Chapter Four: Role Reversal

Alan Tracy was scared.

That wasn't something he admitted very often, but if someone had asked him how he was feeling at that very moment, then he would have blurted the word out without caring how it made him look in front of his brother and Tin-Tin.

" … Take control of the scene – work with the fire-chief, he sounds like a good man …"

He wasn't ready for this – this responsibility. He was only eighteen, for God's sake! He'd only been a fully-fledge Thunderbird for a couple of months – he wasn't supposed to be put in command of a mission until he was at least Gordon's age!

He was scared – and not just for himself.

" … First try and contact Scott and the others via their headsets. If that doesn't work, try their watches …"

His brothers … Alan tried to push the thought away and concentrate on what John was saying but he couldn't stop a series of horrific images from filling his mind. Of Gordon trapped and injured. Of Scott slowly suffocating from lack of air. Of Virgil being burnt by the inescapable fire.

" … You'll need to take the Mole in …"

Of all of them dying. Alone. While he flailed around helplessly, wasting time by having to double-check everything with John.

" … Can't do much about the fire – we just have to hope Virg put it out before the mine collapsed …"

Alan took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He didn't completely understand why he was getting so worked up. After all, this certainly wasn't the first time one of his brothers had been injured during a rescue and nor was this the first time that a rescue had gone wrong. There had been that episode with the Hood when his whole family had almost been killed – and he hadn't been immobilised by fear back then. No, he'd dived in blindly, recklessly – but at the end of it all he'd somehow managed to do the right thing. So why was it so different this time? Why was the thought of all this responsibility making him feel ill?

Alan had never handled responsibility well. He didn't like having people rely on him for direction; he much preferred to do his own thing. Do things his way without having to worry about anyone else. It was a fairly selfish attitude to take but perhaps it resulted from growing up with four older brothers. There hadn't exactly been a lot of responsibility left when Alan became old enough to shoulder it and what little his dad had given him had been greeted with poor grace. Alan was under no illusions; he was the unpredictable Tracy – the Wildchild. Responsibility and Alan Tracy were not a healthy combination.

" … sending over Dad and Brains in Thunderbird 3, but they won't reach you for a good hour or so …"

Alan rubbed his forehead distractedly as John continued to outline his plan. Worries about responsibility clashed with worries about his brothers and on top of the headache that was assaulting his temple he was beginning to feel dizzy and faintly nauseous.

" … Alan?"

Dimly he became aware that someone was speaking to him. In an effort to look attentive, he dragged himself up from where he was leaning on Mobile Control and tried to look conscientious.

"Alan?" the voice came again, but it took a few seconds before Alan realised it wasn't John as he had expected, but Tin-Tin. "Are you okay?"

She was looking at him – or to be more exact, she was watching his hands. Alan followed her gaze down and saw they were trembling visibly. Irritated and not a little embarrassed, he balled his fingers up into fists and glared at her. "What?" The last person he wanted to know about his weakness and fears was Tin-Tin.

A look of hurt passed over her face, but was gone before Alan could consider its meaning.

He turned back to John. "Anything else?" he said brusquely, trying to pretend he couldn't feel his hands shaking.

"That's everything I can think of at the moment. But don't hesitate to contact me again if you need help." John's blue eyes locked on Alan's. "You can do this, Al. Don't ever think otherwise."

Why had he been cursed with such perceptive siblings?

Alan fixed as confident an expression as he could on his face. " 'Course I can. See you on the other side."

"Good luck."

If Virgil Tracy hadn't been at the controls of the Firefly when the mine began to collapse, he would have been killed instantly. Is it was, the force of the falling rocks had buffeted the small vehicle for every angle; it had been crushed like a concertina. Miraculously, Virgil was mostly uninjured, although the console in front of him hadn't been so lucky. For the last few minutes he'd been attempting to recover what computer components he could and repair the sparking communication system.

A jumping spark caught his hand and Virgil swore as it caught the bare skin of his hands.

"If – if Grandma heard you u-using language like that she … she'd wash your m-mouth out."

Virgil was so surprised he almost dropped the wires he was busy twisting together. "Scott?"

