An update, yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry it's taken so very very long. I love this story, I really do, but getting this rescue out of the way proved to be a huge writing-block. Now that it's done all the real action can kick off and I'll be back up to writing this one at once

A quick note aside – I never abandon stories that I've begun to publish on the web. Even if I haven't updated in a while it just means the muse has been taking it's sweet time or something is happening in my life. I'm going into my final year at uni now, so it's pedal to the metal and all systems go on the exam/dissertation front. This unfortunately means less time to write But that won't stop me, just delay me.

So until next time all you lovely lovely people, Adieu.

MWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

"Okay boys, lowering pod now."

"FAB." As light from the outside world slowly streamed into the confined area, Alan wondered what awaited them outside.

MWMWMWMMWMWMWMWMWMWMMMWMWMWMMWMWMWMWW

The village looked in as bad a shape as Gordon had imagined as he steered the Domo up the narrow precipice to get a view of the area. He balanced the vehicle as close to the edge as it would safely go and pulled out a pair of binoculars to scan the danger zone.

Heavy rains higher up in the mountains had caused the normally tame river to spring its banks and saturate the surrounding ground, lifting the heavy earth. Gordon was aware that the mud-slip had been caused by the sudden influx of water onto parched ground, and that a series of complex mathematical equations could track its progress, but all he was really concerned with was that millions of gallons of mud were burying a village alive. And he knew first hand that it was not a pleasant experience.

The village was situated on the mountainside quite a way below the actual river, but the mud flow had ploughed over the lip of the high river channel and straight down into the inhabited area. Even as the red-head watched a large boulder was lifted from its bed and dragged into the churning swell. He tapped the little video screen on the edge of the binoculars.

"Are you getting all this Scott?" The video-feeds on the ocular devices were prone to breaking very easily, despite Brain's best efforts.

"Yeah. Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

"How are we going to do this? I could try to divert the river in Four."

There was a pause as Scott tried to formulate a plan of action from the video-feed Gordon was sending him and what was infront of him down in the village.

"No." He said eventually. "The damage is already done. Alan and Virgil are pulling people out of the rubble and I'm directing the evacuation. Get the domo back down here and you can help the other two."

Gordon nodded automatically, although his brother couldn't see the movement. "FAB."

MWMWMWMMWWMMWMWMWMWMWMW

Alan forced his way through chest high mud, struggling to keep on his feet. The safety line around his waist tightened as some unseen debris knocked him sideways and he clung to the crumbling wall of the house he was trying to get through. The building was falling apart around him from the internal and external pressure the heavy flow was forcing upon it and the infrastructure had only minutes left to its life-span.

There was another weak cry for help from the second story and he ploughed on despite the danger. A staircase loomed up infront of him, broken pieces of wood jutting out into the dark corridor. The blonde man threw a grapnel up to snag into the ground at the top of the stairs, and tested his weight on it. When assured that it would hold him, he dragged himself out of the mud and – using the sturdy rope – climbed up the gaping hole to the first floor. The sodden boards creaked under his weight and the uncomfortable thought of falling down into the unforgiving mud refused to leave his mind. Alan knew damn well that he wouldn't last like Gordon had – unlike the red-head, he was an astronaut and had the lungs of one to prove it.

"Hello? Anyone here?" Okay, they'd established that no-one in this village spoke English, but he was hoping that someone would respond to the sound of another human's voice. "Anyone at all? I don't want to have climbed all the way up here for a stuck cat!"

There was a scuffling noise, and much to Alan's delight he was answered by a definite human voice.

"Okay, hold on, I'm coming." Again, it was the tone of voice that would help more than the words themselves. The blonde eased his way through the broken timbers of a shattered wall and into the room he thought he'd heard the answer from.

There was movement at the back of the wrecked room and he looked up to see a middle-aged man crawling cautiously along the broken floor-boards towards him. Alan raised his hand up and the man nodded, pausing in his movement as the blonde surveyed the state of the floor.

