At the time that Closetfan was posting 'Funeral For a Brother', Quiller and I were having a conversation (as much of a conversation as you can have via email on different sides of the globe) and saying how it was one of those stories that you couldn't wait for the next chapter because it captured the imagination.
We also discussed how different authors would treat the same basic subject in totally different ways. I had my ideas and Quiller had her own. Our ideas were not necessarily better, but totally different to Closetfan's treatment of the subject.
And we left it at that.
And then one day, I think it was a boring day at work, all of a sudden I had the outline for a complete story. Based on the basic premise of Closetfan's tale, but still different. Well when you get inspiration like that your muse won't let go until you've got it down on 'paper', so here it is.
I've deliberately not re-read 'Funeral for a Brother' so that Closetfan's story won't influence me, but having said that I'm not denying that elements of it may have stuck in my subconscious and I may have felt they were good enough to be used again. If that has happened, my apologies, Closetfan, and please consider it to be a compliment. 'Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.'
Thanks to Quiller and Calliope for their help and ideas.
Of course I can't lay claim to anything directly related to Thunderbirds, other people have that pleasure, but I am grateful to all those involved with its conception and execution 40 years ago. They've given me, and others who write fan fiction, a wonderful, mind stimulating hobby.
On with the story…
Enjoy.
Purupuss
One
Gordon looked out of the windscreen of the Excavator. The surrounding terrain seemed so brown and lifeless. On the surface the destruction appeared to be complete.
It wasn't until rescue organisations had arrived on the scene that it became obvious that somehow, miraculously, people had survived.
In this part of the world, people had little. They lived how they could and where they could. In this particular settlement, where they could had been on the top of a cliff. A cliff that appeared to have been made entirely of mud and clay.
This rainy season had hit fast and it had hit hard. The ground had little time to absorb the deluges that had poured onto it day after day. The mud that made up the cliff had become sodden and unstable until one day, only yesterday; it had been unable to withstand the pressures any longer. It had collapsed into the valley below, taking over half of the town with it. A nearby river had been dammed and diverted its course, so now it ran alongside the unstable hillside, eroding it away. Not only had half the town lost its homes and lives, the remaining houses were sitting on a ticking time bomb. The residents who had survived would have to suffer the distress of not only losing their family, friends, and neighbours. They would be losing their homes as well.
People, who had been going about their normal, mundane routines, had suddenly found themselves sliding helplessly down the hillside. Some had been buried in the mud and rock that had once supported them. Others, miraculously, had survived. It was these that International Rescue had spent the last 36 hours trying to save.
Other rescue organisations were on hand as well, cleaning and caring for the dirty, battered bodies of the locals who had survived, and arranging the disposal of those who hadn't.
As Gordon watched an obviously full body bag being carried into a tent that was being used as a mortuary, he felt an intense sense of sadness for those who had lost their lives so quickly and cruelly. But it would have been worse for those who had remained alive when that great mass of earth had ceased its downward movement. For those who were trapped it meant a long, slow, agonising death. Unless rescuers, such as International Rescue, were able to get to them first.
It was the fact that International Rescue was able to help a good many of these people that kept Gordon in this game; that kept him from only seeing the death and destruction. They had done all they could, but Scott had just radioed in saying that their high-tech scanners weren't picking up any more life signs from the vicinity of that great pile of mud, rock and debris."It doesn't seem right, does it?" Gordon said to his brother. "We come in, rescue those we can and then leave, leaving the hard clean up jobs to everyone else. I feel guilty sometimes."
"I know what you mean," Scott agreed. "But we can't hang around here any longer than we have to. We might be needed somewhere else in the world within the next 24 hours, and we've got to be ready. And it's not only our equipment that we've got to prepare is it? It's us as well. You sound as tired as I feel. It's not as if we've got another team to take our place."
"There's always Alan, Tin-Tin, Grandma and Kyrano," Gordon suggested flippantly. "I can picture Grandma at the controls of Thunderbird Two."
Scott chuckled. "Try suggesting that to Virgil. There's no way he'd let Grandma anywhere near Two's pilot seat…" He paused briefly. "On a more serious note…"
"Yep, Scott."
"Can you clear the road out of here for the authorities? Once that's smoothed down, we'll pack up. Virgil's on his way back from his last trip now."
"F-A-B."
Scott changed frequency. "How far out are you, Virgil?"
His brother was sounding as tired as the rest of them. He'd made at least 30 flights in the last 36 hours. "About five minutes, Scott. Have you got any more for me?"
"No. That's it. I've got Gordon tidying up the road a bit. Once he's finished that you can load the Excavator up and head home."
"Okay. In that case, once I'm down I'll give you a hand packing away Mobile Control."
