Grateful thanks to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson for giving us Thunderbirds.

Chapter 3

Jeff, along with Brain's, waited anxiously in the infirmary knowing he would have only been in the way within the confined space of TB1's cockpit and the narrow gantry walkways. Waiting was always the hardest part and no one knew that better than Jeff Tracy. Every time he sent his sons out on a rescue he knew there was always the potential that something might happen to any one of them. What he was trying to come to terms with was how a simple bump on the head could deteriorate so quickly. He was also annoyed and angry with himself for not going straight to Thunderbird One upon her landing, after he had been so fastidious in checking the infirmary and going to his room to make sure he wasn't unconscious. Instead, he had buried his head in useless paperwork while his eldest son's life could have been hanging in the balance, that while he signed papers his son was bleeding and unconscious.

As they headed towards the infirmary, Scott kept slipping in and out of consciousness, while Virgil, Gordon and Alan tried to reassure him he was going to be OK, but he was mumbling incoherently so they weren't sure whether he even heard them.

At last, they rushed into the infirmary and brought him in through the double doors into the small examining/theatre suite, where they locked the anti-grav stretcher onto the examining table. This was an invention of Brains', whereby the stretcher becomes part of the table; the patient therefore does not need to be moved on and off the table, insuring least amount of movement for them.

Jeff was visibly shocked and extremely concerned on seeing his son's deteriorating condition. He immediately went to his side and took his hand but he could see he was unresponsive to his reassurances. Scott was flushed due to an increasingly high temperature and his eyes were glazed over. Perspiration beaded his face and body. He groaned as he tossed and turned.

"VVirgil, II'm going to nneed you to hold his head ssteady for me, while I ssee to this wwound," asked Brain's. Virgil went to the head of the table and held his brother's head in a strong, firm grip. Brain's took off the dressing and started to clean the wound but was finding it impossible as Scott was starting to thrash his arm about trying to push him away. He was becoming increasingly more agitated and eventually Brain's had to say, "Wwe're, going to have to ssstrap him down so I ccan fix this wwound. He nneeds an IV drip in as well."

Before they could strap him down Brain's told them he needed to be stripped off his uniform. Gordon and Alan got scissors from a drawer and proceeded to cut him out of it and taking off his boots, while Virgil and Jeff tried to hold him down.

Due to the original brain injury, feeling confused and being held against his will, he started shouting as he thrashed about even more. "Leave me alone. What are yyou doing? Just leave me the hell alone."

It broke Jeff's heart to see his eldest son having to be strapped to the table like this. It took all of them to try to hold him down as Brain's affixed the straps, firmly but not too tightly. Jeff could also see it was upsetting for his sons to see their elder brother like this. Scott was the strong and dependable one, the one they all relied on and looked up to. The one they all went to when they got into trouble, knowing he could always come up with a plan to get them out of it. That's what he did best, that's what made him a natural leader and Field Commander for International Rescue; his ability to assess the situation and come up with the best course of action. When they were boys, Scott often bore the brunt of his father's displeasure, when his brothers' pranks went wrong, because he was the oldest and therefore should have been more sensible. He always defended them and took the blame on himself, enduring any punishment that was dished out without complaint. That fierce need to protect his brothers had stayed with him into adulthood. He would do anything for them without question. They loved him for it and that's why it hurt them so much now to see him like this; weak, helpless, vulnerable and in pain.

"Can't you give him something?" Alan pleaded with Brain's.

"I I I can't," Brain's replied sympathetically, "not until I can establish the cccause of his ccondition. I need to bbe able to access his sssymptoms and reactions."

The constant straining against his straps had finally exhausted Scott and he fell into a fitful sleep. Brain's took this opportunity to examine the original injury by probing with his fingers through his thick, dark hair only to cause him to groan. "I'm sorry SScott. I I can definitely ffeel a swelling," Brain's concurred. It didn't help that the gash he had sustained on the right side of his forehead was on the same side as the injury. Brain's then lowered the x-ray machine, suspended from a frame above the examination table, to the site of the swelling. He hmm'd and ahh'd a bit as he studied his findings causing Jeff to become a little irritated that he wasn't actually telling him anything.

"Well Brain's," Jeff said, trying really hard to be patient, while wiping his son down with a towel in an effort to keep him dry.

