look for tonight.
Load Pod A, load Pod B, load extra hydraulics,
Load your little brothers, cuz we’re all workaholics
All clear on the runway! All clear in the hangar!
Obligatory off-rhyme with Thomas Brodie-Sangster!
Thunderbird 2 puts a hurricane to shame,
Slow may be steady, but this isn’t a game;
Off of the launchpad—Mach Four–Five–Six–Seven
Thunder to shame all the choirs of Heaven.
Scott’s at the forefront, angling north,
Still the distress call drawing them forth,
Virgil and Gordon and Alan behind,
John, ever-watchful, the eye in the sky.
So Scott overtakes him and doesn’t believe it,
It’s a good thing his brothers will catch up and see this.
The craft in distress is a sleek little sleigh,
It’s listing just slightly, reindeers disarrayed.
“Thunderbird 5, this is Thunderbird 1,
Disable all vid feeds, don’t record this run.”
John’s got a clear view, his brother’s by proxy,
There’s no way in hell Santa’s getting a doxxing.
“Thunderbird 2, drop your altitude slightly,
It’s a midair-landing, keep her still and fly tightly.
Alan and Gordon, get up on the roof.
From what I can see it’s the lead reindeer’s hoof.”
The Terrible Twosome are consummate professionals,
This sort of deed, well it’s hardly forgettable;
Gordon’s all giddy and Alan’s all solemn,
And they get it all sorted, tell the Big Guy they’ve got him.
He speaks not a word, just a nod and a wave,
There’s an exchange of glances and the boys all behave,
A leather gloved finger on the side of a nose,
Then the crack of a whip and the old elf just goes.
And then back to reality, everything sorted,
Back home to the hangars, a crisis averted.
Not a word to be spoken, not a thing left to say,
But they know in their hearts that they saved Christmas Day.
Still it’s anticlimatic, that quiet flight home,
Might have at least had a “thanks!” from the lumpy old gnome,
But on the return approach, from on high like a diamond—
For the first time in—well, ever—there’s snow on the Island.
Prelude In Z
Merry Christmas, TAG team <3