Scott appreciated the offer. Mobile Control was mobile in the same way that the earliest portable computers were less portable and more luggable. The console had its own transportion unit, but that worked best on flat, even surfaces. On terrain such as he was looking at now, Mobile Control seemed to get a mind of its own and it was always a struggle for one man to steer it back to Thunderbird One. With two it was relatively easy.
Virgil remembered something. "Remind me, when we get home, to talk to Brains about designing a smaller ambulance style aircraft."
"Why? Wasn't Thunderbird Two up to the task?" Scott asked, knowing his brother wouldn't be able to resist the bait.
"No, she's handling like a dream, as she always does," Virgil replied a trifle curtly. "But I've got to admit that when we're only carrying a couple of patients, she's a little more plane than we need. Especially when there's no room for Two to land. I think that a smaller craft, with VTOL capabilities, one that could fit inside the pod, and that could carry, say four or so beds, would be ideal in situations like the one we've just had."
Scott had to agree. When International Rescue had initially arrived on the scene he'd put Virgil and Thunderbird Two into immediate service as an air ambulance. For those injured, a quick flight was infinitely preferable to a long, bumpy drive on almost non-existent roads.
The first few flights had been hectic and full. Thunderbird Two would no sooner touch down when Scott would be marshalling the next wave onboard, eager to get them to full medical treatment. As time had gone by, fewer and fewer patients had required the emergency airlift. Virgil's last trip had transported only two patients – the last surviving victim of the mudslide and a member of the Red Cross who'd fallen and broken a leg.
"How would you carry a plane?" Scott asked. "The Excavator takes up a lot of room."
"I was thinking that maybe we could suspend it from the roof of the pod," Virgil suggested. "What do you reckon?"
Scott thought for a moment. "The idea's got possibilities…"
"I don't know why I'm mentioning it to you though," Virgil said. "You'll only forget. If it's not to do with Thunderbird One, you've got a memory like a sieve."
"Well yours can't be that good if you're asking me to remind you about Thunderbird Two," Scott replied genially. "Why don't you tie a piece of string around your finger? At least then you'll remember that you've got to remember…"
"Hang on, Scott," Virgil interrupted.
"What's up?" Scott caught the serious tone in his brother's voice and reverted back into business mode.
"I don't know. I thought I saw something on the cliff face. I'm going to try to get a better look."
In the distance Scott could see Thunderbird Two lose altitude and go into a hover.
"No. It's no good. I can't get close enough to see," Virgil said in frustration.
"What do you think it is?"
"Could be anything. Probably nothing."
"But you want to check it out anyway?"
"Uh, huh. I'll have to land to get a closer look."
"F-A-B. Let me know if you need help. I won't knock down Mobile Control until I get the all clear from you."
As he watched Thunderbird Two land close to the slip, Scott knew that it was more than idle curiosity that had caused Virgil to want to investigate whatever it was on the cliff.
'Gut instinct'. There was nothing scientific about it, but as they'd spent more and more time in the rescue business, it was something they'd all developed and come to rely on. It was the thing that when all your instrumentation told you you should be going left, would tell you to go right. In that situation, nine times out of ten, right was the way to go.
Five minutes later Scott had a call from Gordon. "How far do you want me to clear?"
"How far have you gone?"
"I've reached the road… if you can call it a road."
"Well, short of laying concrete all the way to the city, that's the best you'll going to be able to do. Pack it away, Gordon."
"F-A-B."
Ten minutes later and Gordon was back at Mobile Control. "It's going to be a heck of a job cleaning the Excavator."
"A bit muddy is it?"
"Yep." Gordon examined his oldest brother critically. On this rescue Scott had spent most of his time at Mobile Control directing proceedings, with occasional excursions to assist with digging that required more finesse than the Excavator could achieve.
To an outsider the Rescue Co-ordinator's role may have seemed to be the cushy job, but Gordon knew that during the last 36 hours many life and death decisions had been placed in Scott's lap. Scott was the best person Gordon knew at making these decisions, but even he would feel the strain of holding people's lives in his hands after 36 hours. Scott looked drained and Gordon said as much."Thanks! And so do you!" Scott said in mock indignation before managing a tired smile. "Virgil sounded like you look and I feel. It'll be good for us all to get home…" His smile dissolved into a frown. "He should have reported in by now…"
As if in response Mobile Control sounded a communication alert.
"Speak of the devil," Gordon said.
Scott picked up his microphone. "Go ahead, Virgil."
They were both shocked to hear an anguished cry from the speakers of Mobile Control.
"Virgil!" Scott yelled into the mike in alarm. "Virgil! Can you hear me?"
There was no reply.
