Okay, first things first, this was a request from my darling Manu-seme. She wanted her favourite character to get a bit beaten around and I was happy to oblige. This means lots of happy angst, Yay! And there's some angst for my ikkle Squidy-pie too, since quite a bit of harm comes to her favourite character too. And since she's currently sitting next to me and knows how to handle a gun – weapon, sorry weapon! – I'm dedicating this to her, as she'll sulk if I don't ^_^ Luffle joo Squidit!
Second point. Okay, if you're trapped in some horrible situation – down a mine for example – and you've broken your leg you'd kinda want someone to strap it up properly before they get you out right? Otherwise it could slip out or Godknowswhat. So it would make sense if International Rescue knew first aid. Now working from that I think it would be realistic to say that all five brothers have basic first-aid training, but one or two would then have a greater knowledge – say, paramedic level to work in conjunction with the ambulance teams. Now I've been heavily influenced by one of the most awesome authors on this site ever; Little Miss Bump *jumps up and down waving at her*, so I'm stea- uh...borrowing her idea of Virgil having these skills (It's a compliment!!! Honest! *cowers*) but threw in Scott as well, since it suits my fic ^_^ So recap; Virge and Scotty are pretty much paramedics and the other three know basic first aid.
And thirdly: I'm incorporating both TV and film here, so all events from both happen. This is set about four years after the film so there is a gradual change between the film personalities and TV personalities, equipment, people and most importantly UNIFORMS! It's somewhere around now that Jeff decides to upgrade and the silver-space-suit is ditched for the much beloved blue-jump-suit-and-sash combo. Not the hat. I can't see any of the Tracy boys wanting the hat. Oh, and Grandma's there, since I love her character!
Forthly (Is that even a word, my spell checker doesn't think so): I have written this from a very weird POV; it's all from John's perspective, as if it's happening right at this moment. I don't know why I wrote it like that – but it's incredibly good fun and it's a hell of a challenge too.
Final point (phew, this authors note should have a chapter to itself!). I love hurting the characters I'm writing about. Anyone who knows me will know that this is a common theme in my longer fics (which have yet to be posted) and conversely enough the more I like someone the more I hurt them. So there will be injuries galore and lots of blood to keep my inner vampire happy (first person to mention Twilight gets Thunderbird one rammed up a very painful place!). I'm not stating this for gore factor, but more for the lack-of-knowledge factor, in that, I doubt I'll get every detail right. Now, I'm very anal when it comes to this sort of thing and I like to make what ever I write about to be as factually correct as possible. This does mean that although I will happily divulge in giving lots of detail on an injury, I may be less graphic on how exactly they deal with it. This is not through my lack of research, but more because I don't wish to appear dumb to someone who does actually know what should happen. I'm a biochemist folks, not a doctor.
And along that train of thought: Do I own Thunderbirds? Well, if I did then why would I be on here writing fanfics? DUH!
So, I think that's about it. And I've just written an authors note of nearly seven hundred words in less than five minutes when I struggle to write an essay abstract of two hundred and fifty in over an hour. *sigh* such is the way of life. I think all that remains for me to say is that I own nada, and please all enjoy. And just for a little enticement; all reviewers get cookies! YAY!
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I watch the last ambulance drive off with an overwhelming sense of relief. Personally I can never deem a rescue complete in my own mind until the last person was safely back home or in the hands of the authorities. Of course, this often means that I will sit awake in Thunderbird five for hours after my brothers have returned home, monitoring the area and double checking the stats. Obsessive? Well, maybe. It was one of the reasons that I never seem to be allowed on many rescues – I hold the guys up by hanging back when they just want to get home.
This time is no exception.
It's one of those rare times that I'm not up in my beloved 'Bird, since it's undergoing a diagnostics check and Brains has insisted that it needs to unmanned for a month or two to act as a control. Hey, who am I to complain? Okay, so right now I'm in a bit of a state, but at least when we're not on rescues I get to spend time with my brothers. Not to mention the novelty of being down here at the same time as Alan – that hasn't happened since that Hood incident about three years ago.
Three years...the kid sure has grown since then!
He was incredible on this rescue! So mature and calm, he handled the situation like a pro. And what a situation to handle! A North Russian vodka distillery had exploded due to an over-heated fraction column and all five of us were sent in to help. It was possibly the most intense rescue that either Alan or I had been on, having to cope with the blistering inferno, the grisly corpses of those we couldn't save, the horrific injuries of those we could and all during what is possibly the coldest Russian winter to date. Of course, Scott and Virgil were used to these sort of conditions by now, and Gordon was being macho, but after fifteen hours straight I'd sent the sprout back to Thunderbird two to get himself and me a blanket. The donkey-work was done and it wasn't like we were needed other than for the logistics of seeing the ambulances off. I see no shame in being cold and admitting that I need a blanket!
Man, Virgil and Scotty are going to be in full medic mode the moment they can get us back onto Two. All of us have burns, although from what I've been able to gather no one's seriously hurt within our little family group. Not that that will stop either of them, fussy old things.
Hmm, well, Virgil's younger than me, but Scott's definitely acquiring the years now.
Ah well, it's nice to know that they can deal with it. I must admit that I envy their medical expertise at times; I took a first aid course myself, but I have absolutely no talent for it. Figures; all I'm good at is astronomy and circuit boards. Hmm, and mothering my three little brothers of course.
I tug the blanket closer around my shoulders as a sudden gust of wind flurries the snow up again and makes me shiver. I'm so not used to this! I spend all my time on Thunderbird five or our tropical island home, this temperature change is very unwelcome. Seeing Alan huddling miserably under his own covering next to me I'm reminded that he has the same climate problem as I do, and I sling an arm around his shoulders to pull him close.
He glares at me but doesn't shrug me off – we're both grateful for the body-heat. This rescue has been hard on all of us, but he's definitely showing the worst signs of wear. At only nineteen he's still too young in my eyes for the horrors we've seen today, even though the rest of us were exposed to the same at his age. Nah, he'll always be my baby brother, and a part of me will never stop trying to wrap him in cotton wool. And I know he hates that since Scott and Virgil are exactly the same.
