#dd05

It was several minutes later that Gordon finally heard some activity coming their way. More specifically footsteps. He jumped up from the bed so that he could be prepared for whoever opened the door. He hoped it was some skinny guy, someone he might be able to knock over and tie up. Unfortunately, it was the big burly guy that had brought them there in the first place.

"What’s wrong with your friend?" He thumbed at Scott who was still asleep in the other bunk.

"He’s just napping. He’ll wake up if you’re any louder, though." Gordon tried his best to look taller, lifting himself just off his heels.

"Must be quite the sound sleeper." The man eyed Scott suspiciously and then shoved a tray into Gordon’s gut.

Gordon grunted in surprise and looked down at the cardboard like sea rations and water upon it.

"Don’t get me wrong. I want you two alive, but purely for our own benefit—or should I say profit." He turned to leave with a laugh.

Gordon didn’t think much about it—had he and he probably would have stopped himself—and raised the tray and slammed it down on the man’s head. He kept it there, hoping the guy was in shock and that was why he hadn’t collapsed yet.

He wasn’t in shock though and reached up with his hand and snatched the tray from Gordon’s hands and turned to face Gordon. "Why you little runt."

"H-hey now. I-I’m the f-fish. A-Alan’s the runt. Y-you really need to k-keep us straight."

"How about I knock you out like your friend there."

Gordon knew he had absolutely no chance of fighting the guy, but he had been fairly successful at deterring bullies when he was in school. He just had to out run and out maneuver them.

The man stepped forward and threw a punch in his direction but Gordon ducked. The man threw another punch and Gordon ducked that one as well. He ducked three more punches and Gordon started to get a confidence boost. He decided to make a face at the man after the last attempt. That was when the man’s fist hit him right in the nose.

Gordon blacked out for a moment and when he opened his eyes he was on the floor. The man was laughing as he stood over him.

"Whad you god against us?" Gordon’s voice was thick and strangled from the blood that was running down the back of his throat.

"Absolutely nothing." The man shrugged. "Now don’t make me angry again. I don’t want to damage the merchandise too much."

"Merchandise?" He watched the man’s back as it disappeared behind the door. "Whad did he mean by merchandise?"

Gordon sat breathing through his mouth, gingerly touching the bridge of his nose which now protruded at an odd angle. He sighed, that had not gone as planned.

Gordon glanced over to his brother and was surprised to see him move—he had brought his hand up to his head and groaned. Gordon leapt to his feet and then about fell down again as his head started to spin. He held it with his hands until it settled down, and then made a beeline to his brother. "Scod!"

"What?" Scott squinted at the blob that moved above him.

"Scod, you awake?" Gordon was happy but also a bit anxious that his brother was waking up already. Maybe after the catnap he would be ready to go, but for how long?

Scott blinked a few times waiting for the image in front of him to come into focus. When it did he sat bolt upright and grabbed Gordon by the shoulders. "Gordon! What happened?"

"Noding, why?" Gordon tried to wipe some of the blood that was trickling out of his nose with the sleeve of his wetsuit but only succeeded in smearing it across his face.

"Your face!"

"Whad? Is dere someding on it?" Gordon wiped at it again making it even worse.

"Gordon, please help your overly stressed brother by dropping the jokes for a moment." Scott reached out and gingerly touched his nose.

"Alrighd." Gordon smirked. "I god punched in da face."

"Why?"

"Well, I dried do hid da guy firsd. Didn’d work do well."

"I can see." Scott frowned and swung his legs off the bunk. "Sit down. We need to fix it before it causes too much damage."

"I’m fine. Led’s jusd dry do ged oud of here."

"No, no. We’re going to fix this first."  Scott stood, a little wobbly still, and grabbed Gordon’s arm, pulling him down onto the bed.

"Can’d we ad lead waid dill we ged back do Dunderbird 4?"

"No." Scott put one hand on Gordon’s shoulder, and then took his nose between his thumb and first two fingers of his other hand. He didn’t give Gordon a chance to complain and jerked his nose back into a more normal position.

Gordon yelled and pulled away. He backed up to the back of the bunk, his hand to his nose, eyes watering. He coughed a bit as more blood rushed down the back of his throat, but he could already feel the difference. He could now breath from his nose again, thought it was still partially blocked due to the swelling.  "I’m gonna look like a raccoon." His voice was much clearer now, but still a bit thick.

"Nah. No one will be able to tell the difference." Scott laughed a little as he stood up. "Have you tried any way of getting out? Other than pick a fight with a bully that is."

"The door is locked and there aren’t any vents big enough for either of us. I was hoping I could knock out whoever came in and then the door would be open."

"And leave me behind? Or were you going to drag me the length of the sub to get back to Thunderbird 4 while somehow avoiding our captors in the process?"

"Well, I never said it was a well thought out plan."

