[Fic] Rescue, Chapter 8
Rating: K+
Fandom: Thunderbirds
Summary: What happens when the boys find themselves in serious trouble on the way back from a rescue? Trouble that only International Rescue could get them out of.
Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds, I make no profit from this.
Chapter 8
“Tracy Excelsior to Thunderbird Five, come in please.”
“Reading you, Excelsior. What’s going on, Tintin?”
“I’m flying Brains and Doctor Callenson out to Thunderbird Two.” she responded to his surprise.
“Tintin, Virgil and Gordon are going to bring them home. I’m just waiting for confirmation hey’re all aboard.”
“Yes I know, but we could meet them part way. The injuries sound so severe, John.”
“I’m sure Virgil will divert if he thinks it’s necessary. Besides, we don’t know if there’s anywhere there to land the Excelsior.”
“Well you can ask Virgil that when he calls in.”
She sounded remarkably stubborn.
“If nothing e-else, John.” Brains took over. “I’ll need to, ah, examine Thunderbird One and assess the, ah, damage to her systems. I can always parachute down if, ah, necessary.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll pass it on. But be careful - the Excelsior will be hard to handle in this weather.”
“Understood. Excelsior out.”
Virgil staggered back into Thunderbird One, feeling numb with cold and drenched to the bone. The good news was that he could no longer feel his arm. The bad news was that he could no longer feel his arm...
Shaking his head at his own near-delusional thoughts, he managed to straighten and move over to the remaining stretcher. He had put the opaque plastic covers on beforehand, so now he just had to guide it out of here, yet he noticed now that it was rocking slightly. Were the antigrav motors giving way? No - Scott was moving about. Unzipping the top of the cover, he found his brother in the throes of a full-blown panic attack and threatening to pull free of the restraints.
“Hey! Scott! Calm down, Scott, it’s okay. Scott, listen to me. Listen to me. Scott? For god’s sake, Scott, don’t make me have to hit you!”
Scott stared up past him with wild eyes, unable to turn his head because of the brace.
“Virgil?”
Virgil leaned further over the stretcher.
“Yeah, I’m here. Calm down.”
“I... I can’t move...”
“We’ve got you strapped down, remember?”
“I can’t... can’t see you... can’t see...”
Virgil stared down at him, realising that Scott had yet to focus on him.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” he repeated, trying to think of something comforting to say and coming up blank.
What would cause blindness? Scott had not been blind before, had he? Virgil could not remember checking his brother’s eyes other than looking to make sure they were dilating evenly, and then Scott had mainly kept them closed while he had been vomiting. But would Scott have not said something if there had been a problem earlier? Surely he would. He grit his teeth in frustration: they really did not need another problem to deal with right now. Yet even as he watched, Scott’s eyes seemed to focus slowly.
“I couldn’t see anything, it was all blurry.” he said shakily. “What’s happening?”
“You can see me now?” Virgil checked urgently.
“Yeah. My eyes won’t focus properly, but I can see you. Where’ve you been? I was calling.”
“I’m sorry. We had to evacuate Alan first. Gordon’s... Gordon’s staying with him now, and I’ve come back for you.”
Now Scott’s eyes focused sharply and so did his voice.
“Alan? What’s happened?”
“He’s cut himself.” Virgil said vaguely. “How are you feeling?”
“Virgil - what’s happened to Alan?”
“Look you’re the victim here. Trust us to get you out of here.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Mine too. And so are you. And I’m worried about both of you.” Virgil snapped back, his patience worn thin.
Scott blinked at him, and Virgil almost expected him to apologise, but then Scott’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened to your arm?”
He considered downplaying it, but then decided that Scott would get the truth from him one way or another and it might as well be now.
“It’s broken.”
“Broken.” Scott repeated flatly.
“Yes. It’s hurting like hell, if you must know.”
Scott opened his mouth to make a comment then closed it again, going slightly grey.
“Scott?”
The invalid swallowed convulsively, his eyes now closed.
“’m okay.” he mumbled. “Just a bit... nauseous. Comes and goes. V... I trust you. Jus’get me home?”
Virgil shivered, disturbed by the abrupt change in tone. He was not used to being wholly responsible like this. Not at all.
