FIRECRASH by SPENSE RATED FRPT

First in a loose trilogy of stand-alone one shot stories revolving around vacations. Virgil and Alan head for Hawaii.

Acknowledgements: The term 'Firecrash' is courtesy of LMC's six-year old son. Frankly, I thought it was apropos. Special thanks and kudos go to SkyWench and LMC for their help and technical expertise on this story.

Alan settled back against the seat of the Fireflash jet and heaved a disgusted sigh. A quick glance out the window showed him the orange sunset against the ocean and the bulk of Australia behind him.

"Remind me why we're flying commercial?" he asked his seat partner.

Virgil didn't even look up from the magazine. "Because I don't want to fly with you as the pilot. You give me a headache. You're as bad about rolling jets as a certain older brother of mine."

"You only have one older brother," Alan pointed out, logically.

"Two points," Virgil commented.

"Too bad you can't act as pilot yourself right now," Alan pointed out with a grin.

"Don't push it, punk."

"Hey, it's not my fault you ended up with a strained neck and back on the . . . "

"Shut up, Alan," Virgil commented distinctly before his younger brother could finish his sentence. "Commercial, remember?"

Alan ignored him. "I thought you knew how to lift things properly by now. And to fasten your seat belt. Besides, aren't you the one always telling me I should act more like Scott?"

Virgil stared at him with narrowed eyes. "That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

Alan just grinned, then commented reflectively, "Do you suppose Scott finds it hard to live with himself, being so perfect and all?"

Virgil tried to ignore him, and picked up a magazine. At least the first class cabin was relatively quiet.

"So, looking forward to a vacation?"

Virgil sighed. "I'd rather have gone alone, but I'm stuck with you."

"Well, Dad wanted to make sure you didn't overdo it, that's why he sent me along," Alan commented, refusing to take offense. Virgil was always crabby when he was injured.

His older brother eyed him knowingly. "Wrong way around, bucko. You've got it backwards, as usual. You're along because Dad knows better than to send you alone on vacation. Remember that time . . .?"

"Don't say it," Alan broke in hastily. "You guys are always reminding me of that every time I want to get off by myself! AND you make sure Dad never forgets either!" He finished, aggrieved.

"Well, you have to admit," Virgil grinned, "it was memorable. And expensive. And besides, I seriously doubt that we have to remind Dad at all. He'll remember that one forever."

Alan flushed a fiery red. "That was a long time ago, anyway," he muttered.

Virgil was really enjoying this. "Alan, you're what? Twenty one? It was all of about fourteen months ago, if I remember correctly."

"Shut up, Virgil," Alan growled and got up. Making his way past his brother, he huffed off towards the front of the plane.

Virgil laughed softly to himself. Worked every time. He'd now guaranteed himself a few quiet hours. Picking up the portable vidphone in front of him, he dialed a well-known number, and his older brother's face appeared in the screen.

Before Scott could even utter a greeting, Virgil commented, "I'm going to kill him."

"Alan? No, never," Scott said with a grin.

Virgil sighed. "I just wanted some time for peace and quiet, but no, Dad had to insist he come along."

Scott grinned knowingly back. "Well, it's not like Father was going to let him go alone. Not after the last time. There's no way he's going to chance Alan hooking up with Max again on a vacation."

Virgil winced at the reference to Alan's racing friend, Max Turner, who was not beloved by any of the Tracys aside from Alan, and who had led him into more trouble than possibly even Gordon.

"Besides," Scott continued, "there was no way he was going to let you go alone either. You need somebody to keep an eye on you. In a lot of pain?"

"No," Virgil lied through his teeth.

"Uh-huh," Scott said knowingly.

"Really."

"Uh-huh."

Virgil exhaled heavily in irritation. "I'm going to kill Alan," he said retuning to his original subject.

"You know, he's actually pretty good company on a vacation. Unless he's pouting."

"He's pouting."

"So what did you do to piss him off?" Scott asked reasonably.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"Nothing."

"Uh-huh," Scott said again. "Virg, face it. You're terrible company when you hurt, and don't deny it, you're feeling lousy. And besides, Alan was probably already on the edge with Dad insisting that he couldn't go alone. But you could normally make him less edgy, not more, unless you're hurting, then all bets are off."

Damm. He couldn't hide anything from Scott. "Well . . ."

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, I'm feeling lousy."

"And you've managed to piss Alan off. Of course it didn't help when you insisted on flying commercial instead of letting him pilot Tracy One, and then to go on a Fireflash no less," Scott said, unerringly accurate. "You know he and Gordon call it the 'Firecrash', right?"