"You need to work on that, little bro." Scott shook his head and turned his attentions to the door. "This looks like a simple enough lock. Just the one in the handle, no secondary dead bolt—"

"Wait, are you saying you know how to pick a lock?" Gordon finally crawled out from the bunk and stood next to Scott.

"Well, I’m no Parker, but I’ve made my way past a few locks in my early days." Scott grinned back at his brother. "When Virgil and I were little, John was a toddler, and you were still a baby Mom would lock the snacks in the pantry. We were still able to get to them, though it took her a bit to realize what we were doing."

"Well, don’t keep me hanging!"

Scott laughed again. "Well, it wasn’t so much picking the lock as it was popping the door open."

"Awesome, we have a plan and are back in business!"

"Whoa, I never said I had a plan, I just said I might be able to open the door."

"Crap, you’re still out of it, aren’t you?"

Scott shook his head a little and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That I am. I feel like there are a hundred bees buzzing in my head. Can’t quite think straight. Speaking of which, I had a strange dream that Virgil was here too."

Gordon laughed nervously. "Nope, just you and me. Anyways, you do realize that if any of us had done what you did, you’d ground us for a week at least!"

"I would." Scott frowned and nodded. "Depending on the situation, at least a couple of weeks."

"And in this situation, where you aren’t clear minded enough to think of a way out—"

"You’ve got a point. A three week grounding at least." Scott nodded and then froze for a moment before looking over at Gordon. "You’re not suggesting that I ground myself, are you?"

"Practice what you preach!" Gordon couldn’t help but smirk. "Now get that door open so we can sneak back to Thunderbird 4 and get out of here."

"Yes, sir." Scott saluted Gordon and then squatted down to get a better view of the door handle. It was a simple lock after all and looked just like the old cupboard in their house in Kansas.

Scott took out one of his grappling cartridges and pulled the wire out. Brains had designed the grappling wire the way he did for two reasons: he wanted the wire to be thin enough so that each cartridge would have a good amount of line in them, and be strong enough to hold multiple people and even more than that if needed.

This allowed Scott to fit the wire into the gap between the door and the doorframe. He looped one end, placed it into the gap in the door and forced it down the other side of the latch. It took some time and he had to stop a few times when they thought they had heard someone walking down the hall. But finally he pulled on the wire and the door popped open.

"Yes!" Gordon quickly covered his mouth as he peeked out of the door and down the hall. There were luckily no guards anywhere nearby.

"Okay." Scott pulled Gordon back into the room. "Here’s the plan. We sneak through quietly, get to Thunderbird 4, and then back to Thunderbird 2. If they follow us, we’ll at least have the birds on our side."

"Unless they decide to fire on us, not sure being in Four will do us any good."

"Just go." Scott pushed Gordon out into the hall. "And try and clean your face up a bit, you look like you just killed someone."

Gordon rubbed at his face again, but it did not help anything. He followed his brother from the room and down the hall. They paused at the first open door they came to, Scott peered into it only to find another empty room full of bunks.  The sub had accommodations for at least two dozen crew, yet none of the bunks had any personal belongings in them.

They continued down the hall towards the docking ports and passed through an empty mess hall and engine room. "There is something not right going on." Scott stopped at a door and peered in to see if it was all clear. There were computer along the walls but not a person in sight.

"What do you mean? Personally I think we’re having some awesome luck. Deserve a bit of it if you ask me." Gordon was all smiles as they made their way on down the sub.

"Where is everyone?" Scott slipped into the next area that led into the torpedo and docking room. IT was in the tail of the sub, a large room that had torpedo tubes and racks on torpedoes on one end and down the center. The docking hatches were a floor below them on either side.

Gordon was just about to dash down the stairs toward when Scott grabbed his arm and stopped him.  He put his finger to his lips and pointed through the floor to some of the crew who were standing at one of the docking hatches.

"I still don’t get why we’re abandoning the ship. It’s such a nice sub."

"No worries, when the operation is over we’ll come and salvage her again. But for now the ship has been compromised. First that girl and now these two guys. It was only meant as a temporary measure anyways. The EMF generator has been stowed onboard the Pelican and we’ll resume operations up there."

"What about the prisoners?"

"Who cares. The captain was going to ransom them, but with everything going on—" There was the sound of the airlock cycling and the hiss as the door opened that stopped the man from finishing his sentence. Another man appeared on the other side and motioned them to enter.  

The door closed behind them and Gordon pulled Scott out of their hiding spot. "Come on, let’s go."

"What if there are other prisoners?" Scott looked over at his brother, his eyes widening. "What if Kayo is on board?"

"She’s not." Gordon shook his head and pulled on Scott’s arm again. "Look, I activated both of our trackers and searched for others. We’re the only two that showed up. She’s not here."

"What if she didn’t activate hers? What if it was busted?" Scott shook his head and stood.  