"That was Virgil, wasn't it?" Gordon asked urgently.
"Something's wrong." Scott didn't wait for an acknowledgement; instead he slammed down the button which locked Mobile Control and headed off at a run, with Gordon at his heels, to where he knew his brother had last been seen.
Scott was the first to arrive at a huge mountain of muddy debris. Ignoring the dirt that was spraying up onto his uniform, he quickly skirted it, hearing Gordon's footsteps slosh through the mud behind him.
"What's happened?" Gordon panted.
"Dunno."
Together they ran around a boulder. Together they skidded to a halt.
Ahead of them lay a muddy figure.It was lying deathly still."Not him is it?" Gordon gasped.
"Don't think so. You keep looking." Scott ran over to where the figure was lying. He heard Gordon run up behind him. "What are you doing?"
"I had to be sure."
"Well it's not," with typical speed, Scott had already ascertained the situation. He'd decided no matter how much he needed to keep searching for his brother, there were some things that shouldn't be delegated. "Keep looking," he told Gordon.
"Right," Gordon grunted and continued the search.
Scott felt a lump form in his throat as he looked down at the still figure. Sometimes he hated his job.
The way her body lay battered and broken and her hazel eyes gazed sightlessly at nothing, he knew she was past all help. Despite the futility of the gesture he searched for a pulse in her throat.He was not surprised that there was no sign of life.The little girl couldn't be more than nine. The way her body was still warm told him that death was very recent. Sadly he pushed a curl off her face and then closed her eyes.
"Can I help?" a voice asked.
"No," he said quietly, still looking at the young face. "There's nothing we can do."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No. But I've seen enough death to know what it looks like!" It came out angrily and he instantly felt ashamed of himself. The punch bag in the gym at home would be getting a workout tonight. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that."
"It's okay. Do you mind if I give an official opinion?"
"I don't mind. I'd be happy if you found me wrong." Scott rubbed his eyes wearily and heard the other person crouch down and begin the examination.
"What happened?" the doctor asked.
"I guess she fell." Scott stood and looked up at the top of the cliff. It was easier to rein in his emotions that way. From here he could see the edges of some dwellings that had only just managed to avoid falling with the others. "Maybe she wanted to see what was happening, and she got too close to the edge. Lucky she didn't fall into the river; we'd never have found her." He indicated where a muddy mass of water surged past between where they were standing and the cliff face.
"Yes… I'm afraid your diagnosis was correct."
Finally Scott looked at the voice's owner. It was a woman about his own age, with a Red Cross/Crescent insignia on her lapel. He was sure that the sadness he saw in her eyes was mirrored his own.
"Maria!" There was a scream from behind them. "Maria!" Ignoring the two adults who stood beside, a weather-beaten woman ran up and pulled the child into her arms. "Maria," she sobbed again and rattled off something incoherent in her own tongue. The doctor said something in soothing tones in reply."Her mother?" Scott asked.
"Yes," the doctor confirmed quietly.
Scott felt he should say something comforting to the distraught woman, but realised he didn't know the appropriate words to say, in any language. His wristwatch telecom started beeping and he suddenly remembered their initial quest. "Have you found him?""Looks like it. He's unconscious."
"Do what you can. Activate your homer. I'll get help." Scott looked anxiously at the doctor. "Are you free at the moment?"
"Yes," she replied in puzzlement.
"Good! Follow me. We may need your help." At a run he left the mother, still holding her daughter close, still wailing and rocking her distress. His watch dial had changed into a direction finder and it was homing into Gordon's signal. The doctor followed as closely as she could.Gordon crouched by his brother's side. Reassuringly, Virgil stirred. "Virgil? Can you hear me? You're going to be okay." He began his examination, still talking, still trying to reassure his injured sibling. "Everything's going to be fine, Virgil."
He stopped talking when he heard footsteps. "Scott! We're over here!"
His eldest brother surged into view, slightly out of breath from the long run over uneven terrain. "How is he? Virgil? Are you okay?"
"He seems to be flicking in and out of consciousness. Apart from that I can't find anything majorly wrong."
Deciding that Gordon was doing all that could be done at the moment, Scott stood back and checked that the doctor was still coming. He took in the scene. Virgil was lying on his back a short way up the side of the slip. From the grazes on his hands and face, mud on his uniform and the freshly dislodged earth above him it appeared that he had fallen from higher up the landslide. Gordon had clearly come to that conclusion too, as he was readying a neck brace.Scott gestured urgently to the doctor and then returned to his prone brother's side. "There's a doctor coming," he said gruffly.
