The shock of hitting the water brought Jeff back to consciousness. His parachute had already started to sink, and its weight pulled him under. Struggling for a moment, he released the latches on his chute and swam to the surface, taking in huge gasps of air.

Getting his breathing under control, he heard the distant crash of his jet into the water. He had a momentary regret at losing such a fine plane, but that regret was quickly overwhelmed by his fear for his son. He spun in the water, searching the swells for any sign of Gordon, but the only thing visible was the strobe light flashing to indicate the location of the survival raft.

With a burst of energy brought on by his desperation to find his son, Jeff swam to the raft, which had already deployed, and floated ready to take survivors. Grasping the side, Jeff pulled himself up, yelling, "Gordon!"

The only sound was the lapping of the water on side of the raft. Jeff struggled to pull himself on board, wanting the height to search the surrounding water. The pounding in his head translated itself into an annoying weakness in his arms, and after a moment, he realized he might not have the strength to pull himself up, despite his desperation.

He gave it one last try, and found himself being strongly pushed from below. Flopping into the raft, Jeff looked around to find Gordon pulling himself aboard in one smooth movement. The relief Jeff felt flowed through him like a tidal wave, and ignoring his pain, he grabbed his son in a fierce hug and sent a prayer of thanks heavenward.

Gordon allowed the hug for a moment, then in a puzzled tone, asked, "Uh, Dad? You okay?"

Squeezing his eyes to prevent the tears from falling, Jeff replied in a shaky voice. "I couldn't find you. I thought maybe…"

"What?" Gordon pulled away from his father, holding the older man at arms length. "You thought what? That a few bruised ribs would pull me under?"

Seeing the cocky grin warmed Jeff immeasurably. Rolling his eyes caused pain to shoot through his head, and he winced. "What was I thinking?"

Gordon was immediately attentive. "Hey, Dad, are you okay?"

Jeff raised his hand to the back of his head. He felt moisture there, but when he looked at his hand, there was no blood. "I got clocked coming out of the plane. Feels like a goose egg back there."

"Let me see…" Gordon sidled around to get a look, his fingers gently probing. "No break in the skin, and I can't feel anything moving." He moved around to face Jeff. "Follow my finger with your eyes."

Jeff allowed his son to complete the examination. "Well, Dr. Tracy, what's your prognosis?"

"Slight concussion. I recommend corn relish, and plenty of it." With that, the younger man started hauling on a rope that Jeff had not previously noticed.

Bemused, he watched as his son reached over the side of the raft. With both hands and a grunt, he pulled the basket Ruth had given them into the boat. Blinking, Jeff deadpanned, "You saved the corn relish."

"Well, actually, I'd put the spoons in the basket when we were done. I figured I could show up at the island without the plane, or you, but if I lost Grandma's spoons, I was done for."

Jeff chuckled. "You're probably right about that, but frankly, I'd be more concerned about showing up without those pies. I daresay Scott could smell them from the moment we crossed the equator."

Gordon, who had been pawing through the basket, exclaimed with delight, "Oooo! Aunt Tina's pickles! Cool!"

With a bemused frown, Jeff responded, "Son, your grandmother will probably forgive a jar of corn relish, but if you go opening everything, she will nail your hide to the barn door."

Gordon paused and looked over at his father, and shook his head sadly. "You've obviously been hurt worse than I thought. You're just not thinking straight."

"Excuse me?"

Gordon scooted close to his father, looked him in the eye, and with a gentle hand on his arm, said with total Gordon-esque sincerity, "Dad, we just had a devastatingly tragic and traumatic accident. We could have been pathetically maimed or even brutally killed. Grandma will be so glad we survived that she won't even notice that not all of the jars are full." The wide-eyed sincerity turned to a cheeky grin. "And if that doesn't do it, we can just say it didn't survive the fall from the plane."

Amazed that his son could actually believe that would work, Jeff shook his head, and tapped his watch. "Jeff Tracy to Thunderbird Five, come in John."

"Dad? Are you okay?" John was still cool as a cucumber.

"Yes, son, your brother and I are fine. When can we expect Virgil?"

The calm exterior dissolved into a look of unmitigated relief. John's voice held a slight quaver as he responded, "They're about five minutes from your location. Let me patch you through to Thunderbird Two."

"Dad?"

Jeff's eyebrow quirked up. He'd been expecting Virgil, but instead it was Scott's voice he heard. "Yes, son. Your brother and I are fine."

From the whoops in the background, Jeff could tell Virgil and Alan were both on board. Feeling warm paternal pride in his sons, he nonetheless felt obligated to remark, "Scott, this is a simple surface rescue, made even simpler by the presence of one of your team in the boat. You didn't really need to bring the entire family."