The boards had been snapped and in some cases sheared right through by the force of the mud sliding past the house. As the exterior walls had been shifted, the floors had followed. However, this floor seemed to be able to hold the mans weight for long enough, so Alan threw a safety line to him – just in case – made sure it was securely fastened, then beckoned the man forwards.

They moved slowly, cautiously, back down the rope Alan had left trailing down the remnants of the stairs. After the gloomy interior of the ruined house, the sun was dazzling as the two men stepped back outside onto the pontoons that International Rescue had floated on the thick slurry to gain access to buildings. There was a scream nearby and Alan looked up to see two small children hurtle into the arms of the man he'd just rescued.

"Is that it now?" The blonde asked as he strode back to where Scott was tapping away at mobile control. The eldest Tracey looked up and smiled grimly at him, mud plastered down his face and clothes.

"Yes for this part of the village, thank God. Virge and Gords and still pulling people out round the other side." Scott wiped a tired hand across his eyes, smearing more mud over his face in the process. "We're down to bodies now though, I'm not sure if anyone is still alive."

Alan's gaze snapped up to the tangle of buildings opposite their mobile station, where he could still see the Domo at work. Scott's voice had been emotionless except for a trace of exhaustion, and he forced his own feelings back down – emotions interfered with the job at hand.

"You okay to help them with the last section?" Scott asked, watching his little brother carefully.

Alan gave a curt nod, despite the wrench in his gut when another scream of grief coloured the air.

MWMWMMWMWMWMMWMWMWMMWMWMWM

Jeff sat at his desk staring at the empty coffee cup as if it would magically refill itself.

"Do you want another, Mr Tracey?" Tintin asked quietly.

The Tracey patriarch shook himself out of his silent brooding and looked up at the young woman with a smile. Her worried frown eased a little as he declined the offer.

"I don't think I can cope with being any more wound up." He said, moving the mug away from his line of sight. "My blood-pressure doesn't need the antagonism." He massaged his temples with a tired sigh. "How long have they been out there?"

"Ten minutes longer than when you last asked. Getting on for nine hours now."

Jeff nodded. "These things always seem to go so slowly!" He turned to his computer screen, not expecting to se any change in the readouts that he was receiving from Mobile Control. He wasn't surprised to see that there hadn't been any updates.

"Mr Tracey?"

He looked back at the young woman. "Yes Tintin?"

She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, a worried frown marring her face. "They...They will be alright, won't they?" Her dark eyes moved to gaze at the computer screen. "I mean, it being a mud-slide and all."

The tone of her voice made Jeff banish his own misgivings and smile at her. After having had her live at the island for nearly as long as the rest of the family, he couldn't help but feel over protective of her.

"They'll be fine, Tintin. Brains made sure the gear was up to the job and it's not like they haven't done this before."

She nodded, albeit not quite convinced, but accepting for now. With lack of anything better to do she swirled the dregs of her own coffee round in the mug she held, unseeing as it slopped over the edge of the china. A hand closed upon her wrist, stopping the action before she spilt any more.

"Not a good idea to spill coffee on the carpet, my daughter." Kyrano said gently. He removed the mug from her grasp before she stained the thick-pile rug any more. "I don't think Grandma will thank you." Tintin looked around guiltily, but the old Tracey woman was staring anxiously out of the window and didn't seem to have heard.

Jeff looked around at the three other people sitting and standing morosely in the room, then through the partition into the kitchen where Brains was slumped at the table gazing blankly at a circuit-board. He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Okay everybody. This moping isn't getting us anywhere and it's not helping the boys." He pushed the maps, empty mugs and general desk-debris out of the way so that the com-link to Thunderbird Five was reachable. Pressing the button he looked up at his second-eldest son's portrait. "John, you there?"

There was barely a second or two before John had responded and the smiling portrait morphed into his concerned face.

