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Thunderbirds and all related elements are © Carlton International Media Limited.
This site is intended for educational and enjoyment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.
The contents of this page are © Nadia Gouch.

by Nadia Gouch

           Darkness. Complete darkness. And pain. Heck of a lot of that too. Alan Tracy let his blue eyes adjust to the murky darkness that surrounded him, and tried to work out what had happened. His head ached. His leg throbbed. And something was leaning painfully on his stomach. Alan tried to sit up, but the thing that was on his tummy had him well & truly pinned. And it had begun to move....

    It was Virgil. He groaned slightly and slowly got off his baby brothers bruised stomach. He sat with his back against a cold wall. “You awake yet Alan?” he asked inspecting the damage to his uniform. Tin Tin was going to kill him! Alan turned to look at Virgil, who had got off pretty lightly, bust lip & scratches. “I’m awake Virg, what the hell happened?”

    Virgil found his jacket nearby and put it underneath Alan’s head. “Don’t move kid, just lie still and I’ll explain.” He sat down and rubbed his bruised arms. “We were on a rescue, saving a little boy from outta this mine,” Virgil explained. “Do you remember that bit? You winching him up?” Alan nodded slowly, vague memories of the day flashing before him. Virgil continued.

    “Well, we didn’t realise that the soil was so thin, we lost our footing and fell down. You head first.” Alan sighed, desperate for a drink. “Is help coming?” Alan asked, his voice raspy, his tongue dry and rough. Virgil smiled. “Can’t you hear the mole out there? Scott and Gordon are coming.” Alan smiled and felt a bit better.

    Back on Tracy Island, Jeff Tracy and Tin Tin were waiting for Virgil’s call. Jeff was on his 3rd mug of coffee and Tin Tin was halfway through a box of man size tissues. Finally, Virgil called in.

    Jeff jumped to his desk and activated the microphone. “Virgil! How are you son? And is Alan OK?” Concern was etched over his face, and Tin Tin had stopped crying. “I’m not too bad,” replied Virgil. “Alan’s conscious, but in a bad way. His legs broken and he’s lost a lot of blood. Arm’s broken, and a crack to his head.” Jeff looked stern and Tin Tin looked horrified. “Scott’s nearly through to you Virgil,” Jeff said. “Just hold on.” Virgil sighed. “I don’t think Alan can.”

    Virgil crouched down next to Alan, who was now sleeping, his arm outstretched, his leg still swathed in Virgil’s now bloodstained sash. Hurry up Scott, he thought to himself, while checking Alan’s pulse. It was beginning to slow down. Alan needed help. Fast.

    Suddenly, as if Scott had heard Virgil’s thoughts, the Mole tunnelled its way through the dusty walls of the mine, allowing daylight to stream through the darkness. Scott cut the engines and jumped out, followed closely by Gordon. “Virgil!” yelled Scott, his voice filled with relief. “How are you?” Virgil smiled. “I’m fine. Lets get Alan home, he’s not too good.”

    Soon, the four brothers were flying home. Gordon flying Thunderbird 2, while Virgil administered first aid to Alan, who was conscious again and feeling a lot better thanks to an ice pack and morphine! Scott was flying ahead in Thunderbird 1. At base, Jeff was more than relieved, but was now looking after a conflicting-emotion-filled Tin Tin, who was still crying. Of happiness.

    A week later, and Virgil was back to full duty. Alan was still in traction, but had perked up immensely. He lapped up the attention like a fish, especially off
Tin Tin! The ordeal was well over, and the boys just put it to the back of their minds. As their saying goes, “The things we do for International Rescue!”