"The Fireflash is fine, and you know it! And so does Alan. After all, he helped," Virgil protested, remembering all the work they'd done to make sure the plane was safe. After the two fiascos involving the Fireflash, IR had worked with the designers to integrate all kinds of safety features. Sometimes Virgil thought that he knew its engines as well as he knew Thunderbird Two's. And the perversity of a certain younger brother just added fuel to his irritation.

Scott continued, ignoring Virgil's attempt to change the subject. "Besides, you know how touchy Alan is about feeling like he doesn't measure up. Let's just say Virg, it wasn't handled with your usual tact. You know, you're the most patient and tactful person I know unless you feel lousy."

Virgil sidestepped the accusation. He knew Scott was right, but was feeling perverse enough to not want to admit it. Shifting uncomfortably, he tacitly admitted Scott's correct synopsis by commenting, "Alan wants to know how you live with yourself, being so perfect and all."

Scott grinned again, amused. "Little does he know."

"Yep, I can think of tons of times you weren't perfect."

"Just keep them to yourself, humm?"

"I guess. Although I have to say, it would be fun watching him make you squirm. I suppose I'll just save them for when I really need them."

"We'll just start calling you Gordon," Scott laughed. "He's got a store of blackmail material longer than anybody I know."

"Survival," Virgil concurred, grinning reluctantly. Scott could always improve his mood. "But anyway, I've guaranteed myself a couple of quiet hours."

"Really? How?"

Virgil grinned. "I just brought up Alan's last vacation."

Scott burst out laughing. "Yeah, that will do it. Enjoy your quiet."

"Oh, I intend to."

"And be nice to our baby brother, no matter how irritating he gets. Talk to you when you arrive?"

"You got it." Virgil said laughing, and hung up, feeling better. Scott was right, as always. Settling into his seat, he closed his eyes, only vaguely aware of when his youngest brother returned.

Virgil opened his eyes much later, seeing the plane in darkness. Next to him, Alan's reading light was still on, but his magazine was sitting on his lap and he was staring out the window absentmindedly. At what, Virgil had no idea. There wasn't anything out there except clouds and water. Virgil started to stretch absently, then stopped abruptly, stifling a groan.

Apparently he didn't stifle it enough as Alan's head whipped around, a look of concern on his face.

"You okay?" he asked, clearly worried.

Virgil felt a rush of gratitude. Having four brothers could really be a royal pain at times, and every one of them knew how to push his buttons. But the care and concern they all showed for each other when the chips were down made it really worthwhile. Even when Alan was in one his pouty moods.

"Yeah, Al, I'm fine. Just slept funny, that's all. My back tightened up."

"Are you sure?" Alan's eyes were dark with worry. He frowned. "I could call the flight attendant and see if they've got something stronger than the pills you've got." He was half out of his seat, beginning to reach for the call button.

Virgil's gratitude was beginning to fade into irritation. "Alan! I'm fine! Okay?"

Alan subsided in annoyance. "Okay, okay. Jeez, you sure get crabby when you're hurting. I was just trying to help – doing my job as babysitter, just like Dad told me too."

"Funny, Dad told me the same thing about you," Virgil snapped irritably back.

At Alan's angry expression and tightening mouth, Virgil closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying not to think about fourteen days with a temperamental younger brother. He just needed to remember Scott's absolutely correct comments. Alan could be very good company – when he wasn't pouting.

"Sorry Al. I didn't mean to growl at you. You know I'm not at my best when I wake up."

With his normal mercurial mood changes, Alan snickered. "You can say that again."

Peace restored, Virgil asked, "So what were you thinking about so hard there a moment ago? There's nothing but black water and clouds, so I know it wasn't the scenery." He grinned suddenly. "Thinking about TinTin again?"

Alan flushed, then determinedly ignored the comment. "Just wondering why we're going on a vacation to Hawaii when we LIVE on our own tropical island."

"Because that's where I wanted to go. I won the toss, remember?"

"How could I forget," Alan muttered.

"Well, they have amazing scenery. There are some places that I've wanted to paint for a long time," he commented thoughtfully.

Alan looked at him, clearly at a loss. "You don't get enough tropical scenery to paint at home?"

Instead of answering, Virgil asked, "So what do you plan to do?"

Alan's eyes lit up. "Surf!"

"You don't get enough big waves in our own back yard?" Virgil asked dryly.

Alan looked startled, then grimaced. "Touché'," was his only response, accompanied by a wry grin.

Virgil laughed and settled back to try and sleep some more. Alan turned off his light and leaned back to do the same.

Virgil woke to a strange vibration. He was disoriented for a moment. Why was Thunderbird Two vibrating like this? It wasn't right. Something was clearly wrong.