"Dad! Have you heard anything yet?" He asked before his father could even open his mouth to greet him.

"No, I was hoping you had."

Up in the space-station John flicked his gaze across the many computer screens he had running. All of those not showing Five's stats were covered with maps and satellite photos of the Nangarhar province or the whole country.

"There's been some German troop movement near Helmand, and an outbreak of fighting between insurgents further north. Nothing that affects the guys though." He turned to a screen showing a weather system over Afghanistan. "There's a dry spell settling quite neatly over Nangarhar too, so the village should have time recover over the next few weeks." He gave a small smile as he looked back to the webcam image of his father. "Everything looks good for now."

Jeff nodded, not exactly reassured, but knowing that is was the best he would get until he heard from the rescue team themselves.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

"Is that everyone now?" Gordon asked, slumping down on a rock besides his eldest brother.

"All of the town's people are accounted for." Scott replied quietly. He glanced out the corner of his eye towards a large pile of body-bags, before turning back to his brother.

The younger red-head was also staring at the forlorn pile. His shoulders were slumped and his usually bright eyes looked dull through a mask of mud and grim. He looked as though he'd aged about thirty years during the rescue.

"Hey." Scott said quietly, resting his hand on Gordon's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Not really." The water-loving Tracey laughed without a trace of humour in his voice. "I'm about as far from alright as I can get." He turned exhausted eyes to his older brother. "You?"

"Been better." The eldest Tracey sighed. His eyes scanned the desolate town that lay in ruins before them, pain etched harshly across his face. "That school..."

Gordon nodded wearily. "The church. Half the town had taken refuge in there. Only one entrance and that faced the direction of the mudflow."

Scott shook his head with a broken sigh. Out of the village of nearly a thousand people, they'd lost over two hundred – dead before International Rescue had even graced the scene. A further twenty odd had died after being dug out of the muck. It just wasn't fair! No matter how hard International Rescue tried, no matter how fast they flew or how much they cared, they could never, never save everyone.

A low roar behind them made the two brothers turn round to see one of the pod vehicles coming up over the mound of sodden earth behind them. The machine was so mud splattered that it took them a moment to recognise it as the domo. A large metal trailer had been attached to it and Virgil had taken charge of ferrying the survivors out of the danger zone.

Scott stood up, raising one hand in greeting as both Virgil and Alan jumped down from the Domo. Both young men looked like they'd just fought their way through Hell and back as they slogged up to their where their brother's waited.

"Is that everything?" Alan rasped, slumping down on the rock Scott had just vacated. He raised weary blue eyes up to focus on his eldest brother as the brunette ruffled his hair.

"I think that's all we can do here." Scott replied with a dejected smile.

Virgil nodded in agreement, pushing muddy hair back out of his eyes. "I managed to speak to one of the men – he knew enough Guajarati to pass on the village's thanks and appreciation. But you're right; we've got the injured to the Red Cross, there's no-one else left up here, we can't do any more."

The young men set about dismantling the rescue equipment they had set up and trudging back down to their 'Birds with it all. Most of the larger pieces – the Domo for example – had to be carefully manoeuvred down the side of the mountain, which was slow and tedious work.

The villagers had been dropped off to the Western side of the mountainous area – which was an easier access point for Red Cross. However, the Thunderbird machines were on the other side of the ridge, which had been easier for them to get the smaller equipment up to where it was needed, but was now a slow trek back down again with everything.

It took the four men the best part of an hour to reorganise all of their vehicles and put everything back inside Thunderbird Two. It wasn't just the pod machines, but also all the safety-lies, ropes, first aid boxes and hundreds of miscellaneous pieces of rescue paraphernalia that had to be collected and accounted for before they could secure everything. This also meant that a fair amount of time was devoted to an on-the-spot inventory check. If there was one thing they were sure of – besides the lives they saved – it was that no single part of their gear could be left behind. No trace to International Rescue could be left, to protect both their identities (although that was less of an issue, since no-one was stupid enough to put their names on things) and to protect their high-tech equipment.

