So, this is one of the things I was able to write while on my travels. I have the first few chapters done, but I'll upload them in intervals as it should allow me to finish this piece before you all run out of reading material.
For those of you interested – it currently takes up 109 pages in Word.
I'm using TAG ages as they are currently reported to be (or were when I started writing this), any quieres, take them up with ITV not me, I'm just going off what they've told me and how I interpret what they've told me (you can alter them in your own minds if you like) – Scott, 23; John, 22; Virgil, 21; Gordon, 19 Alan, 15 (except for this one, they have Alan down as 14, but I'm certain they've contradicted themselves somewhere).
Anyhow, enjoy.
"When your drive is moving your purpose, focus must hold the wheels else you might miss the way. And do you know what that means? Avoid Crash!. Stay focused!"
― Israelmore Ayivor
"I didn't tell him that even after a crash, a key still fits the ignition. There just isn't anything left to drive."
― Sarah Kay
His initial thought had been along the lines of, 'What the hell!'
Dad, forgive the language. The situation called.
John had sent them the call as soon as he could, but it couldn't have been foreseen, they couldn't have made it there quicker, and even if they could, there didn't seem to be any sign of something they could have done. Not unless someone had spotted the problem earlier, reported it, made any call for help. Yes, the second eldest monitored the world, but not every tragedy could be,seen as it was being formed.
Okay, maybe someone could have prevented it, but that someone wasn't them. He was one hundred percent certain of that; he wasn't going to let any of them shoulder the blame for something they had no power over, International Rescue or not.
Basically, this one was a ready-made disaster, already in the process, already on a collision course with simply too little time.
Maybe the question he should be asking himself about all of it was 'how?' but there were too many lines of questioning which could be borne from that word alone and that would be one too many distractions. He could ask that question later until he was blue in the face. It would do no help to anyone now.
When they'd arrived they'd only just been able to pull together a plan to halt an absolutely major catastrophe, considering they already sort of had that on hand.
No, Scott only breathed again when Thunderbird One was one the ground beside the tracks, safely away from the expansive field of debris. Virgil was still reporting his struggle at finding a landing site, even one with enough space for him to safely deposit the pod and leave Two hovering, however unappealing that option was to the pilot. The eldest knew in a situation like this, the middle child would always prefer to be on the ground with his brothers and he had strengths they could utilise fully. Right now, though, they just needed to be able to become grounded and that seemed like an agonising challenge.
So, here he was, alone on the ground until Virgil could either land, lower the pod or at least find a way to get Alan and Gordon down here. Don't get him wrong, he could keep a level head, he could make a start, he didn't have an issue with one-man rescues… no, his issue with this- with the magnitude.
The magnitude he had to deal with alone.
He left Thunderbird One as secure as possible before heading out. The GDF were flying over-head now, late to the party as per usual, attempting to work out if they could be of any assistance. The local authorities had also come out and they – with their relative willingness - might actually be of more use.
The whole scene though, well, it was an absolute disaster, a complete mess.
The closer he came the more he saw.
The more he saw – however 'clean' you could try to claim it – the quicker he wished to pivot and step away.
But they were International Rescue. This was what they did. International Disaster. If he turned away, who would help them? No, there was no chance he could walk away from hundreds of lives, when surely some had to have survived. Surely?
It was hard though and as he approached the maze of police cars parked off road - the ever-nearing blue sirens and red painted trucks, the mass of resources still on their way out - the more he could feel his heart beating. His mind racing away from him. His control slipping. His concentration dying, no correction: a thing of the past.
The small gap between the authorities and the track was probably for safety. The track itself was a mess and the land behind it was far worse off. He tried not to think about the belly of the vehicle he could see, the underneath you should never be able to view unless you were an engineer.
Come on, Scott. Pull it together!
If he let his eyes stray, they instantly wondered down the body of the long stream of carriages before halting. He didn't have x-ray vision, but he felt as though his imagination was trying hard to replicate that, to put visions into his head.
"Um," Shaky voice, far, far too shaky. Not the voice of the leader of International Rescue, of the man people would be looking to in their hour of need. He cleared it again, regardless of the fact the simple sound travelled over comms and tried anew. "John… Where am I supposed to start?"
He honestly couldn't work it out now he was on the ground. It was like being stuck in the middle of a large field of fog. He worked better in the air. In the air, he'd had so many ideas, but all of them were just buried by the rush, the overbearing cloud of black looming. The journey from Thunderbird One – on his long legs with no equipment – was mere minutes, but it felt like it had taken hours, hours dragging on and draining him. As though he could have aged moons. He hadn't even started the physical work yet.
He couldn't afford to be reckless now, but he did need to be decisive and bold, neither of which he was going to be capable of at this rate. Thus, the only option he could see was this one, the one he hated resorting to; cut the mind out of the equation and rely on the brain of another. There was only one he'd trust that to at these moments, the most sensible and level-headed of them all, and the voice was more melodious than he believed it ever had been.
"I would suggest finding someone to liaise with from the authorities. Hold on, I have a name from my preliminary communications. Uh, no Captain, I wouldn't advise losing altitude in your current position."
