Lol, this chapter just dragged and dragged and dragged…hope it's not too rough.

It takes every ounce of John's self control to stay huddled in the grass beside Scott when he knows that two of his brothers are fighting a losing battle less than a hundred yards away.

But Virgil's words from a minute earlier make a lot of sense, so he wrestles his instincts into submission and stays plastered to the ground, his eyes fixed on the tent on the far side of the plateau – the tent that Virgil and Alan are in, and which eight poachers have just poured into.

There's a distant crack, and one poacher goes stumbling backwards out of the tent, knees wobbly. The flimsy structure billows and ripples from all the movement inside; John sees the outline of a figure hitting the side wall and bouncing back.

John clenches his fists, wishing that he could feel the sting of his knuckles connecting with someone's jaw…but no, Gordon needs him even more than Virgil and Alan do right now, so he needs to stay still.

Approximately ninety seconds earlier, John and Scott had been crawling across the plateau, planning to rendezvous with Virgil and Alan, retrieve Gordon from the tent, and escape back to Thunderbird One – when suddenly a loud cry had cut through the still night air.

Like puppets on strings, all the poachers sleeping around the campfire had boiled to their feet, shouting and grabbing their rifles. The guards at the corners of the plateau started to converge on the scene too.

Before John could do more than blink in surprise, Virgil's voice had begun tumbling out of Scott's watch, low and intense and fast – clearly he knew that he only had seconds to get important words out. "Scott," he had snapped. "Gordon's not in here! It was a poacher, and he just woke up the camp. Things could get hairy for us in a second here, but I think you two should stay in hiding so you're still free to find Gordon. Okay?"

The words freeze John – this is not how things were supposed to work out! – but thankfully, Scott thinks faster than he does, and there's a reluctant, "FAB" from the brother crouched by John's side.

It's a quick fight. Virgil and Alan make a significant dent in the poachers in the first sixty seconds, but ultimately they're no match against so many, and soon they're being dragged out of the tent to stand illuminated by the harsh red glow of the coals in the fire pit.

Someone tosses an armful of logs onto the coals, and sparks shoot up toward the heavens, twinkling among the stars for one brief moment. The flames leap high, casting a flickering yellow light over John's brothers.

One man approaches Virgil and Alan, and John can see Virgil subtly angling his wrist so that his watch is pointing toward the man.

It's strange to be able to see the poacher's mouth moving, but hear the words coming through Scott's watch. John and Scott huddle closer together so that they won't miss anything.

"Who are you, and how did you get here?" the poacher asks, his English accented but clear.

"We're a covert team sent in to extract the American you kidnapped earlier today," Virgil says boldly. "Where is he?"

John smirks. Virgil had spoken the truth, but he had managed to make it sound way more intimidating than reality.

The poacher studies his prisoner's faces. "I think that you are lying," he says. He points at Alan. "This one was with the other one earlier today. I think that you are the other Tracy boy, which makes me happy, because I know someone who is very good at getting money from people like your father." He glances at Virgil. "I do not know who you are. Are you also the son of a wealthy man?"

Virgil shrugs. "Doesn't matter who I am. I just want to know where Gordon is."

The poacher shrugs too. His back is to the fire, masking his expression in deep shadow, but John can hear the evil glee in his voice when he says, "You do not need to worry about him any more."

Instantly, four Tracy brothers clench their jaws and their fists. John wishes that looks could kill, because if they did, that poacher would be a smudge on the ground right now.

Alan fights uselessly against the men restraining him. "You – you–" he chokes out. "What did you do to him?"

The poacher lets out a hard, cold laugh. "Nothing. He has done it to himself, the young fool. We thought that he was too weak to move, but when we weren't watching him, he crawled to one of our jeeps and escaped. What he didn't realize was that he picked the only jeep that was almost out of fuel. Right now he is doubtless stranded only a few miles away. The lions will probably leave him alone, but if they do not, it's no great loss – I would have been surprised if he had survived until morning anyway. We will search for him tomorrow and bring him back if he still lives."

Scott sucks in a sharp breath, but John can't breathe at all. He feels the dark void of the night pressing against his back like a weight. Gordon's out there somewhere, badly injured and alone? John has to forcibly push away a mental picture of a pride of lions circling a stalled-out jeep, of a lone figure slumped over the steering wheel in the middle of the vast plains of the Serengeti.

Only one question remains – do they leave Virgil and Alan in the hands of the poachers for the time being, or do they try to rescue them before going after Gordon?

Virgil answers that. "Don't be surprised if you don't find him – the kid's got guardian angels like you wouldn't believe. They're probably on their way to help him right now, as a matter of fact."

Hint, hint. That's Virgil's way of telling Scott and John to get going, if they haven't already.

