Martin and Douglas shut G-ERTI down as quickly as possible, to hopefully contain the fire, lest it take the densely forested area of Lamouzie. In less than a minute, they had disentangled themselves from their seats and fastenings, and pressed their shoulders against the flight deck door, buckled slightly from the landing.

"Come on Martin, put your back in to it!" Douglas yelled, feeling the searing heat of the flames before he could see them. With a none too gentle shove, the door swung open, and Douglas and Martin cast their eyes over the cabin for Imogen and Arthur.

"You've got to help me," Imogen whimpered. "His seatbelt, I don't know what happened. He just flew out of his seat." She peered up at the pilots, a minor cut on her forehead. Her eyes were full of pain and she held her wrist, trying to hold it still to reduce whatever pain she was experiencing.

"Come on Imogen, we need to get out of G-ERTI," Douglas said, as calmly as his frantically beating heart could make his voice. The fact that Douglas had called her by her proper name only added to Imogen's fright. If Douglas was too worried to jest, then they were in even worse danger than she had thought.

"What about Arthur?" She whispered. She had tried and failed to wake the steward and could not conceivably evacuate both herself and Arthur with what was possibly a broken limb.

"Martin has him. Right, Martin?" Douglas wrapped an arm around Imogen's shoulder, lifting her from her seat and towards the exit.

"Right, Douglas. I'm right behind you."

"Come on then Imogen," Douglas muttered, half carrying, half dragging her outside and depositing her gently as far away from G-ERTI as he could manage, before doubling back to help Martin with Arthur.

They laid him on the ground, as Imogen shuffled over on her knees, her eyes sparkling with tears. "Come on Arthur, please wake up." She tapped his shoulder carefully, knowing from her first aid courses that she should be wary of a neck injury.

"Imogen?" Martin put an arm around her and pulled her away. "We need to look at your arm. It might be broken." Imogen laughed at the irony. Arthur had only had his cast removed a week before. She watched Douglas try to wake Arthur, only turning her gaze back to Martin when he caused her significant pain.

"Ow," she muttered, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'm sorry," he returned, taking off his shirt to reveal a crisp white t shirt underneath. Martin fashioned the uniform shirt into a sort of sling, which took some of the pain away and stopped her from trying to use it. Enough to swat him away from peering at her head injury and go back to Arthur, who was starting to come round a little.

"Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me?" Douglas said loudly, tapping Arthur's face, forcing him to wake up.

Imogen took his hand with her uninjured one, squeezing it gently. "Come on Arthur. You have to wake up. You're going to have to be the proper steward from now on. I might have a broken wrist, isn't that funny?" She was babbling now, and she knew it, but it seemed to help a little, for Arthur's eyelids fluttered a little.

"Is he waking up?" She turned to Douglas, eyes hopeful.

"I don't know," Douglas shrugged. "We just have to wait, I'm afraid. They've sent help to us, but I don't know how long it'll take to reach us. I'd imagine it might be a while. They don't know exactly where we are; the radio gave out a few minutes before we could land. How's your wrist?"

She shook her head. "It's fine. It's nothing to worry about." She turned back to Arthur, taking his hand once more. "Come on Arthur. We're going out to dinner, remember? You can't back out now, you promised."

Arthur let out a small groan and opened his eyes blearily. "We're still going, aren't we?"

Imogen laughed with relief, her eyes filling with tears. "Of course we are, as soon as we get you better." She squeezed his hand gently, eternally grateful to whatever powers that be that he wasn't too badly hurt, that none of them were.

"What happened? I can't remember." Arthur sat up slowly.

"That'll be the concussion talking," Douglas began. "We had a sudden engine failure. We're not sure why. We had to land without landing gears and everything failed. Including, it would seem, your seatbelt. You were thrown from your seat. That's how you were knocked unconscious." He explained carefully.

"Is everyone okay?" Arthur looked at Imogen, taking in her handmade sling and the small cut on her forehead.

"We're fine, Arthur," Martin said, sidling over to him. "But Imogen might have broken her wrist. She won't let me look at her head yet though."

Arthur cast Imogen a glance, his way of telling her to stop worrying and get someone to look at it. She scowled but did as she was told, letting Douglas inspect it, wincing and breathing in sharply when he went near it, as it was bruised.

"It's pretty minor. You might need some of those butterfly stitches but that's about it."

"I told you it was nothing," Imogen scowled. "Arthur needs attention more than I do anyway. I wasn't knocked out at all."

"I'm fine Imogen, I promise!"