Gordon glanced at him briefly. He knew that tone of voice. It meant that Scott was starting to feel that things were slipping out of his control. It had been a tough 36 hours for Scott… then there'd been that little girl… Gordon had known as soon as he'd seen her that she was dead… and now Virgil. When Scott sounded like that, to strangers he sounded cold, unfeeling, and officious. To his family it meant that a mask had been dropped over his emotions and he was to be supported as much as possible. "He'll be okay, Scott. If he can survive being shot out of the sky by a USN ship, he can survive a tumble down a mud heap."
Scott grunted a reply as the doctor arrived. She took in the patient's uniform. Her eyes compared the 'hand across the world' badge on his yellow sash with the logo on the neck brace. "He's a member of your team? What happened?"
"We don't know," Scott said.
"We're assuming he fell," Gordon supplied. "I can't find any evidence of any injuries. The brace is just a precaution."
"Good. What's his name?" She noted that the two International Rescue men hesitated. "No need for full name, rank and serial number. His first name will do."
"Virgil," Scott supplied.
"Okay, Virgil, lets see what's wrong with you." The doctor made a quick, efficient examination of her own. "You International Rescue agents know your stuff. I'd agree with your diagnosis, but I'd like to check him out more fully back in the field hospital."
"Gordon! Go get the hoverbike and stretcher!" Scott ordered.
"Okay... I'll be back soon, Virgil," Gordon said reassuringly. "Don't go anywhere…"
"Gordon! Go!" Scott barked.
"I don't like the way he keeps on losing consciousness," the doctor said as they waited.
"What does that mean?" Scott asked.
"We won't know until a full examination has been made," she shrugged. "And I doubt I've got the equipment to do that."
"Can he be flown? Is he stable?"
"I'll confirm that back at the hospital. I suppose you've got better facilities back at your base."
Scott nodded, his eyes on the pale face of his brother who was showing signs of reawakening.
A humming sound in the distance, growing louder, alerted them to the fact that Gordon was arriving on a hoverbike, towing a hover-stretcher behind him. He pulled up so the stretcher was parallel to Virgil, and jumped off his 'bike. "Any change?"
"He's maintaining consciousness," the doctor informed him.
"Good. We'll have you complaining about me flying Thunderbird Two home yet, Virgil," he said cheerfully.
"Gordon! Concentrate!" Scott ordered.
Gordon winked at the doctor, who was having trouble working out these two men, and helped Scott get the stretcher set up and Virgil moved onto it. With great care they transferred him to the carriage behind the hoverbike and strapped him in. The hover-stretcher was a bivalve shell design with the top hinged section made out of a tinted, transparent material. They closed it over their stricken brother."Helps reduce dust and mud," Gordon explained to the doctor. "There's an oxygen feed, so he'll get plenty of air."
"You drive, Gordon," Scott instructed. "Doctor. You sit behind him. You can hang onto the backrest. I'll sit behind you and keep an eye on Virgil."
"Okay?" Gordon queried as the doctor looked slightly alarmed at the orders she was receiving. "Don't mind him. His bite is worse than his bark. He's worried."
How worried Scott was, was evidenced by the fact that he made no comment on his brother's statement.
The ride back to the field hospital was rapid and smooth. Throughout the entire journey Scott's eyes didn't leave the occupant of the stretcher. The doctor clung nervously to the back of Gordon's seat. She was glad when they arrived. Now it was her turn to take control. "Bring him inside," she instructed.Soon Virgil was lying on an examination bed inside the tent. The doctor made a more thorough examination, removing the neck brace and returning it to Gordon. "As long as he takes it easy he shouldn't need that."
Eventually she finished and walked over to where Scott and Gordon were standing anxiously off to one side. "There's no visible sign of anything wrong…" She hesitated. "Is he normally this quiet?"
The Tracy brothers glanced at each other nervously. They'd noticed that Virgil hadn't spoken since he'd regained consciousness. "Not this quiet, no," Scott replied.
"I see," the doctor's face betrayed none of her thoughts. "Maybe he needs to see a couple of friendly faces. See if you can get him to talk."
Willingly they hurried over to the bed. Scott remained on the left while Gordon scooted around to Virgil's right.
"How do you feel, Virgil?" Scott asked.
Virgil turned his head so he was looking at his brother but said nothing.
"What happened, Virgil?" Gordon enquired.
Virgil shifted his gaze back to his younger brother and remained mute.
"Virgil?" Scott said, concern starting to spill into his voice.
"Come on, Virgil. This silent treatment is almost frightening," Gordon tried to sound light-hearted and failed.
The silent treatment continued.
Gordon looked at Scott. Their eyes met briefly and carried the message of concern that they both felt.
"Please say something, Virgil," Scott pleaded.
Virgil looked back at Scott and finally broke his silence…
"Who are you?"