10. Operating Solo
Chief Adams had never been a man to sit back and wait for life to come to him. Rather he preferred to go out and grab the frail and sometimes flailing thing with both hands, grasping it tightly and manipulating it until it worked for him. His father, an old man fond of past sayings and proverbs, had told him once that,
'In the kingdom o' the blind, the one eye' man's king.'
To begin with he'd never understood what his father had meant, not until he joined the Fire Department at least. And never before, he thought, had it rung truer than now.
Who ever knew the most, could see the furthest ahead, with the best plan, was the one that everyone looked to, and followed, so to say, blindly.
And so, he set about changing and working the situation currently happening, until he knew, to the best of his ability (which was considerable) what was going to occur next and exactly how.
Consequently as the final platform burst onto the frothing water, Adams had the last gossamer-steel support transported to the edge of the bank, ready to be hauled onto the hovercraft and sailed into place, below the damaged bridge.
Out on the lake waves bit at the sides of the florescent, orange hovercraft, trying to force it this way and that, but Holly Miller, a thirty-something year old, with short-cropped ginger hair, a hard face, and much experience, held the little, floating boat as steady as possible, whilst the two other crew members worked on untying the final floating platform provided by International Rescue and dropping the weights attached to it.
The water disturbance decreased as the giant bulk of Thunderbird Two pulled up and away from the lake surface, allowing Miller to loosen her grip on the steering controls and glance back to see how her crewmembers were doing.
Route 12, out on the bridge;
Watching in awed silence and absolute wonder, Alex Haddon had barely removed his eyes from the colossal underside of the giant that had proclaimed itself as 'Two', since it had arrived, following it with his gaze away from the bridge and to the field it had landed on, only glancing away to check on his still unconscious friend.
The fifteen-year-old would-be rioter had sat on the floor, smoothing Tilly Green's dyed hair back off of her face; trying to dredge up the last remnants of the two first-aid classes his mother had dragged him, protesting the whole way, along to. She'd once tried to instil upon the unruly boy how important learning basic first aid was. Now he wished he'd even tried to listen. All that he could dig up from the cobweb lined safe-hold of his mind was of little use.
Was she breathing? Did she have a pulse?
Fortuitously his friend did, Alex not being able to recall what to do if either of those questions had the devastating and perhaps fatal, answer; no.
Fearful and scared, Alex huddled up closer to Tilly; more than being afraid of her dying, he was terrified of being alone. The inanimate girl might not have been great conversation, but at least he wasn't alone. There'd still been few sounds from the surrounding area, meaning one of three things in Alex's opinion:
1. There had been no one around them when the explosion had gone off,
2. All the people around them were unconscious and hurt too,
Or the most shuddering idea of all, that made him flinch and falter in his thoughts,
3. Everyone else was already dead and he was alone, out on that bridge.
There had been a small amount of hope though for the frightened boy, when 'Two' had retaken to the skies and begun dropping something on to the deep, unnerving lake that lay below, ready to claim it's victims if the bridge were to rupture further.
And since then there had been a flurry of activity; a hovercraft zipped back and to across the water, dragging first some form of platform below the failing bridge, and then some type of metal beam to the same place.
Maybe the Fire Department had found a way to stabilise the shifting bridge, maybe those strange crafts were sent by the United Nations Government to help a member state in it's time of need… Just maybe a rescue was coming for the teenagers marooned on the Lake Oahe Overpass.
Thunderbird One, as last platform is dropped on the lake;
All was going well in the eyes of Scott Tracy; the platforms were dropped and being hauled into position as he sat, Chief Adams had the supports ready to be shipped out and put in place, and then the real rescue could begin. Getting all those stuck on the bridge, off and to safety.
Twisting the dial before him round to the tacked on note reading 'TB2', Scott depressed a shaded-green button beside it on the control panel.
"Thunderbird One, to Thunderbird Two."
Virgil acknowledged, with a swift nod and a word, a small smile playing across his face, that Scott couldn't help but notice.
"Good to see you're still not enjoying yourself too much there, Virge."
Virgil shrugged through the smart glass,
"Ah, comme-ci, comme ça, et al."
Snorting slightly, both at his brother's obvious excitement and his inept use and handling of the French language, and accent that was so obviously Northern American, Scott continued,
"Got the next bit of the plan ready here for you."
"Go ahead, Scott."
