It will be a while until the next update as I'm heading off to my sister's wedding :)
I hope you like this so far. Please feel free to leave a review to let me know what you think x
Gordon held his breath as leaned over the gurney, carefully pulling down on the laryngoscope he was using to help to intubate a teenage girl. Her slim face was blackened with nasty burns, but her build told Gordon she was roughly thirteen. A baby. His thoughts turned to where her parents could be, if they were safe. If they knew what was happening to her.
He wrenched his mind back to the present, to the student nurse squeezed up beside him. Her arm brushed his as she started inserting the long tracheal tube down into the poor girl's mouth. Her hands shook slightly as she muttered textbook instructions under her breath. Gordon swallowed, feeling the ghost of an imaginary tube block his own throat in an empathetic reaction. He ignored it and gently placed a hand on the student's wrist to keep her steady.
"Good job," he said reassuringly. The student looked only to be in her late teens, sweat dripping down her face, her dirty blonde hair breaking out of her ponytail in floating strands. In a strange way, she reminded him of his wife Rachael. She had the same grit, a fire in her belly that drew him to her.
The poor girl looked ready to drop. He remembered all too well the feeling of being caught in a baptism of fire, from his own teen years training for the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, or WASPs.
The student asked her colleague, another young student, to check the chest sounds with a stethoscope as Gordon removed the laryngoscope and got to work pumping the ambu bag. He gently squeezed the plastic balloon, watching the girls chest rise and fall. Her skin started going from sickly gray to ivory as her oxygen levels picked up.
"The chest sounds good to me, Heather," said her fellow student Olivia, who was looking equally flustered, "X-ray then ICU?"
"You Cooper students know what you're doing," said Gordon cheerily. He was relieved to see both of them echo his bright smile, despite their exhaustion.
A couple of porters overheard Olivia's suggestion and offered to wheel their patient down for them. As the men grabbed the stretcher and began pushing it towards the elevator, both students stood side by side, watching them go.
"I hope she'll be ok," said Olivia softly.
"Of course she will, because you two just saved her," said Gordon reassuringly, stretching his scratched and aching hands. He looked down at his uniform, the bright blue muted with grey ash and black burns. Grandma was going to be so annoyed... For about five seconds.
He looked at the two girls before him, young and valiant. Heather was already suggesting that they head to accident and emergency to see what they could do, but the tiredness in her voice was obvious. Gordon put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
"Rest and hot, sweet tea," he said, "My wife reckons that can cure anything. You're no good to anyone if you collapse."
"OK," sighed Heather, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Thank you for everything," said Olivia, her eyes shining.
Gordon smiled, remembering that this is why he did the job, "Once the pair of you are qualified you know where to send your résumés!"
The girls blushed and laughed.
Then the explosion happened, a sound so jarring it was as if lightning had struck the building. All heads in the bustling hospital turned towards the sound, Gordon included.
"Oh, no," Olivia cried, "Are they attacking the hospital?"
Gordon was already moving away from her, towards the east exit. He began sprinting. The exit was in sight down a long corridor when there was a second explosion, that shook the floor under Gordon's feet. Only he knew it wasn't an explosion. Something had just fallen, something gigantic.
People started screaming then, probably thinking they were under attack. Gordon was pretty sure they weren't, but couldn't fathom why.
When he made it outside to the hospital car park, all he could see was an endless expanse of green above him. The green lady. Somehow, Virgil had still managed to land her. He couldn't stop the crash but he could still get her level before the impact. She blocked out the sun, along with the thick black smoke spewing from the front. A flash of silver came roaring into view as Thunderbird One landed as close to the wreckage as safely possible.
For a moment Gordon couldn't breathe or think.
His mind kicked into gear when he saw Scott sprinting full pelt towards him. He had nothing on him, no protective gear or medkit. Foolishly, neither was willing to take a second to question their lack of self-preservation in this case when they had two brothers trapped in a flaming craft.
They made it to an access hatch that would take them up through storage and into the cockpit. But even as this lower door opened, they were hit with a wall of smoke. They looked at each other.
"Masks," said Scott begrudgingly, turning on his heel to sprint back to One.
Gordon stood for a second before taking a few hyperventilating breaths, holding it and striding into the smoke. He could hold his breath for six minutes on an average day, eight on his best. It was nowhere near the world record but he knew there was always a few minutes difference between life and death. It took him a minute to travel up to the cockpit, where he could hear the sounds of Alan grunting and coughing.