"John?" He wondered briefly if their calm, better under pressure work had lost his marbles. And that really could have made the decision for him; he'd have taken them all home in a flash, because he couldn't even predict how his brothers were going to react to this, a scene which looked completely different up there. If the only one of them without the terrific* and terrible ground view was going to flail, then yes, they were done.
"Sorry Scott, I'm doing a lot of cross-channelling right now."
"You're a communications expert." It wasn't just a compliment. It was the truth. It was a reminder, because he had enough sense to realise that he needed to keep John in some sort of bubble, away from the spiral he'd certainly been unexpectedly caught in. But still, even now John didn't sound panicked, as such, and that led him to believe that there was hope yet for this rescue. His direct younger was trying to give him explanations, not excuses, not explosions. Yes, that was the John Tracy he knew.
"Yes, but I'm running short on resources even with EOS. I'm trying to keep my focus on scanning the wreckage. I'm filtering calls too. Leaving you on an open channel where possible saves some of those dwindling resources."
And that was reasonable. Even under pressure, it would of course be John finding the simplest of solutions.
"Understood John. You were getting me a name?"
"Yes, a Police Chief, Martini." And none of it had distracted the red-head from the task for even a moment it seemed as the name slipped effortless from his tongue, as though he'd read it ages ago and waited for the right moment to relay it.
Yet, for a moment, he wondered if John had sensed every single emotion circulating his bloodstream, purely from listening to his voice, so that just maybe this was meant to serve as a reprieve. A silly and inconvenient, but miniature reviving reprieve. Thus he'd begun to think it was a smart move, he'd chuckled and then remembered that John didn't joke, not even on a slow day. He'd almost chocked on the remainders of his laughter. It definitely wasn't appropriate for him to be seen doing such at a scene like this. Besides, he didn't want to go around telling everyone they had a brother in a space station by way of explanation.
"As in the drink?" He enquired, trying to bring back all seriousness. For once, and surprisingly considering what he'd established as his mental state, it actually felt as though he had some control return, some ability to work with the seriousness he needed, especially for this.
"Yes, as in the drink. I bet later you could use one."
"Later John."
He shook his head as he re-started his steady approach, John's small humour a welcoming effect, ensuring he was perfectly ground into this moment. And he was now; he felt something of the Scott Tracy he'd always known himself to be returning; a leader, an elder brother, a protector. Something of the man who could work through this. Maybe not his usual unflappable and unshakeable, but definitely a far sight better than he'd been when he stopped short, head spinning, lost and alone and completely reliant on a brother thousands of miles away to restart his senses.
"Later, I think I could use a few. I'll let you know. Keep me updated."
"Will do." And with that John was gone. Resources needed to go where they were needed he supposed. But at least, at least they'd left each other on the same line, on a working wave, able to trust that something stupid wasn't about to roll out as a plan of action.
It was a few steps which brought him out to the mass of land before the cracks and finding the man he needed wasn't a hard task – considering the labelled jackets they all now wore – and he found himself a great deal more composed this time. Words actually came out of his mouth at the right volume and pitch with formulated vowels and consonants.
"Hi, International Rescue."
The greying man turned to him instantly, throwing out a hand. He shook it out of politeness, but really he just wanted to get started on this rescue. This hulk of a rescue. He didn't like not knowing things and he was sure the moment some knowledge made its way under his belt, he'd be back to full functioning capacities.
"Oh, International Rescue! Police Chief Sewell Martini. At your service. Let me know how best we can assist you."
Well at least the man was to the point and focused. They were two things which were going to help keep his wandering mind on track. In fairness, the man seemed as though he'd weathered the job for a few years and experience always served as the best aid to fall back on. It gave you so many strengths and strategies you'd never have found otherwise.
What he needed right now was simple and he was hoping the team which had been on the ground for longer than he would know. That maybe they'd figured it out by now. It seemed however, that the world greatly relied on International Rescue, and that he wasn't the only one having his clarity pulled into question. He had no doubt from looking at the man just how good he was at his job. But if you were to go on the next few moments…
"At the moment I just need a starting point."
"Well…" Yes, Scott had predicted that would follow, a completely staunched interaction for a situation which had no calm, simple or easy calling. Given the choice right now, he'd rather be slap bang in the middle of a hurricane. At least they tended to have known solutions and followed a pattern. But this, he'd expected. He wasn't sure from looking where to divert his attention. This man wasn't sure either.
Whereas this might usually enrage him, he could hardly blame the man for it, because that would mean he had to blame himself too. And besides, it hardly seemed like the right situation for maintained level-headedness or quick onlooking decisions.
The central track was a busy one and something had gone wrong with the signalling – or possibly tampered with, they were yet to be sure.
A cargo train had merged at the wrong signal point, crashing from the opposite direction into an eleven-carriage passenger train. It had to be the metro service though, didn't it? Biggest train of the winter evening rush hour, largest capacity and ultimately an incredibly fast long selection of carriages ranging from A-K which just weren't up to snuff. Looking back, he was just glad they'd arrived in time to be able to help somewhat. The following passenger train - only six carriages luckily – had been rapidly approaching the crash site, unaware and clearly unwarned. By the time they had been warned, there was no way they could stop in time. It had been a large series of last minute tug and pull manoeuvres between Thunderbirds One and Two (helpfully coordinated by John), which eventually succeeded in forcing the train to break safely at high speed.