A distant rumbling under my feet draw me from these musings and Alan shifts restlessly beside me.
"What was that?" He sounds so tired, but then I suppose we all do by now.
"I'm not sure..." I tap my wrist com in the vain hope that I can get it working again despite knowing that the heat from the inferno had shattered it. I could do with talking to Scott right now; that hadn't felt good.
There's another tremor, enough to make me stand up from the rubble we had sat on to stare in consternation at the smouldering distillery.
"Alan...."
He switches his gaze from the wreckage to me with a questioning look. I don't really need him to answer my question, I'm thinking out-loud and he's just an available medium.
"How much alcohol was in there?" My voice is steady which is a surprise since a cold shock has just run through my spine. The implications of my own question are already sleeting down on me. Next to me I can see Alan go deathly pale and I reach out to steady him automatically. We both know that there are upwards of ten thousand gallons of ethanol stored in there, each in the titanic hundred gallon tanks that still stand in the factory centre. With the heat of the fire they must have reached boiling point a long time ago, only the highly tempered steel has been holding back the inevitable explosion.
"We've got to warn the others!" With both our coms down there's no other choice. I sprint off towards the flaming buildings, letting my blanket flutter away from my shoulders to land God-knows where. At least the area is cleared of civilians now, but with my other three brothers in there my heart was leaping to my mouth.
I hear Alan call something about splitting up to look before he veers off in another direction. I trust him to look after himself, although it grates against the 'older brother' centre in my brain. Damnit! This is why setting up a rescue team as a family business has it's down sides; we're constantly worrying about each other and –
---------------------------------
Intense noise, a blinding light.
What happened?
I open my eyes to see snow falling down gently unto my up-turned face. It is glowing gently, illuminated by the fire...
Fire!
The distillery, the ethanol tanks, one of them must have blown!
I roll onto my stomach, my head pounding from the ringing in my ears. Damnit, I must have been pretty close to it, it feels like I've got a burn along the side of my cheek. Resting my forearms on the ground I attempt to use them to push myself to my knees...
Holy Hell!!!
Crippling pain shoots through my left wrist, to the point that black stars swim across my vision. Shit. I know a broken bone when I feel one. How bad is it...? Gingerly I roll my torn sleeve up to assess the damage done...
Mary mother of God!
I hurriedly pull the material back, trying to keep down the bile that has bubbled up my throat. Okay, quite a bit of damage done then. Thankfully the flood of adrenaline through my body dulls the pain somewhat. I think I've heard Brains refer to this as an open oblique fracture – a break running diagonal to the bone's axis – but to me it just means I have two jagged lengths of bone erupting from the side of my wrist. Shit. Scotty and Virge are gonna have a field day with this one!
Clutching my useless arm to my chest I re-attempt sitting up and this time succeed. There is flaming debris scattered as far as I can see and despite my head now clearing a little from the fog that had consumed it, there is still a shrill ringing in my right ear. I carefully reach up and feel the slick wetness sliding down the side of my face. Oh you're kidding me! A ruptured eardrum as well? My day is just getting better and better! I sure hope that the others aren't too badly hurt or our dear paramedics will have their hands full with us –
CRAP!!! Where were my brothers when that thing went up? God, if any of them were near it...
Forgetting that I've just burst my ear-drum I scramble to my feet. Oh hell, not a good idea! The world swims dizzyingly around me as I struggle to keep my footing and I grind out a few choice swear words. Okay, lets try this a little slower.
It takes me a few faltering steps before I can successfully work around my impaired balance, but right now I'm determined enough to get back to that building even if I have to crawl there. Thankfully it doesn't look like I'll have to since after a couple of long strides I feel confident enough to break into a run.
I don't notice how long it takes me to find a way back into the smouldering ruin, screaming my brother's names as I do so. It's hard going since I didn't stop to put on a respirator. In retrospect that was a dumb thing to do; the air inside is stifling, and the fire is robbing it of the remaining oxygen. Oh well, too late to worry about that now.
It feels like hours before I hear someone call my name, although I know it can only have been minutes. I struggle through the smoke trying to pin-point the sound – I hadn't fully appreciated how much my ear injury will hold me back until now – and at last I get a clear fix on it. I hear my name called again – although the noise is still hazy – but much clearer and worrying I hear a cry of pain.
There's a tangle of broken metal blocking my way, and I spend an agonising few minutes trying to crawl through. Once on the other side I almost wish I hadn't been able to find a way into the small space.
Virgil is kneeling down with his back to me, a sparse selection of medical supplies scattered around him. I don't realise what he's concentrating on until a shriek of pain echoes around the confined space. My heart stops in my chest.
Oh dear God, Gordon!
I stumble the last few steps and collapse to my knees next to Vigil, already looking past him and at my second youngest brother.
"Watch what the hell you're doing Virge! That bloody hurts – John!" Well, at least Gordon isn't totally out of it; so what made him yell like that? I make the mistake and look him over.
Shit.
Really: S.H.I.T.
Gordon's right leg is stretched out from him and twisted peculiarly, an obvious break. That isn't what's nearly got me hyperventilating though; it's the other injury. He sees my look of obvious horror and tries to grin. It looks more like a grimace.
"Not pretty, huh?"
"I'll say." I manage weakly.
Not pretty is the understatement of the century! A thick metal bolt from a ceiling girder has gone straight through his left thigh. As in clean through. As in I can see both sides of it.
I think I'm going to be sick!
No. No, I can't right now, I can't react like this. I've got to help my little brothers and I refuse to be sickened by a little blood! Virgil's hands are coated in the red gore as he applies a second gauze on top of the first blood-soaked one, never once relieving the pressure he's keeping on the wound or removing the first compress. Okay, make that a lot of blood!
"John!" Virgil's voice is harsh and I turn to look at him – anything to get that image of Gordon's leg from my mind. There's a livid burn across Virgil's brow, and he looks exhausted, but beyond that I can't see anything wrong with him. "John..." He reaches out to steady me – I hadn't realised I'd been swaying – and then retracts his bloodied hand. Gordon's blood. The bile rises again.