It was like music to his ears. He felt his eyes roll close in a huge surge of relief. One of his brothers was ok.
The smoke was so thick that Gordon had to feel his way to the pilots seat. His heart leapt into his mouth to find that Virgil was still sitting in it, lifeless. Alan was tugging at arms to try and move him, half his face covered in blood. Gordon stopped him by placing a hand on his back and signalled to him to get out. Alan ignored that order.
"He's breathing!" Alan roared, his ears probably buzzing from the explosion, "His legs are trapped. I can't move him."
He then bent over double, holding his knees and coughing. Gordon knelt beside him, assessing the situation. Now he was close enough he observed that the control room had been caved in from the explosion and resulting crash landing. Virgil's lower body was encased in metal, the control panel crushed and wrapped around him. Gordon could see down to just above his brother's knees, the rest was buried. If the chair had been only a foot closer, he would already be dead. Gordon could hear the fire roaring outside the buckled, smashed windows. It was getting closer.
He turned to Alan and grabbed one of his wrists. Without preamble, he pulled on the arm and dipped his shoulder down to scoop his only little brother into a fireman's carry. Alan fought him, giving Gordon a eye-jolting knee to the side of his face, but was soon coughing too hard to continue struggling.
Once he was well clear of Two and the black smoke she was belching, Gordon dumped Alan on the ground of the hospital car park. He released the breath he had been holding, his lungs burning. A quick assessment in the overcast daylight told him his brother was in no immediate danger. He had a bit of shrapnel in his forehead and bruising from the crash. He was coughing a lot, but his saliva wasn't burned. Overall, he was extremely lucky.
"I'll be back for you, Alan. Wait here."
Alan waved him away, hand clutching his chest as he wheezed, "Get Virgil!"
Gordon turned to be confronted by a tall, burly man who looked to be in his late thirties. His alarmed reaction gave way to relief when the man looked at him with obvious concern.
"I'm a fireman, name's Dave," he stated in what Gordon recognised to be a London accent, like Parker's, "So's he."
The man pointed to another man who seemed to be assessing the fire at the front of Two. Both of them were in civilian attire, Gordon noted, meaning both firemen were off duty. He felt a renewed sense of hope for humanity in this truly hellish day.
"What do you need?" said Dave earnestly, "What can we do?"
Gordon took a deep breath. "One of our own is trapped in there, far up in the cockpit. We'll need to cut him out."
His heart skipped a beat when he remembered he hadn't relayed that information to Scott. He lifted his watch to his mouth and yelled into it, "Scott. Alan's out and safe, but Virgil's trapped. We'll need a laser cutter. Med kit."
"FAB," was the quick reply from Scott, who was still in Thunderbird One.
The distortion in his voice told Gordon that he was already wearing breathing apparatus, "Need help?" he asked into his watch.
"No, I got it. Gimme a minute. You need to get suited against that smoke, Gordon."
"There's no time, Scott," said Gordon as he started striding towards Two. He only just caught Dave and his colleague disappearing up into the entrance of the burning craft.
"No. Wait!" Gordon cried, sprinting after them.
Once again he ran into the smoking cockpit, not bothering to hold his breath this time. He fumbled his way through the black smog to the pilots seat. He thought for a moment Virgil was moving, but then he saw two arms come into view. Dave's colleague was leaning over his brother, tucking his tie under his brother's leg to act as a makeshift tourniquet. He had one leg propped up against the crumpled console to get leverage. Virgil was unconscious but still breathing.
"Any luck, Nick?" came Dave's voice from somewhere near Virgil's feet.
"No. He's well and truly stuck. He hasn't got long with this bleeding..."
Gordon watched him, stricken with fear. Virgil's skin was in a state of pallor he had seen a hundred times before, indicating severe blood loss.
He froze, transported to feelings he'd had four years ago, like the world was crumbling around him.
Scott broke his frantic thoughts by barging past him, med kit slung over his back. He shoved the same set of breathing apparatus he was wearing into Gordon's stomach, which he donned quickly. By the time he had done that, Scott had set up the laser cutter and ordered Nick and Dave to help him with the extraction. Both of the men were on either side of the damaged console, pulling back sections so Scott could try and cut Virgil free.
