Scott howled in pain, throwing his arm up to protect his eyes from the searing, retina-blinding flash. The deep rumble of the explosion hit seconds later, Thunderbird Two rocking above him from the shockwaves. It took him a moment to realize over the ringing in his ears that John was shouting at him. "Scott, the north tower!"
Scott forced his streaming eyes back open. Through the stark floating spots that marred his vision, he saw an incredible sight…twenty three thousand tons of concrete and metal beginning to tremble like a tree branch in a strong wind. No, no, no, no… But the vibrations increased inexorably, and the huge tower faltered, slipping before his eyes - collapsing in on itself in almost graceful slow motion. The roar of falling masonry echoed across the bridge as the tower disintegrated, reduced to a torrent of crushed concrete and twisted metal with nowhere to go but down.
Down… "Gordon, get out of there!" Scott shouted into his com. "The north tower's coming straight at you!"
No answer. "Tin-Tin…"
"Thunderbird Four from Thunderbird Five, do you read me, over. Thunderbird Four from Thunderbird Five…"
"Christ, Scott, it got two of the helis…" Virgil's voice was harsh with helplessness.
Scott didn't want to look. The bridge's massive support cables had crashed down toward the roadway when the tower fell, catching two of the rescue helijets in their crushing embrace and smashing them to very small pieces on the tarmac below. He could see the wreckage through the swirling clouds of smoke that still spiraled up from dozens of burning out cars. "Is there anybody…"
"No."
Shit, Scott thought, this whole operation was going south in a hurry. He could feel it sliding sideways out from underneath him, and they weren't anywhere near done yet. Wishing he'd gotten more sleep in the last forty-eight hours, he shook off the sick feeling of impending doom with a concentrated effort. He had to keep the rest of the team operating here. "Johnny, you okay?" he asked, twisting in his harness.
John stared at him, his dirt-covered face and streaming eyes mirroring Scott's own. "Yeah…what the hell just…?"
"Must have been another bomb," Scott said tightly. "Tin-Tin, did you raise Gordon?"
"Yes, Scott, he's out of the way. He says there's so much debris in the water now that his visibility has dropped to zero."
It doesn't matter. There's nobody alive down there. "Tell him to stand by," Scott said out loud. "We're going to need him to cover us when Virgil starts transporting monorail cars to the container ships.
"F.A.B."
Scott wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Okay, let's get on with this."
And then the whole bridge rocked.
"Whoa!" John grabbed at the monorail car for support. "What the hell?"
"Scott!" It was Virgil. "The bridge is moving! The GPS just lit up like a Christmas tree."
Oh, Jesus, Thunderbird One… Scott swiveled in his harness, unable to believe that he had forgotten about his ship until that moment. She was still sitting where he had left her…her previously safe position now perilously close to the jagged gap in the roadway where the north tower used to be. And then a worse thought struck him. "God, Virg, I didn't leave her on standby…"
"Oh, shit." Virgil was stunned. Scott didn't make mistakes like that. What the hell was going on? "Hold on, I'll get Tin-Tin to trigger by remote."
"We can't, Virg. Not since Dad insisted on installing the extra security measures," Scott said grimly.
"Go, Scott." Bracing his feet against the monorail car underneath him, John unclipped his harness from the winch cable and fastened it to the monorail structure. "Get her off the deck. You may not have much time."
"Johnny…" Scott hesitated in agony, knowing he had to go, but unwilling to leave his brother in this kind of danger, his only support a monorail that could collapse at any moment.
"Go!" John urged. "If anything happens I'll jump clear and use my chute, and Gordo can pick me up." He switched focus to Virgil, knowing he would back him up. "Virg, I'm clear. Get Scott back to his bird before we lose her."
Virgil didn't hesitate. "Hang on, Scott."
Scott braced himself as the huge transport plane swung her tail clear of the bridge, maneuvering into a position where she could safely fire her jets without frying everything underneath her. And then she was off, swooping across the bridge toward the north tower. Scott knew Virgil was doing his best to keep the ride smooth, but it was a still a hair-raising journey. He concentrated on trying not to lose the contents of his stomach as he swung back and forth above the road surface, the harness behaving like a garden swing on acid in the stiff winds. Choking from the black smoke still billowing up from the automobile graveyard below him, he only caught brief clear glimpses of the roadway before Thunderbird One's sleek silver shape loomed ahead.
Virgil got him as close as he could, hovering mere feet away. "Okay, Scott, lowering now."
"F.A.B.," Scott responded, feeling the slight jerk as the winch began to lower him toward the tarmac. He willed it to move faster, cursing himself for his stupidity in not leaving Thunderbird One in standby mode. Now he'd have to warm up the engines before he could even fire the VTOL jet.
And then he saw something he really, really wished he hadn't. The roadway was cracking open, the steadily widening fissure heading straight for Thunderbird One.