“Yeah, Scott.” he pledged. “I’ll get you home. I promise.”
Alan stared at the ceiling, feeling a twinge from his stomach. It was happening more frequently now - not really hurting yet, but heading that way. Where were Virgil and Gordon? What was taking them so long? This whole situation was absolutely ridiculous.
Tilting his head back he could just make out the monitor above his bed, and the information he saw there was not encouraging. His blood pressure and blood oxygen levels were way down, and his temperature was dropping in spite of the thermal blanket Virgil had awkwardly wrapped around him. He needed medical care, dammit, why were they wasting time? His hands clenched into fists in frustration, then he yelped as the tension in his muscles made the shunt twist in his arm.
“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, using his other hand to gently rub the area and reduce the sting.
As he did so, though, a thought occurred to him, and he lifted his free arm up above him. He was still wearing his watch, which meant he could get some news on what was going on. That should keep him occupied until Virgil and Gordon got back.
“Alan to Thunderbird Five. Alan calling Thunderbird Five, come in please.”
“Alan. How are you?”
“Bored.” he admitted. “What’s happening?”
John frowned at him.
“You don’t know?”
“I know Gordon and Virgil’ve gone back for Scott, but they seem to’ve been gone for ages.”
“Well it’s been twenty-two minutes since Virgil last called in,” John told him, “and that was before they shifted you, so it probably hasn’t been as long as it feels.”
“Huh. Probably.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Strange. Disconnected. It’s the drugs, I guess.”
“Yes.” John paused. “Virgil said he’d used davopax. How bad is it?”
“I haven’t got a clue. They won’t even let me sit up, and it feels like half my body’s covered in bandages.”
“Well do as you’re told and stay still.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
They were both silent for a moment, trying not to think about how badly he might be hurt but unable to think of anything to say next.
“When Virgil gets back, can you get him to call me?” John asked finally. “Tintin’s on her way out in the Excelsior, and they’ll need to work out a rendezvous point.”
“Virgil’s not going to be flying us anywhere.” Alan said mildly. “It’ll be Gordon, for sure.”
“Why’s that?”
Alan rolled his eyes.
“Let me guess - he hasn’t told you he’s broken his arm?”
John seemed to go pale, although with his complexion and the fact that he spent most of his life out of the sun it was hard to be sure.
“He’s done what?”
“Yeah, we’re a regular bunch of walking wounded here.” Alan sighed wryly. “Thank god Gordo’s fine, or we’d be in real trouble.”
John gave him an absent smile.
“Uh yeah. Oh, Al I’ve got to go - transmission coming in. Are you okay for me to sign off?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Go on. They’ll be back soon.”
“Right. Five out.”
John filled his lungs, held his breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. It did not help. He was still furious. And frightened. Bad enough that Scott was hurt, but then Alan had been seriously wounded somehow. And then Gordon’s back had started playing up, and god only knew how bad that was, but Virgil would not have mentioned it unless it was affecting them. And now to find out that Virgil had broken his arm... What was going on down there? The situation was far worse than any of the individual reports had let on.
Pacing across to the map display, he looked at the figures with an expert eye. He was tracking the Excelsior on Brains’ watch signal and the computer did the calculations for him, displaying in bright green the bad news - it would take almost two hours for the little jet to reach the danger zone, and that was at best speed. Given the fact that they were flying into a storm, it would be more like three. Thunderbird Two could cover that same area in about quarter of an hour in good weather, and in less than sixty minutes under the current conditions, but she needed a pilot.
His gaze flickered back to the communications board. Was it time to call for help? He had no doubt he could call for assistance from any of the world military bodies and expect immediate action, given all that International Rescue had done over the years, but what good would it do? They would most likely say they could not get there in this weather, and it would be true. International Rescue was the only organisation with the equipment to deal with this. Ironic, really.
What made it worse was the knowledge that even if he were at home right now there would still be nothing he could do. The Excelsior was the fastest of the ships remaining at base, other than Thunderbird Three which was not designed for sustained atmospheric travel. Moreover, if he followed that theory he would not have been at home at all but lying on a medbay bed in Alan’s place.
“Come on, Tintin.” he begged the little brown dot on the screen. “Make that bird fly like Scott would. You’ve got to get there fast.”