It made you wonder what the staff were doing at moments like this. A third train should never have nearly been involved.
The passengers and crew of that train were currently being evacuated, however they weren't his focus. Yes, some of them had minor injuries, yes, they were shaken, but they were alive. John had checked in with them and reported no fatalities and luckily no major casualties from the intense and sudden breaking force, serious applied pressure without warning against high speed. Still, as long as everyone left the train safely, then the shell could remain there until someone was able to see to shifting it. Right now though, they were needed elsewhere.
As much as it looked like complete carnage and he felt sick at the constant waves of guilt rushing through him – the waves which reminded him they'd been able to do nothing - everytime he looked at the disaster, he knew he had to push on.
So he swallowed those feelings and decided he had to take control. He had to be Scott Tracy, not just Jeff Tracy's son, but the Scott International Rescue knew. There was a time for emotion and if he was going to deal with this mess – for lack of and the fact there was no better word – with the clarity, confidence and decisiveness it required, he needed that to be the last thing in his mind. Emotion didn't always work in partnership with impulse and it could easily get in the way of split second calls. He needed a level head and emotional reactions skewed that to enough of a degree that his judgement would be impaired.
So here goes, judgement calls were starting now. No backtracking, no long hard thinking, just his usual burning impulse and quick studies. He could make a start alone, but he couldn't work fast enough. Thus, until everyone else could get here, he'd have to make use of other resources. After all, they'd all managed to pull their way out here. He might as well utilise that. But that meant he needed to know where they stood.
"Right, do you have the fire services on board?" For a moment Martini seemed shocked at the sudden uprise in vocality, jolted into remembering the fellow presence at his side. He was still slightly frozen to the spot and looked pointedly and slowly from the wreckage to the building number of gearing up firefighters on the far-left side of them. He received a nod from a younger, standard uniformed officer and only then did his answer seem influenced.
It always was a steady process to draw your nerve back, he'd learnt that over the years.
"Yes they're on the ground with us, suiting up and waiting for instructions."
"Ok, so here's the plan. We're going to need to split into small teams and move through the train. If you could organise that between the local crews, I'm going to head in and make a start from the front. We'll prioritise all those alive, aiming to evacuate those with more serious injuries first. I'll see if we can get an open channel established. If they start working on a way into the back of the train, we should end up meeting in the middle."
He dreaded that. The middle had taken the utmost of the shunting, ending up more than a little concertinaed for lack of a better word. Yes, the whole train was pretty much of its track, completely knocked by the force, but the cargo train was still partially and unsteadily residing on the track above. Parts of the cargo trains carriages however, had split away, tumbling from the front onto the middle of the passenger train. He didn't dare consider how many fatalities would be found in the middle of the train and that was his reasoning for starting at either end.
The front and the back had flipped and derailed, but were mainly still intact, dented and damaged and not without battle scars, but definitely posing more hope of finding life.
"Right. Leave that to me." And with that the Chief was off, long purposeful strides carrying him. It washed over him briefly in those moments that he'd actually managed to make a decision. A snap one. It gave him some hope that he wasn't going to just mess all of this up due to initially being a little shaken. Okay, a lot more than a little, but he wasn't going to announce that.
Regardless, he took the moments of aloneness to summon his courage.
Then he took the steps closer to the tracks and began to abandon every rule you were taught as a child. Stepping on the tracks was the quickest and only way really to get where he needed to. The call came as a complete surprise, but it wasn't an unwelcomed one. The closer he got to the train, the more his critical eye could see, the sooner he began to realise that he knew nothing about its structure or points of entry. It would have to be the next call he made. But for now, receiving this one had to mean something.
Or at least, that was his hope.
"Scott?"
He'd barely taken any steps at all. The voice rebounded from ear to ear and he was happy to keep that sound on repeat. It seemed like ages since the green giant had swooped away.
"Go on, Virge. And please tell me you've found somewhere to land?"
"I think I have." It was exactly what he'd wanted to hear, which for a moment made him wonder if it was pure delusion, however the words which followed made it a guarantee. "John's managed to help me locate a disused field. We're making our descent now and security has been coordinated."
They'd have to be very far away for John to bother with security in a time like this. Or maybe the GDF were insisting, attempting to sweeten some kind of deal. He'd gathered – from what little he heard referencing them earlier – that John wasn't best part pleased with the Global Defence Force at the moment.
Oppositely, he was more than pleased. He was ecstatic. Virgil, Gordon and Alan should all be on their way soon. Maybe they'd even make it before he finished up now!
"Great. I'll see you soon." It was just another piece in the puzzle, another burst of energy. The five of them together had always been more empowered than one of them on their own.
Virgil didn't sound like he shared that rising liveliness though and so it was short lived.
"I wouldn't hold out on the soon." His jaw dropped; he knew what was coming now. "We're quite a way away, but there isn't anywhere closer which is safe, large enough or stable. We're going to bring as much equipment as we can as soon as possible."
That was an unspoken promise. It just meant he had to keep going until then.