The grave look on Brains' face told Jeff that it was indeed serious. "There does appear to be a hhairline ffracture in his sskull and there's a fffew more ttests I need to do before I can bbe absolutely sure." He took a slim torch from his breast pocket and passed the light several times over Scott's eyes. He didn't like what he saw, it really told him all he needed to know. Scott's pupils were unequal. Not a good sign. Just to confirm his findings he brought back a device that looked like a strap with a digital readout on it and placed it on Scott's forehead. The strap device measured brain pressure and the reading was high. "It's as I I feared Mr TTracy. Pressure is bbbuilding up in Scott's brain and it needs to be rrelieved or …," Brain's finally answered him, leaving his sentence unfinished.

To say Jeff was stunned was putting it mildly, so, to, for his brothers. They couldn't believe that only a few hours ago he had seemed OK, just a seemingly innocent knock on the head. Gordon, though, now felt guilty about joking with him that he needed glasses and the crack about old age. They had all laughed and joked together at breakfast, Scott and Virgil groaning at one of Gordon's terrible jokes. How could things have gotten so bad, so quickly?

"We'll need to get the Medi-Jet out here right away and get him to the mainland," Jeff ordered, having pulled his thoughts back to the present. Being in the South Pacific, the nearest land mass to them was New Zealand and was always just referred to as the mainland. He was already on his way to the communications panel when Brain's called him.

"I I'm afraid it would just ttake tttoo long for the Medi-Jet to get hhere and then all the way bback to the hospital, Mr TTracy," Brain's had started to say.

"Then we'll just have to take him ourselves in Tracy 2," Jeff suggested. "There's plenty of room in the cabin for the stretcher." Tracy 2 was the bigger of the families private jets, used for business and trips to the mainland.

"We ccan't risk moving Scott around like that," replied Brain's, "and, besides, it would still take too long to get him there."

"We can take him in Thunderbird One," Alan said defiantly, not wanting to believe they were running out of options. "She's the fastest thing that flies. We can have him there in no time," he added, sounding hopeful that he had found a solution.

Jeff looked to Brain's, hoping he would agree but he was shaking his head. "I I'm really ssorry Alan, Mr TTracy," he answered, knowing he was dashing their hopes yet again. "You ddon't understand but the sspeed at which Thunderbird One fflies would generate even mmore pppressure on Scott's brain. It wwould kill him."

(Authors note: How ironic is that? Scott Tracy's own beloved Thunderbird One would be the death of him.

Well, we can't let that happen, can we?)

"Well, what do you suggest Brain's? Are you saying we just do nothing?" Virgil shouted angrily. It wasn't that he was angry at Brain's. His anger was just born of frustration that there seemed to be no more options, feeling helpless and guilty.

"No, of course not, Virgil," Brain's replied sympathetically. "Scott needs urgent aattention so I I was going to ssuggest we get Mike Strachen over here as soon as possible."

"Yes, you're right Brain's. I should have thought of Mike before," Jeff responded, now more hopeful.

Mike Strachen was an eminent Neurosurgeon who was based at Vincent Memorial Hospital in Auckland. Jeff had met him several times at charity functions for the hospital, to which Jeff regularly donated sums of money for equipment and research, and also at medical conferences to which Brain's also went. The two men liked and respected each other and had become firm friends. Mike had also met Scott and Virgil when they had attended some of the functions with their father and he liked the two boys enormously.

Scott stirred into consciousness again. "Dad. Where am I?" he called, weakly. Jeff, trying to keep the emotion from his voice, reassured his eldest son. "It's all right, Son, you're at home and your brothers are here. We're going to get you the best help there is. You just hang on for me, Son."

"Dad, I don't feel so good," Scott admitted. Before Jeff could say anymore, Scott's eyes rolled in the back of his head. He threw his head back in spasm, his back arched and he went rigid. He gritted his teeth as his body started to convulse and strain against the straps.

"He's ffitting Mr TTracy. We nneed to get Mike here as soon as possible," warned Brain's. Can I I suggest we send Thunderbird One. We ccould have Mike back here in about an hhhour and I I'm sure International Rescue wwould be wwilling to do a mmmission of mercy for such an important man as yourself, Mr TTracy; if you get my mmeaning."

It was a hard thing for Jeff and his brothers to have to watch but eventually Scott collapsed back into unconsciousness.

"I'll get through to Mike right away," Jeff said with some urgency. Turning to Alan, he said, "Son, get down to Thunderbird One and get over to the mainland as quick as possible. I'll make arrangements with Mike to be picked up at Tracy Aerospace."

"F A B," Alan responded, glad to be able to do something at last.

Jeff headed to the communications panel and opened a link. "Hi Mike. It's Jeff Tracy ……"