Scott had never moved so fast in his life. Virgil's warning shout ringing in his ears, he hit the harness release and jumped the last ten feet, landing with a jarring impact that hurt like hell. Shoving the pain aside, he raced for the ladder and scrambled up it, hitting the hatch release and praying desperately for enough time to get the engines fired before the roadway crumbled underneath him.
It seemed to take forever, precious seconds ticking away in time with the heartbeat thundering in his ears as he vaulted into the pilot's seat. Instrument panels sprang to life under his hands and the familiar hum began, the powerful thrusters vibrating through the ship's hull as they began to warm up. Scott stared at the gauges, willing the numbers to come up faster. Maybe, just maybe…
He made the mistake of glancing out of the open viewport to his right. The crack in the roadway was now five feet wide and it was almost upon him.
It was too late. The ship was going down and he was going with her.
"Scott, get her out of there!" Virgil shouted frantically.
"I can't, Virg, she's not…she's not…" Fear tasted like metal in his mouth as he felt his ship stumble, the tarmac gaping wide beneath her struts. Virgil, help me…
And then everything happened at once. Thunderbird One tipped drunkenly to the left, nose headed down toward oblivion, the bridge sliding by past his frozen eyes…a sudden roar of smoke and flame from above him obliterated his senses…and just like that the roadway was gone from underneath him. Sheer panic swept through him as Thunderbird One began to freefall toward certain death.
The green ignition ready light spattered at his eyes.
Relief slammed through him. She hadn't gone too far beyond the horizontal, maybe he wasn't dead yet… He dimly felt a solid thunking sound on the outside of the ship's hull, but didn't have time to worry about it as he punched the VTOL ignition. Power roared underneath him, throwing the ship upward, and then Virgil was suddenly yelling in his ears again… "Cut the jet, Scott! Cut the jet!"
It hit Scott like a kick in the side. That thunking sound had been Thunderbird Two's grabs catching him, which meant Virgil was right above him. Thunderbird One was about to tear the grabs to pieces and crack open his brother's ship. He was going to kill them both.
Shut it off, shut it off… His hand smacked down on the ignition cutoff, sweat pouring into his eyes as he felt the thrust die beneath him. Then Thunderbird One jerked forwards through the gaping hole as her great green sister hauled her bodily clear of the bridge, swooping away through the air like an enormous hawk gripping its prey in its claws.
But they were still headed straight at the water. Scott stared at the roiling gray green waves rushing at him. "Uh, Virg…"
"Can't hold you, Scott…" Virgil's voice was back in his ears again, tense with effort. Scott could hear alarms clamoring for attention in Thunderbird Two's cockpit. "Too much weight…"
Jesus, the payload limit… Thunderbird One was a one hundred forty ton dead weight dragging his brother straight toward a watery grave. "Drop me, Virg…drop me now!"
"Scott…"
"I've got power, I'll make it. Do it!"
"F.A.B.," Virgil ground out. "Releasing grabs…now!"
There was a sudden lurch, and the silver rocket plane tumbled back into instant free fall. Scott hit the VTOL jet ignition.
Nothing.
Oh, shit. He switched gears and fired the main boosters. Still nothing. What the hell… Eighty feet…seventy-five…sixty… Come on, baby, come on, I don't wanna go swimming again... The water was coming up terrifyingly fast, his mind counting off the seconds as the ship fell like a stone…Oh well, at least I'm wearing the seat harness this time…
And then the seat kicked him hard in the back, the booster rockets belching sudden flame. Muttering a heartfelt prayer of thanks as raw power surged back under his hands, Scott hauled back on the lift controls, Thunderbird One's tail section brushing close enough to the crests below to kick up spray as her nose finally swung back up. Scott kicked her into afterburner and the waves boiled as she leaped forward, thundering like a red-tipped arrow toward open sky.
He let her charge, wiping the sweat from his eyes as she took him straight toward the sun at five thousand miles per hour. At ten thousand feet he brought her up and over in a vertical loop, riding the moment of freefall as she flipped over on to her back. As she came back down he searched the sky for Thunderbird Two, finally spotting her wheeling away from the bridge. He rolled Thunderbird One smoothly out of the loop, watching as Virgil gave his bird full throttle in a high spiraling turn, reaching for altitude. As the great green transport reached the top of her arc her wing dropped slightly and she banked to once again face the ruined structure.
Virgil had been looking for him, too. "Scott, are you all right?"
"I should be asking you that," Scott said, shifting shoulders soaked with sweat under his uniform, bringing Thunderbird One around to follow the trajectory of her larger sister. "That was too close."
"You gave me a bad moment there," Virgil came back. "I thought you were going to turn Thunderbird One into my newest pod vehicle."