"Virg!"

Virgil heard his name, and felt a hand on his arm. Alan. Alan on Two? What . . .?"

"Virgil, wake up," Alan's tone was firm.

He opened his eyes, and squinted for a moment. Thunderbird Two had never looked like this. Then realization dawned. The Fireflash. Vacation. Hawaii. He looked over at his brother, meeting the bright eyes looking back at him.

Alan withdrew his hand from where he'd been shaking his brother. Virgil blinked at him, still getting his bearings. "Wha . . .what's going on?"

"Not sure yet," Alan said, twisting in his seat, craning his head to look up and behind him. Virgil could hear the rumble of voices beginning to grow in crescendo behind them.

"We started to vibrate about fifteen minutes ago. It's been pretty unobtrusive until a couple of minutes ago when it started to increase. I doubt anybody else really noticed it," Alan continued absently.

Virgil gave a wry grin at that, sparking an accompanying laugh from his brother. Yeah, unobtrusive alright. At least to those who weren't trained as engineers in the nuances of engines.

A sudden jerk of the plane nearly bounced Alan out of his seat. A chime and an announcement to fasten seat belts broke the silence.

"Turbulence?" Virgil asked doubtfully.

"Not with that vibration, and you know it," Alan said seriously, meeting Virgil's eye. This wasn't looking very good. Neither really wanted to say aloud their suspicions. Alan had spent his own fair share of time on the project, although mostly on the drawing board. But his familiarity with machines gave him better knowledge of the plane's systems than most.

Virgil and Alan looked at each other for a second longer while the low noise of discussion and the clicking of seatbelts went on around them.

Suddenly Alan stood up. "I'm going to find out what's going on." He was walking towards the front of the plane as he delivered his decisive statement.

"No! Alan, wait!" Virgil called after him, then, wincing, sank back in disgust. "Remember you're not in uniform, and we aren't IR on this trip," he grumbled inaudibly to himself.

Shaking his head in disgust, he punched in a well-used speed dial number on his vidphone.

"You again?" Scott answered, grinning. "Just can't stay away, can you?" His grin faded at the look on Virgil's face. "What?" He was instantly serious.

"Not sure yet, but things aren't looking good. Gordon and Alan may have been percipient."

Scott caught on instantly. "Firecrash? You're not serious." He paused. "Are you?"

"Don't know. Nothing's been said, but the seatbelt sign has gone on, and there's been a low vibration that Alan and I both have picked up on. If the pilot's good, he'll have felt it too. It feels like the landing gear's frozen. I think maybe we're the only ones who know something's up. The vibration's picking up in intensity as well, which isn't a good sign."

"Think you'll have to ditch?" Scott asked quietly, keeping his voice down as he jumped immediately to the worst case scenario, and was not comforted at his brother's response.

"Maybe," Virgil answered grimly. "That vibration can only mean one thing, and that's more than just the gear. If I'm right, steering and hydraulics will go next."

Scott muttered something inaudible under his breath. "Okay," he said, mental wheels turning rapidly. "What's Alan say? He's pretty tuned into engines as well."

Virgil grimaced. "Alan's up trying to offer help to the crew."

"You're joking. You couldn't stop him?" Scott exclaimed. "There are other ways to do that!"

Virgil just looked at him.

"Okay, okay, I know. Good luck telling Alan anything. Well, he'll just have to learn the hard way." Scott was quiet again, thinking hard. "All right, you're on the scene, what do you want to do?"

"Hang tough for now," Virgil said, keeping his voice low so others around couldn't hear. Nobody seemed to be paying attention, or even aware that anything was amiss, thank heavens. "They'll cut all phone contact here pretty quick if they follow normal protocol. I'll try to leave the watch on an open channel. Don't use it though - just listen. I'll clue you in if you can talk."

"Got it."

"Let father know."

Scott grinned. "Oh, he knows already."

Jeff leaned into view on the small screen. "Hello, son."

Virgil had to laugh, despite the situation.

Jeff smiled slightly. "Scott has a good poker face, but not that good. And he was here in the lounge. I'll have him launch One just in case."

Virgil's eyes narrowed at that as he quickly made the necessary mental connections. "If Gordon so much as puts a dent on . . ." His voice rose slightly.

Scott cut him off quickly. "He won't. I promise. Besides, he won't lift off with that flying behemoth if he can possibly help it. You know how he feels about driving the 'monster truck' as opposed to his little sports car."

Virgil still looked grim, but was slightly mollified. A commotion in the front of the plane drew his attention. "I'd better get off. Something's happening. I bet it's Alan."

Scott laughed and even Jeff had to grin.