Jeremiah looked up from the papers he had been given, shaking his head in amazement.
“This is incredible. All of it!”
Brains looked at him evenly.
“Th-thank you. But you do understand - you mustn’t, ah, tell anyone what we’ve shown you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Not even your daughter.” Tintin called over her shoulder. “Not without Mr Tracy’s permission.”
Jeremiah hesitated. He had not considered that.
“Alright.” he said slowly. “Alright, I won’t say anything. I swear. Now, what’s the situation out here?”
Brains shook his head.
“We’re not entirely, ah, sure.” he frowned, looking frustrated. “Thunderbird One c-crashed for no good, ah, reason. I d-don’t know why. She’s b-built for lightning s-strikes, and she’s been struck, ah, before, and...”
“Oh, Brains, we’ve been over this a hundred times.” Tintin interrupted him. “We don’t know what happened, and we can’t know until we examine her. The important thing for Doctor Callenson to know is that she crashed and Scott was injured. And then something went wrong and Alan was injured too...”
Jeremiah saw tears well in her eyes, but then she brushed them away, still focused on the instrument panel before her.
“...and that’s why we need to get out there. We don’t have many details I’m sorry, doctor. Virgil said Alan had cut himself and lost a lot of blood, but they carry bags of their own whole blood as well as PolyHeme, so they can handle that.” She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself. “And Scott may have broken his leg, and might have a concussion. John has promised he’ll contact us just as soon as they’re all aboard Thunderbird Two, so we can get some more details then.”
“He should be able to transmit the VSM data to us at that point.” Brains mused. “I’ll see if I can, ah, modify one of the screens to display it.”
He got up and disappeared into the back of the plane, and Jeremiah looked to Tintin.
“VSM?” he asked.
“Vital Signs Monitor.” she explained. “They read off blood pressure, blood oxygen levels, temperature, pulse rate, perspiration and adrenaline levels, and respiration. The boys use them to monitor victims who have been hurt but can’t say how badly - people who are unconscious, or perhaps have internal injuries - and they use the information to assess priorities.” She bit her lip. “I don’t think they’ve ever had to use them on each other before, though.”
..to be continued...
Fandom: Thunderbirds
Summary: What happens when the boys find themselves in serious trouble on the way back from a rescue? Trouble that only International Rescue could get them out of.
Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds, I make no profit from this.
Chapter 8
“Tracy Excelsior to Thunderbird Five, come in please.”
“Reading you, Excelsior. What’s going on, Tintin?”
“I’m flying Brains and Doctor Callenson out to Thunderbird Two.” she responded to his surprise.
“Tintin, Virgil and Gordon are going to bring them home. I’m just waiting for confirmation hey’re all aboard.”
“Yes I know, but we could meet them part way. The injuries sound so severe, John.”
“I’m sure Virgil will divert if he thinks it’s necessary. Besides, we don’t know if there’s anywhere there to land the Excelsior.”
“Well you can ask Virgil that when he calls in.”
She sounded remarkably stubborn.
“If nothing e-else, John.” Brains took over. “I’ll need to, ah, examine Thunderbird One and assess the, ah, damage to her systems. I can always parachute down if, ah, necessary.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll pass it on. But be careful - the Excelsior will be hard to handle in this weather.”
“Understood. Excelsior out.”
Virgil staggered back into Thunderbird One, feeling numb with cold and drenched to the bone. The good news was that he could no longer feel his arm. The bad news was that he could no longer feel his arm...
Shaking his head at his own near-delusional thoughts, he managed to straighten and move over to the remaining stretcher. He had put the opaque plastic covers on beforehand, so now he just had to guide it out of here, yet he noticed now that it was rocking slightly. Were the antigrav motors giving way? No - Scott was moving about. Unzipping the top of the cover, he found his brother in the throes of a full-blown panic attack and threatening to pull free of the restraints.
“Hey! Scott! Calm down, Scott, it’s okay. Scott, listen to me. Listen to me. Scott? For god’s sake, Scott, don’t make me have to hit you!”
Scott stared up past him with wild eyes, unable to turn his head because of the brace.
“Virgil?”
Virgil leaned further over the stretcher.
“Yeah, I’m here. Calm down.”
“I... I can’t move...”