"I'm sorry, Virg…I didn't know you were going to do that…"
"Well, you said help you," Virgil pointed out.
Not out loud, Scott thought to himself, with a weak smile. Not out loud.
It took only a few minutes to get Thunderbird Two back in position, hovering over the monorail. Atop the lead car, John waited patiently as the harness cable slowly lowered toward him. "Okay, Virg, I've got it," he said, snapping the hook back into place.
Then he turned and waved to Scott, knowing that his elder brother would be watching him from the nearby Thunderbird One like a wound up, frustrated hawk. "Take it easy, Scotty. You're gonna break something."
He heard Virgil's quickly stifled chuckle.
Time to go to work. "Virg, you can lower the grabs now."
Staring up at the green bulk hovering above him, John watched as the hatch doors slid open under her nose and the grabs slowly began to lower toward him. He couldn't help a quick glance down the bridge as he waited, feeling a cold line of sweat across his shoulders as he thought of what could happen if the bridge moved again. The people in those monorail cars didn't have parachutes.
He shook it off, turning back to guide the grabs into place. "Right one degree…just a fraction more…that's it…that's it…okay, you're in the groove…straight down, Virg, straight down…"
The grabs slid down over the sides of the monorail car. "Okay, Virg, lock 'em up."
The grabs drew in, gripping the sides of the car securely. "How's that look, Johnny?" Virg asked.
John tested the grab arm nearest him, glancing down at the rearward one with a critical eye. "Looks good. Nice and tight."
"Ah, pressure reading is, ah, o-optimum," Brain's voice concurred.
"Okay, guys, I'm gonna start cutting now," John said. "Virg, don't forget to warn me if the bridge looks like it wants to go dancing again."
"You'll be the first to know," Virgil promised him.
While Scott and Virgil had been busy rescuing Thunderbird One, John had communicated with the terrified passengers of the lead monorail car, telling them what he was going to do. He could feel them watching him now as he swung clear of the car and thunked back down toward the rear, lifting the oxyhydnite cutter that was strapped to his belt. He pulled on the mask, checked the regulator and fired up the cutter.
Virgil couldn't stop thinking about Elizabeth.
This was the part of any rescue that was the hardest…the part where everyone in the entire team was depending on him to hold Thunderbird Two's immense bulk absolutely steady, no matter what the circumstances or weather conditions or how long he'd been in the pilot's seat that day. And he wasn't at his best today by a long shot, considering that he hadn't slept through a single night while Elizabeth had been in the house.
He didn't know what to do. The whole time she had been there on the Island, he had been a half-step away from panic, afraid that she was going to tell someone the truth and that all hell would break loose. He couldn't rest, he could barely eat, and now that she was gone, instead of the relief he thought he would feel, he was instead terrified that he was never going to see her again. The pressure to come up with a solution was relentless, making his head pound from the effort, but although his mind kept rabbiting back and forth over the same ground, the harder he tried to figure it out the more he kept coming up empty.
But he had a job to do. And despite the voice inside him that threatened to start screaming and never stop, he did what he always did – what he had been trained to do. He sat there in the pilot's seat, good old dependable Virgil, handling this most difficult of jobs so smoothly that he made it look like nothing. He nodded and smiled and acknowledged orders like nothing was wrong, when all the time he really wanted to just pick up a fire ax and start smashing the instruments in front of him, one by one.
You're just strung out, he told himself. You'll be okay. Just get to the end of this job and then go talk to Scott. He'll help you figure out what to do.
Scott was on the com with base, talking to his father about the second explosion. Virgil listened in, shifting in his seat. His shoulders ached. He flexed them for the hundredth time, trying to ease the tension, and glanced over at Brains who was monitoring the stresses on the grabs that were holding the third monorail car steady underneath them. So far, so good – fortunately, it seemed Virgil hadn't done any physical damage when he'd used them in that desperate attempt to save Thunderbird One from falling through the bridge. The bright colors of the Akashi Straits afternoon bled a little as he saw the near fatal accident happen again in his mind, relived the moment of sheer panic when he'd seen the silver ship falter and begin to slide nose first off the roadway. Shit, that had been way too close.
It was silly, he knew…but he was gripped by the sudden need to look out of the cockpit shields at his brother's ship, wanting the solid reassurance that it hadn't happened…that she was still there, hovering nearby. His mind was eased by seeing her right where she should be, fifty yards away, slightly below him and to his left. Scott wasn't happy, of course…thanks to the destruction of the north tower, he was once again relegated to running the operation from a distance instead of being where he wanted to be, feet braced on that monorail car, hands gripping that oxyhydnite torch. Even from this distance Virgil could almost feel his brother's frustration, radiating up like heat haze from the hull of the rocket plane.