"Okay. Keep in touch. John will be listening," Jeff said seriously. He paused, then added softly, "Take care."

Virgil acknowledged the sentiment, as well as what was left unsaid, with a tight smile and disconnected.

He wasn't wrong. The commotion, although kept quiet, was most certainly his younger brother. Alan was escorted back to their seats by two firm flight attendants.

"Sir, you need to sit down and put on your seatbelt."

"But what's happening? I have a background in engineering, I can help!" Alan was protesting, as he was flanked by an additional, burly, male, flight attendant.

"Sir, please don't cause a scene," the woman said firmly as she pointed to his seat.

Virgil wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I don't want to cause a scene, I want to help!" Alan protested.

"Sir," the man said ominously, "sit."

Alan sat.

The two flight attendants departed, Alan glaring after them as he buckled his seat belt.

Grateful for the privacy the Fireflash seating accorded it's passengers, Virgil muttered, "Nice going, Alan."

Alan turned his glare on his unaffected older brother.

"You too? I could help. So could you for that matter," Alan muttered angrily in a low voice.

"Sure. But who's going to believe you? What were you going to do? Tell them you helped out on the revamp of the safety systems? Get real. Alan, you're 21. Sure, you've done a ton for somebody so young - more than anybody would ever guess. College, NASA, racing. Not to mention our 'home-business'. But what self-respecting flight attendant or pilot is going to believe you? It's not like you can tell them!" Virgil whispered intensely back.

That stopped Alan in his tracks. Eyebrows raised, he looked uncomprehendingly back at his brother for a moment, obviously assimilating what was a completely new idea for him.

Grinning to himself, Virgil had to admit the supposition was amusing when you thought about it from Alan's point of view. All of the Tracys, from Jeff on down, were significant overachievers. What each had accomplished was nothing short of miraculous, right down to Gordon's Olympic gold medal. That kind of excellence was normal in the Tracy family.

Virgil had long suspected that Alan thought of himself as 'average' in a family of exceptional individuals. Virgil knew better. Every single Tracy brother, Alan included, had tested with a higher IQ than normal (although seldomly applied in typical fashion), combined with the discipline their military-trained father instilled, and added to a streak of creativity that showed up differently in each of them.

His brother knew that Alan would see that as he matured, but right now, he figured he was normal. Which, quite honestly, wasn't a bad thing - it kept him well grounded. But it wasn't exactly reality, and few outsiders would believe him if he tried to explain what he did for a living.

Nor Virgil either for that matter, he was only 27. In that short time he'd had an excellent career in business, an advanced degree in engineering, and had helped to design some of the most highly developed big machines known to mankind. In addition, he was already known for his paintings, having had several prestigious exhibitions, not to mention the music he published under an assumed name. Most people would be happy with only one of those achievements over a full lifetime, but Virgil wasn't even 30 yet.

Nope, they weren't going to be able to help in their normal capacity. They were just going to have to play it by ear and help as they could. Much like Brains had done once before. Virgil thought that this was probably a good time to bring that particular incident up to Alan.

"Remember Brains? He has had to cover too," Virgil said meaningfully.

Virgil could see Alan processing that whole scenario – the Allington Suspension Bridge giving way under the Mars Probe, and Brains in with the control center, feeding them onsite intel while not letting on he was with IR.

"Yeah, and look where that got him! The psychiatrist?" Alan hissed back in frustration, continuing the same verbal shorthand.

Virgil just shrugged. "Sometimes you have to go with the flow."

Alan settled back, seething in frustration. Virgil didn't blame him. The vibration was becoming very noticeable, and it was like fingernails on a chalkboard to him. All he wanted to do was go find the cause and stop the damn noise.

As the vibration increased, so did the 'turbulence'. Before Virgil and Alan could do anything else but exchange looks, there was an inaudible, but clearly felt thump, then the vibration became a low rattle.

"And there goes it goes," Virgil sighed. "Now they'll notice for sure."

Alan gave him an ironic look as a low buzz of conversation began around them.

Alan watched with vaguely concealed amusement as the purser emerged from the direction of the cockpit, and unobtrusively called all the flight attendants towards him. None of the passengers would have noticed unless, like Alan, they were looking right at them. Discreetly, they all moved with casual purposefulness towards the front of the cabin.

"So it isn't just that the landing gear's jammed anymore, now the worst has happened and the main hydraulics have gone as well," Alan commented softly. "With that vibration, somebody really, really screwed up."

"And down we go," Virgil said tightly.

"Think it could have been sabotage?"

"No, I think it's exactly what you think it is. Somebody really mucked up and didn't stick to the checklist we set up. That vibration was the gear coming loose and jamming, then letting go into the hydraulic system."