Scott snorts and turns off his watch. "Angels. Right. Nice, Virg." He nudges John. "C'mon, let's go see if Gordon left us any jeeps that do have gas."

John pulls his night-vision goggles back down over his eyes, flicking over to the infrared mode so that he'll be able to spot any poachers still standing guard at this end of the plateau. A quick scan indicates that they've all joined the hubbub at the campfire end, though, leaving the row of jeeps free for the taking. They've even left the keys in the ignition.

Scott steps up into the driver's seat of the jeep closest to the end and shifts it into neutral. "Give me a push," he hisses.

John plants his feet, crouches low, and pushes; once the vehicle starts rolling, he trots to catch up and swings into the passenger seat.

It's an eerie journey down the hill with no engine noise – just the swish of tall grass against the sides of the jeep and the dry crackle of tires over loose dirt. Scott doesn't turn on the headlights, and the rutted path shows up as a cool violet in John's goggles; something small and glowing a brilliant yellow dives into the brush as they approach.

They finally coast to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and Scott starts the engine. He checks the gas gauge and nods in satisfaction. "Half a tank," he says, not bothering to keep his voice quiet any more – they're far enough away that the poachers won't hear him. He still doesn't turn the headlights on, though.

They drive at a brisk pace down the winding, bumpy little road, constantly scanning back and forth, watching for any sign of Gordon's vehicle.

As desperate as he is to find Gordon, John finds himself fighting the nearly-constant urge to look back over his shoulder, as if he could see his other brothers. He sighs. "Wish we had some way to make sure Virg and Alan are doing okay."

Scott's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. "Yeah," he says shortly.

They drive on; after a few minutes, they round a bend, and Scott slams on the brakes.

John's out of the jeep before it has stopped moving, sprinting toward the figure sprawled on the ground beside another jeep nearly identical to their own.

Scott catches up to him, and they drop to their knees at the same moment.

Scott reaches with shaking fingers for the side of Gordon's throat, and there's a pause that feels like a lifetime before he lets out his breath, his eyes closing. "He's still with us," he says softly. He brushes Gordon's hair back off his forehead. "We're here now, Gords. You're gonna be okay."

John tries to ignore how very, very still Gordon is as he and Scott work together to assess their younger brother's condition. The words "I wish Virgil was here" hover on the tip of John's tongue the whole time, but they don't have time for pointless words, so he leaves them unsaid.

He feels clumsy as he works. He's trained, of course – and Scott's also trained, and has quite a bit more experience than John – but the two of them are merely competent, as compared to Virgil, who is intuitive.

And Virgil has the backpack full of medical supplies, so there's really not much that they even can do except figure out how to get Gordon home without making him worse.

They bundle him up in the back seat of the jeep with an emergency blanket. John heads for the passenger seat, but Scott stops him with a single word.

"Wait."

John swings around and sees Scott standing still, his face pensive. Then Scott sighs and grabs a can of gasoline from the back of their jeep. He walks toward the stalled vehicle and unscrews the gas cap.

"Take Gordon to Thunderbird One and get him home," he says. "I'm going back for Virgil and Alan." He tips the can back and listens to the fuel trickle down into the vehicle's gas tank.

"Scott!" John exclaims. "You're going back in there…alone?"

Scott gestures toward Gordon. "These people have already proven how little regard they have for human life. How do we know that they won't decide that it's not worth the bother to keep both Virgil and Alan alive long enough for Dad to pay a ransom? I'm not leaving our brothers in their hands for any longer than I have to." He spears John with a look. "You remember where the hover stretcher is in One? And you're up to date on your simulation training for her, right?"

John nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'm up to date, but, Scott…" He stops himself with a sigh. He wants Virgil and Alan back too. "Just – be careful, okay?"

Scott grins. He tosses the empty gas can in the back of his jeep and swings up into the driver's seat, patting the dashboard with a satisfied smile when the sturdy engine fires up immediately. "I was born careful!" he shouts as he whips the vehicle around in the narrow track. He starts to squeeze the vehicle past John's jeep, but he stops halfway and looks John in the eyes. The grin is gone now. "You be careful too," he says. He nods toward John's back seat. "Precious cargo."

John nods soberly. "Yeah, believe me, I know." He sighs again. "Okay, Scott. I'll be back in a couple hours to pick you guys up."

Scott nods once, decisively, and guns the engine, quickly disappearing from sight.

John lets out a long sigh. "Looks like it's just you and me, Gords," he says, and starts the engine.

He drives as carefully as he can, torn between getting Gordon help as soon as possible and trying not to jostle him too badly.

It's a couple miles back to Thunderbird One. She's tucked behind a low ridge; when they had landed, they had come in at minimal elevation to avoid alerting the poachers. There wasn't really anything they could do to actually hide her, but she's at least out of the line of sight of the plateau.