The first four monorail cars had been rescued without incident - John cutting through the couplings between the cars while Virgil held each one in the grip of the grabs. As soon as each car was liberated from the train, Virgil waited for John to clip himself on to the next car back and then carefully swung the freed car clear of the bridge. A quick swoop down to the deck of the nearest container ship, past the watchful eye of Gordon, who sat on the surface in Thunderbird Four in case of any premature dropping. Release the car, retract the grabs, fly back into position and start all over again.
"Uh…how's it going, ah, John?" Brains asked over the comlink.
"Almost there. Another minute, give or take."
"F.A.B.," Brains responded.
"How are the grabs holding up, Brains?" Scott's voice came crackling over.
"They seem to be, ah, fine, Scott," Brains said, glancing over the instruments. "I'll let you know i-i-if I think there's anything to be, uh, worried about."
"Thanks," Scott said. Virgil's mouth quirked a little in sympathy. He knew how helpless Scott felt right now, and his action oriented elder brother was never at his best when he felt helpless.
At least he hadn't started snapping yet. Then again, they were only on monorail car number five, and they had another seven to go.
By the time they had started on car number nine, Virgil's shoulders were screaming. His overstressed and under-rested muscles were cramping and locking up on him, and he had to shift his grip constantly to compensate. The wind, thank God, hadn't climbed any more, and Tin-Tin, who was keeping a very close eye on the bridge's GPS system, hadn't reported any more movement. But after all the pumping adrenaline earlier, Virgil had slid deep into the trough of enervation on the other side. He was so tired he was beginning to wonder if he'd manage to make it to the end of this one without needing to take a break.
So, he thought defensively, what if he had to? It wouldn't be so bad, considering that it would be the first time ever. But he'd never hear the end of it from his brothers…especially the younger ones. He was already beginning to regret all the "old man" jokes he'd helped level at Scott over the past few years.
"Hey, Virg." There was Scott, right on cue. "You know, I've been thinking…we really should think about adding a seaplane to our pod vehicles. It would come in pretty useful for ocean rescues."
Seaplanes. Virgil's heart lurched as his mind went right back to Elizabeth and her departure that morning. He suddenly realized that he didn't even know if she'd arrived home safely. They usually found some way to communicate so he wouldn't worry…being a pilot, he knew only too well all the things that could go wrong on a long flight. This time, though, she wouldn't be calling him.
Oh, God, what if he lost her? What if…
"Virg!" Scott's voice rang in his ears. "Watch your tail!"
Proximity alarms screamed at his ears. God, he'd almost drifted right into the bridge… Overtired and overstressed, Virgil overcompensated, yanking on the control yoke in exactly the wrong direction. A shudder ran through her hull as Thunderbird Two's tail section bumped hard into the bridge's south tower. Brains grabbed on to the console for support, staring at Virgil in disbelief. Scrambling now, totally disoriented, Virgil tried to straighten her out by swinging back the other way…and remembered too late that he had the grabs fastened securely around monorail car number nine.
John's sudden shout made his blood run cold. Oh, Jesus, what have I done… "John!" he said urgently, staring at the monitor screen. He couldn't see his brother at all. "John, are you all right?"
"Virgil, what in God's name is going on over there?" Scott demanded, worry making his voice harsh enough to strip off skin.
Virgil floundered, unable to think of a single coherent thing to say. "I'm…I'm…John, he's not…"
"Stand by, I'll take a look." Thunderbird One swung closer to give Scott a better view of the monorail. "He's down between the cars…you knocked him on his ass. John, can you hear me? Johnny!"
No answer. "I-It's okay, Virgil," Brains said, although he was still watching Virgil as though he thought he might really be somebody else disguised as the second Tracy son. "I'll go down and see if I can, uh, help him."
Virgil flashed him a grateful look. "Thanks, Brains. I'm sorry, I…"
"It's quite all right," Brains said, already on his feet and heading toward the rear elevator. "It isn't often I-I get to see a little, uh, action."
Virgil managed a smile. As Brains disappeared behind him down into the hold, he glanced back over at the hovering Thunderbird One. He wasn't looking forward to this mission debriefing session.
John came back to consciousness slowly, disoriented. He stared up at the big green thing hovering high over him, his mind not making the connection at first. There was a sputtering, crackling sound coming from somewhere, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Then Brain's face swung into view inches away, and John snapped back to full alertness in a hurry. "Jesus!"
"Ah…I'm, uh, sorry, John," Brains said. "I didn't mean to, uh, to, uh startle you…"
John relaxed slowly. He was lying on his back between the last two monorail cars, and judging from the way his head felt, he'd hit it on something when he fell. "Brains, what happened up there?
The crackling, hissing sound had been the oxyhydnite cutter, he realized, which he hadn't been able to shut off. Brains was reaching for it, hauling it up on its tether and turning off the nozzle. "I-I don't know, John, one minute we were fine, a-and then Virgil hit the bridge."