"I want you to land where you were before, disembark and then Brains can take Two back up." Scott noted the disgruntled look pass across the eighteen year old's face, but continued. "Then we get onto the bridge, and over to the bus. Brains drops the clamps, we secure them, and Two takes the weight of the vehicle."
"Right…" Virgil replied, completely unconvinced and fairly unwilling.
"Once the bus is stable, we help the Fire Department evacuate it, and then Brains can try and drag it back on to the bridge, ready for the clear up later."
"Maybe Brains would be…"
Scott cut across, before Virgil could continue.
"No. I've spoken to Dad about this as well, whilst you've been up in the air. Brains doesn't have the best 'people-skills' and he knows the craft just as well as you, better really, considering. So my decision stands, you come down, and Brains stays up."
Begrudgingly Virgil accepted this with a swift 'F.A.B.' and signed off, disconnecting the call, knowing better than to argue with Scott, as the screen blacked out.
Seriously, he thought, when did it become a good idea to work with your brothers?
Sighing, the twenty-year-old field commander leant back against his chair, and ran a hand through his hair.
Under the cover of Thunderbird One, a little while later;
Virgil Tracy, unhappy with how the course of the rescue was playing out, having been removed from the ship he'd come to call his own, gradually shuffled over to where his eldest brother was waiting, impatiently pacing, beneath the wing of the silver arrow, Thunderbird One.
Once within throwing distance, Scott picked up a green rucksack from the tousled ground and tossed it in his sibling's direction, from where it was fielded neatly, and shouldered.
"Ready to go?"
"Uh-huh. You?"
Scott nodded sharply, and smiled at his younger counter-part, as the pair began walking out from the shadow of One's wing, towards the black and silver blur that was the gathered emergency personnel. "Earlier; I wasn't insinuating that Brains is a better pilot, Virge, it's just that…"
"Don't worry about it." Virgil paused, and stopped walking for a moment, then grinned widely. "I'll just beat the crap out of you when we get home."
"Whatever, Virge." Scott laughed. "The day you beat me, is the day…" He trailed off though, the duo having reached the outer edges of the crowd of people waiting to get onto the bridge and help.
As the two brothers stood united, waiting for some kind of signal that the supports were set up for the crippled bridge, Chief Adams marched up to them.
"Gentleman."
Both boys turned towards the sturdy man, trusting and nearly unafraid.
"The last joins are being made as we speak. I've got a team of five that are ready to go with you to the bus." He indicated a group of burly looking men standing some way off. "Some of the best Mobridge has to offer."
"Right."
"The rest of the crews are going to focus first on the outer region of casualties, and work their way inwards, systematically covering all areas."
"Good. Thank you for your help, Chief."
"Anytime. I just want everyone off the bridge, in as few pieces as possible."
Chief Mark Adams shook hands with the International Rescue Field Commander and then backed off, into the massed array of those waiting to help, to give more orders, support and as much guidance as he could.
Russell Springs, Kansas, Alan Tracy's bedroom, same time;
Still flopped on top of his bedcovers, the television broadcasting constant updates of the situation unfolding in Mobridge, Alan Tracy was still bummed-out and gloomy at best.
Life for the teen had not got any worse, but nor had it improved.
Ten minutes after seeing the news that his brothers had just started out on their first rescue mission (the coolest thing since, well, forever – if he'd been there too that is) Alan received a vid-call from his best friend, a karting team-mate, and school companion.
That had started out badly to begin with, the only person Alan was really wanting to talk to was Gordon, and for some strange reason, he'd almost believed his brother had called him, taking a break from sailing the seven seas. So, when Cameron Turpin-Banks' enthusiastic, almost-shouted greeting met him, all Alan Tracy wanted to do was throw the damn cell phone across his room, against the wall.
"Have you seen the news, Al? It's amazing!"
Cameron was an active boy, with a freckled, mischievous face and a blunt way, two things that had made the two teenagers such good friends. Now though, he was desperate to show that he knew more about the exciting events unfolding a couple of states north, and Alan just wasn't interested.
And so, on the conversation had gone on, until Alan had pulled a face, and pretended his infamous, and formidable Grandmother was calling him, disconnecting the call.
The fifteen year old had guessed at the floating platforms being that which had been dropped from Thunderbird Two (having spent all of last summer quizzing Brains at what he'd do in all sorts of situations) and had accidentally announced this to his karting teammate. Thinking his friend must have a better television station, which was giving out more detailed information, the other boy had begun quizzing about everything else they were saying, wanting to know it all.
Alan, disgruntled and annoyed at his father right about then, just didn't want to think about it.