I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story.
I stood back and watched the three International Rescue men load the next group of people onto the Mole – an ungainly vehicle with an alarmingly pointy front end. The Mole could only transport a few people to the surface at a time, but the young men had kept things moving along at a brisk pace, and there were only a dozen of us left below ground at this point.
Our subway tunnel had collapsed two hours earlier. Miraculously, no one was killed or even injured very seriously, but we were trapped in an empty stretch of tunnel between stations by tons of dirt and stone. Our panic had gradually increased over the course of an hour, until the Mole broke through the wall of the tunnel and International Rescue swept onto the scene.
A tall young man with brown hair and vivid blue eyes had assumed command. Within moments, he had the crowd whipped into shape, docile as lambs and neatly forming little groups as he requested.
He told us that his name was Scott, and that he and his teammates, Virgil and Gordon, would be taking the injured and the elderly up to the surface first, where medical personnel were waiting. At that, a husky, black-haired man – even younger than Scott – had stepped forward to help the first group of injured people hobble toward the Mole. He had a ready smile and warm brown eyes.
The third man was too far away for me to get a good look at yet; all I could tell was that he had reddish-blonde hair, and that he was shorter than his companions. He climbed up into the Mole and helped people step inside. When they had a full load, he moved over to the cockpit and drove the Mole back up the tunnel, leaving the black-haired young man behind.
"Over here, Virgil," Scott had called, from where he crouched beside a man who was clutching a bloody handkerchief to his head.
So the black-haired one was Virgil, which meant that the one driving the Mole must be Gordon. I wondered how many men were in their organization – it seemed like they would have to have a fairly large crew in order to pull off the nearly-miraculous rescues that they performed on a regular basis.
Being young, healthy and uninjured, I guessed that I was going to be one of the last people to be evacuated. Honestly, I didn't really mind – I was just enjoying watching Scott, Virgil and Gordon work.
Scott and Virgil made their way through the groups of people, occasionally bumping someone up in line, sometimes pausing to treat an injury or check up on someone who looked particularly stressed.
In the meantime, Gordon kept his end of the job up, tirelessly driving the Mole up and down the gaping black hole carved in the side of the tunnel. When he came back down, he would stop the Mole and slide out, trotting over to whichever group of people Scott indicated was to go up next.
I was still too far away to catch what he said, but I enjoyed watching people's reactions to him – clearly he was a charmer. Also, I noticed with some amusement that he was evidently the touchy-feely sort – he would often put a hand on someone's arm when he was talking to them, or give one of his teammates a friendly slap on the back as he walked past. His approach seemed to relax most people and bring a smile to their faces.
However, one person's reaction caught Gordon entirely off guard.
Gordon had just returned to collect the third-to-last group of people. He trotted cheerfully over from the Mole. Catching me watching him, he flashed me a quick smile, his amber-brown eyes lighting up with a mischievous twinkle.
I smiled back, even as I nearly shook my head in disbelief at how shockingly young he was. I wondered if he was even out of his teens yet.
The next group to go stood in a subdued huddle, overwhelmed by the hulking, brooding figure of a very large man in their midst. This man had caught my eye multiple times as I had done my people-watching; there was something different about him. While most of the people exchanged light, meaningless conversation with their neighbors to take their minds off their situation, this man stood a little apart from his group, his face stony, and didn't try to interact with anyone.
I had been studying him for a while, and I had eventually decided that his granite façade was just that – a façade. He was actually so scared that he was about ready to crack, but unlike the people around him, he refused to admit to it – he probably thought that to do so would infringe upon his manliness or something.
He stood with his back to Gordon, shoulders painfully stiff and posture rigid, lost in his own little world of terrified stoicism.
I frowned as Gordon approached him, some sixth sense prompting me to open my mouth and call out a warning.
I was a moment too late.
"Excuse me, sir," Gordon began, touching the man's arm.
The man jumped violently and, in a reflexive move, spun around and slammed his fist into Gordon's stomach, putting all of his considerable weight behind the blow. "Don't touch me!" he snarled explosively.
Considering that the man was half-again as big as Gordon, the results were not surprising. I could hear all the air whoosh out of Gordon's lungs, and I watched his eyes widen in shock, his face going pale before he crumpled to his knees. His hands on his stomach, he coughed as he tried to draw in a breath.
I was aware of two blue-clad figures rapidly converging on the scene. Virgil slid to his knees alongside Gordon, wrapping an arm around his teammate's shoulders, speaking to him in a low voice.
Scott skidded to a halt a cautious distance from the big man – although, as I noticed how Scott's blue eyes had turned to ice, I suspected that the distance was more for the man's protection than for Scott's.
Gordon finally managed a long, shuddering breath, and immediately began retching.
The man cast him a disdainful glance, twitching his jacket higher on his shoulders. "He shouldn't grab people like that," he snapped, glancing scornfully around at all the eyes fastened on him. He crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Scott with a glare. "Well, are we gonna get out of here or what?"
I watched the rock-hard muscles in Scott's arms stand out as his hands reflexively clenched into fists. I half hoped he would give that creep a taste of his own medicine, but he was too professional for that.
Speaking from between clenched teeth, but somehow managing to keep his tone polite, Scott said, "All right, ladies and, uh, gentlemen, I'll drive for this trip. Right this way, please."
The subdued group climbed into the Mole and disappeared from sight.
After another minute, Virgil helped Gordon stand. Gordon was still pale, and kept one hand on his stomach, but he was already back to smiling.
I noticed that Virgil stuck close to him, his eyes sympathetic, but lit with just a hint of amusement.
In only a few more minutes, it was my group's turn to climb up into the Mole for the final trip to the surface. Virgil and Gordon helped strap us into our seats, and we made the rattling trip up above ground.
When we got to the top, they helped us out to where a crowd of family members, news crews and bystanders waited, held back at a little distance by the police. They cheered and clapped when we stepped out of the Mole.
Medical personnel were waiting to usher us away, but I hesitated for a moment. I didn't want the negative reaction to be the one they remembered.
Turning back toward the Mole, I reached out and shook Scott's hand, then Virgil's. When I got to Gordon, I couldn't help myself – I gave him a quick hug. "Thank you," I said firmly, looking each of them in the eye.
They smiled back at me and turned to leave. As I watched them go, I knew that they would probably soon forget me, but that I would never forget them.
A/N – As I was nearing the end of this, it occurred to me that the Mole used in TAG is only a two-seater…oh well. Maybe they made a bigger version for this rescue!