John pulls the jeep up close to the sleek rocket plane and vaults out into the grass. He hurries up the ladder into the cockpit and grabs the hover stretcher, then climbs back down.

Gordon stirs slightly as John maneuvers him onto the stretcher.

"Outta gas," he murmurs. "Gotta find Al…hope he's okay…"

John runs his hand over Gordon's hair, his heart clenching as he looks down into his younger brother's pinched face. "Alan's fine," he tells him, hoping desperately that it's true. "Scott and Virg are with him."

Activating the stretcher, John guides it back toward Thunderbird One, trying to remember how he's supposed to get it inside the cockpit – it's not like he's ever done this before.

As he stands there, thinking, a sound catches his attention, and he spins around. That sounds like – but…that can't be good. He's hearing a jeep approaching at high speed. All he can think of is that something went terribly wrong with Scott's rescue attempt, and the poachers are coming after him and Gordon.

That's a thought that gets the pulse racing.

He clambers up the ladder, one hand on the rungs and the other on the stretcher's control panel, wishing that the hover technology had a high speed setting. He can see one set of headlights rapidly approaching Thunderbird One, bouncing wildly up and down as the jeep guns it over the rough terrain. Some distance back, he sees three other sets of headlights, confirming his fear that the poachers are chasing him down.

When he finally reaches the top of the ladder, he pushes the stretcher inside and quickly buckles it in place, making sure Gordon is secure. He wishes he had time to start an I.V., but he'll have to save that for later in the flight. Right now he needs to get off the ground.

His hands fly over the controls, not as fast as Scott could have done it, but he's done enough simulations to have decent muscle memory. In twenty seconds, One's engines are roaring, and she's champing at the bit, ready to take off.

John glances out the window one last time. He can see the people in the lead jeep now, and to his surprise, one of them seems to be waving at him.

He sets his face and starts to lift off – but at that moment, the jeep skids to a halt right in front of him and Scott's voice explodes from his watch.

"John!" Scott snaps. "It's us! Let down the ladder!"

"FAB," John says, hastily setting One back down and wincing at the less-than-gentle bump. But then he suddenly can't remember where the switch is for the ladder. His fingers scramble across the control panel for a very long five seconds before he finds the right button and mashes it with his fist. He hurriedly unbuckles his five-point harness and leaps across the cockpit to the door, extending a helping hand to his ascending brothers.

Alan pops up first, his paint-darkened face giving John a momentary start. But then he pulls Alan up and slaps his shoulder as his youngest brother darts past to a seat.

Virgil climbs aboard next, and then Scott.

Scott dives for the pilot's seat, while the others hurriedly strap themselves into jump seats.

"Good to see you guys," John says. He can't help it – he's grinning. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Virgil smiling at him. Then John has to grab his harness, his stomach lurching as Scott kicks Thunderbird One straight up to a thousand feet.

Only then does Scott twist around to return John's grin. "It's a bit sooner than I had expected, but it's good to see you too," he says. Another smooth, practiced maneuver, and they're well on their way to One's ideal altitude and speed, rapidly leaving the Serengeti and its poachers far behind. "Thanks for starting One up for me."

"What happened?" John demands. "How did you rescue them so quickly?"

Scott laughs, and his teeth look unusually white against his dark face. "Why don't you ask them? I actually don't know – I found them running from the camp. They jumped in the jeep, and we took off as fast as we could."

"We waited for them to relax a bit, then made a break for the gully. We dropped down in there, climbed to the bottom, and then circled around the base of the plateau," Virgil says absently. He has unbuckled his harness and is bent over Gordon, working to set up an I.V.

Alan adds, "I think the night-vision goggles are what gave us the advantage. The poachers fired a few shots, but they were way off." He's slumped in his seat, limp with exhaustion, but his eyes are fixed on Gordon. "We gonna need to take him to a hospital, Virg?"

"I'll be able to tell you that a lot better by the end of the flight," Virgil says. "It really depends on how he responds to treatment in the next hour. Have we given Brains a heads-up on what to expect?"

Scott grimaces. "Tell you what – you call Brains, and I'll call Dad. As far as I know, he hasn't heard a thing since we dashed out of the house hours ago. He's gotta be about ready to have a coronary by now."

John winces as he realizes that he's not sure he would have remembered to call the island. An interesting anomaly, he thinks, especially since he's the one who has occasionally chewed down his fingernails to raw stubs during the long waits for information he sometimes has to endure when he's on Five.

By the time Brains and their father are properly updated, Thunderbird One is in final approach to the island. Virgil buckles himself back in until the ship is done moving, then hurries to maneuver Gordon's stretcher out into the hangar. Scott jumps forward to help Virgil, while John hangs back with Alan, making sure the exhausted youngest brother is steady on his feet.

Jeff, Brains and Tintin are waiting for them. They all blink at the sight of the face paint, but then, as one, their eyes go to Gordon's pallid face.

"Any change?" Jeff asks grimly, bending over the stretcher and resting a gentle hand on Gordon's shoulder. He flinches as he glances down toward the blood-crusted bandage.

"His vitals have improved a bit," Virgil says, reaching to adjust the drip rate of Gordon's I.V. "You think we're gonna need to take him to the mainland for surgery, Brains?" He begins pushing the stretcher toward the infirmary.

"I'd, uh, rather have a surgeon come here," Brains says, straightening his glasses as he walks.

Virgil nods. They have just a few contacts that they trust with the secret of International Rescue. It's not often that they have to call upon them for help, but once in a while it's necessary to bring in a specialist.

"I'd like to, uh, run some scans first," Brains adds. "It is possible that surgery, uh, will not be n-necessary."

They reach the infirmary, and Brains guides the stretcher inside, followed by Tintin. Virgil pauses and faces the rest of his family. "We'll let you know when he's ready for visitors," he says, and shuts the door.

John and Alan sigh at the same time, and shoot each other a quick, tired smile.

"Well," their father says, sounding like he's at something of a loss. He glances toward Scott, John and Alan. "I suppose you three should take the time to get cleaned up. If your grandmother sees you like that…"

John winces.

"Hmm, yeah," Alan says. But he doesn't move, except to slump against the wall.

Scott turns to study Alan. "Hey, you've been moving all day, Alan," he says. "When's the last time you ate or drank anything?"

Alan blinks slowly up at him. "Uh, I dunno," he replies.

"All right, come on," Scott tells him. "Let's at least get some water into you."

John follows as they head up to the kitchen – he thinks he might be hungry, now that he's finally slowed down enough to pay attention to what his body is telling him.

As they approach the kitchen, they sniff appreciatively at the delicious smells wafting their way. When they enter the room, they find that Kyrano, with his finely developed sense of service, has a meal ready for them – hot chicken sandwiches, French fries and milkshakes. He sets a sandwich and some fries aside for Virgil, wrapping them in foil and placing them in the oven.

Kyrano doesn't usually cook much in the way of comfort food, so John suspects that the man is doing his best to cheer them up after their long, hard day.

It works, too. By the time they're done eating, John feels refreshed and energized.

They wash their faces before walking back down to the infirmary.

Virgil is just exiting the room; he's washed his face too, and John frowns as he notices the shadow of a bruise starting along his younger brother's jaw line. One of the poachers must have gotten in a solid hit during the fight – although Virgil's raw knuckles show that he paid the bruise back in full. John wishes that he had had a chance to take a swing at one – or more – of the poachers too.

Their father stands up from his chair. "How is he, Virgil?" he asks.

Virgil looks tired, but his eyes are peaceful. "He's going to be all right, Dad," he says. He grins faintly. "I don't know how he does it, but he's managed to defy the odds yet again – we got the bullet out, and all the scans indicate that it really didn't cause much damage, all things considered. He lost a lot of blood, and he's going to be in pain for a while, but barring complications, he should be out of bed and on the road to recovery within a few days or a week."

A collective sigh of relief flows around the hallway, and John watches his father's eyes close briefly.

"That's good news, son," Jeff says softly. "Can we see him?"

Virgil nods, and they all crowd into the room. Brains and Tintin respectfully retreat to the far corner, softly conferring over Gordon's medical charts.

Alan makes a beeline for the chair by the bed, and he seems truly relaxed for the first time that day as he reaches for Gordon's hand.

To John's surprise, Gordon stirs at the touch, and his murky amber eyes slowly blink open. He turns his head and looks at Alan; his gaze is slightly unfocused, but he grins.

"Hi, Al," he slurs.

"Hi, Gordon," Alan replies. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm good," Gordon says slowly. He's still pale, but his color is a lot better than it was an hour earlier. He laughs. "Actually, I feel great!"

John sees Scott nudge Virgil and mouth, "Morphine?"

Virgil nods, a tiny smirk on his face.

"Hey, Al?" Gordon asks.

"Yeah, Gords?"

"We did save the elephants, right? It wasn't just a dream?"

Alan smiles. "Yeah, Gords. We saved them."

Gordon's eyes drift shut. "Good," he sighs. And, within seconds, he's asleep again.

Jeff boots the rest of the family out of the room then, settling into the chair with a long, weary sigh. John feels for him – their father has sat by far too many injured sons in his lifetime. But he also knows that there's no place Jeff would rather be, so he feels no guilt at leaving him there.

The expression on Scott's face says that he'll be back to take a turn at Gordon's bedside before too long, but he'll probably get at least a few hours of sleep first.

The brothers part ways in the hallway, Virgil heading to the kitchen to get some food, while the other three disperse to their bedrooms with soft calls of "Good night!"

And peace settles over the Tracy villa.