Alan sighed. "I was really hoping I was wrong. That sounded like the whole main housing gave way at once."

"Uh-huh," Virgil concurred, "And steering will be out with hydraulics gone."

"And we'll starting losing altitude immediately. But if the pilot's good, he should be able to manage a pretty controlled landing. Where's Scott when we need him? He'd put this thing down like a feather."

Virgil had to agree with that. He hoped this pilot had a tenth of the skill Scott or their father did. Then they'd be fine.

Alan glanced at his watch. "We're only an hour out of Hawaii. We'd better call Dad and let him know."

"Already done it. He's launching One to shadow us."

Alan looked surprised. "When?"

"When did I call?" Virgil grinned. "While you gave me a great diversion." At Alan's tightening face he relented. "I know, you just wanted to help, and it was the right sentiment, just the wrong move. Remind me to tell you about Scott's attempt to 'help' out on a commercial flight just after we'd set up the 'home business' sometime. I think you must have still been in NASA 'cause you weren't around."

Alan's face lit up. "You're on," he said, delighted.

Virgil hid a grin. Alan always loved hearing about Scott's exploits. Scott was close to 10 years older, and therefore as much parent as brother to Alan when he was a child. It did make for an interesting family dichotomy. Because of the age difference between the two, they accounted for their own Tracy version of the generation gap. And with Scott usually instrumental in smoothing out the his baby brother's indiscretions, Alan's resentment towards his 'perfect' brother as he was growing up was entirely normal.

What Alan failed to understand was that Scott had been a typical teenager. Yes, probably more responsible than most, as he was helping with the younger kids, but still typical. And in true Scott fashion, his exploits tended to be pretty outrageous. As inventive as Alan's, were the truth to be told, just far, far fewer. So now, for the youngest Tracy to find out that his elder brother, the resented, and at the same time, much admired, 'Captain Tracy' had normal, everyday faults always made his day, and as Alan grew older, that fact actually seemed to bring them closer together.

Of course, Scott, as Field Commander, didn't always see it that way, but to Virgil it was clear. And he did his best to make sure that the relationship between the two now adult men continued to improve as equals. And if the way to do it was to regale Alan of Scott's exploits in his younger years, then so be it. The result was clearly seen in Scott's earlier comment about Alan being good company. Virgil grinned to himself – he wasn't surprised. They were amazingly alike.

However, that said, Alan was still young enough to have a tendency to rub Scott's nose in his newly found information. Hopefully two weeks would be enough to temper his glee and let the elation of new ammunition die down.

Virgil sobered immediately. That is, if they made it down. He craned his neck to see what the flight attendants were doing, then immediately gasped in pain. Wrong move. Very, very wrong.

"Virgil?" Alan's one word carried a weight of worry.

Virgil breathed slowly for a moment, then carefully rubbed his neck, before looking over at his brother wryly. "Moved the wrong way."

"No kidding," Alan said, not buying the calm tone. "Seriously."

"Yeah," Virgil sighed. "I'm okay. It's just going to be a tough next hour or so."

Alan nodded. "How about taking a couple more of those pills? I know it's a little soon, but I think it would be a good idea. It's going to be a rough ride for the next little bit."

Virgil nodded thoughtfully. That wasn't a bad idea. "Yeah, I think I might."

Alan nodded briskly in return, and leaned down to root around in Virgil carry-on, reemerging with a bottle of water and a couple of pills.

"Thanks, squirt," Virgil acknowledged as he accepted the offering and downing the pills in one gulp.

Alan's nose wrinkled in irritation at the old nickname, but he didn't respond otherwise.

A burst of static from the loud speaker got their attention. "Ladies and Gentleman, may we please have your attention. This is your Captain. I regret to inform you that we have an emergency situation. We are going to have to set down."

A flurry of gasps from the passengers drowned him out for a moment. Virgil and Alan exchanged glances, then looked once again to the flight attendant, who was trying to get their attention.

"The Coast Guard has already been alerted and will be meeting us at the landing site," the captain continued. "We have enough control to be able to choose the time and be able to pinpoint the place. Please remember that the Fireflash has been fitted with a specialized emergency floatation system. The plane will be able to stay afloat for three to four hours, ample time for all of us to get clear."

Great, that's if we survive the crash in the first place, Virgil thought dismally. All the same, he and Alan exchanged ironic glances at the mention of the flotation system. Brains had designed it, and the two brothers had helped install the prototype.

The Captain's voice continued. "First, I need each of you to turn off any electronic devices. We need all channels clear. Then, listen carefully to the flight attendants as they go through the emergency procedures with you once again. We will keep you informed on each step. Thank you."

Before panic could set in, each flight attendant stepped forward to their section, already wearing their life vest and began to go through the procedures.

Following along with the others, the Tracy brothers took out the tiny two inch square packet from the compartment in the table in front of them, and unfolded the specially designed material into a full size life vest. As they did so, Virgil and Alan conversed nearly inaudibly.

"Virg, seriously, how bad are you hurting?"

Virgil could tell from his tone that Alan had gone into professional mode, and answered accordingly, although it went against his grain to admit injury. "More than I'd care to admit. You had a good idea with those pills, though. That will help."

"Good. Here's what we'll do. We'll pack both of our pillows and blankets around you to create as much cushion as much as possible, and that way you won't have to work as hard to hold the crash position," Alan commented as he helped his brother adjust his vest.

"Okay," Virgil said, resigned. He hated being injured, and this really couldn't have come at a worse time.

The two returned their attention to the display up front, as well as automatically keeping an open ear to the reactions around them. So far, so good. Everybody was holding together.

As the instructions droned on, one of the flight attendants who had escorted Alan back to his seat approached. "Young man, since you were so eager to help, I'd like you to assist me at the exit when we land."

Alan nodded seriously, and listed to her instructions, while Virgil looked on approvingly.

It was a smart move on the flight attendant's part. She didn't know Alan at all, but she did know he was decisive and aggressive enough to easily take charge as evidenced by his foray earlier. This way she could use that trait, as well as keep him under her control. Little did she know she had really picked one of the few people on board who could probably be of real help to her.

Virgil decided it was time to alert the rest of the family to the situation. Listening to the flight attendant's instructions to his brother, he keyed the transmit button discreetly on his watch. Adjusting it to a wide angle beam, he insured that it would pick up the more distant sounds, not just the close in conversations. He knew that the receiver on Five would filter out anything not needed. Brains' inventions were not only amazing, they really were useful. He tuned back in to hear Alan speaking.

"My brother is injured. He's got a strained back and neck," Alan was telling the flight attendant.

Oh, lovely, Virgil thought with mixed feelings. He just hated being a liability.

"Okay, Alan. That's good to know. Stay with him until we're down, then have him stay put until I can get the slide inflated. We'll get him out as soon as we have a few people in the boats to steady his drop. Do you understand everything?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alan said decisively.

"Good," she smiled approvingly and headed back up front.

"Gee thanks, Alan," Virgil snapped quietly, taking out his frustration on his brother.

Alan refused to rise to the bait. "Give it up, Virgil. I know you hate it, but you're going to ride this one out purely as a passenger."

Virgil relented, sighing, as Alan began packing the blankets around him. "Yeah, yeah, I know you're right, but I don't have to like it."

Alan gave him a tight smile as he finished, then both returned their attention to the front as the captain spoke again.

"Ladies and Gentleman, we are about to begin our descent."

Virgil gave a soft snort as he and Alan traded ironic looks. Yes, they were beginning their descent because they didn't have much choice. Both men had been keeping one ear on the increasingly rough sounding engines and felt the minute changes in the heretofore smooth forward motion of the plane.

"The Coast Guard is in position awaiting us. When you hear the signal, drop to your brace position."

"Virgil . . ." Alan began softly. He knew they didn't have much time before they crashed. And that may be all the time they had left in their lives, horrifying as that thought was.

"You don't need to say it, Alan," Virgil said quietly. "I know." He reached over and squeezed his brother's hand lightly. He smiled reassuringly.

Alan returned the gesture with a tentative smile, then there was no more time as the flight attendants began yelling, "Brace, brace!"

And with that, they both dropped to the brace position, and prepared to ride out the coming storm.

As the word spread on Tracy Island, the inhabitants of the island had gathered in the lounge to a person, tensely waiting for word. Scott was missing, having left almost immediately following Virgil's call, following the route of the doomed jetliner in the sleek Thunderbird One. Both his and John's portrait links were activated, so in essence, all members of Tracy Island were accounted for.

Conversation was sparse, and was apt to be low. It also tended to fizzle out after only a few words, leaving the room in once again in tense silence.

Grandma and TinTin sat on the settee, looking anxious, while Gordon paced the long room, uncharacteristically grim. Kyrano looked to be his usual imperturbable self, unless one looked close. Then the tension lines in his face were clear. Brains sat quietly, trying not to speak, knowing stress made his stutter worse. Jeff looked as expressionless as granite, but they all knew it was only a façade.

John's voice, breaking the atmosphere of tension and reflection in the room, made them all jump.