“We’ve got you strapped down, remember?”
“I can’t... can’t see you... can’t see...”
Virgil stared down at him, realising that Scott had yet to focus on him.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” he repeated, trying to think of something comforting to say and coming up blank.
What would cause blindness? Scott had not been blind before, had he? Virgil could not remember checking his brother’s eyes other than looking to make sure they were dilating evenly, and then Scott had mainly kept them closed while he had been vomiting. But would Scott have not said something if there had been a problem earlier? Surely he would. He grit his teeth in frustration: they really did not need another problem to deal with right now. Yet even as he watched, Scott’s eyes seemed to focus slowly.
“I couldn’t see anything, it was all blurry.” he said shakily. “What’s happening?”
“You can see me now?” Virgil checked urgently.
“Yeah. My eyes won’t focus properly, but I can see you. Where’ve you been? I was calling.”
“I’m sorry. We had to evacuate Alan first. Gordon’s... Gordon’s staying with him now, and I’ve come back for you.”
Now Scott’s eyes focused sharply and so did his voice.
“Alan? What’s happened?”
“He’s cut himself.” Virgil said vaguely. “How are you feeling?”
“Virgil - what’s happened to Alan?”
“Look you’re the victim here. Trust us to get you out of here.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Mine too. And so are you. And I’m worried about both of you.” Virgil snapped back, his patience worn thin.
Scott blinked at him, and Virgil almost expected him to apologise, but then Scott’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened to your arm?”
He considered downplaying it, but then decided that Scott would get the truth from him one way or another and it might as well be now.
“It’s broken.”
“Broken.” Scott repeated flatly.
“Yes. It’s hurting like hell, if you must know.”
Scott opened his mouth to make a comment then closed it again, going slightly grey.
“Scott?”
The invalid swallowed convulsively, his eyes now closed.
“’m okay.” he mumbled. “Just a bit... nauseous. Comes and goes. V... I trust you. Jus’get me home?”
Virgil shivered, disturbed by the abrupt change in tone. He was not used to being wholly responsible like this. Not at all.
“Yeah, Scott.” he pledged. “I’ll get you home. I promise.”
Alan stared at the ceiling, feeling a twinge from his stomach. It was happening more frequently now - not really hurting yet, but heading that way. Where were Virgil and Gordon? What was taking them so long? This whole situation was absolutely ridiculous.
Tilting his head back he could just make out the monitor above his bed, and the information he saw there was not encouraging. His blood pressure and blood oxygen levels were way down, and his temperature was dropping in spite of the thermal blanket Virgil had awkwardly wrapped around him. He needed medical care, dammit, why were they wasting time? His hands clenched into fists in frustration, then he yelped as the tension in his muscles made the shunt twist in his arm.
“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, using his other hand to gently rub the area and reduce the sting.
As he did so, though, a thought occurred to him, and he lifted his free arm up above him. He was still wearing his watch, which meant he could get some news on what was going on. That should keep him occupied until Virgil and Gordon got back.
“Alan to Thunderbird Five. Alan calling Thunderbird Five, come in please.”
“Alan. How are you?”
“Bored.” he admitted. “What’s happening?”
John frowned at him.
“You don’t know?”
“I know Gordon and Virgil’ve gone back for Scott, but they seem to’ve been gone for ages.”
“Well it’s been twenty-two minutes since Virgil last called in,” John told him, “and that was before they shifted you, so it probably hasn’t been as long as it feels.”
“Huh. Probably.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Strange. Disconnected. It’s the drugs, I guess.”
“Yes.” John paused. “Virgil said he’d used davopax. How bad is it?”
“I haven’t got a clue. They won’t even let me sit up, and it feels like half my body’s covered in bandages.”
“Well do as you’re told and stay still.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
They were both silent for a moment, trying not to think about how badly he might be hurt but unable to think of anything to say next.
“When Virgil gets back, can you get him to call me?” John asked finally. “Tintin’s on her way out in the Excelsior, and they’ll need to work out a rendezvous point.”
“Virgil’s not going to be flying us anywhere.” Alan said mildly. “It’ll be Gordon, for sure.”
“Why’s that?”
Alan rolled his eyes.
“Let me guess - he hasn’t told you he’s broken his arm?”