"Ok. I'm going to start on an evac of the passengers." He made that a definite, because it helped him find the motivation to carry on. He couldn't think of the negatives now, not right in the middle of a rescue like this. Negatives had never helped him focus and he needed to focus.
"Right. Be careful Scott."
"FAB." He supposed it was only right for Virgil's voice to carry concern on that last note. None of them fared well being far apart on rescues. Now to address that second issue. "John?"
There was a beat.
"Here Scott. What do you need?" And that was the other thing with John. He had no idea what the younger might be dealing with up there, because panic was never given away in his tone of voice. It was just another thing which made him perfect for that role.
"I've just had the update from Virgil. For your knowledge, I'm heading into the wreckage now to search for survivors. I'll keep you in the loop and switch to an open channel when I find something. Do you have any notes for me?" He wanted a little bit of insight into the situation John was dealing with before he basically went onto radio silence.
"Nothing at the moment. I'm still trying to sort things with the GDF, but they can't get me a link to Colonel Casey."
That was strange. Colonel Casey was their main liaison with the GDF and her lack of presence was a striking sign in itself. Unless the woman had finally taken some of the holiday she deserved. Or it was plausible her attentions were directed to other things at the moment. Such as an alias starting with H. Still, it made no sense that they'd hold off John's communications from her. They were the ones she was usually almost sure to answer. The sound of their planes jets overhead was grating as well, to mention it.
He frowned, the lines directed jointly at the problems. The second one of course being he still had no clue how to scale the side of the train. He decided to just try random efforts until he made it somewhere. "Why are they so concerned anyway?"
"They're insisting on calling foul play." Did he catch a slip of tiredness sinking into John's tone? He ignored it, because he wasn't sure and he doubted John would appreciate a mention of it if it was.
"Is there enough evidence?" His voice strained slightly as he heaved himself up against the metal. It was soothing somehow - ironic of course – talking to John whilst exerting all his physical strength.
"That's the point: there's not. It's too early to tell anything really and the main focus should be on those involved in the accident. But they want to land and take a look. I'm trying to dissuade them, at least from landing so close."
Yeah, chuck on them the same walk Virgil, Gordon and Alan are currently undertaking if they're so desperate. He wasn't going to censor his bitterness or anger with them at the moment. He might even give the feedback if they continue to push him to be that way inclined.
"Too right. We barely managed to get Thunderbird One down so close. Can you direct them to the same location as Thunderbird Two?"
"I'm trying. They're not having any of it." From the sound of it, it seemed like 'trying' was an understatement, it certainly seemed like John was doing way more than that. It was easy for him to forget that sometimes; they all busted a gut when on rescues. Being in space didn't change that. John – as Alan always said – has eyes on everything, but that means he actually needs to be using those eyes. "It's a stalemate unless I can get Colonel Casey on the line."
"Ok, John, keep trying." He felt worse than he usually did giving John yet another thing to look at. Usually, they could cope with the number of things requiring coordination on a rescue, but this was pushing the extremes, being an extreme case. He wondered if Grandma was helping John filter the calls they must no doubt be receiving still, all of which would hear that International Rescue couldn't come for them this time. Even if she was, the red-head was likely dealing with innumerous people still, watching a large amount of details for them, coordinating everything from oh so far away. "Can you do me a favour and keep an eye on all those scans? I'd like to know if anything changes."
He'd asked John before he landed for a list of details, to which the communications expert had promptly reeled off to him a comprehensive list; thermal and life scans, integrity and strength scans for the carriages, ID scans for all members of the arriving local crews, and of course he'd taken to monitoring the train routing for himself. Just to be sure, John had assured him. It made him wonder what his younger brother suspected they could be faced with down there. Or maybe even who. Or whether it was some over-protective streak he'd inherited from his only older brother.
The extra task didn't seem to hit any note of concern though, and he marvelled at how John could appear – sound – so stress free. There wasn't even a waver or slight change of tone in his voice, just simple and to the point, relevant responses.
"Of course. I'll keep contacting you in intervals."
"FAB." He risked a glance over his shoulder; his eyes weren't met with the disorganisation he'd envisaged, but still, he saw efforts less coordinated then their own. And okay, in fairness, not everyone was part of an elite rescue team, but it was those scraped together efforts which could sometimes cause more trouble than they were worth. One more task, he told himself, I don't think John would quibble that. "Keep an eye on the police and fire services as well? They're meant to be mobilising now, making their way from Carriage Eleven to meet me in the middle. I'd like to know how they get on too, if you have the time."
He wasn't going to issue demands to his brother. There was no need after all, when they practically lived on the same wavelength. For that was the other thing, manners often slipped on rescues, the general 'please' and 'thank you' that you might usually tag onto the end of a sentence. It was never because they didn't have them, simply due to the fact that they took more time to say. That, and they completely changed the playing field: they were domesticated words, they didn't belong here, other than from the mouths of the desperate people they came to aid. There was a long established silent understanding between the five of them that the words were just another of those unspoken things which occurred on rescues.
"FAB. Scott, as a last-minute pointer, I'd recommend you start from the engine cabin as opposed to the first carriage, I'm picking up a strong selection of vitals."
"Vital signs now?" That piqued his interest, not that he could linger on the exact dynamics of how it might suddenly be possible. As far as he was aware, Thunderbird Five could read life signs from that distance and vital signs if fed them from the ground. "I thought you could only get life signs?"
This time, there definitely might have been a smile heading into his vocals.
"EOS is focussing most of her capacitors on boosting our signals. We're marginally overloading our servers, but I'm directing all other calls to the appropriate organisations, so it shouldn't become a problem."
That was good thinking, but it also border-lined on reckless, which he preferred to be his territory and his alone. Even so, it wasn't true. At first, he'd simply hoped it was Alan's age which led him to be impulsive, but the more he saw, the more he realised that all his brother's shared that same recklessness, yet he was just the quickest to use it. John's reasoning and explanation made everything seem perfectly safe and sound, but he knew it still had to count as reckless. To an extent, for definite.
"FAB John, but I don't like it. Promise you'll stop if you start hitting disturbances." He couldn't make it a question. He didn't even want to think about the amount of specific problems which lived beneath that umbrella term. He never wanted to, but least of all now, when they were away from home and unable to just jump aboard Thunderbird Three.
At least John was likely to heed his warnings.
"Loud and clear. Best of luck, Scott."
"Thanks. I'll need it."
He really meant that, considering he'd yet to really get anywhere, leverage wise at least. He was constantly weary of where he could or couldn't risk stepping, what he could risk utilising as a way up, and thus this whole time – after numerous attempts – he'd remained mostly on the ground.
Wreckage was the right word, but it wasn't the one he'd wanted to use. Whenever he thought of a wreck, he always remembered their father's accident – the one they'd never quite been able to have a wreck of their own for, the one they'd had nothing to bring home, not even a mere scrap of junk. And he knew they'd all have treasured that.
So, brief mental stock check, can't be a catastrophe, or a wreck, or a disaster… Basically it couldn't be anything in his mental bank of labels, because none of them, just none of them were going to allow him the focus he needed. So it would have to be crash. Yes, they'd go with crash for now. Yes, it was easily a far sight more than simply that, but he wasn't going to think on it anymore.
He couldn't afford to.
He shook his head as though it would help to bring back his usual clear, calm and leader head space - the one he needed more than ever on a rescue like this – and began to change his course. John had said to try the cabin.
It seemed luck was also going his way as he finally managed to lever himself up onto the side-now-top of the train. Then again, maybe not. He'd made it to the cabin alright, and the tinted windows were annoying, yes, but the only real problem was; no door. Why the heck isn't there a door? Unless… oh no. He actually felt his heart sink.
He wasn't even certain they'd even disconnected the comms link, for it definitely felt as though he'd only heard his brother's voice moments ago, only asked him questions mere seconds earlier. "John, one last thing."
"Yes Scott?"
"Do you have the schematics for this train, because… I don't have door." It wasn't the ideal situation to fall into.
"Hold on. I have them here. There is one-" He hadn't doubted that for a second, but the beginning of its confirmation gave everything away.
"But let me guess, it's saying hello to the ground right about now?"
"Correct."
He could almost throw his hands into the air in a Gordon-esque motion. This was just getting better and better. No one in the world could try and slow down for two seconds to make things safer, to try and make their lives and jobs easier. Typical world of today. There were so many people he could think of who could take a leaf out of Brains' book and right now it was the designer of this train for not putting in two doors!
"From the angle the whole train has gone over, you're only going to have door access to Carriages One and Eleven."
Please be joking, John!
"That means for the main part of the evacuation, you're going to have to keep moving through the carriages."
He'd expected that to some degree, but really? John was being serious about this? They had two supposedly stable doorways into this wreck? Who designed a train like that?
His new silent mantra wasn't working: then again, he should have known it wouldn't. John was the only Tracy who didn't really do joking. Least of all when under pressure.
"There's no way that's going to be possible for everyone." He was certain they were going to come across an injury that simply wasn't ferriable through the disorganised wreck, the innumerous carriages twisted and laid out at multiple unappealing angles.
"Leave that to me, Scott, I'll dissect the plans in detail now and see what I can find for you. In the meantime, you need to make yourself a door."
It was a simple way of saying 'focus'. You're on the ground, do something. Leave the statistics alone. And that was honestly what he needed to do.
Yes, a door.
"FAB." Lasering looked like the only option for a way in. He made a start and luckily the metal was caving in quite easily – though, he considered momentarily, is that really lucky? It was likely to explain the state of the crash however. Drawing himself out from inside his head, he narrowly managed to grab the folded edge before it tumbled into the cabin – that really wouldn't have been the best of first impressions. Throwing it aside he swung down from the newly created edge. The cabin space was small and his heart met his stomach this time as he noticed the state of the controls. The whole unit was still buzzing and frizzy with old static charges and he could guarantee the majority of the equipment would be shot. He didn't want to think about the state of the engine mechanics deep beneath them. He'd leave that to Brains for now.
"International Rescue." He called, knowing it was the customary greeting.