"Virgil hit the bridge?" John stared at him in disbelief. "Our Virgil?"
Brains nodded, trying to get a look at his head through the mask. John brushed him aside impatiently. "I'm fine," he said. "Help me up."
Brains braced himself against the rear monorail car and offered his hand. John took it and tried to pull himself upright…without success. "I'm stuck," he said, voice sharp-edged with frustration.
Brains maneuvered around him carefully and checked. "It seems that your pack i-is stuck on the, ah, coupling," he said finally. "I'll have to, uh, cut you loose."
He raised the cutter. "Whoa!" John said, raising his hands in protest. "What about the oxyhydnite tanks? That thing'll turn me into a crispy critter."
Brains smiled. "I'll be careful."
John stared at him. He subsided slowly, realizing that if Brains didn't know what his own inventions could deal with, then nobody did. "Okay," he said at last, letting out his breath in a noisy exhale. "Go for it."
He looked up at the sky through Thunderbird Two's empty frame, trying not to flinch as he heard the cutter hiss to life.
They were finally ready to airlift the last car. Virgil didn't remember the last time he had been this exhausted, his muscles cramping in agony. It was going to take a while in the whirlpool bath and at least a couple of deep tissue massages to work the kinks out. His mouth tasted like grit and his eyes burned with the effort of keeping his eyes open and glued to the monitor screen so he wouldn't cause another inadvertent disaster. He found himself thinking longingly about the bunks in Thunderbird Two's living quarters – he needed to curl up and sleep in the very worst way.
"Okay, Virg," John's voice came over the comlink. "Lift number two harness."
Virg threw the switch and watched as Brains slowly started to come back up toward the hatch. At least this part he could do almost automatically, he knew from long practice exactly how many seconds it took for the winch to hoist the harness wearer back into the hold. He began to check the grab stresses in preparation for the last flight to one of the waiting container ships.
"O-okay, uh, Virgil, I'm aboard," Brains said.
"F.A.B., Brains," Virgil acknowledged. "Ready, John?"
"F.A.B."
Virgil flipped the switch on the primary winch. He glanced at the monitor, watched for a moment as John began to rise slowly toward the ship. Then he went back to checking the stress levels. Satisfied the grabs were holding, he took a moment, rubbing his eyes and thinking about aspirin.
He looked over at Thunderbird One again, guilt stirring in his stomach. Scott hadn't said anything at all about the accident he had caused, and he knew from experience that was anything but a good sign. With Scott, you might be in trouble when he was yelling at you, but you were in even more when he went quiet. Virgil knew his brother was just waiting for the appropriate moment, and that wasn't over a comlink in the middle of a rescue.
He sat back down heavily in the pilot's seat, thinking about the flight home. He was actively fighting the need to close his eyes now, and that was dangerous. Maybe he could make it up to John by offering to let him take the wheel for a while… Even as the thought was out, he smiled at the look he knew he'd see on his younger brother's face. John was always trying to get more flying time, but neither Scott nor Virgil normally relinquished the pilot's seats of their babies without a fight.
Maybe I am getting old… Virgil shook his head at himself and got ready to head Thunderbird Two over the bridge to the nearest container ship.
There was a terrifying stab of déjà vu as he heard Scott's shout in his ears. "Virgil! Stop! John's not clear!"
"What…what…" Virgil's guts turned to liquid. He couldn't believe it…he had drifted off again and he hadn't waited for John's signal that he was safely into the hold. "Oh, my God, my…"
"John! Drop! Now!" Scott shouted.
Virgil could only stare helplessly at the monitor as John hit the emergency release and dropped like a stone toward the ocean – a split second before the cable that had been holding him smacked into the bridge with a force that would have splintered bone.
"Virgil, get clear or you'll foul his chute," Scott ordered in a voice like thunder.
Virgil obeyed instantly, powering Thunderbird Two up and forward, dragging the monorail car beneath him. "Scott, I…"
He heard Scott swear. "What is it?" he asked anxiously. Surely this couldn't get any worse…
"His rocket assist didn't fire," Scott said through gritted teeth.
Yep, it was worse. Without the rocket chute assist to compensate for the very low altitude John had fallen from, the parachute wouldn't have been able to do much beyond slow his descent just enough to prevent him from smacking into the ocean like a brick. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have any broken bones. If he was lucky.
Virgil thought he had never felt so bad in his life as when he said goodbye to Elizabeth on the boat jetty that morning. Now he knew there were new depths of misery to plumb. "I'm sorry, Scott, God, I'm…I'm…"
His brother's words were edged with ice. "Not now, Virgil. Get that monorail car on the deck before the grabs give out. Gordon will retrieve John."
Virgil hesitated, agonized. Realizing there was nothing he could do but what he was told, he reluctantly wheeled his bird and headed for the nearest container ship.