The heat from the fire was building, making sweat break out on Gordon's face, an itch he couldn't scratch under the breathing apparatus. He rummaged into the medkit and found another sealed oxygen mask, which he slipped over Virgil's face, his shallow breaths fogging the plastic. Gordon's hand lingered desperately for a moment on Virgil's chestnut hair, then he joined Dave at the base of the pilots seat.
He pulled back at a sheet of metal that was covering Virgil's legs. The panel felt slick under his fingers and Gordon let go to wipe the sweat off his hands... Only it wasn't sweat. It was blood. It left black handprints on his already ruined pants.
Gordon swallowed back the bile in his throat, having suddenly realised that Virgil's legs were either going to be badly crushed... Or severed. His brain automatically went through the ramifications of this. He felt ill.
"Stay with us, Gordon," Scott knew it as well, but he was as professional as ever as he pulled at the metal with all his might.
Gordon took a steadying breath and resumed holding back the panel for Scott, who began working at it with the laser. The adrenaline had increased his strength, as was it's evolutionary purpose. He knew he would suffer tomorrow as he felt the strain on his back, but he didn't care. There was nothing like having your brother an inch away from death to turn you into Superman. The panel was beginning to give, allowing him to peek underneath. Even though he'd prepared himself, he still froze when he spotted the mess that was once his brother's legs, before pulling himself together and resuming his efforts. His goal was to get his brother out alive. He would worry about the injuries later.
Nick spotted it, too. He swallowed and looked faint. "His legs..."
"I know. Focus." Dave snapped.
They all froze at the sound of a gutteral moan.
"He's waking up. He's coming to," cried Gordon, dread filling him as he tore off his breathing apparatus, thrusting it at Dave, "I got him. Keep going, let's get him out."
He leapt up to stand beside the pilots chair, leaning forwards to cradle his big brother's face with both hands. Virgil's eyelids fluttered as he slowly fought his way back to consciousness. His face began to contort with agony and Gordon shuddered inwardly. It awakened his own traumatic memories of the hydrofoil crash. He knew Virgil probably wouldn't remember these moments for months, or years, if he survived this at all. Then one day they would come back to haunt him with a vengeance. He wanted to preemptively lessen that emotional scarring in any way he could. Virgil's eyes were glazed with pain, but widened with recognition.
"Gor..." he grunted, muffled from the oxygen mask. The effort to talk sent him into a coughing fit.
"Don't talk, Virg, I'm here. You're in Thunderbird Two, there was an explosion. We're getting you out."
"Explosion?" Virgil's eyes went even wider. "Alan? Where's Alan?"
"He's alright, Virg," Scott yelled from his position on the floor, "We're going to get you out of this mess."
There was a grating metal sound. Virgil gulped and clenched his teeth. Gordon noted his breathing sounded rough, but that could be from the smoke or the pain. There seemed to be no blood in his mouth and no rattly, wet sounds in his chest. His pale, clammy skin indicated that shock was setting in. He watched Virgil's eyes wander around the crushed cockpit wall, his expression full of despair.
Gordon winced in sympathy, knowing how heartbroken he would be if Four looked like this. "She can be rebuilt. We've done it before, we can do it again."
"Am I... Will I make it?" Virgil croaked, struggling to catch his breath.
Scott laughed up at him. "You'd better. After all the effort I'm going to..."
Virgil tried to shift his head to look down, but Gordon stopped him. "Now, enough talk. Keep your eyes on me. Get your breathing under control for us. It's almost over."
There was denying how scared Virgil was as he reached his arms towards his little brother, finding a forearm and gripping it. Gordon, never breaking eye contact, slipped one hand away from his face to grip his hand. He watched his big brother fight for control as he took slow, determined breaths.
Gordon heard a clang of metal and a sigh of victory from Scott a millisecond before Virgil went rigid and screamed. Feeling his stomach lurch at the sound, Gordon embraced Virgil's face into the crook of his neck, his hand buried in his brother's sweaty hair. He was screaming so hard that he couldn't draw breath. The noise vibrated against Gordon's neck and rang in his ears.
"I know, Virgil, I know it hurts. Just focus on me, focus on my voice. You're going to be fine. The is the worst part. It'll be over soon, I promise..." Gordon doubted Virgil could hear of any of his words, but he kept talking regardless.
He had a quick look down at Scott, who was drenched in sweat as he struggled frantically with the laser cutter. Some detached corner of his brain, where the Gordon that was WASP trained and a member of International Rescue was gently trying to soothe a victim. The Gordon that was a Tracy, who had already lost one big brother, was frightened. He continued to do his best, the lies spilling out of him in that ridiculously calm voice as Virgil's screams eventually became whimpers. Gordon leaned back from the embrace to look into his eyes.
"I'm sorry," said Virgil, struggling to talk through the pain, "Rob... Can he hear..."
"No, the comms aren't on. Do you want to speak to him? I can get him for you."
Virgil gasped and shook his head. "No... No... Don't... He can't hear this... He's... Been through enough..."
Virgil closed his eyes and Gordon gently stroked his face, half of him hoping desperately that he would pass out, where he couldn't be in any more pain. The other half wanted him to stay awake. Stay breathing. Stay alive.
"Please. Gordon... Tell him I'm ok..." Virgil sighed as he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.
Gordon sniffed and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He tapped Virgil's cheek hard and after getting no response, he knelt down beside Scott, grabbing the hunk of metal he was trying to shift. His voice was suddenly an angry bark, a tone he seldom used. "He's out. We need to move."
The instant he was cut loose, Gordon carried his brother out himself. The two off-duty fireman were pulled into waiting ambulances to be treated for smoke inhalation.
Gordon, his arms and back screaming under Virgil's dead weight, scanned the crowd for a hint of Alan's blue uniform. He couldn't see it.
Scott, his voice a sharp instrument that he used well, cleared a path for him to a stretcher. Gordon got Virgil strapped in and helped lift him into a waiting air ambulance helicopter.
"We'll get you to Kings, everywhere else is packed," the pilot yelled as Gordon took a seat beside Virgil's stretcher. By King's, he assumed the pilot meant the name of a hospital.
"I know it. I'll fly," said Scott, and there was no arguing with him. The original pilot remained beside him, practically whooping as Scott sent the helicopter up and away with impressive skill.
As they ascended, Gordon watched the wreckage of Thunderbird Two getting smaller from the car park below. She was as broken as her pilot. Gordon could see firefighters had moved in to tackle the fire that attempted to consume her.
"ETA two minutes, Gordon," bellowed Scott, "Keep him with us."
Gordon lifted his telecom watch to his mouth, "Thunderbird Five, it's Gordon."
He saw Robert's face appear. To his credit, he was magnificently calm.
"Rob..." said Gordon, "I have Virgil. We're airlifting him to hospital."
He saw Robert wince. "I'll tell Base. What about Alan?"
"That's mainly why I'm contacting you directly," said Gordon, "I got him out. He was mobile and I couldn't see him at the crash site just now."
"FAB, I'll find him," said Robert, cutting him off. Gordon wondered if he was grateful for the distraction, not able to imagine how distraught he'd be if he saw Rachael looking like how Virgil did right now.
As they flew closer to the hospital, Gordon became aware of a high-pitched, wheezing noise. He realised it was coming from Scott. He was taking huge, gulping breaths as he worked at the controls. Gordon didn't want to distract him from his flying by approaching him, knowing it was probably just the strain catching up with him. He trusted his brother would easily give up the pilot's seat if he wasn't up to it.
He looked down at his fallen brother. He refused to let his eyes wander down to the mess below Virgil's waist. Instead, he knelt beside his stretcher, picking up a cold, limp in both his own. He gripped it hard, as if to physically hold him back from the clutches of death. Like an anchor.
"I know you can hear me," he stated under his breath, abruptly feeling the tears trying to choke him, "I know it's all too easy to submit right now, all broken up like this. Virg, you can't. I forbid you to. Don't you dare leave us. We can't... I can't do this again."
He stopped for a moment to let a building sob erupt out his chest, the tears and snot dripping down. He wiped his face on his sleeve. He looked into his brother's white face, hair as dark as John's had been light.
"If you go now, I swear, I will break into Limbo and drag you back out myself," Gordon couldn't help but smile as he imagined how Virgil would respond to such a threat. For now, his heroic, artistic and irreplaceable big brother didn't respond. Apart from a small darting of his eyes under the closed lids, which Gordon was pretty sure he imagined.
The time it took to get him to hospital felt like an eternity. He prayed to God, to Mom, to John (anyone) to let him see those eyes open again.