"Oh, I am glad to see you!" John was right, not that he'd been expecting the red-head to be wrong. It did prove however, that whatever he and EOS were attempting was working like a charm. The driver hardly seemed injured, but he did appear stuck. "I would have tried to make my own way out, but…"
Two words - seatbelt jammed. Oh, how he loved the modern world! He knew he'd end up ranting about all of this later to Brains, insisting they somehow found a way to influence and change whatever was going on in these people's heads.
"Hold on. I'll cut you free. Are you hurt at all?" He set about the small task, making their usual enquires as they went. Hopefully this could be dealt with quickly and it would be one walking wounded out of the way. It would at least be a start.
"No, no, I'm fine. I think I've just caught a shock from the controls." Sometimes that was the thing with a simple, standard and necessary question though, it led into monologues they didn't need to be privy to. "There was nothing I could do. Everything just went haywire and before I knew- bam! We've hit the ground. I'm stuck, my exits blocked, all I could do was wait. But that other train, it just came out of nowhere rushing towards us. There really was nothing I could do!"
"I don't doubt that for a second." Poor man, it couldn't be easy to sit at the helm of an event like this, but right now, he wasn't able to keep listening to the man's story. The police would deal with that and John would no doubt be listening in. If this was more than an accident they'd soon find out. Besides from that, the more he heard the more he struggled to push back the thought, 'what idiot put those trains on a head-on collision!'.
It happened on few, rare occasions which he could recall, but now was one of those he just needed someone to shake him, shout at him, set him back on the right track. Because yes, he was floundering.
Hurry up and get here guys.
So rarely did he wish for his brothers to be at a danger zone within. Heck, he'd rather be practically babysitting John-who-hated-gravity down here on the ground, if it meant he had someone at his side.
A satisfying click informed him of his success.
"There. Now let's get you out of here." The driver nodded, most enthusiastic. The climb out was considerably harder than the simple jump in, but there were plenty of damaged pieces of units and split metal from the side walls for them to use as footholds. By the time they were safely on the ground, the outside was a different story. He could hear the faint chatter of orders and practical discussion and there seemed to be a lot more movement. At least that meant the authorities had listened. Martini must have been waiting around for him to re-appear as he was by their side in seconds.
"We currently have two teams making an attempt to get into the back of the train. They have door access, but the door has jammed. They're trying to get the windows open in order to make contact with anyone still alive inside." He hated that expression, that very thought, for he needed to believe that some of the 589* odd passengers would still be alive. "The intact passenger train has been fully evacuated and medical services are all getting ready to assist."
"Great. This is the driver. Can you take him and see if you can get any insight into what happened?" The Chief nodded and the driver seemed barely able to halt his charge away from the zone. "I'm going to head back in and make a start on the carriages."
"Ok, good luck." He gave the man a small smile as he and the driver headed off, but he hated hearing the words. They were actually words International Rescue barely used in communications with each other, because luck never seemed to come through for them. When they did use them though, well… true disasters were the only things he could ally them to.
Climbing back onto the top of the carriage wasn't easy and required a lot of rubble negotiating, not to mention upper body strength. He'd have to remember to pass people down where possible for this climb was not going to be repeatable for the entirety of the rescue. For a moment he could only stare down at the door, hoping and praying it would open.
Please let something start to go our way!
This rescue was going to be a clear nightmare if not, because it was already going that way.
"Right, here goes." He closed his eyes as he gripped the handle, pulling with all his strength and he had to double check and double take when he opened the blue orbs again to the realisation that yes, the door had indeed opened first try.
Thank goodness for small miracles.
"John?"
The answer came swiftly back, and he'd expected that, because he just knew he could rely on the younger being there.
"Here Scott. I've been listening in on the reports from the police and fire services." It was another wrapped up way of asking for an update from the ground from his perspective. After all, John could see everyone's view, but with the sometimes-needed radio silence, his family's was often the hardest to garner. And John wasn't them. He never asked outright, because that would make it seem as though time had to be given up. No, John would usually take those details later, however with a situation like this, he garnered that his younger brother wanted those little particular pieces of information as soon as humanly possible.
Besides, he'd been the one to iniciate the conversation, so – by John's logic, which (let's face it) was likely what was being used here – it seemed to point towards him having the time to talk.
"You know the driver's out?"
"Yeah, EOS is monitoring their conversation for me whilst we speak." It was another reminder of the AI he'd been reluctant to trust, yet now worked wonders for them, especially in these moments. It gave him hope John might not die young of a stress-based illness, after all. "You want a quick update?"
He let the brief smile grow; that was John's code for 'I know that's what you want. I want one too. Swap knowledge?' And who was he to not oblige their starman?
"I've managed to get the door to Carriage One open. I'm going to head in."
John sounded slightly shocked that it had been so easy to do – clearly, he was listening into the same report he'd just received on the authority's lack of success with their respective door.
"Ok. The made-up crew assisting you from the other end still haven't managed to cut a way in." Yes, he was definitely listening to the advancements of that report. Great… better news would be much appreciated! "I think most of the trains systems are going to be down. I'm trying to find any still alive which I could gain control of, but I'm not having much luck. That means you're going to have to either cut or pull open the sliding doors which separate the carriages."
Really, John!
There was saying it as you saw it and then some.