Gordon flew Thunderbird Two home.
Hearing the frantic exchange between his two eldest brothers, unable to do anything but watch as John's rocket pack failed to fire, Gordon was already steaming toward the bridge before Scott's instructions to do so came over his com. John's chute opened, but Gordon still winced when he saw how hard his brother hit the water. That was going to leave a mark.
Minutes later he was helping a bruised, battered, spitting mad but thankfully not otherwise injured John aboard Thunderbird Four. With his elder brother behind him, refusing a towel, dripping water all over the cockpit and swearing a blue streak, he reported in to Scott – who told him in no uncertain terms that he was to fly Thunderbird Two home, and also that no matter what, he was to keep Virgil and John apart until they got back to base. Before Gordon could get his mouth open to reply, John grabbed the com and went off. Grudgingly impressed by John's command of the language, Gordon listened as Scott brought the full force of his command manner to bear and, reminding him spookily of his father, backed John down.
White-faced, John angrily cut off the com. He shrugged off Gordon's attempts to check out his physical condition, although it was fairly obvious he wasn't injured beyond what would become some pretty spectacular bruises over the next few days. Knowing this wasn't finished, Gordon got TB4 back into the pod and settled down to wait for Virgil to retrieve them.
As soon as they were in the air again and headed home, Gordon went for the hatch, followed by a silent John, who seemed subdued. It was only an act, it turned out, for as soon as they were clear of the submersible and into the pod, he suddenly shoved Gordon aside hard and ran for the elevator.
Gordon cursed and went after him. He caught John before the elevator reached the floor level, grabbed his shoulder and swung him around, ducking barely in time to avoid the right hook that came out of nowhere. "John! Quit it! Scott says you have to stay down here!"
"To hell with what Scott says," John snapped. "Virgil and I need to have a little talk."
The elevator doors opened. John made a dive for them but Gordon was right there with him, shoving him away from the controls. "Let me go!" John yelled, swinging at him again. This time it connected and Gordon crashed back against the far wall, winded.
"You're…not…going…anywhere…" he panted, lunging back at John, knowing exactly what his life would be worth if he didn't make sure his already angry eldest brother's orders weren't carried out. They struggled for a moment, each trying to gain the advantage. Then Gordon dug his fist hard into John's badly bruised ribs, wincing at the hiss of pain as John doubled over involuntarily. "Sorry, Johnny," he said, grabbing him while he was still temporarily incapacitated and pushing him out of the elevator. "But you can't come up here."
The doors snapped shut. Ignoring John's pounding and angry shouts, Gordon rode the elevator to the cockpit level, got out, and locked it off.
In the cockpit he was greeted by Brains and a very subdued, exhausted-looking Virgil. He had planned to defuse the situation with some joke about Virgil not doing himself any good in the chain of command by knocking off brothers lower on the totem pole than himself, but that all went away when he saw his brother's pale face and the dark smudges under his eyes. "Virg, you look like hell."
"Just tell me he's okay," Virgil said, his eyes pleading for good news.
"He's okay. Pissed as hell and wanting to take it out of your hide, but okay."
"He's got a right," Virgil said quietly.
Gordon glanced at Brains, standing beside Virgil to his right. Was Virgil ill? Brains indicated with a slight shake of his head that he didn't know. Gordon decided not to push it. "Virg, why don't you go back and get some rest. I'll take her from here."
Despite everything, he still expected some resistance, but Virgil just nodded numbly. He let Brains lead him back out of the cockpit toward the sleeping quarters.
Gordon settled into the pilot's seat, wondering what the hell was going on.
Scott flew beside his brother's ship all the way home, something he usually only did if Virgil were alone in Thunderbird Two. With his much faster craft he could be home sometimes as much as a couple of hours ahead, an advantage he normally exploited as much as he could.
But not today. Despite being on the verge of exhaustion himself from lack of sleep and the long hours of the rescue, he stayed back and flew escort, as if by the sheer force of his presence alone he could keep the peace between his brothers until they got back to base. When they were fifteen minutes out he told Gordon he was going ahead, in order to stow his ship and be in the hangar before Thunderbird Two landed.
During the flight he had fended off his father's questions, promising a full briefing as soon as he had had the chance to ask the questions. He kept up the avoidance when Thunderbird One docked against her gantry, taking the elevator to the monorail instead of going in through the lounge as he knew his father expected him to do. Whatever happened, he had to get to Virgil and John before Jeff did.
