Unrelenting Elements

"Whoa."

Carl Magnuson briefly forgot the cold and the wet snowflakes pelting his face as he gazed at the massive green Thunderbird hovering overhead. He glanced at the fire chief, a tall, broad-shouldered man named Bryan Reedy. "I can see why some of our students are fans."

Chief Reedy seemed less impressed. "Yeah. I just hope all that fancy equipment is up to the job." They watched as bay doors opened in the Thunderbird's belly, and a bright yellow platform lowered with three men aboard. When it reached the ground, one of them pushed a lever, and the cable detached from the platform, retracting quickly back up into the opening. The doors closed behind it. Floodlights came on from the craft's underside, adding more light to the scene.

Each man was dressed in silvery-white snow gear, trimmed in bright green. Close-fitting hoods surrounded smooth faceplates whose surfaces seemed to almost absorb the flakes that battered them. They were carrying packs which Carl figured were full of gear, and the way they forged their way through the snow gave mute testimony to their strength. Their leader greeted the two men with handshakes. Carl introduced himself and his colleague.

"You can call me John." His own name was common enough, but for this particular rescue, he thought it necessary to disguise his brothers a bit. A brief discussion as John had suited up provided an answer. "This is Malcolm," he said, indicating Scott. He then turned towards Gordon. "And this is... Don. They're going to help clear some of those branches further up the tree. That will enable us to pull it out at the same angle it went in. Then we'll pivot it over, and drop it there." Making a motion toward Thunderbird Two, he went on. "We really don't have time to land at this point, so the pilots will hover and wait for our signal."

"Come with me," Reedy said, gesturing toward Scott and Gordon. "Our snorkel trucks are waiting."

As the three men left, Magnuson asked, "Will you be able to transport victims to the hospital? It'll be faster than ambulance."

John nodded. "Of course." He hefted the pack he carried. "Is there a way to get inside safely? I'll be able to get a better sense of how the victims are faring with my equipment."

Mr. Magnuson nodded. "I'll show you."

As they walked toward the stairwell nearest Oakwood, Carl said, "We have established primary contact with one of the victims, and secondary contact through him with another." He gestured to one of the fire trucks that stood, running, its headlights illumining the darkness. "One of the victim's friends, a fellow student, has a remarkable communications device. A two-way wrist radio and television watch." He snorted and shook his head. "What will they think of next?"

John tried hard to hide his smile. "Here I thought that one had already been invented." He glanced at the firetruck, catching a glimpse of Alan behind the windshield. "Thunderbird Two, there is verbal contact with two of the victims. How many heat signatures are you picking up inside?"

Jeff checked the heat sensors, activated while his sons descended to earth. "I have four, John. They aren't far apart; adjoining rooms, I'd say. Two of them seem to be huddled together, and are picking up as warmer by the sensors." His voice dropped. "The ones in what seems to be Fermat's room are in bad shape."

By this time, John and Carl were inside. "Our equipment shows four victims, in what seem to be adjoining rooms. Two are stronger; they seem to be huddled together for warmth. The other two aren't as strong and are separate."

"The first would be Seth Ames and Kiernan Gilchrist. The other two would be Fermat Hackenbacker and Andrew Trumbull. They're the ones who we have contact with." Carl shook his head. "It's been hard to find a way in. The doors are closed, and there are thicker branches in the way. Getting that tree off will make things easier."

They were on the third floor now. Battery-powered lamps had been brought up, so that those working inside could see. The air was filled with the sound of a chainsaw; two firefighters were making slow but steady progress further down the hall. Branches crisscrossed the space, and the lights, coupled with the hazy exhaust from the gas-powered saws made the whole scene seem eerie and macabre. Though the hallway was mostly out of the wind, it was still bone-chilling cold. Carl called to the workers. "Take a break, guys. Let this gent find out what he can about our boys."

As the firefighters put aside their equipment, John pulled out the softball-sized camera, its usual controller, and a computer pad. He had taken the time to activate the main device with a thumbprint before suiting up, but the remote would need more minute control. Removing a thick outer glove, he revealed a much thinner, form-fitting layer over his fingers, one that kept his fingers both dry and somewhat warm while allowing him more precise movement. "Do you have visual, Thunderbird Two? Thunderbird Five?"

"F-A-B," came Virgil's voice. "I'm shunting the signal to Base as well."