A weak laugh came through his headgear. "Could never … never fool you."

"Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm not exactly sure …"

"Scott?" Virgil could hear his brother's laboured breathing and it frightened him. "Scott – what's wrong?"

" … Some of the stone …" Scott broke off and started coughing. Virgil waited anxiously until he could speak again. "S-Some of the stone fell onto m-my legs. Pinned me d-down … I can't – can't move …"

Virgil blanched as his brother's voice trailed off into silence and he bit back his fear with difficulty. It was always terrible when one of his brothers became injured during a rescue, but usually something could be done to help them soon after the injury had been sustained. This time he was trapped in the broken shell of the machine that was supposed to have saved lives and had no hope of reaching Scott, even if he could have worked out where his older brother was in the mine. To make matters worse, Scott sounded dangerously weak; some of his words were slurred and he spoke as each word cost him more than Virgil could imagine.

This scared Virgil more than he was ready to admit. For as long as he could remember, Scott had been there. Strong, commanding Scott, whether it was at home on Tracy Island or abroad in a rescue. Always ready to make the difficult decisions, always prepared to lead as Virgil and the younger Tracy's were always ready to follow. He was an excellent Field Commander and several handfuls of people in the world were alive today thanks to Scott's quick thinking and ingenuity. To have Scott suddenly become one of those victims in need of rescuing represented a startling role-reversal that Virgil hardly wanted to contemplate.

"Scott, do you know whereabouts in the mine you are?" he asked finally, voice tight with tension.

"No – no clue. Sorry …"

"It's okay." Virgil squinted in the dim light as the two wires he was holding sparked suddenly, reminding him that he had other things beside Scott's condition to worry about. "Just hang in there, Scott. I'm trying to get help."

" … What?"

"I'm trying to repair the Firefly's connection to Mobile Control," Virgil explained as he continued to work steadily. "It got smashed up in the cave-in. Only problem is, Mechanics 101 was a long time ago." He wiped a hand across his brow. "And it's getting damn hot in here."

"You'll do … you'll do it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Virgil retorted with a levity he certainly didn't feel. He bent over the broken and frayed wires, taking care not to get burnt. "How's about you entertain me while you work?"

There was no reply.

Virgil paused. "Scott?" he called worriedly.

" … I'm still here," his brother's words came back, thick with pain.

"Just checking." He sought about for something to talk about. "Say, you haven't heard from Al or Gordon, have you?"

Scott grunted what Virgil took to be a negative. He wasn't particularly surprised, but it did nothing to alleviate the growing fear he felt for all three of his brothers, trapped somewhere in the mine. "All this fallen rock could be blocking their radio signals – hey, that means you're probably quite close to the Firefly."

"Y-yeah … I think I was when the – when the rocks fell."

This fresh knowledge galvanised Virgil into swifter action and he bent over the gently smoking control panel. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek and he wiped it away distractedly. It really was becoming uncomfortably warm inside the body of the Firefly and the wires he so desperately needed to manipulate were in danger of slipping clear out of his hands.

A sudden thought about the increasing temperature of the Firefly struck Virgil. "Scott, is there any sign of the fire near you?"

There was a brief silence punctuated only by Scott's harsh breathing. "N-no fire here …" he gasped out finally. "T-thank – thank God …"

Virgil tried to peer out of the Firefly's windows but all he could see was the rock that was pressing against the rescue machine. "You might want to hold onto that thanks, big brother. 'Cos unless Firefly's been fitted with heaters, I'm pretty sure the fire's still in the area."

"I – I'll be okay."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm trapped –" He broke off to cough. "I'm trapped in an – an enclosed space. Fire needs oxygen to b-burn – so no fire."

Virgil had to marvel at his brother. Even trapped and in pain, Scott's mind was still sharp. What he didn't like however, was the lack of oxygen around Scott.

"How much clean air have you got left?"

"Not sure. Gauge – the gauge is broken …"

Virgil blew out the breath he had been holding. "Guess I'd better work quickly then."

"Mobile Control to Gordon. Gordon, please respond."