"John!" This time it's Gordon who shouts my name, but it's with worry, and that makes me shake all feelings of nausea from my head. Gordon is worried about me when there's a nine inch steel bolt impaled in his leg?! Damnit all, this is why I stay in space; I'm useless in these situations! My horror and concern have knocked all professionalism from me. A faceless voice full of pain and fear is something I can deal with from an International Rescue point of view, and although I feel for each and every caller, I can emotionally detach myself because I can't see them.
But now's not the time for insecurities, my brother could be dying for all I know. Turning to Virgil I fix him with a steady stare.
"What can I do to help?"
A relieved grin lights his face, and I'm reminded of just how much pressure he must be under as the only one of the three of us to know what he's doing. I know that look he's giving me – he's used since he was old enough to focus on a person – I'm his big brother and now that I'm here everything will be alright. It's nice in a way, only myself and Scott ever get the privilege of helping him like thi-
Crap! Scott....Alan...
In my panic over Gordon I've completely forgotten about the other two! How could I do that???
"Virge, have you heard from the other two?" I don't like how panicked I sound, and the smile slips from is face as quickly as it appeared. He doesn't need to verbally answer me, and I begin to clamber to my feet. "I'll go look-"
"No." He pulls me back to my knees, his eyes briefly glancing on my broken wrist before focussing on the trail of blood from my ear. "You're lucky you even managed to get in here in that state; your balance must be appalling."
I nod, knowing better than to lie to him when it's obvious from my attempt at standing that I'm currently about as steady as a new-born kitten.....Did I just compare myself to a cat? Looks like I'm losing it!
"And besides," He continues. "I need your help."
I glance back at Gordon then look hurriedly away again. Virgil's slipped back into 'medic-mode' and is now going through the details of Gordon's injury that I really could have done without. But it doesn't occur to me not to listen; I know that that much blood is not a good sign, and I'd sail through hell and high water if it means helping one of my brothers. Interrupting the flow of medical jargon I repeat my earlier question:
"Virge, what can I do to help?"
His gaze darts from myself to Gordon and I know the eldest of my three younger siblings well enough to tell that something is seriously wrong and he's reluctant to share. I'm about to make a third repeat when he blurts out:
"His femoral artery has been severed."
Wait. What? Please tell me I heard that wrong. For the love of God tell me my hearing's screwed up!
"That's not good, right?" We both glance at Gordon, our frowns confirming his suspicions. He must already be feeling the effects of blood-loss if he even needed to ask that question. I look to Virgil for guidance but he's busy sorting through the sparse amount of medical supplies that are scattered around us. Actually, that's a point...
"Virge, where's the rest of your kit?" I try to keep my voice as calm as I can – nearly impossible considering the situation. He nods his head in the direction of the tangled wall supports.
"I was examining Gordon's broken leg when the tanker exploded and the ceiling came down on us. That's when this-" He indicates to the more serious wound that he is still applying constant pressure to. "-Happened. I got us out, but all our equipment is buried. The hover bikes, the respirators, my med-stuff, the lot." He sounds terse, and a slight tremble to his voice tells me that my little brother is stressed to breaking point. "I need to get him back to Two; all the proper equipment is there, but I need to stabilise him for the move, and we don't have anything to move him on and-" He cuts himself off mid-sentence and takes deep breath to calm himself. "And I'm not helping by freaking out like this."
I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder. "You aren't freaking out Virge, you're doing fine. Now you worry about the immediate problem and I'll concentrate on getting him out of here." I make it sound so simple, but I know it's gonna be a lot harder than just walking him out of this twisted mess of masonry and I have no idea how to make good my promise.
Virgil smiles ever so slightly – he knows just how dumb I'm being. Taking another deep breath he focuses back on the task in hand.
"Okay, we don't have time to fetch anything from Two; he'll bleed out before we're even half-way there. I need to close up the wound at least enough to stabilise him for transport, then we'll concentrate on getting out." And as easy as that my scared younger brother has vanished again to be replaced with a collected and calm medic. It's times like this when I'm so proud and so glad that I have such amazing siblings.
"Okay, what do you need me to do?" I ask. How many times have I had to repeat that now?!
He looks back at Gordon, who's been following our conversation silently. I can see that Virge is trying to phrase a difficult piece of news, and I wonder what in hell could be more worrying than the current situation. Gordon has noticed as well, and he pulls himself up onto his elbows with a grimace of pain.
"For the love of God, Virge, I'm a big boy now; tell me what you're going to do!" He demands, his voice strained but every bit as full of fire as usual. It's comforting in a weird way. Virgil seems to take heart from it as much as I do; because the most genuine smile I've seen since finding the two of them breaks across his face.
"You're right Gords, I'm sorry."
Despite the pain he must be feeling, my red-headed terror of a sibling grins. "You just admitted that I'm right? Damn! Should have recorded that!"
That draws small chuckles from both Virgil and myself, and a flash of triumph crosses Gordon's face at having broken the tense atmosphere; he's a clever one when he wants to be. Virge is looking a hell of a lot more relaxed now as he begins to pick out rolls of bandages with one hand, whilst the other keeps the continual pressure on Gordon's thigh.
"Alright Gords, I'll be honest with you." His voice sounds less harassed now, another good sign. "Your femoral artery has been severed, and yes that's a very bad thing." He waits patiently for Gordon to digest this information and when our little brother nods he continues. "Right, now I need to get you back to Two so that I can see to this properly and possibly start a blood transfusion."
Gordon nods again, his pained gaze focussed intently on Virgil.
"Following you so far." He says lightly, although there's distinct worry building up behind his eyes.
Virgil switches which hand is holding the gauze down to readjust the strapping bound tightly above the wound – which I guess is acting as a tourniquet. "Good. Now, I can't transport you like this, you'll bleed out – infact you would have already done so if I hadn't been here to sort you out." There's a gentle teasing tone to his voice, but I can see the tension creeping back into his shoulders. "To stop that from happening I'm going to put a few stitches in now to keep everything closed for the move back to my 'Bird. Make sense?"
Unfortunately our trouble-loving sibling is still pretty sharp even when in pain and suffering from blood loss. His gaze shoots from Virgil to the pile of twisted masonry and back to Virgil.
"Your med-kit was buried along with everything else." He says flatly.