He heard the shouting as he came down the elevator to the ground floor of Thunderbird Two's hangar. Virgil, looking miserable and shaky, had just emerged from his ship with Gordon and Brains behind him. But John had found a way to bypass the hatch locking system – Scott roundly cursed himself for forgetting that John was the Macgyver of the family and with the most rudimentary of tools could do anything with an electronic circuit short of make it sit up and dance. As Scott approached them, he saw the hatch open and John launch himself at Virgil. Gordon yelled a warning and tried to get in between them, but John lashed out at him, landing a lucky blow that sent him crashing to the floor. Then John grabbed Virgil and the fight began.
Scott was there seconds later, pushing, shoving, yelling, trying to break them apart. Nobody was listening to him. John was as angry as he had ever seen him, and Virgil was defending himself in earnest. Back on his feet, Gordon was trying to haul John off, but despite his interference Scott was getting badly beaten up just trying to stay between the brawling pair. But he couldn't get out of the way or they'd half kill each other. Coughing from a hard blow to the stomach, he staggered back, catching a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Then he was yelling in surprise as a freezing cold column of water smacked into them, knocking all four of them off their feet.
Winded by the fall to the concrete floor, Scott rolled over, coughing and spluttering. He managed to get his head up enough to see his father standing there, a grim expression on his face, holding the industrial strength hose they used to wash the underside of the pod vehicles. Oh, shit.
"Upstairs, now," his father said, shutting off the hose.
They stood in front of his desk in silence moments later, dripping wet. "I'll ask you again," Jeff said. "What is going on here?"
Nothing. Virgil and John wouldn't look at each other, or at him, and Gordon maintained a steady middle-distance inspection-line gaze that would have made his WASP commanding officers proud. Finally Scott said, "Father…can I talk to you for a minute?"
Jeff's mouth set in a thin line. "All right," he said. "You three, hit the showers. And if I hear so much as a whimper…"
John shot a cold glare at Virgil and left the room first. After a moment, Virgil trailed slowly after him. Obviously reluctant to leave him there alone, Gordon glanced questioningly at Scott. Appreciating the support, Scott nevertheless nodded toward the door. Smoothing things over with their father was his job, as it had always been, and it was best done alone.
When Gordon was gone, he turned back to Jeff. "Dad, let me handle this."
"Scott, I am not going to tolerate…"
"I…I think Virgil's having some personal problems," Scott said. "Why don't you let me…"
"Personal problems? I'll say he's having personal problems – with me! He almost killed his brother today!"
"Dad!" Scott's stare was reproachful. "Virgil made a mistake today. He knows that. Nobody feels worse than he does about what happened."
"We can't afford those kinds of mistakes," Jeff snapped.
"I'm sure he's aware of that, Dad! You know as well as I do that Virgil has an almost perfect safety record…better than all the rest of us."
"Well, I might have known you'd defend him, considering…"
Scott's could feel himself getting colder and angrier by the minute. "What are you trying to say, Dad? You think my life didn't flash before my eyes when I saw Johnny fall like that? You think I wasn't counting the seconds until Gordon told me he was all right?"
"Which is precisely why I need to crack down on this right away! Virgil hasn't…"
"Am I or am I not your field commander?"
The tone of his son's voice made Jeff's eyebrows go up in surprise. "What?"
Scott stared him down, eyes like the depths of a glacier. "Am I, or am I not your field commander?"
"Of course you are."
"Then let me deal with my own troops! I'll find out what happened, and report back. Until then, nobody hangs."
Jeff sat back in his seat, studying the stiff-backed, angry young man who reminded him, suddenly and incredibly, of himself. People had mentioned the resemblance before, but this was the first time he had really seen it. He had spent many hours during his military career in Scott's position, fighting with superior officers for the right to deal with his command the way he saw fit.
"All right," he said at last, noting the look of relief that immediately crossed his son's face. "But I want a full report."
"You'll have it," Scott promised. He turned to leave the room, paused for a moment. "Father…"
Jeff looked up. "Thanks," Scott said.
Jeff nodded.
Scott came out through the door, breathing again for what felt like the first time in hours. He almost barreled straight into John, who had obviously been standing right outside. "John…"
From the look on John's face, he had heard the whole thing. His face was no longer angry, instead he looked upset and confused. "What was I supposed to do, Scott?" he said. "Virgil…"
"Virgil made a couple of bad mistakes out there today," Scott said, squeezing his brother's shoulder reassuringly. "I understand you being mad…hell, I'd have wanted to take him apart myself. But you know this isn't normal for him. Something's wrong, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."
He didn't mention that he had a very good idea of what the problem was, and that right now he had no earthly idea of how to solve it.
John shook his head. "He's been acting like a bear for days," he said. "You should have seen him while you were in New York. Riding all of us, especially me. I almost bribed Gordon to lock him in his room and change the code just so we could catch a break."
"I'm sorry, Johnny," Scott said. "I really am. I should have been here."
John almost smiled. "You can't give every second of your life to us, Scott. We've taken most of it as it is."