Tin-Tin, who was studying the console, shook her head. "Nothing."

"Let me try Scott again –"

"Alan, I think they're too far away for the signal to work."

Alan stared at her. "We can't stop trying!"

"I'm not suggesting we do." Tin-Tin was beginning to become angry herself. "But weren't you listening to John? If we can't reach them via the headsets or their watches, we should track them through their transmitters."

Without waiting for Alan's heated reply, Tin-Tin bent over the console. She felt his eyes boring into the back of her head but ignored him. This was not the time for them to have an argument. That could wait until they were safely back on Tracy Island, when Tin-Tin was quite prepared to give Alan Tracy a piece of her mind. This rescue was proof enough that having lingering feelings of doubt, anger and confusion milling around between two of the members of International Rescue certainly wasn't helping matters. In fact, her and Alan's problems were on the verge of seriously affecting their work and with Alan's brothers' lives at stake, it was something that couldn't be allowed to happen.

"Okay." Tin-Tin traced the display with her finger. "Finally some good news."

"What is it?" Alan joined her at the console, his anger momentarily forgotten.

"I'm picking up all three of their signals and even better, they're all fairly close together."

"Which should make the rescue easier," Alan concluded her thoughts, rubbing a hand over the back of his head and then wincing.

Tin-Tin frowned at him. "You should get that seen to."

Alan shrugged her concern away. "I'm fine – just a bit banged up. Besides, we don't have time to be dealing with a little cut on my head at the moment."

Tin-Tin wanted to argue that it was rather more than just a 'little cut' but she knew her words would do no good. Alan would probably just get angry with her again and that was the last thing they needed. "Well at least wash that blood from your face –" She reached up to touch his cheek but he caught her hand in his, preventing her from reaching him.

"Tin-Tin we don't have time! Don't you understand? While you're here worrying about a bit of blood on my face, my brothers could be dying!"

Tin-Tin stared up into his blue eyes and the hot words that had instantly risen to her lips faded. There was such naked fear in his eyes that Tin-Tin felt her heart break. She realised then that despite his outer exterior, Alan was terrified and barely managing to hold himself together. He was hiding behind angry words and sharp retorts while inwardly agonizing over the fate of his missing brothers.

Her gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Alan. You're right. Go – go and save your brothers."

He wavered, his face twisting. "Tin-Tin –"

"Go," she urged. "They need you."

He lingered for a few more seconds and then nodded. Releasing her hand, he turned and ran across the ground towards where Thunderbird 2 was staging a silent vigil above her pod.

Tin-Tin watched as he disappeared inside the green pod, unconsciously holding her hand against her chest. Her fingers were still tingling from where Alan had touched them; it made her feel suddenly close to him and she needed that comfort now.

Someone clearing the throat from behind her disturbed her brief oasis of calm. She turned to see Chief fireman Rhys standing patiently beside Mobile Control, his yellow helmet held in his hands.

"We've secured the area," he reported succinctly, apparently having gotten over his initial surprise of finding himself subordinate to a teenage girl. "We believe it will remain stable as long as no great amount of pressure is put upon the ground. But we can't get into the mine – the entrance is blocked."

"We can handle that," Tin-Tin assured him.

Rhys frowned. "How?"

As if on cue, the doors of the pod re-opened and the Mole's distinctive figure appeared, rolling down the ramp and onto the grass.

Instead of gaping as Tin-Tin had expected him to, Rhys merely raised his eyebrows. "That's a mighty big drill."

"It'll do the job," Tin-Tin assured him, quick to defend Brains's invention.

"I'm sure it will – but not alone. On this one I think you might need our help."

Tin-Tin looked up at the man. He had a kind face, she decided, and right now a kind face was an invaluable asset. "I think we need all the help we can get," she admitted.

Gordon Tracy's hole was now big enough to fit his hand through. He thought it was quite an achievement for someone with a dislocated shoulder and nothing to dig with but a sharp fragment of rock.

The problem was he was getting tired now. His good hand was beginning to cramp under the strain and there was simply no question of him swapping hands with his shoulder still out of alignment. The initial agony had faded to a dull ache, but the pain still flared up whenever the dislocated bones grated against one another. He'd found the best plan was to keep it as immobile as possible and had therefore tucked it safely inside his fire-protective clothing.