"EOS is still increasing the range of my scans. Thermal and life scans are showing some positivity for you, in this first carriage at least. I'll move the focus of the scans to match your pace. That way we shouldn't miss anything." At last, something which could actually lift his heart. It seemed like a stretch, a dare to even enquire, but that could be a very useful feature to be passing onto their assisting team… However, his nerves twanged at the thought of asking. John had made it clear how many resources he was already consuming for this rescue. Not that any expense should be spared and they all knew that.
"Are you able to-"
"We're mimicking the same effect for the authorities assisting team. I'll send them the same information whenever I can." Of course, John would be miles ahead of him already. John lived miles away from them at the same times as ages ahead; he was always the first to know anything and everything that was occurring beneath him. And it was more than useful.
"Great going, John. I'm going to head in. If you need me call. Give me a second to answer though?"
"I'll give you five."
He chuckled, carefully looking in. It was dark. The lights gave an occasional flicker, but they were like the dying embers of a fire. He was sure it wouldn't be long until those flickers cut out entirely. He wouldn't be able to utilise such miniature beams of illumination for anything much either. Great, a torch in hand job. He hated those.
"Hello? International Rescue. Can anyone hear me?"
No clear, definite answer came back. But John had said this carriage held some positivity, so by rules of reason there had to be someone. He tried to convince himself that the darkness had swallowed the sound, minimised the senses of those below.
Trying to channel that hope, he switched the torch on, holding it ready as he searched for his best way down. When looking into a pit of near blackness, it took a while. Didn't these things have emergency lighting? He fixed his hands against the side vacated by the door and tried to make the start of a gradual descent. When the small glare of the torchlight revealed a longer jump than he may like, he pulled himself back up to sit over the door. He glanced down again, racking his brains for options as he evaluated what little he could see. If only he had a light staring back at him, it might help him to place what else was down there.
Eventually, after spinning the torch around a few times from left to right, he managed to make out the backs of the first row of seats. If he could get the right swing angle, then maybe that could be his way down.
So, pulling out his grapple launcher and a spare pack, he attempted to make himself a line from the door to the chairs. It was hard in the dark to find the right target, but eventually he managed it and soon he was able to slide down. The only part of this great co-ordinated idea he hadn't planned, was how to stop the momentum carrying him. It had to become a quick-thinking action, the torch into mouth idea, in order for his hands to be free to grab hold of the new carriage roof, allowing his feet to drop lightly down onto the side of the chair. From there, the small jump onto the new floor wasn't even worth panicking over.
Still, he wasn't fond of the drop it had taken to get down there, or the way the seats hung horribly above him, almost all of those vacated. Gosh, did these things still not think seatbelts were worthwhile? For the most part though, this carriage did look as though it had survived the force of the impact. The only thing he could see immediately as noticeably out of place was that some seats – just like the first row of seats he'd swung by and onto to – were missing occupants.
Fixing himself to the spot, so as not to tread on anything (or anyone) unexpected, he took the torch back in hand and turned its light around. That in itself soon revealed where some of those missing people were. Of course, that should have been expected. Thrown down by gravity when the train tipped, forced forward by the impact… The rows without anything in front of them had nowhere to go, except for the floor, unless of course they had enough force to propel them into the front wall of the carriage, which from the look of one man's head, some of them had.
It made him shiver.
What he hadn't realised was how long he'd clearly remained in his own thoughts. Sound was filtering in now. Whimpers, crying, groans, strains and clearly some shock at the small, singular arriving light.
"Hello?"
"Who's there?"
"Daddy!"
"It's alright, son."
He did announce himself. He was sure he'd called down exactly who he was. Oh, well, maybe his voice had merely travelled back to him, bouncing off the metal, maybe the light and the sound had woken people up from comatose states, moods of despair. After all, they had been waiting now at least half an hour. After then, maybe you would begin to expect the worst.
"International Rescue." He announced again, affirming that everyone heard him. Some in the carriage sighed with relief, others called out thanks- "Everyone stay calm."
-and others;
"Stay calm! We're trapped in here!"
Why did people have to instantly rush to anger? Couldn't they just be glad help had come? He wondered how he'd feel if the situations were reversed, if ever he'd feel what they did in that situation or if all his IR experience would prevent it. Actually, no, he never wanted to know. He didn't want to be in that position. He'd much rather be here, doing the job he knew, throwing out the reassurances which sometimes too easily fell short. Especially with his terrible wording, "No, sit tight, we're gonna' get you all out of here."
"We don't really have many other options, do we."
Oh, it was typical the one who found his voice would be ready to complain. He could understand they were scared and trapped and cold and injured, but this was all he could do until his brothers were able to aid him. He was stuck working alone and that was just the way it was going to have to go. They'd have to get here soon.
He couldn't exactly count just how many people he was contending with here, but from the sounds, it was at least half a carriage. The more he thought about it, the more he shone the torch around to try and ascertain exactly what he was facing, the more he caught glimpses of bodies on seats or leaning against the supposed windows, the more he realised it just wouldn't be possible to get everyone back up the way he'd come in.