"F-A-B," Jeff said. He made an adjustment on the console before him. "You should be getting visual as well, John."

"F-A-B." The computer pad came to life with a view of the corridor, and a small window opened within John's visor. The discrepancy between what his eyes saw, and what the camera saw was disconcerting. "Here we go." Tossing the ball up in the air gently, it hovered for a moment, then following the directions he gave via the remote, floated gently down the hall.

"That looks like one of those action cams," Mr. Magnuson said, his tone thoughtful.

"A variation of it, yes," John replied, distracted. To deflect further questions, he asked, "Who needs to see what's going on in these rooms? They should be up here."

"I'll take it." One of the firefighters stepped up. Tendrils of curly brown hair escaped the edges of her balaclava. "Dave, call the chief, please. He'll want to see this, too."

Mr. Magnuson glanced at the advancing view on the small computer screen, and nodded. "Let me know if you need anything. I've got to check on the boy who is talking to Hackenbacker and Trumbull and get an update."

"Right." John let his eyes focus only on the view in his helmet, letting that be his way to guide the camera. It was getting easier to see, but harder to control as the camera penetrated the tangled branches.

Outside, "Malcolm" and "Don" were clearing branches as quickly as they could. Their laser cutters put out a prodigious amount of heat, even when using a tight, short beam, so neither of them could complain about the cold – at least, around the upper parts of their bodies. The faceplates darkened considerably when the lasers were employed, and return to a clear view often took longer than Scott liked. At least they're not covered with snow, or fogged up with my breath. I'll have to talk with Brains about the auto-dark... "Whoa!"

A strong gust of wind shook the snorkel bucket he was standing in, throwing him off-balance. The laser cutter was jarred from his hand, and he instinctively reached for it. He missed by a fraction of an inch; a good thing, too, as the cutter had turned and the end he would have grabbed was the laser. It fell onto the bark and splinter-covered snow, its programming cutting power as it hit the ground.

Scott swore under his breath, not caring if his father heard him. The only person who seemed to be nearby was a newly-arrived EMT, helping her partner secure a hypothermic firefighter to a stretcher. She saw the cutter drop, and, with a word to her partner, hurried over.

"Be careful!" Scott called. "The power's off, but it's probably still hot! Grab it by the handle, and avoid that red button!"

She picked it up gingerly, and glanced up at him. Beneath her hat's deep fold, her eyes widened, giving her a shocked expression. Scott didn't give it much thought, just leaned over a bit and asked, "How's your throwing arm?"

"Pretty good, actually." The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but again, Scott didn't think about it, putting it down to distortion from the wind.

"Then let's see how good. Toss it up here... please." He smiled, though he was sure she couldn't really see him.

"Okay! Catch!" With a mighty heave, the EMT flung the cutter skyward. Her aim was good; Scott easily reached down to catch it.

"Thanks!" he said, giving her a quick salute.

"You're welcome... flyboy!" With that, she turned, and hurried to rejoin her partner.

Scott took a few moments to check over the power settings and other controls. As he did, something began to clamor for attention in his head. Sudden realization swept over him, and he turned sharply in the direction the EMT had gone, nearly losing the cutter again. He fumbled for it, held on tight, and peered through the bright snowstorm, looking for the woman who'd helped him out. She was already out of sight.

Shaking his head slowly, he muttered to himself, "Nah. Couldn't have been her."

"Couldn't have been who, Scott?" Jeff's voice sounded in his ear.

"Uh, nothing, Dad. Just thought I saw someone I knew." Scott shook his head again. "It couldn't have... but..."

"But what, son?"

"Nothing, Dad. Just nothing." But inside, Scott was cursing himself out. Oh, God. She called me "flyboy". It didn't look like her, but her voice... It had to have been her. Dammit, it was her. It was Sable, and now... she knows. Oh, God, I'm so dead.

"But, Virge, isn't there any way to get the video part back?" Alan couldn't see Virgil any more than he could see Fermat, but he could talk to him, and argue about the sudden video cut off.

"Sorry, Alan." Virgil was trying hard to coordinate all the different feeds he was getting from the field. "We haven't fixed that bug quite yet. Now, listen to me. You're not going to like this, but it's gotta be done. For us to keep our cover, you're going to have to sign off with Fermat. The camera fogger is supposed to take out all comm devices beyond our own and recognized emergency frequencies. This includes your watch. Sign out, and tell people we've cut you off."