Gordon shifted his position on the ground, his good hand brushing against the cylinder that was solely responsible for him still being alive. The oxygen tank was lying alongside him on the ground, its gauge pressed against the ground. Not that it would have been any better in another position; it was so dark inside Gordon's prison that he wouldn't have been able to read the numbers on the dial anyway. But it did serve as a reminder as to why he was trying to dig his way out and also why he didn't have the luxury of taking long breaks.

Grimacing, Gordon adjusted his sweaty grip on the sharp piece of rock and resumed his determined digging.

"Alan?" The communications array on the control panel lit up and Alan recognised Tin-Tin's voice, despite the break in protocol.

"Mole receiving."

"I've just heard from Virgil."

Relief rushed through Alan. "He's okay? He's alive – well obviously he's alive because he spoke to you … what did he say?" He adjusted the direction of the Mole with trembling hands.

"He's okay – but trapped inside the Firefly. But Scott –"

"Scott? You spoke to Scott too?"

"Well, not exactly –"

"So Virg spoke to Scott?"

"Well, yes but –"

Her evasive manner only served to aggravate Alan's growing headache and he felt his temper rising. "But? But what?"

There was a pause. "He's been injured," she admitted finally in a small voice.

Horrifying images of an injured Scott flashed through Alan's mind. It seemed inconceivable that Scott, their Field Commander; the strong, confident man who calmly co-ordinated their rescues had been put out of action. It just served to make Alan feel his responsibility even more.

"How badly?" he forced himself to ask, his heart thumping unpleasantly.

"His legs are pinned beneath some rocks."

That sounded bad. That sounded really bad.

"How far am I out now?"

There was a brief silence as he waited for Tin-Tin to trace his position within the mine. "You're approaching the second level now. Your brot – the other members of our team are at the end of that level."

"FAB."

Alan stared out into the darkness of the tunnel he was burrowing through the fallen rock. The lack of light and the crushing weight of the rock on either side of him was so oppressive that Alan was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He shuddered to think what his brothers were going through. "Have you heard anything from Gordon yet?"

Tin-Tin's voice, when it came back to him, was worried. "No, nothing."

Gordon, Alan thought bleakly, remembering how short-tempered he'd been with his brother earlier. If that was the last conversation he ever got to have with Gordon, he'd never forgive himself …

His head gave a particularly vicious throb, but it served to pull Alan out of his morbid thoughts. He turned his attention back to the task at hand: navigating a safe passageway through the crumbling mine without tripping a further collapse.

Progress was painfully slow. Alan had to stop every thirty feet or so, so that the Welsh fire-fighting teams could erect the sturdy steel supports they were using to stabilise the mineshaft. In his head Alan knew these delays were necessary but the more passionate side of his mind was telling him that every minute counted and while he was impatiently waiting for yet another support to be put into place, his brothers could very well by dying.

Don't think about that, he told himself firmly, pushing back the nausea that had risen along with the thought. Focus on the mission.

His brothers were relying on him.

"Mobile Control out."

Virgil sagged back in his seat. Despite the severity of his current situation, he found a relieved smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Alan was okay. In fact, he was better than okay – he was currently on his way to single-handedly rescue him, Scott, Gordon and the rest of the miners still trapped under the ground.

Normally Virgil would have worried about the responsibility Alan was shouldering – in fact, he would have been worried for any of his brothers in Alan's situation. However, at the moment it seemed like the answers to all their problems and he found himself clinging to the promise that sometime soon they would all be free of this mine that was in serious danger of becoming their tombs.

He clicked his headset on. "Scott?"

Silence echoed back along the airwaves.

A chill ran through Virgil's body. "Scott?" he called again, louder this time.

Once more there was no reply. Not even the sound of Scott's heavy breathing reached his ears.

Panic starting rising up inside of Virgil, threatening to overwhelm him. "Scott, can you hear me? Talk to me!"

His brother was silent.

Deathly silent.