John seemed to go pale, although with his complexion and the fact that he spent most of his life out of the sun it was hard to be sure.
“He’s done what?”
“Yeah, we’re a regular bunch of walking wounded here.” Alan sighed wryly. “Thank god Gordo’s fine, or we’d be in real trouble.”
John gave him an absent smile.
“Uh yeah. Oh, Al I’ve got to go - transmission coming in. Are you okay for me to sign off?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Go on. They’ll be back soon.”
“Right. Five out.”
John filled his lungs, held his breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. It did not help. He was still furious. And frightened. Bad enough that Scott was hurt, but then Alan had been seriously wounded somehow. And then Gordon’s back had started playing up, and god only knew how bad that was, but Virgil would not have mentioned it unless it was affecting them. And now to find out that Virgil had broken his arm... What was going on down there? The situation was far worse than any of the individual reports had let on.
Pacing across to the map display, he looked at the figures with an expert eye. He was tracking the Excelsior on Brains’ watch signal and the computer did the calculations for him, displaying in bright green the bad news - it would take almost two hours for the little jet to reach the danger zone, and that was at best speed. Given the fact that they were flying into a storm, it would be more like three. Thunderbird Two could cover that same area in about quarter of an hour in good weather, and in less than sixty minutes under the current conditions, but she needed a pilot.
His gaze flickered back to the communications board. Was it time to call for help? He had no doubt he could call for assistance from any of the world military bodies and expect immediate action, given all that International Rescue had done over the years, but what good would it do? They would most likely say they could not get there in this weather, and it would be true. International Rescue was the only organisation with the equipment to deal with this. Ironic, really.
What made it worse was the knowledge that even if he were at home right now there would still be nothing he could do. The Excelsior was the fastest of the ships remaining at base, other than Thunderbird Three which was not designed for sustained atmospheric travel. Moreover, if he followed that theory he would not have been at home at all but lying on a medbay bed in Alan’s place.
“Come on, Tintin.” he begged the little brown dot on the screen. “Make that bird fly like Scott would. You’ve got to get there fast.”
Jeremiah looked up from the papers he had been given, shaking his head in amazement.
“This is incredible. All of it!”
Brains looked at him evenly.
“Th-thank you. But you do understand - you mustn’t, ah, tell anyone what we’ve shown you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Not even your daughter.” Tintin called over her shoulder. “Not without Mr Tracy’s permission.”
Jeremiah hesitated. He had not considered that.
“Alright.” he said slowly. “Alright, I won’t say anything. I swear. Now, what’s the situation out here?”
Brains shook his head.
“We’re not entirely, ah, sure.” he frowned, looking frustrated. “Thunderbird One c-crashed for no good, ah, reason. I d-don’t know why. She’s b-built for lightning s-strikes, and she’s been struck, ah, before, and...”
“Oh, Brains, we’ve been over this a hundred times.” Tintin interrupted him. “We don’t know what happened, and we can’t know until we examine her. The important thing for Doctor Callenson to know is that she crashed and Scott was injured. And then something went wrong and Alan was injured too...”
Jeremiah saw tears well in her eyes, but then she brushed them away, still focused on the instrument panel before her.
“...and that’s why we need to get out there. We don’t have many details I’m sorry, doctor. Virgil said Alan had cut himself and lost a lot of blood, but they carry bags of their own whole blood as well as PolyHeme, so they can handle that.” She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself. “And Scott may have broken his leg, and might have a concussion. John has promised he’ll contact us just as soon as they’re all aboard Thunderbird Two, so we can get some more details then.”
“He should be able to transmit the VSM data to us at that point.” Brains mused. “I’ll see if I can, ah, modify one of the screens to display it.”
He got up and disappeared into the back of the plane, and Jeremiah looked to Tintin.
“VSM?” he asked.
“Vital Signs Monitor.” she explained. “They read off blood pressure, blood oxygen levels, temperature, pulse rate, perspiration and adrenaline levels, and respiration. The boys use them to monitor victims who have been hurt but can’t say how badly - people who are unconscious, or perhaps have internal injuries - and they use the information to assess priorities.” She bit her lip. “I don’t think they’ve ever had to use them on each other before, though.”
..to be continued...