If only Virgil could get here… if he'd brought the cutting gear – which would hopefully have been a first and logical thought by the middle child – then they might be able to get the roof to the carriage off which would allow them to lift the injured out… yes, that would be the preferable option.
In the end though, he found his starting point. It was exactly where he was. The man who had clearly hit the front of the carriage, the man with the bleeding head who was still unconscious. He made that man his starting point. It was a little dangerous to be stepping across people's limbs, but it was a trip he thought was necessary.
Instincts. Keep trusting them, Scott.
Besides, he'd have to do a lot of limb stepping for this rescue.
The man didn't have a pulse, so as sad as it was, he knew he'd need to move on. To keep going. The dead could be dealt with when everyone alive was off this train. It soon became apparent that none of the four bodies thrown from their seats were alive.
He closed his eyes tight and sighed, biting his lip after a moment. There were too many ways he could continue this search. He'd tried to make priorities and it turned out he was choosing a dead man. He'd tried to work from the front to the back and it still seemed he was choosing the dead.
No, no more bad revelations. This may cause the most amount of noise, but there was something noise could always tell you when you were out on a rescue. The quiet. It was the quiet you had to watch, not the loud. To an extent, he'd already done that, but they were quiet for being dead. Yes, some who didn't answer would likely be in a similar condition, but maybe some would have others who could answer for them.
No more bad revelations.
Only survivors.
That was the priority, that was what his instincts were telling him.
So getting back to his feet and lifting the torch as high as possible to allow the most light, he flew his eyes around all the seats, all the shadows of people.
"Ok, you'll have to help me." He was pretty sure that caught people's attention. "I need to prioritise those with injuries, but trust me, I'm getting all of you out of here."
He was expecting the flood of noise, the scrambles which made his ears ache, but the one thing he wasn't expecting was some chivalry. Usually with incidents like this it was me, me, me.
The child's voice he recognised, the one which had called 'Daddy', the one who had been told it would be alright. The sniffles had been a clear sign. That had told him things. The voice of a woman, bravely speaking up above the other cacophony ensembles – and especially a certain very annoying man he wished his job description would stretch to allowing him to murder, quietly – was the unexpected piece.
"This boy's father. Help him." A few agreements rose from that, some others then called out their own suggestions from what they could see and someone insisted 'the man' shut up. Apparently, he wasn't even injured, just stuck. If people were going to rally to help, trust in him that they could make it out of this alive, then that he could work with. The man falling silent helped and soon the only noise was distant murmurs and chatter, people trying to check on the health of each other, arrange between themselves a possible map for where their sole hope of rescue was needed. That was good. If they could pull together, they could make his job easier and potentially save each other.
He began to make his way across the new floor, sticking close yo what had been the roof - trying to avoid breaking any glass which had yet to break, avoiding stepping on that which had or sticking his foot straight through some of the gaps were windows had been – to get back to where most of the reported calls for help were coming from. The centre of the carriage. On his way down, it was easy enough to notice that those nearest the front couldn't have stood much of a chance. He tried not to think about the broken neck he passed in the second row on a backward facing seat.
This was going to be far more traumatising than he'd expected. It suddenly changed all his thoughts, the short walk through half of the train, that maybe he didn't really want his brothers here after all.
He thanked the woman sat behind them out of courtesy, asked if she was alright. Shock was her answer and he knew that was to be expected. She didn't appear injured either so he continued to where he'd been directed, and it seemed he'd been directed there with good reasoning.
He knelt beside the boy's father, the pair of them leaning across in their seats. The father was practically resting against the metal of the side, his son leaning against him, the older man the only buffer between him and a likely cracked skull. Scott knew, simply from being a son to an amazing father, that if he could get both of them out safe and sound, the father would rather for an eternity that they'd sat that way.
A father would always take the injury for his son where possible. That was something Jeff Tracy had taught them all. Something they instilled brother to brother, practised every day, especially in their industry of work.
He reached out instantly to see the man's pulse. It was there, thready, but present. The man was awake too, dozing and slipping in and out, but that was a good enough start considering the rest of the record for the afternoon.
"Right, let's see about getting you fixed up and out of here."
It was that traditional thing of childhood panic, even with someone so close to ground you. Trapped in a carriage with your dad unable to offer you much support, that was a reasonable emotion, a credible reaction. And it made his heart ache.
"My Dad! Please help him."
It wasn't lucky at all, but they'd rescued enough children this young boy's age to give him wise, extensive and good experience in the area.
"Don't worry. You're both gonna' be fine."
The boy smiled at the reassurance, watched carefully as his father was tended to. The red blood was clear even in the weak torchlight, but he was clueless yet as to where it was coming from. The boy took his father's hand, his tone flipping now he was feeling more secure living within reassurance.
"It's alright Dad, International Rescue are here. They're going to get us out."
It was a big promise to keep, but there was no way he could lie to the boy. No way he could let him down.
So, he'd just have to keep the promise.
Notes;
1: The use of "terrific" in reference to the crash. I was using one meaning for intensity/size, but also the traditional Latin meaning of "frighten" and such emotions. In no way am I using the more modern and informal meaning of good/excellent.
2: 589 is the rough estimate of seats on an eleven-carriage passenger train sourced from Virgin Media's 2014 rebuilds.