"But Fermat! And A.J.! What about them?"

Virgil tried to put as much comfort behind his voice as he could. "Don't worry. Brains will take over for you in keeping them awake, okay?" He didn't tell Alan the main reason Brains had insisted on the change.

"I-If something... p-p-permanent happens to my son," Brains had said, swallowing heavily, "I w-w-want the last v-v-voice he hears to be m-m-mine."

"But I'm his friend!" Alan knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"And Brains is his dad. No one has more incentive to keep Fermat awake than he does." Virgil glanced up at one of the screens showing Thunderbird Two's feed of the danger zone. "Now, someone's approaching you. Remember: we shut your watch down."

Alan sighed, and opened his mouth to reply. But the door suddenly swung open, and Mr. Magnuson slid into the cab, pulling off his hat and gloves, shaking moisture from his dark hair.

"How's it going, Alan? How are Fermat and Andrew doing?"

The anguish on Alan's face was real when he held up his watch. "I don't know, Mr. Mags. I... I think the Thunderbirds jammed my watch. I can't reach Fermat anymore."

"Hm. That's a problem." Carl glanced at the emergency radio. Reaching up, he increased the volume. The muted chatter now became audible, and he shook his head. "Why your watch and not the radio?"

Alan shrugged. He figured that, even as the Thunderbirds' "number one fan", there were things he wouldn't know about the organization. "I know they don't like having pictures taken, and they do something about it when they go to a rescue. It's probably part of that." He sounded so down and forlorn that Mr. Magnuson patted his shoulder.

"One of their men is inside the dorm. I'll talk to him, see what he can do to help us help him." He held his reddened hands over the cab's heater and rubbed them together. "After that, I'll take a break to warm up. Some of the firefighters haven't been taking breaks like they should and a couple are on their way to the hospital with hypothermia." Shaking his head, he added, "That's why I'm so worried about our boys; if big, healthy, active men succumb to this, those younger boys – especially Andrew and Fermat – will be even worse." He glanced over at Alan's stricken face. "Alan, there's always hope, even in seemingly impossible situations. That seems to be what the Thunderbirds specialize in. So, hold on to hope, and – if you believe in a power higher than man – it won't hurt to send up a little prayer." Patting Alan on the shoulder again, Carl put gloves and hat back on. "I'm off to see what we can do about that watch. Be back soon."

"Yes, sir."

The door opened again, and Mr. Magnuson was gone. Alan slumped back, feeling the tears prick his eyes again. "Virge?"

Virgil's voice was soft. "I heard, Al. I heard. Even though the media isn't out there, the story has made the local news. There are even pictures and vid taken and uploaded by the students, so I doubt Dad will turn off the fogger." He snorted a light laugh. "At least Lisa Lowe is stuck in New Hampshire. I bet she's hopping mad she can't get down there to cover things." Another voice made itself apparent in the background. "Uh oh. That's your Mr. Magnuson calling. Gotta get back at it. Go ahead and keep your end open, if you want, but I'm muting on this end." He paused, then said, "Stay warm and safe, Al. Don't give Dad anything more to worry about, okay?"

Alan swallowed and sniffed. "Okay."

"Promise?" Virgil sounded insistent.

Alan sighed. "I promise."

"Good. Holding you to that, bro. Thunderbird Five out."

Alan stretched. The cab felt empty now, and the only things he heard were the official chatter from the radio and the wind buffeting the sides. He pulled his jacket closer, even though he really wasn't cold, and turned the volume up on the radio. His summer training had included learning the codes that various rescue personnel used in talking with each other, and soon he became absorbed in translating what was going on – not just before him, but in places other than Wharton. Damn, but this storm is causing havoc! It's a miracle that the squads are still working here, and not called somewhere else. He thought about what Mr. Magnuson had last said, and closed his eyes briefly. God, if you're there, please, please, please don't let Fermat or A.J. die. I don't think I could take it. Please let them be okay. A moment's pause, and he added, Thanks, from Alan.

"S-Son."

Fermat stirred a little at the voice.

"F-Fermat."

This time the stirring was accompanied by a little whimper.

"Son. W-Wake up. C'mon, s-son. Wake up f-for me."