I look to Virgil for an answer and see that his frown has made a re-appearance; combining with the burn he's received to make him look significantly older. Not that I'll tell him that. Yet.
"Yes, that's where the main problem lies." He says carefully. "I've got bandages aplenty, and my needles and thread were in my pocket at the time but –"
Gordon cuts him off. "You don't have any anaesthetic."
Ah...
I look between the two of them as Virgil nods. Gordon bites his lip, the remaining colour slowly leaching from his face as he sizes up the enormity of what is being proposed. This is big. Scrap that, this is huge! How the hell is Virgil expecting to do this?
I think our red-headed-terror is concealing his horror quite well all things considered, but I'm not sure how long that will last. His gaze flickers from his mutilated leg to Virgil and then back again – he's so pale I'm now worried about him fainting. At Virgil's nod I slip round behind Gordon just in time as his elbows buckle and his upper body crashes back down to the floor. I catch his head on my knees, saving him from a rather nasty bump, and he grins weakly up at me; an odd sight considering that to my view he's upside-down.
"Is there no other way we can get him out?" I ask. Huh, I know damn well that there isn't but it's something that needs to be said if only to convince us all that this needs to be done. Virgil doesn't even deign me with an answer, just a raised eyebrow. I sigh heavily and nod. "Fine, what do I need to do?"
Virgil doesn't look at Gordon as he replies: "Hold him down."
Gordon splutters in outrage at that. "Virgil! I'm not a baby; I can deal with you pulling a bolt out of my leg!" He insists, attempting to sit back up again. His glare is so intense that I'm surprised our music loving brother's hair hasn't caught fire. As it is, Virgil just glares back.
"First off, I'm not insinuating that you're a wuss, secondly it'll hurt more than you think it will. And thirdly," His frown deepens. "I'm not pulling the bolt out yet Gords; it's far safer where it is until I can get you back home, or at least into Two. I'm only putting in stitches right now"
This doesn't seem to sit well with Gordon. His mouth opens and shuts a few times before he can find his voice.
"You're leaving it in?!" He shrieks. I jump, not expecting this reaction. Gordon is now fighting my attempts to hold him lying down, clearly panicking. "Virge, you gotta get that out of my leg!"
"Gordon!" Virgil can't move very far, considering that he has to keep a constant pressure on the wound, but he shifts enough to place a restraining hand on the red-heads chest. "You know I can't take it out here, you'll bleed out!"
"I don't care!"
I can clearly see what's happening, it's just dealing with it that's the issue. Blood-loss and pain are clouding his judgement; he's obviously not thinking straight if he's freaking out this badly. It's horrible seeing my light-hearted brother in such a state – his eyes are wild with panic as he fights the two of us.
"Virge, please, you gotta take it out, I don't want that thing stuck in my leg any more!" He's as white as a sheet and there's a thin sheen of cold sweat covering his face as he tries to persuade Virgil to his point of view. He's struggling again and Virgil's having a hard time keeping the compression on the wound.
"Gordon." I keep my voice low and soothing, like I'm talking to a frightened animal. Hum, I probably shouldn't tell him I've just compared him like that...However, I've caught his attention and he looks up at me, his frightened breathing slowing slightly. "Gords, calm down, you're going to be absolutely fine." I gently persuade him to lie back down, his head resting on my knees again and I run my good hand through his filthy hair. "Now, do what Virgil says."
He manages a weak grin. "You've got to be kidding, I never do what I'm told."
"This is one time you're going to have to." Virgil states dryly, but not without a gentle teasing tone. There's a long silence as our little brother looks between the two of us. Finally he nods and stops fighting against our attempts to calm him down. I can feel his upper body relax against my knees and he closes his eyes with a deep breath.
A smile crosses Virgil's face. "There's a good little trouble-maker." He adeptly manages to prepare the things he needs with only one hand whilst keeping a firm pressure on the wound – it's amazing how he can do so much whilst diligently making sure the compress remains in place.
Gordon looks up at me, crosses his arms over his chest and reaches up to hold my hands so that he can't struggle even if he wants to. I don't deny him the comfort, despite the pain that shoots through my wrist as I move my arm – he doesn't seem to notice the immobility of the joint. Virgil does, since I catch the admonishing glare he sends me, but he doesn't mention it, and I'm pretty sure that I can cope with this as long as I don't attempt to move it. It's just a dull throb at the moment as it is; as long as the pain doesn't escalate I'll be fine.
There's a sudden crash from the smouldering beams and all three of us glance at them warily – with all the kerfuffle going on here we'd forgotten just how perilous our surroundings still are. We're lucky that this is a false alarm, and as one of the girders falls out of the way Scott's silhouette appears against the remaining flames.
"There you guys are." The relief in his voice is very audible and I can't help my own relief at seeing my big brother safe. He's not looking too worse for wear, thank God, although there's a rather impressive bandage wrapping around his right thigh, and I can see ice-gel seeping through which means it must be a burn.
"Scott!" Virgil looks as relieved as I'm feeling. "You're still in one piece then?" He doesn't wait for an answer and I see his gaze focus on the bag Scott has slung over one shoulder. "You still have your MedKit!"
"Of course, where's yours?"
He nods his head towards the wreckage. "Buried. Chuck yours over; I need to steal some local anaesthetic."
Scott does so without question, and I chuckle as Gordon's eyes follow the bag like it's the Holy Grail.
"Oh thank God!" He breathes, with so much relief in his voice that even Virgil laughs as he measures out the correct dosage of anaesthetic into the hypodermic syringe. "Scott, I don't think words can express how much I love you right now!"
Scott smiles as he kneels down beside us, but I can see the worry in his eyes as he takes in the wound that all our attention has been focussed on. He looks up at Virgil as our younger brother checks the syringe for air bubbles.
"I'll go find Alan. You'll be okay handling this?"
"Yeah, and can you get a stretcher and blankets from Two as well, we'll need to transport him and there's no way he's walking with both legs busted." Virgil replies. He grins at Gordon. "Now Gords, looks like you've been saved by the bell. Think you can handle a shot of local?"
