Chapter 7
Gordon grimaced as he helped his brother heft and lift the stretcher into the waiting rescue helo. This hadn't been a hard rescue, but it had taken time and the weather conditions were foul. He hunched his shoulders as a stream of cold water made its way down the collar of his uniform and down his neck and back. He loved water, but not inside his clothes. Everybody looked just as bad as he felt. They looked like a hair plastered rock band of the 1960's or was a grunge band of the 1980's?
Flash floods had ripped through a motocross rally site, dispersing some 300 participants and their crews and unfortunately a record breaking crowd of 1000 campers and Rovers. Now, he also knew why they referred to the sport as off road, the location was so far off the beaten track that only flying rescue equipment could be brought in. Thunderbird 2 was back up the road about 10 miles hauling some heavy fire engines and ambulances out of a morass of mud. None of them were going to look very pretty at the end of this rescue mission.
Most of their rescues were relatively short. Come in flying with the heavy equipment, do the razzle dazzle and leave the foot slogging to the regular rescue workers and crew. Gordon's respect for the rest of the mud spattered rescuers rose a notch, no make that ten notches.
Scott was doing his usual smooth job of co-ordinating the rescue operation, but Gordon was secretly pleased to see his so correct always right brother standing covered liberally in the same muck as everyone else. Scott was talking earnestly with the young Red Cross First Aid Chief who had held the scene together until they had arrived. The guy couldn't be much older than himself, yet he and his crew of eleven volunteers had kept their heads and started setting up triage and information centers as well as commandeering all communications. The group had been smart enough to sandbag the generator first - preserving power for heat and light two things absolutely necessary in the miserable conditions.
Letting his attention wander a bit caused him to loose his footing and slip to one knee in the slippery mud. He flung out a hand to catch himself which caused him to be more covered in the goo.
"Yo, Gordy pay attention." John reminded him but extended a hand to help him up. "And don't even think about it." He warned his little brother seeing the flash in his eyes.
"I wouldn't pull you down too." Gordon grumped standing up and feeling more than water dripping inside his clothes now. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone."
John just merely rolled his eyes. "Yeah right, and pigs fly."
Scott and young Stuart Christopher, the Red Cross Chief, had their heads together over papers that they shielded with their bodies to keep the rain dripping down on them.
"I figure we are missing about 30 people, mostly families from this area here, uh sir." Stuart blushed a little.
"How do you know it's families?" Scott treated him like he would Alan or Gordon, shoot he wasn't much older than his little brothers.
"They usually like to be in that area, away from the all night party crowd. I didn't have a foot patrol in that area because we never expect any action uh trouble uh stuff to happen there."
"Makes sense." Scott agreed.
"Thank God." the young man breathed. "I mean I wasn't sure if I was doing things right."
"You're doing a great job." Scott patted him on the back splashing water more. He punched in the link to Thunderbird 2. "Control to Thunderbird 2. How are things going?"
"I got the heavy equipment rescued. I am bringing in some more volunteers and supplies."
"Great. I'll need you to do a search sweep of the northeast quadrant ...we are missing about 30 people from that area. And Virg...it's families."
The silence from Thunderbird 2 spoke louder and more vehemently than any swear word or heated comment.
"Roger that Thunderbird 1." Virgil calmly replied. "Oh and we got something better than instruments. We got a duck!"
Gordon grimaced as he helped his brother heft and lift the stretcher into the waiting rescue helo. This hadn't been a hard rescue, but it had taken time and the weather conditions were foul. He hunched his shoulders as a stream of cold water made its way down the collar of his uniform and down his neck and back. He loved water, but not inside his clothes. Everybody looked just as bad as he felt. They looked like a hair plastered rock band of the 1960's or was a grunge band of the 1980's?
Flash floods had ripped through a motocross rally site, dispersing some 300 participants and their crews and unfortunately a record breaking crowd of 1000 campers and Rovers. Now, he also knew why they referred to the sport as off road, the location was so far off the beaten track that only flying rescue equipment could be brought in. Thunderbird 2 was back up the road about 10 miles hauling some heavy fire engines and ambulances out of a morass of mud. None of them were going to look very pretty at the end of this rescue mission.
Most of their rescues were relatively short. Come in flying with the heavy equipment, do the razzle dazzle and leave the foot slogging to the regular rescue workers and crew. Gordon's respect for the rest of the mud spattered rescuers rose a notch, no make that ten notches.
Scott was doing his usual smooth job of co-ordinating the rescue operation, but Gordon was secretly pleased to see his so correct always right brother standing covered liberally in the same muck as everyone else. Scott was talking earnestly with the young Red Cross First Aid Chief who had held the scene together until they had arrived. The guy couldn't be much older than himself, yet he and his crew of eleven volunteers had kept their heads and started setting up triage and information centers as well as commandeering all communications. The group had been smart enough to sandbag the generator first - preserving power for heat and light two things absolutely necessary in the miserable conditions.
Letting his attention wander a bit caused him to loose his footing and slip to one knee in the slippery mud. He flung out a hand to catch himself which caused him to be more covered in the goo.
"Yo, Gordy pay attention." John reminded him but extended a hand to help him up. "And don't even think about it." He warned his little brother seeing the flash in his eyes.
"I wouldn't pull you down too." Gordon grumped standing up and feeling more than water dripping inside his clothes now. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone."
John just merely rolled his eyes. "Yeah right, and pigs fly."
Scott and young Stuart Christopher, the Red Cross Chief, had their heads together over papers that they shielded with their bodies to keep the rain dripping down on them.
"I figure we are missing about 30 people, mostly families from this area here, uh sir." Stuart blushed a little.
"How do you know it's families?" Scott treated him like he would Alan or Gordon, shoot he wasn't much older than his little brothers.
"They usually like to be in that area, away from the all night party crowd. I didn't have a foot patrol in that area because we never expect any action uh trouble uh stuff to happen there."
"Makes sense." Scott agreed.
"Thank God." the young man breathed. "I mean I wasn't sure if I was doing things right."
"You're doing a great job." Scott patted him on the back splashing water more. He punched in the link to Thunderbird 2. "Control to Thunderbird 2. How are things going?"
"I got the heavy equipment rescued. I am bringing in some more volunteers and supplies."
"Great. I'll need you to do a search sweep of the northeast quadrant ...we are missing about 30 people from that area. And Virg...it's families."
The silence from Thunderbird 2 spoke louder and more vehemently than any swear word or heated comment.
"Roger that Thunderbird 1." Virgil calmly replied. "Oh and we got something better than instruments. We got a duck!"