Of all his brothers, John was the one who was always surprising him. Scott reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm glad you're all right," he said. "I meant what I said to Dad in there. I had a bad moment there when your rocket assist didn't fire."
"You had a bad moment…"
Scott laughed.
"Ah, Scott…"
"Yeah?"
"You're killing my bruises…"
Scott grinned and let him go, stepping back. "You'd better go down and have Kyrano put that miracle cream of his on those, or you'll be screaming blue murder by morning."
John nodded, turning to trail off down the corridor. Scott turned and looked across the corridor at Virgil's door.
Virgil couldn't remember the last time he had felt so bad.
All he could think of as he numbly stripped off his uniform and got ready to shower was John's furious face. God, he'd almost killed his own brother. He felt sick inside when he thought of what might have happened.
He never made mistakes. He was known for it. Solid as a rock, they called him.
And now it had gotten so bad he'd almost killed someone.
This had to stop. Now. He couldn't take it any more. He needed to resolve this, to end this hammering, relentless pressure. He was actually afraid of what might happen, if he couldn't find a solution soon.
Virgil turned on the shower, bowing his head under the spray, letting the punishing heat pound into his aching shoulders. For the first time he was beginning to realize that there was a very real possibility that he was going to have to choose. His job and his family, or his future with the woman he loved.
The irony was that Virgil really, truly loved his job. The family constantly teased him about his obsession with "big trucks," something that had manifested itself at a very early age. Scott had told him often about the time on his grandfather's farm near Valley Falls, Kansas, when he had come out of the house one morning to find four year old Virgil standing staring up at the great green bulk of the John Deere combine harvester with something very much like love at first sight shining in his big dark eyes. Virgil didn't remember the incident, but it sure felt right. He did remember pestering his grandfather constantly to take him out into the fields in the cab of that magnificent monster, and he also recalled that he usually got his way.
Despite his very obvious gifts in the areas of art and music, and the pleading of his teachers to at least consider the offered scholarship to Julliard, the first one that a student of Valley Falls High School had ever received, Virgil wasn't interested. He had traveled to New York to play for the faculty at Julliard at the request of others, doing his duty to make others happy as he always did. But he didn't like the idea of a career in the arts…while he loved music and painting, he didn't like the people, found them flaky and unreliable at best, and downright strange at worst. His family were all "jocks," men who distinguished themselves on the sports field, the cockpits of fighter jets and the command cabins of rockets bound for space - and despite his other talents, Virgil was very much one of them. He didn't want a life spent indoors, behind a desk or a piano. He wanted to go to MIT or Caltech - or better still, if he could get in, the rapidly rising new star of the field, the Denver School of Advanced Technology. He wanted to be a part of designing and testing new vehicles of all kinds, whether they swam, flew or rolled along the ground. His acceptance by DSAT might have made his high school faculty sigh with disappointment, but it made him the happiest eighteen year old in the world.
During his third year at DSAT, Virgil interned for sixteen weeks at the local R&D powerhouse company Innovative Technologies. By the time he entered his senior year, he already knew he had a job waiting for him at InnTech, as the company was known in the field. His career plan was simple, work for the best until he had enough experience and contacts to branch out on his own. He had spent many long evenings talking over his ideas with his father, who had instilled the spirit of the entrepreneur in all of his sons. He knew he could count on Jeff Tracy's not inconsiderable support.
And then International Rescue had been born…and Virgil now got to combine his love for R&D and vehicle design with something even better…saving people's lives. There was a personal cost, however. In moving to Tracy Island, he had given up friends, a life…and a girl who had been very important to him – a girl he had lived with for two years. A girl he had been getting ready to ask to marry him.
He could vividly remember the pain of leaving her behind, but there was more to consider than just his own feelings, and despite that pain, he was well aware that she had a very bright future where she was. It would have been totally unfair to expect her to give it all up for him – so he hadn't asked. He had thought about her many times, often wondering if he had done the right thing by leaving her behind. But slowly, he'd filled the hole she'd left in his life with other things.
And now here he was again, with Elizabeth Grant. And no matter how many times he took the whole situation apart in his mind, when he put it back together there was always a great gaping hole without her. Déjà vu. It was going to come down to the same impossible choice.
If his father refused to bend, he might have to leave this place. He might have to start over again without the family he loved. But he couldn't face losing Elizabeth now that he'd finally found her. He couldn't go through it again. This time, he wasn't going to give her up. He just couldn't.
All he could do was hope he wasn't too late. The thought that he might not be able to get Elizabeth to forgive him suddenly hurt so much that he could hardly breathe.
He didn't realize he was crying until the broken sound of his own sobbing rose above the hiss of falling water.
On the other side of the Virgil's half open bathroom door, Scott paused in the act of knocking. He leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed, the sounds of his brother's pain breaking his heart.
Then he turned and quietly left the room.