"Father, I've picked up a transmission from the Fireflash to the Coast Guard. They are going to ditch. They're transmitting the coordinates now. I'm sending them your way now, Scott," he said, as his older brother's mouth opened.

Scott snapped his mouth shut, looked at his readouts and grimly adjusted his course. "Got 'em. Course is adjusted."

"What about anything from Virgil or Alan, John?" Jeff asked tensely.

John began to answer a negative, then stopped. Looking at his screens for a moment, he adjusted something out of sight, then spoke again. "Coming in now, I'm filtering and patching through."

Alan's voice speaking was the first thing they heard. "My brother is injured . . . "

"Good boy," Jeff said softly, approvingly, as Gordon laughed.

"Bet Virgil hates that," he snickered, as usual, using humor to try to lighten his worry.

"Hush, Gordon," TinTin said reprovingly.

Gordon subsided as they all listened, riveted, to the instructions from the crew of the doomed plane.

But it was Virgil and Alan's final words to one another that sent chills through all of them, as they touched on the true heart of the matter.

Virgil had been through many tough flights, and a few spectacular wrecks, including the shooting down of Thunderbird Two. But this one erased all sense of time or thought as the plane began to fall from the sky, jolting its passengers in all directions. The pain through his body, already weary from the strain of back and neck injury, was indescribable. As the sounds around him grew in fury, they became indistinguishable from the movement and merged into one, agonizing assault on his senses.

The final impact of the plane hitting the water was not even distinguishable from the actual plummet out of the sky. Just, suddenly, it was over, and sounds were clear again.

The flight attendants were yelling for everyone to release their seatbelts and get out!

Virgil slowly forced his aching body to unfold from the brace position, feeling his head swimming as he did so. The main lights in the cabin were off, and red emergency lighting was creating a far different picture from the luxurious lounge he'd last seen. He caught a flurry of movement in the shadows off to his right and realized that his brother had a hand on his shoulder and was speaking to him.

"Virgil? Virgil! Are you all right?"

Now one hand was on each of his shoulders, helping him to sit carefully upright. Virgil managed to take a deep breath, grateful it didn't hurt. His vision cleared and he could see the very concerned face of Alan looking at him.

"Virg?"

"Yeah . . . Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

" . . . Yeah," Virgil answered slowly.

"Okay. Stay put. I'll be back for you in a moment."

And with that, Alan was gone. But Virgil could hear his voice as he directed people towards the exit. As his vision cleared, he could see Alan assisting stumbling passengers in the direction of the exit he was helping with, all the while staying close to Virgil and keeping a wary eye on him. Virgil was grateful once again for all of his brothers. They were well trained, and knew their jobs, and were professional always. But at the same time, they cared for one another as only family could.

Tilting his head back slightly, trying to loosen his neck, Virgil took another deep breath. His head was clearing by the second.

"Father," he said softly, knowing the transmitter would pick it up. "We're down, we're okay, and everything looks pretty good. Chaotic, but under control."

As the group in the lounge listened to the sounds of the tortured jet dropping from the sky, the atmosphere grew more tense. TinTin grabbed for Gordon's hand as it rested behind her on the back of the couch and held it tightly. Josie met her son's eyes, their gazes locked as the plane holding their two loved ones plunged downwards towards the sea.

The final crash was a deafening roar that seemed to fill the room and last forever. Then . . . voices. Alan's. Rising in command. Then more softly as he spoke to Virgil. Their conversation.

As both Virgil's and Alan's voices were heard the strain released the worst of its grip. It wasn't over, but they were down and they were coherent.

Alan's directions to passengers was heard again, mixed with the flight attendants and passenger's distress. Then, finally, the words they'd hoped for, Virgil's transmission of their well-being.

"Thanks heavens," Josie breathed in relief, as she watched her son take a deep breath, and visibly regain control of himself again.

"Scott?"

"I heard. What's the next step?" Scott said, voice as professional as always, but his expression as seen on the portrait link matched those in the room – a mixture of relief and worry.

"Shadow them. I think everything is under control, but I don't want to take any chances until they're safely on the cutter and enroute to the islands. Stay out of sight and once everybody's safe, come on home. We don't need anybody to know that we've been involved in any way."

"Understood. I'm up in the cloud layer, but thanks to the infrared, I'm getting a clear picture. Looks like the passengers are exiting via the slide-rafts right now, and the Coast Guard is picking them up. Looks like I'm not the only ariel visitor either. The TV helijets are hear already."

"They get faster everyday," John commented wryly.

Jeff ignored him. "Just keep out of sight of everybody, and keep us posted."

"F. A. B."

The atmosphere lightened still more as the listening group heard two Tracys talking as Virgil prepared to exit onto the slide. But the relief was only complete when they heard both of their family members safe aboard the life raft.

"Father," Virgil's voice was heard clearly. "We're on the raft, and fine. Cutting transmission. Will contact ASAP. Out." Then the noise was shut off, leaving a deafening silence.

And the silence left the listeners limp.

Scott was enroute back home, with the passengers and crew of the Fireflash none the wiser regarding his presence, when John opened communications once again.

"Scott, you have to hear this!" He was laughing. "Hang on."

"What?" Scott asked, puzzled

"Just watch. I'm putting it through now, it just now aired," John commented, still chuckling.

The video began to play on the control panel in front of Scott, showing the familiar World Wide News anchor team. They were seated in front of a large vid-screen, which was showing the transfer of the passengers from the downed Fireflash to the Coast Guard Cutter.

Scott watched, confused as to why John would think he'd want to watch this. After all, he'd been there! Then he tuned into to what the woman was saying.

" . . . and we're told that the passenger list included several well known persons. Senator Miller of Vermont was on board, as well as . . . yes, there," she said as the camera panned in closer to none other than Alan, who was helping a Coast Guard Officer assist people onto the cutter. "There is Alan Tracy, famous race car driver and son of the reclusive billionaire Jefferson Tracy, former astronaut and founder of Tracy Industries. The other young man you see disembarking now is Virgil Tracy, Jefferson's second son, and a well known artist."

The anchor woman turned towards her partner. "As you probably know, the Tracy family is extremely reclusive. They tend to stay mostly on their private island, and keep to themselves."

"Well, Tina, it must be nice to live the life of the idle rich . . ."

Scott about choked at that, causing the extremely sensitive Thunderbird to dip at the unexpected pressure on the controls. He got it back under control immediately as he listened in disbelief.

"Yes, it would be, wouldn't it?" Tina agreed smiling. "Living the life of leisure on your own private island."

The man laughed again. "Well, they had some excitement today," he finished, then continued with the story on another tangent on the crash.

Scott stared opened mouthed at the screen, while listening to John's snickering.

Still laughing, John commented, "I'm saving this to play back for them."

Scott stared to grin. "Think maybe we can make it into a montage for them? Playing on an endless loop on their computers? And not be able to shut it off?"

"Funny Scott, Gordon's reaction was exactly the same. I'm already starting on it," John laughed.

"Good," Scott said grinning, already thinking of Virgil and Alan's reaction to that particular piece of footage.

Alan finished handing the last passenger save his brother up the ladder from the lifeboat to the cutter. Then, turning to Virgil, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Virgil sighed. His back and his neck were killing him. Now he understood how Gordon felt, and this was just a mild strain. He stood up from his seat in the lifeboat, stiffly, assisted by the crew member helping hold the boat steady against the cutter.

"Okay, here you go," Alan encouraged, helping steady Virgil up the ladder.

As miserable as he was, he spared a corner of his mind to be amused at Alan's professional demeanor as he made it to the top, Alan swarming up right behind him.

"Thanks for the help, son. You did a good job," the Coast Guard Officer said, slightly condescendingly, to Alan as he shook his hand. "Now, just head down to the galley, and the crew will direct you."

The rapid play of expressions across Alan's face wasn't noticeable to anybody who didn't know him well, but to Virgil, who could read Alan instantly, it was clear. The mixture of amazement at the condescending tone, frustration at not being recognized for his ability because of the mask of his age, and sudden understanding about what it was like to be on the other side, amused his older brother.

Still, Virgil once again appreciated the complexity of not only Alan, but all of his brothers. They were amazing people – gifted, smart, and well grounded – each of them. Each with unique abilities, and deep compassion. Too bad the world would never recognize them for who they really were. Thinking on this further, he finally voiced his thoughts.

"Kind of like being a superhero with an alter-ego, huh?" He said quietly to Alan as he stiffly made his way to the galley.

Alan did a double take at him, and with the quick uptake Virgil expected from all of his brothers, responded instantly. "Well, you make a pretty good Clark Kent at that."

"Clark Kent?" Virgil said incredulously. "I was thinking more along the lines of Bruce Wayne," he finished, vaguely offended.

"Nah. That's Scott. You're Kent. No question. Quiet, mild-mannered, easily overlooked."

Virgil stared at Alan open mouthed, speechless.

Alan just grinned, threw an arm over his shoulder (carefully, Virgil was grateful to note), and watchfully steered him towards the galley.

"Face it Virg, you do kind of blend in – just like Clark Kent. Come on, I'm hungry."

Virgil allowed himself to be moved along, thinking glumly about the contrariness of brothers; you either loved them, or hated them – sometimes both at the same time.