"Uhh." Fermat blinked.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, jolting Fermat into semi-wakefulness.

"S-Stop it, Alan. Th-Tha' hurt."

"It's not A-Alan, son. It's me."

"D-Dad?"

A touch of tension left Brains's shoulders when he heard Fermat respond. "Y-Yes, son. I'm here." Part of him cursed the bug in the watch software that kept him from seeing his son, while another part was already thinking of ways to overcome the flaw. He shushed them both with deliberation. "I'm here, F-Fermat. How are you?"

"I f-feel... warm, Dad. You gonna come 'n' g-get me?"

"Soon, F-Fermat. V-Very soon." A stray thought that there was another life involved surfaced. "How is A-A-Andrew? Can you c-c-call him?"

"Y-Yeah. I thin' so."

The call out was feeble, and strain as he might, Brains could hear no response in the background. He had the volume set to maximum there in the control room. Virgil had set the microphone gain in the watch as high as it would go. Brains could hear his son's slow breathing, and it worried him.

"C'mon, F-Fermat, stay awake for m-me. R-Rescue is c-coming. Hang in there."

"You comin' to get me, Dad?"

Brains gave Onaha, who sat nearby, a worried glance. She nodded. "Tell him yes."

Swallowing, he said, "Y-Yes, son. I'm c-c-coming. Stay awake and w-wait for me."

They could almost hear Fermat's smile. "G-Goo'. I'm w-waitin'."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Brains replied, "I love you, Fermat."

"Love you too, D-Dad."

Onaha put a hand on Brains's shoulder. "Keep it up. Keep talking to him. Talk about anything. I'll get you something to drink."

Brains nodded in response, then settled down, searching for something to say that would hold his son's interest.

"Where's m' Mom?"

The question took the engineer by surprise. He didn't talk much about Fermat's mother, mostly because the memories of their parting were too painful. Now, he thought, maybe I should tell him about her.

"I don't know where sh-she is, s-son," Brains admitted.

"C'n you get 'er? I w-wanna see 'er."

"I... I'll t-try, F-Fermat." It was all he could think of to say.

There was a pause on the other side, and Brains began to fear the worst. His relief was almost palpable when Fermat responded, "Goo'. Wanna s-see 'er. You comin' t' rescue me, an' Mom c-comin' t' see me."

Onaha, who had returned with a tray, gave Brains a questioning look. He shrugged, a helpless gesture. "Didn't know what e-else to t-tell him."

"Keep talking." Onaha poured iced tea for Brains and for herself. "Keep him awake."

"R-Right." He drained off half the glass, then went back to his all-important job.

"Thunderbird Two from Scott. We're done here, Commander."

"F-A-B." Jeff watched as the snorkel trucks moved their long arms away from the tree's near naked trunk. It was still slick with ice and snow, but many of the branches had been cut away and lay in piles on Maplewood's walk and steps. "Let's move this sucker off there. John, how are things inside?"

John put the camera back in his pack. "I managed to get the camera into the second room, where two of the boys are huddled for warmth. One of them has a broken arm, and the other seems to have an eye injury. I couldn't get the camera into the first room; but was able to get it up to a small hole. One of the boys is huddled on a lower bunk, but the second isn't anywhere in sight. The information we have is that he's in the bathroom."

"Then we'll take it slow. I'm sending Scott up with both laser cutters to help get through those doors. Gordon's going to help direct the grabs."

"F-A-B." John turned to Cheryl, the firefighter who had been watching the camera feed with him. "My people will be coming up with our cutters. We should get through the doors fast."

"The chief says we have a team waiting on the other side, so we'll attack both rooms at once." Cheryl informed him. "It's been hell waiting to get them out."

You don't know the half of it, John thought as he zipped up the pack.

The cab door opened once again, and Mr. Magnuson slid into the seat beside Alan. He looked as weary as he looked cold but he was upbeat as he took off hat and gloves again.

"They're about to move the tree," he said, rubbing his hands together. "After that, things should move quickly."

"It's felt like hours since this all happened," Alan said, arching his back to stretch the muscles.

"I know it has, but things moved pretty quickly once the Thunderbirds got here." Carl didn't want to voice his concern that it had been too long for the boys inside. "You did your best, Alan. Your quick thinking will have made a difference here; you'll see."

"I hope so." Alan's eyes followed Thunderbird Two as it edged forward, belly doors opening. A triangular grab appeared, let down by the same cable that held the rescue platform. One of the branch cutters – Gordon, by the look of him – was directing the pilot from the ground. The other cutter had alighted from the fire truck's bucket and had picked up the second laser. Alan guessed from the long, loping stride he used that this was Scott. In seconds, both operative and equipment had disappeared through Maplewood's side door.

"What happens when they get them out?" Alan asked. "Are any of their parents here?"

"When the boys are freed, that's when the fun stuff really starts." Mr. Magnuson sighed. "No, Alan. None of the parents are here. In fact, we haven't even called them yet. Policy is for us to wait until students are en route to the hospital... which is what happened with you, if I recall. All parents had to sign a paper giving us what's called 'limited power of attorney', so doctors can give emergency treatment in situations like this. If we had to wait for them to show up..." He shook his head. "Fortunately for us, Ms. Bell was still on campus when the tree fell. She went to the hospital with the first ambulance. She'll be there to represent the school."

Alan frowned. "How will they get to the hospital? I mean, an ambulance is going to take time in this weather." He had the vague idea of riding with Fermat.

"Well, that's one thing we don't have to worry about. The Thunderbirds have agreed to take them." Mr. Magnuson looked out, then glanced back at Alan. "I just hope they have a medic with them." At seeing Alan grimace, he added, "I'm sure they have qualified people for this. Your friends will be in good hands."

I know that, Alan wanted to say, but there's no way I can ride with them.

Carl drew Alan's attention back to the window. "Look! They've got the clamp on the tree!"

Indeed they did. The clamp was securely settled, sharp edges digging deep into the frozen bark. Gordon had moved out of the way, and Thunderbird Two began pulling up and back. The cable was at an angle; the movement of Two kept it at said angle. Slowly, the tree rose, pulling free of its confines, shedding branches and roofing as it moved.

Inside, Fermat felt the whole bunk bed rise with the impaled branch, and made a semi-articulate sound of alarm. His father shouted for him, but he couldn't hear over Thunderbird Two's engines. Finally, the branch pulled free of the splintered paneling, but it hauled A.J.'s mattress and bedding up with it. This, too, was loosed by the jagged edge of the roof, and it fell to the ground, muddy and wet.

Cheers erupted in the hallway as the thick tangle withdrew, leaving behind twigs and small logs in its wake. John had his laser primed and ready, and before the tree was fully clear, raced to cut Fermat's door. Scott was already at work on the other room.

What greeted John and the other rescuers was a bedroom in shambles, but no sign of Fermat. The bunk bed had been tipped and was resting on the edge of what had been a wardrobe. The mattress had been flung to the floor in the space beneath.

Working on a hunch, John told his companions, "Clear that bed out of the way, and lift the mattress. I'll start working on the bathroom door." He didn't even look back when he heard cries of, "Careful!" and "There he is!" sounded out behind him. He kept his focus trained on the space where he knew Andrew was – though, if asked, he would have said something about heat signatures, and left Alan out of it entirely.

"John, how are things going?" Jeff's voice was still tight with what John recognized as badly-disguised worry.

"I'm almost finished cutting through the bathroom door. One of the victims has been found; not sure of his condition yet." He crouched to move the laser across the width of the door. The hole he cut was big enough for the first of the EMTs to get inside; one of them, a young woman, stopped briefly to look him in the face. She frowned, then stepped in behind her partner.

"Hey there, Jazzman," he heard her say. "You still with us?"

John finished cutting the door completely off so the EMTs could get in and out easily. Then he turned to see what condition Fermat was in.

The EMTs were clustered around, giving their assessments. John could catch half of what they were saying, and none of it sounded good. The lights had been moved into the room, casting weird shadows on both rescuers and victim alike. Fermat's eyes were closed; his face was pale and lips were bluish. One hand kept a stiff grip on his blankets. Behind him, John heard the female EMT call out, "We have a live one here."

Cheryl, who was relaying instructions to and from the chief, said, "So do we." She looked at John pointedly. "Don't you have a sick bay or something to prepare?"

With a sigh, John nodded. "Yes. Thank you for the reminder. We'll be ready when you are." With that, he turned and left, meeting up with Scott in the hallway, and stopping only to pick up the equipment pack.