Gordon laughs weakly, relief colouring his voice. "Right now I'd welcome it! I don't think you guys realise how much this hurts!" He releases his death grip on my hands, but keeps his fingers tangled with mine for the reassurance. A wince passes over his features as the needle goes into his leg and the anaesthetic is injected. As much as this is preferable to the stitches going in I can sympathise with how much that stuff stings! The fact that it's possible to feel the damn stuff spreading through each and every capillary in the immediate area is not pleasant. However, in a few moments Gordon relaxes against me, and when Virgil asks he confirms that the numbness has set in.
Scott quietly slips away as Virgil finally gets to work. Gordon doesn't watch, and I certainly don't blame him! Now that the initial shock I'd originally felt at the situation has abated I'm not so repulsed by the wound, but even so it's not pretty. How Virgil can be so calm and unemotional whilst doing this I don't know. Then again, I've seen Scott help amputate a woman's arm as she lay trapped under the rubble of her house after an earthquake. I can never admire my brother's enough for being able to do these things.
There's a small sound – only just audible to me with my busted ear-drum but it catches my attention, and I look up.
I can't describe the relief that washes over me when I see my youngest brother shoulder his way through the same gap between the girders that Scott has just left by. He's stumbling slightly, and even in the glow of the fire he looks pale, but when he sees us a small smile appears on his face. My God I'm glad to see him! Now that I know all four of them are alright – or in Gordon's case will be alright – the rush of adrenaline in my system begins to fade.
CRAP! And as the precious hormone degrades it stops inhibiting my pain receptors.
Ouch.
Well, no time to worry about that now – I'll half-inch a couple of paracetamol off Scott before we make our way back home, I can deal with it. Oh, double ouch! Gordon is digging his nails into my hand.
I glance at him, but with the anaesthetic he's not actually in pain, just disliking the feeling of the needle. My gaze darts straight back to Alan, since he's now become my primary concern. The kid – he's eighteen, I'm allowed to call him that! – still has the blanket wrapped tightly around himself, despite the heat that the fire is chugging out. I frown in consternation at that. Okay, so I'm rusty with my first-aid skills, but I can recognise shock when I see it and I'm seeing it right infront of me in my youngest brother. I can't leave Gords, but I call over to the Sprout;
"Hey, you okay kiddo?"
He nods silently, but his wan smile lightens a little and I think that beyond the shock of the situation and the rescue he's alright. Or at least will be once he's got a hot cup of strong sugary tea inside him. Grandma will see to that, though.
Looking back at what Virgil's doing, even I can tell that the bleeding's slowing substantially. He finally removes all of the gauzes he's had in place to put in the last few stitches and I screw my face up in disgust at the sight of the wound. Gordon also looks down, but by this point the blood-loss has robbed him of the energy to really react to the situation adversely and he just wrinkles his nose.
"That's gonna leave a helluva scar." He mutters. Virgil's still concentrating, so I'm the one that responds.
"Just another to add to your collection of war-wounds Gords." I say cheerfully. He grins up at me, but his gaze isn't as focussed as it should be and I've picked up on the slur in his voice. Damnit all, where's Scott with that stretcher? We need to get our little aquanaut a blood transfusion pretty quick if I'm any judge.
"Okay, there we go." Virgil says, a smile warming his face as he begins tightly re-bandaging around the bolt.
"Guess 'm not gonna be swimming f'r a while." Gordon mumbles.
"No, I'm afraid you won't." Virgil glances up at me with worry in his eyes before leaning over to touch Gordon lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, kiddo, look at me a sec'." He orders gently. The red-head takes a moment to process what was said, and a woozy glare crosses his face at the unintentional 'kiddo' Virge threw in, but he does as he's told.
"Well?" I ask. In my peripheral vision I see Alan edge forward to hear as well. He may not have said anything so far, but the worry he's radiating is almost a visible cloud around him and I turn my head to smile reassuringly at him. He returns it, but I can still see that something is wrong – beyond the concern that is. I'll get Scott to check him over once we're back at the 'Birds.
Virgil busies himself with double-checking the bandages. "The bolt has hit bone, causing a compound fracture of the femur, although that was to be expected. There is also serious damage to the surrounding muscles and connective tissues –" He looks up at me and gives a small teasing grin. "– although I won't go into detail on which ones, since you're not exactly up to speed on anatomy. And as you already know, the femoral artery has been severed which has resulted in blood-loss."
"Tell me about it..." Gordon mutters dramatically. He shifts uncomfortably as Virgil double checks the dressing on his other leg. "Watch it, that wound isn't numbed." He's unable to sound very emphatic, but Virge mumbles an apology anyway.
Scott reappears over my shoulder, and I move out of the way – letting go of Gordon's hands in the process – to let him help Virgil move our little brother onto the stretcher he's fetched. Feeling a bit redundant I start shouldering my way through the narrow passage way that leads to the outside, pushing aside what I can to make it easier for them to manoeuvre the stretcher through after me. Alan follows my lead, pulling debris out of the way. Like me he's only using one hand, but in his case it's because the other is clutching the blanket still, not that the bone is poking out like mine.
I shudder at the memory. Okay, I'll admit it; spending forever in my beloved 'Bird has made me a little...well, soft I guess, in comparison to the others. I just can't handle seeing my own injuries. Yeah. Wuss, I know.
I run out of wall and stumble as my lack of balance tips me sideways. This is already losing its novelty! Turning back I grin at Alan's worried expression. "You still okay kiddo?" He nods, and although I don't believe him I accept the answer for now. I can hardly stand upright; I'm not really in any position to start trying to mother the kid.
Heh, like that's gonna stop me! I wait for him to catch up with me and we walk (well, limp) towards the huge bulk of Thunderbird Two side by side. I may not be able to help him medically, but I can help him by being with him – if Scott's presence makes me feel better then hopefully Alan will cheer up under the 'older brother' influence too.
It takes me a good few minutes to guide myself up the stairs and into the cockpit; my brain keeps insisting that the ground is at a thirty degree slope. I'm hoping that this is a normal side effect to a ruptured ear drum.
Sinking into the pilots chair I stare blankly at the mass of lights, widgets and controls that apparently make sense. At least when I'm sitting the dizziness has gone. Oh goody, a silver lining.
"John?" Virgil's voice crackles through on the com, and I flick it on from my connection.
"Kai Zhala?" There's a small snuffle of laughter from Alan at my reply; I love using other languages, and it bugs the hell out of Virgil since he's pretty useless at anything beyond French. "What's up?" I translate before my younger brother can snap at me – we don't have time for arguments at the moment.
"Gordy's lost consciousness and I'm loath to leave him, can you still remember how to fly 'Two?" I can hear the worry in his voice – Gordon's probably worse than he's letting on. Panic bubbles up inside me; both at how injured our little brother is, and that Virge wants me to fly this mammoth of a ship. "John? Can you?"
He's not panicking, but that's only thanks to his iron self control – I don't need to add to the stress he's obviously under right now. That's what big brothers do right? We protect and comfort the littluns.
"Sure I can."
There's a little snort from Alan and I throw a glare in his direction.
Okay...flying Thunderbird Two. I can do this. My 'Bird has the simulator programs for all of the machines for me to keep up to speed in the operating of them. It's supposed to mean that I'm ready for these sorts of emergencies. Unfortunately those simulators don't account for Virgil's tendency to mess around with and modify the controls. I think I can fly this thing, but I'm gonna have to have serious words with my younger brother about telling me when he's changed things.
I carefully tap out a sequence and am relieved to hear the engines fire up. Feeling somewhat more confident I finish with the rest of the controls and there's the gentle purr that tells me the huge machine is still doing what I'm telling her. Tapping the radio I key in the connection to home.
"Thunderbird Two to Tracy Island, come in Tracy Island."
Dad must be worried since he connects the call in record time.
"This is Tracy Island. Is that you John?"
"Yeah, Gordon's been injured and Virgil doesn't want to leave him unattended."
There's a sharp intake of breath, and I can tell that I've worried him.
"Alan and Scott?"
"Scott's got minor injuries but is okay to fly, and Alan's in shock." I reply. "I'm the only one left to fly Two right now."
"Be careful."
I snort. "Aren't I always?"
"You haven't flown for a long time John..."
I can hear the doubt in his voice and it's irritating. It would be nice if someone in my family had some faith in me.
"I'll be fine. I'll radio in when we're airborne." I cut the link. Thinking about it I haven't cut Dad off in the middle of a call for years – it's generally Alan or Scott who do that, after Dad tries to tell them what to do. I guess I'm somewhat on edge right now. With that as an after thought I open the com-link to the med-bay.
"Virgil, are you and Gordy strapped in? I'm taking off and this could be a little rough."
There's grim determination in Virgil's voice as he replies. "Yeah, we're good. Be careful."
I wish people wouldn't keep saying that!
Okay then. I can do this.
I can see Thunderbird One already in the air and I bite down the nervous feeling in my stomach – here goes nothing...
With a prayer addressed to whom-ever-may-be-listening, I guide the huge machine up into the air and hover her carefully. Yes! Success! Looks like I can do this after all. Alan snickers slightly in the passenger seat as I punch the air triumphantly, with my non-broken arm obviously.
With much more confidence I increase our height and swing her round to face our home-going direction. Hah! I knew I could still do it, piece of cake! All lights are green, all systems are go, things are looking good.
Oh. Oh wait a moment.
My hearing is somewhat impaired right now, but even I can hear that rumbling noise, and looking at how pale Alan's just gone (well, pale-er) I think he's hearing it too. I grab the com-link out of instinct.
"Virge, secure everything down there, things are about to get rough!"
"What?!"
"Just do it-"
The remaining ethanol tankers explode.
You get all that crap in books about things like this happening in slow motion, well, the only thing in slow-mo around here is my brain! I can see the wall of fire shoot up to the height we're cruising at – a hundred, two hundred feet maybe – taking with it the twisted steel and titanium that once made up the rest of the distillery. It's a friggin column of hell-fire and I'm flying right into it. No time to dodge, or weave, or go over. Oh God, what do I do???
The only thing I can do. The medical bay is below the helm, and back a little, they're completely exposed to the brunt of the heat at this approach angle. Thunderbird Two is a transporter, she can't handle heat like that! If there was ever some kind of divine power, I could really really do with some help right about now.
Broken arm clamped to my chest – and funny, it's stopped hurting again – I wrench the steering wheel a full three sixty just as we hit the inferno.
Alan's screaming. I'm screaming. Two is screaming. Flames lick at the windshield for a moment – the blistering heat enough to crack it – before the roll progresses and we just get a nice panoramic view of the fire-lit sky. Oh look, the stars are out.
Does this count as shock? Cool.
And then the floor becomes gravity's target once more, and the air infront of us is merely full of ash and dust. We're through the fire.
Wow, anticlimactic or what? I was on the point of having an aneurism about half a micro-second ago, and now it's all over? Where's the logic in that? We could have only been in that inferno for micro – nano seconds, and yet it could have killed us. International Rescue could have lost four of its five pilots. Scott would have become an only child. That thought makes me snigger.
He's always moaned about us and that being an only child would be so much easier, and now it came so close to actually happening. Once the laughter's started I can't stop! I hunch over the steering wheel, giggling like a maniac. I'm laughing so hard that I'm crying!
Or...maybe I've stopped laughing now. I'm only crying.
Yeah.
We nearly died. We nearly died and it would have been my fault. This is why I should be left in Five – I just barrel-rolled Thunderbird Two for Gods sake! There's a voice in the back of my head – my little scientist – telling me that the roll had saved us, that it had distributed the heat evenly across the ship and prevented critical thermal damage and explosion. I kick said little scientist. Right now I don't want to know.
"...John, come in Thunderbird Two!"
"Huh?" Oh man, it's Scott, and he sounds pissed. I gingerly hit the comlink. "H-Hi Scott." Great. My voice has gone all shaky.
"John! Thank God! That was-"
"Stupid, yeah, I know." I grit my teeth and grab the steering wheel with my bad hand so I can use my uninjured arm to wipe the stupid tears away. Now that the fear's dying down, the pain is blooming again.
"Actually, I thought it was incredible."
What? That's such an....unusual thing for my big brother to say, in these situations at any rate.
"Scott?" I ask quietly.
I hear him sigh shakily. "I hadn't even fully realised what was happening, and you had already assessed the situation and acted accordingly. That was....beyond amazing Johnny."
Amazing? My big brother thinks I did something amazing? Childish pride warms me slightly – although I have to admit, it felt anything but amazing to me. Terrifying is a much better description. I laugh softly – ah, and it's nice to know that my voice is less trembling now.
"You aren't the only speedy one, Fly-boy." I can almost see Scott frowning at that. "I've got NASA trained reflexes, remember?"
"Y-yeah." Wow. He sounds really shaken. "God John, I thought I'd lost you all. When I saw that fire..."
"I kinda thought we were for it too." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I know just how true they are. I had really thought I was going to die. My little brothers...I nearly killed them. We just flew through deaths jaws, shook hands with the reaper, flew to hell and back; Like a Bat out of Hell...
"John! Get a grip!"
Jeeze, did I actually just sing that? I don't even like Meatloaf. Another giggle rumbles up my throat. At least, it feels like a giggle, but my ears actually process a sob. I quickly cover it with a cough – to hell with Scott knowing just how scared I was. And how scared I still am.
Damnit all boy, get a hold of yourself! You're a professional, you need to act like one!
I cough again, grip the steering wheel with my good hand, and turn to glance over my shoulder at Alan. In the process of turning, I glue a bright smile to my face.
"You alright there Sprout?"
He still isn't talking. And boy does he look pale. I'm guessing my little barrel-roll didn't exactly help his shock much....I repeat my question, and thank God he at least looks up and nods. His smile looks a little odd, kinda tight and strained. We need to get this kid a cup of tea and pronto.
Mmm, tea. I could do with a cup too, thinking about it. Warm, tasty, calming tea. With milk. Lots and lots of milk. How Scott can't stand the stuff, I'll never know.
"...Radio Dad, he wants to know what just happened?"
Huh? Oh, Scott was saying something. Oops. Radio Dad was it? Probably a good idea.
"Sure Scott, I'll tell him we're on our way." I hit the radio link again, cutting off my older brother before he can reply. He's not going to be happy about that I'm willing to bet. "Thunderbird Two to Tracy Island yet again, come in Dad."
There's static. That can't be good. Never mind, Scott will inform him of what happened, so it's not like it's a major problem or something.
That little scientist/voice of reason has made an unwelcome reappearance; I am well aware that this is very unlike me, thank you, stupid voice! What do you expect?! I'm obviously going to be irrational and out of sorts. And no I don't need to call Virgil for help, I am perfectly fine and not at all in shock or freaking out in anyway shape or form, so shut up!!!
Great. I'm having a blazing row with my own brain. Braaaaain Freeeeeze!
Right. Okay. Deep breath and count to five. Right I'm good, I'm calm. Lavender, think of lavender. That's a quote from somewhere isn't it? Finding Nemo I think. Now that is a good film! Gords is the only other one in the family to like it though, which figures. Hmm, I haven't seen that film in years, I want to watch it now. Maybe once I've got home – once I've made sure all the others are alright and have had medical treatment that is – I'll grab a slice of pizza or something, dive in the shower then curl up in bed and watch Disney movies. Now that sounds like a plan!
But which to watch first? Something heroic, I've always liked superheroes. Hey, do we count as superheroes? The Thunderbirds – rescuers extraordinaire, yeah, we should so qualify! I'll get Virge to write us a theme song when we've all recovered somewhat from this rescue. A big theme song, with lots of fun triumphant bits, and an impressive drumbeat. Yeah!
Actually, all things considered, it's probably a good thing that we aren't superheroes. After all; I'm hardly the hero type. Who ever heard of a superhero who sat on his ass all day in a space station writing Starwars fanfiction?! Well, at least my family don't know about that little hobby; I've password protected and locked my files down to the extent that Brains couldn't hack into them if he tried. I'd hate to see what fun Gordy would poke at me if he knew I was writing little 'happy ever after's about Han and Leia......
Scary thought, I just won't go there.
I need to update actually. I'll do it once I'm back on Five. I miss being on Five – life's so much simpler up there, no-ne expects me to fly anything! Well, other than Three, but I can do that with my eyes shut.
"John? Hello? Earth to space-boy, come in Thunderbird Two!"
Huh? Oh, it's Scott. Hi Scott.
"Thunderbird Two, please respond!"
Oops, I didn't reply out-loud – now that is how out of it I am! I hit the com-link. "Thunderbird Two reading you loud and clear."
"John, thank God!" Oh dear, sounds like I haven't been answering for a while. I really hadn't noticed. "What the hell were you thinking about to be that out of it?!" And now Scott sounds pissed.
"I'd just kinda zoned out. Sorry. What is it?"
"You zoned out whilst flying Thunderbird Two." Scott's voice is flat and unamused, that probably wasn't the best thing I could have said.
"What did you want Scott?" Well, I really don't have the patience to deal with him if he's just going to moan at me.
"We're nearing the Island, bank for final approach."
We are? I quickly check the instrument panel infront of me; yup, Scott's right. My brain had actually processed this on automatic during my little digression back there and it's weird to realise I have already started the landing procedure. Cool, go brain.
Okay; stabilise flight, check wind-speed, align approach angle, recheck thrusters, lower landing gear–
What's that scrapping sound?
Lower the landing gear.....There it is again.
Crap.
There are red lights firing up all over the consol, what the hell's happened?!
"John?" And that's Scott again, so not the best time! "John, why haven't you got the undercarriage down?"
"Because we don't currently have one!" I punch a few more buttons. Oh for the love of God please let the reverse thrusters still be working, they're somewhat rather vital!
A loud roar and we're slowing down dramatically. Thank you thank you thank you!!! Somebody up there does love me!
"John-"
"Scott, I'm really kinda busy right now!" I turn the com off completely. Like he could help anyway. Okay, let's do this thing! I flick the intercom to the med-bay – I guess I need to warn the others.
"Virge, is Gordon okay?"
"Yeah, he's woken up again, but he's groggy." Virgil sounds somewhat less stressed, and I'm glad of that.
"Right, you two need to get into the crash positions, we're making an emergency landing."