Scoot and Gordon hiked back up to the village one last time to do a final double check – out of habit rather than necessity. The red-head climbed up onto one of the large boulders that the mud had dislodged and surveyed the wreckage once again.

"It's incredible what a bit of mud can do." He commented thoughtfully.

"I wouldn't call thousands of gallons 'a bit'" Scott remarked. He wiped a dirty hand over his face, succeeding only in smearing the grim around a little. Gordon jumped back down next to him, grinning wearily.

"Which ever, I can't wait to throw myself in a shower. Or the pool."

The older brother raised a mud-splattered eye-brow. "You never can." He stated dryly. "Kyrano will kill you if you dive in the pool with all that mud."

Gordon shrugged lightly, climbing up a second boulder that gave a view of their craft down below. "I'll swim in the sea then. That'll get this crud off."

Scott laughed, but didn't reply when their other two brothers came up over the crest of the hill, both as covered in mud as he and Gordon were.

"All done down there." Virgil said, waving off his eldest brother's question before it was even asked. "Everything's in and we're ready to go. You two coming? Or would you rather stay here?" He shaded his eyes and looked up at where Gordon stood a meter or so above them on the rock. "What are you doing up there Gords?"

Gordon laughed down at him. "Just enjoying being taller than Scott and Alan for a change."

"Don't get too used to it, short-stuff!" Scott called up cheerfully. He frowned when Gordon saluted an affirmative and a flash of silver in the red-head's hair caught his eye. "Gords, you've got something stuck in your hair."

The aquanaut raised an eyebrow – with all the gunk covering him he was bound to have something in his hair – but brushed his hand through it anyway. The small movement shifted his position on the rock and Scott's eyes narrowed as they fixed on the glint that wasn't infact coming from Gordon's hair at all, but from behind his head.

Common sense told the eldest Tracey that there was a piece of debris lodged up in the mountain-side. However, his military senses – that had been humming at max ever since arriving in the hostile terrain jumped ahead of his brain and took over his vocal chords.

"Gordon, duck!!!"

It wasn't the sort of voice anybody would disobey and the red-head threw himself down to hug the rock. As he did so a flash of silver zipped past, grazing his neck in the process, and embedded itself deep in the mud at the foot of the boulder. Almost immediately following it there came the sharp crack of gun-fire from high up where the bullet had originated – the sound travelling slightly slower than the bullet itself.

Gordon, despite the shock of the sudden attack, kept his senses and had rolled the moment he was down flat so that when a burst of machine gun fire hit the boulder, he'd already slipped down the side of it. The space where he'd been standing only moments before splintered into deadly shards.

The four men pressed up against the boulder as more gun-fire came from varying directions.

"Has anyone got a weapon on them?" Scott asked, his voice gruff with fear and shock.

"Of course not!" Alan snapped. He ducked further back out of the way as a shower of rock debris hit him – corresponding to the top of the boulder being shot to pieces. "Why are they shooting at us?! We're an International Rescue for Gods sake! Even they can see that!"

Scott laughed grimly. "I think that's why." There was a moment's pause in the fire and he looked out from behind the rock. "Okay, they're re-loading, back to the 'Birds!"

As one the four American's threw themselves from behind the sanctuary of the boulder towards the steep incline that led down to their craft. The gun-fire started up again the moment they were out in the open and bullets ricocheted around their feet.

Three of them managed to stumble far enough down the slope as to be out of the line of fire. One wasn't so lucky.

"Alan!" It was impossible to tell which of the brother's had screamed the youngest's name. Alan was thrown down as a bullet lodged itself in his shoulder and he tumbled forwards onto the steep scree slope with a cry of pain and shock.

The older three flung themselves after him as the semi-automatics began their coarse laughter behind them again.

MWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM