Whumptober day 12: 'Mayday mayday!'
Characters: Scott, Alan
Warnings: Plane crash, Blood, Unconscious
Gordon had been the one to joke that owning their own island meant that they were a sovereign state. He made the mistake of calling their Dad 'King Jeff' one to many times and Grandma boxed his ears and made Gordon sit through a lecture regarding their Irish farming roots. His brothers thought this was hilarious.
Technically the twelve-year-old wasn't wrong though, and there were a few – very few – times when their Dad used owning Tracy Island to their advantage.
And this was one.
FAA regulations, indeed almost every country's air regulations, stated that a person couldn't get a pilot's license until they were 16. Scott had obtained his four hours past 1:36 am, the time he was born and the exact length of time it took to take the exam. John and Virgil were not quite as desperate, but they both qualified the same week of their birthdays.
Jeff had taught them all to fly the minute they had turned twelve, even Gordon for the short while he was home. All except Alan. Alan had only been nine when their Dad disappeared.
Scott wasn't about to let Alan miss out on what all his brothers had been blessed with though, and had made plans with John and Virgil to teach him in the single-engine prop plane their Dad had cherished and taught them all in.
No one told Alan, it was to be a surprise. And it was. Scott came knocking on his door at the ridiculous time of 9:50am, dressed in his grey flight suit with a package under his arm. Alan blearily rubbed his eyes grumbling about 'morning brothers' until he realised what Scott was actually up to.
He tore into that package and pulled out a flight suit to match his brother's but with red highlights instead of blue. He threw his arms around his brother and quickly dressed, all thoughts of sleep and bed gone.
That morning, just him and Scott, was magical. Alan itched to take control but Scott was adamant. No sitting in the pilot's seat until he had memorised all the paperwork he needed to and could pass the verbal test their Dad had set them all.
Alan drank it in. He made comments. He concentrated learning the manuals for the little plane and the rule book for the FAA.
A year passed quickly. It was now almost three years since their father's disappearance and they were talking about restarting International Rescue. And boy, did Alan want to be a part of that!
Scott had been clear – Three was his 'bird, but Alan could only fly her once he aced the sims and as long as he kept up with his other work.
And here was where being a sovereign state came in handy. They planned for Alan to take his pilot's test when he reached his 14th birthday rather than 16th. He'd need it to fly the rocket.
Today was Alan's third flight as pilot. Scott was along as the instructor, but this flight was all Alan. They had left the island behind them and were currently flying over open ocean. Blue above and blue beneath, with the splashes of green and grey of the Kemardecs on their left, the thirteen-year-old was having the time of his life, and he didn't need to look at Scott to know his eldest brother was too.
He had just run the checks and turned to Scott to ask something when there was a bang and the plane shuddered. Another, then another, and suddenly Alan couldn't see beyond the cloud of white bodies hitting the plane.
Neither could he control the small plane as she stuttered and the propeller stopped. They were still being battered.
Scott had reacted immediately, flicking switches for dual control and the radio. Thunderbirds they may be soon, but for now normal flight protocols took precedence. He tried to take them higher to clear the flock, but the birds had come out of nowhere and they didn't move quick enough
'Mayday, mayday, mayday. Tracy Trainer has lost control, suspected bird strike. We are going down west of the Kemardecs. Repeat. TT1001 is…'
And the windscreen next to Scott shattered.
The resultant lurch caused both brothers to be thrown forward, heads hitting the flight instrument panel.
Alan blinked and groaned, shaking his head to clear it and immediately regretting the action. There was a funny whistling noise and he sat back to try and get his bearings. He did not like what he saw.
The blue water he had been admiring only minutes before was rushing up to greet him, and he struggled to pull the nose up for a softer crash landing. Alan glanced across to his brother.
Scott was unconscious in his seat, head down and blood dripping. There was a hole in the cockpit window beside him.
He didn't have time to try and wake Scott, though. Alan fought hard to bring the nose up but nothing was working and he braced himself for impact, praying that Scott's limp form would help protect him.