There's a sharp intake of breath, then; "John, what the hell have you done to my ship?!"
"Nothing, the undercarriage is malfunctioning, but it should be fixable." I've probably just broken a world record considering I managed to get that sentence out and turn the com back off in less than a second. Even so I can practically hear his horrified 'WHAT!?' echoing throughout the ship. He's not going to be a happy bunny when we've landed – artist or not I doubt he'll see the aesthetics within the spider web-like cracks in the windshield. His windshield.
I'm so dead.
Alright, morbidity, and the assurance of future brotherly vengeance aside, I need to land this baby.
"Alan, crash position." I glance at him and he nods, tight-lipped and pale-faced; he's worse than I thought, the sooner we land the better!
Okay. Landing.
Reverse thrusters to maximum, steady approach angle, nose at 23 degree down-angle – right, here we go.
The general thrum of the engines goes up a tone and then some. I'm not surprised that they're sounding strained, they're built to land a fully functioning ship, and Brains could only do so much to prepare them for this sort of situation. The landing strip is getting closer and closer and I find that once again I've gone into automatic as my fingers fly over the controls – woo, go fingers!
A very quick glance back tells me that Alan is curled over protectively in the crash position. I wish I could do the same – I'm feeling incredibly vulnerable up here at the very front of the ship, how does Virgil do this on a day to day basis???
Okay, the palm-trees are down, the fire-hoses are up and the landing-strip is looming. Here goes nothing...
Down, down, levelling, down, level a little more and-
There isn't really a word for how loud the squeal of metal on concrete is as our green monster touches down momentarily before, um, bouncing. Virgil is going to kill me!!!
Bounce once, twice – with me screaming all the way, this is not good for my blood pressure! – and then we glide (read into that 'we scrape sickeningly across the concrete'). Good God we must have ripped through the base of the ship by now!
I'm screaming, Alan's screaming, the damn ship is screaming – this is like an action movie gone wrong – and for the love of God we aren't stopping! The cliff is looming up like some rocky monster of doom and this stupid hunk of junk won't stop!
...This is going to be the lamest death ever!
I know that according to general custom my life is supposed to flash before my eyes here. Actually it's not, all I can see are news-paper clippings:
Thunderbirds ended by wall.
Thunderbirds are stop.
International Rescue meets Pink Floyd – The Wall.
IR grounded by cliff.
It's not even like they're very good news-paper clippings. To hell with this!
I unclench my bad arm, grip the steering wheel tight with both hands – and God does it hurt! – and wrench it round one eighty.
The screeching under the hull goes up a notch in volume as we veer round. Oh great. Now we're skidding into the cliff sideways. Come on NASA reflexes, where are you when I need you??? I'm gripping the wheel tight enough to leave prints in the leather – well, at least that means they can identify my body.
Maybe if I close my eyes I won't have to watch...
The whole ship shudders under the impact. The vibrations rip through us – and the chair is getting a little personal – and the cacophony of noise goes up a notch. I wouldn't have though I'd be thankful for a busted ear-drum.
Then, with a very final thump there is silence. Complete and absolute silence.
I open one eye very cautiously. Then both of them.
Oh. Oh boy....
Well, the good news is that we've stopped. The better news is that we're all presumably still alive. But the bad news, the absolutely dreadful news is that – and I wish I had died in the crash, because Virgil is going to brutally string my entrails from the satellite dish for this – is that Thunderbird Two has.....um, lost her wing.
Yeah. I'm going to emigrate to Kazakhstan. Hopefully Virge won't find me there.
Having another cautious peak out of the shattered window – another black mark for me – I can just see the smouldering wreckage of what was once a nice green port wing. Well, at least I know that my 'hit the cliff side-on' tactic worked. The wing took the full impact and absorbed most of the power, crumpling up like a paper fan in the process. Did Brains intentionally fit this thing with crumple-zones? Probably.
There's a very quiet moan from behind me.
"Alan?" I carefully stand up. Very carefully since – as stupid as it sounds – I have no idea if I've actually been injured by that crash or not. Oh adrenaline, how I love thee. Looking round I see that the kid is still bent over in the crash position. All things considered he'll probably never want to fly in the same air-craft with me ever again.
"Alan!" Answer me small-fry! I wobble my way over to his seat and crouch down so that I can try to get him to raise his head up. "Ok, I'm gonna need you to cover for me from Virge, he'll kill me when he sees what I've done to the wing." My bad attempt at humour, which doesn't get a response. "Alan?" Does shock make you unresponsive like this? I'm not the medic around here, but I'd kinda like him to answer me, I'm getting a little worried.
"Kiddo, are you alright?" He isn't responding to me calling him 'kiddo' – this looks bad.
It suddenly occurs to me that despite all that's happened so far tonight, this is the most scared I've been during the whole jinxed mission.
"Kiddo, please, please talk to me!" And I'm begging now.
Maybe that's what does it, or maybe he's just doing it of his own accord but the squirt raises his head to look at me.
"Alan....?"
Bloodless. His face is ashen-grey, eyes huge and staring. I've never seen him look like this and it scares me to death. What the hell is wrong with him?!?
"J-John...?" It's such a quiet whisper that I can't hear it and I have to read his lips to know that he's said my name. Slowly, so very slowly, he uncurls – pulling his arms away from his stomach and letting the blanket slide down to puddle on the floor.
I stare.
It's weird – everything that's happened and I kept expecting things to go into slo-mo, y'know, like in the movies. And now time finally does slow to a crawl.
Blood is soaking the front of his uniform, turning it a sickly garish brown. What the hell happened??!
And then I see it.
A flash of silver that seems oddly out of place amidst all the blood draws my attention to the steel pin – one of those industrial things that hold ceiling girders in place – that's protruding neatly out of his stomach. No. No! For the love of God no!!!
I'm screaming this. Do I care? Hardly. That pin must have been there since the explosion at the distillery and he hasn't said a thing. Not a single effing thing!!!
"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice is hoarse – I think I'm crying.
"Didn't....Didn't want to-to worry you..." He smiles weakly and a thin trickle of blood runs down his chin.
God no!
"Alan!!!" I scream his name frantically as he slowly collapses forward into my arms.
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