There was dead silence for a moment, then Scott said with absolute authority, "You're right, Dad. I didn't need to, but there is nothing on that island as important to me as you and Gordon. And I feel confident that Virgil and Alan feel the same way. I didn't need to, but there was no way in Hell that I was going to tell them to stay behind."

The affirmation in the background made it clear the boys were all in agreement. Gordon sat with a sweet smile, then suddenly twisted around and pointed to the horizon. Squinting, Jeff could just make out a black dot that swiftly expanded to become Thunderbird Two. "We have you in sight, Dad."

As Scott spoke, Thunderbird Two slowed from bat-out-of-Hell to floating cloud, directly over the raft. A hatch in the underbelly of the great ship opened up, and Jeff waved at the two heads that popped into view. The heads, one blond and one dark disappeared from view, and Jeff waited expectantly for the rescue platform to appear.

After a few moments he frowned. "What's taking so long?"

Gordon, who was stretched out, eating bread and butter pickles like popcorn, swallowed and replied, "The argument."

Jeff rolled his eyes, then once again winced. Under normal circumstances, Alan would operate the winch from aboard the platform itself. But the circumstances were not normal, and Scott, who would usually be in Thunderbird One, was no doubt asserting his top dog rights to operate the platform himself. The trouble was, Alan firmly believed that HE was the top dog.

Reaching over, he snagged a pickle. "This could take a while."

Gordon looked around. "The shade is nice."

"So… did you make it to any ball games while you were home?"

"Nope. Grandma had me on a short leash. How about you? Do anything interesting lately?"

"Went on to eBay the other day. Found a really nice jade Buddha. The pictures look good, and it has provenance, so I'm very hopeful. Should be delivered next week some time."

"That's nice. Did you hear that Buck Overholt got married?"

"Again? What's that make? Four?"

"Actually it's six now. Got this lady from over in Liberty to hook up with him."

"That's because every woman closer has his number."

"Oh, look, they're dropping the platform."

"Well, isn't that decent of them?"

"Five bucks says Al won."

"You're on."

Jeff leaned back munching on pickles and watched as the rescue platform dropped. If nothing else, he had to admire Virgil's steady hand with Thunderbird Two. It might as well be a building for all the movement it made. As the platform dropped lower, it became apparent that Scott had won the argument. Gordon made a slight sound of disgust.

Jeff watched his eldest, standing tall and confident at the controls of the platform. Jeff felt a sudden insight to how it must feel to be a victim of disaster, and to see salvation in the form of a self-assuredly calm man in a blue uniform. Although he had not been in any serious danger, just seeing the way his son handled himself reassured him that everything would go off without a hitch.

Scott brought the platform to a halt about six feet above the mean level of the water. Of course, with the constant movement of the ocean swells, the raft was lifting and dropping several feet every few minutes. Scott extended a beam from the top of the platform, and pressed a few buttons and a hoist dropped two lines into the boat, one ending in a rescue sling.

Gordon scrambled to attach the free line to the raft to insure it would not move away, and held the sling out to his father. "After you, Dad."

Feeling suddenly protective, Jeff replied, "No, son, you go first."

Gordon grinned, "Nope, fresh concussion trumps month-old ribs. You need help with the sling?"

Jeff considered making it an order, but with a wave of exhaustion overtaking him, he no longer had the energy. With a gesture, he got Gordon to help secure him in the sling, and within moments, he was airborne.

Scott's handling of the hoist was so smooth that the line never even twisted, and within moments, his eldest held out his hand to pull him aboard. "I've got you, Dad."

Getting his feet under him, Jeff stepped to the back of the platform. "Thank you, son. Get your brother and let's go home."

Scott nodded and turned back to his controls. With his son's concentration elsewhere, Jeff allowed himself to sag. The concussion was leaving him feeling weak and washed out, although, if he was honest with himself, relief at being rescued so quickly was probably part of it.

He was thinking the pickles had been a very bad idea, when the hoist sounds changed, indicating Gordon was on his way up. He closed his eyes as the world started to spin. Gordon's voice was painfully loud in the enclosed space as he came aboard. "Whoa! Scotty, what the hell happened to your face?"

Jeff held on to a rail with grim strength as he listened to the byplay. Scott sounded confused. "What? What do you mean?"

"Oh, sorry, man. It's been so long, I'd forgotten you really look like that."

"Shut up, Gor…"

"Dad! Oh, geez… Scott, he hit his head on…" Jeff didn't even try to open his eyes, he just let the darkness come.