"I also called out on our short range comms. She didn’t answer that either."

"What if her wrist controller is broken?" He shook his arm free of Gordon’s and made his way back the way they had come.

"The odds of both her tracker and comm being broken is astronomical." Gordon followed his brother. "And she is smart, she’d be trying to fix it as well.  I would have gotten some sort of signal if she were here."

Scott wasn’t listening, though. He was worrying and his mind was unable to stop itself from thinking the worst. He was heading back down the length of the sub calling out for Kayo or anyone else that might still be onboard.

Gordon followed, trying several times to pull Scott back toward his bird, but Scott was determined to make sure there was no one else down there with them. But finally Gordon relented. It would be faster if he helped and could get the search done before anything major happened.

They went down through the sub, checking every room and compartment, top and bottom, for any sign of life. It had taken them over half an hour to get through half of the sub and were just heading for a set of stairs to a lower level when an alarm sounded.

"What is that?" Scott had to raise his voice to be heard as he covered his ears with his hands.

"Shit!" Gordon was looking frantically in either direction. "Depressurization alarm. We’re taking on water."

"We still have to see if anyone else is here." Scott jumped down the rest of the stairs and took off down the corridor.

"Scott!" Gordon raced after him, once again grabbing his arm. "We need to get back to Thunderbird 4 and get some equipment."

"We don’t have time." Scott started pulling every door open that he passed.

"Scott, wait!" Gordon had noticed the water leaking through the door just as Scott turned the handle.

The door burst open, throwing Scott against the wall. The water rushed into the corridor in which they stood as Gordon struggled against the current to reach his brother. He was pushed back twice, but as the water rose it became easier.

Gordon was finally able to reach for his brother’s arm and pull him out of the current of water. Scott was unconscious—probably from yet another hit to the head—the corridor was filling quickly and Gordon knew they needed to et out of there, now.

He swam back to the stairwell and pulled Scott up to the still dry upper level. There was a hatch to seal off the stairwell and Gordon pushed it closed and locked it. The water was coming in fast. There hadn’t been an explosion so it was probably another hatch that had been set to open—it would make since since they talked about salvaging the ship.

Gordon kneeled down next to his brother and leaned in to listen—he wasn’t breathing. Cursing a bit to himself he tilted his chin back and breathed into his mouth once, twice, three times. Then turned to his chest he placed his hands on the breast bone and pushed down as hard as he could. He continued pushing down on his chest in a constant speed occasionally breathing into his mouth.  

Each time he leaned down to see if his brother had started breathing yet he could see the water start to slip through the hatch next to them.  The upper level would be flooded soon.  He continued with CPR and within a couple of more compresses of his chest Scott started to cough up water. Gordon turned him over on his side so that the water would be expelled from his lungs.

Back on his back Gordon leaned over and listened. He was breathing on his own again, and it looked like he was starting to wake a little. However the water had started to rise quicker and was already starting to fill the corridor and was already lapping up against them.  

Gordon maneuvered around his brother Gordon reached under his brother’s arms and lifted him from around the chest. He then pulled him back down the corridor to where Thunderbird 4 was—hopefully—still docked.

The water was filling the corridor fast, which was a blessing and a curse for Gordon. IT was easier to pull Scott along when the water was waist high, but soon it had gotten higher and Gordon had to start swimming with Scott behind him.

The water was filling the space quicker and quicker so Gordon paused for a moment and reached around to his back where his octopus—his back up regulator—was kept.  It was there in case his main one malfunctioned or more likely in the event someone else needed some air.  He just never thought he’d be using it on one of his brothers.

He wedged it into Scott’s mouth, then reached up and unclasped the yellow regulator at his throat and stuffed it into his own mouth. He pulled Scott closer and used his left hand to pinch Scott’s nose to keep him from breathing from it and dove under the water.

It took him no time at all to reach the hatch for Thunderbird 4, though the torpedoes in their racks looked ready to fall off at any moment as he snuck past them. He pulled Scott into the cargo bay of Thunderbird 4, and strapped him into one of the dry tubes. He then made his way to the cockpit, quickly disconnecting from the sinking sub and taking off for safer ground.

He didn’t make it far when his thrusters started making strange sounds and then stopped responding completely.

After a few choice words, Gordon went back into the cargo bay and pulled out the med kit. They were out of immediate danger at least, so he figured he’d have time to tend to his brother. "You awake yet?" He put his hand on his chest so he could feel the rise and fall of it. He shook him a little and Scott grunted.

"M’tired."

"I know, but you should try and wake up a bit." Gordon pulled out the oxygen mask and hooked it into the subs systems before sliding it over his brother’s nose and mouth. He secured it with an elastic strap and then flipped a switch sending his brother the much needed oxygen.  

He leaned down and listened to his heart, it was beating a little fast, but it was strong. He didn’t think he would need the AED. He felt around Scott’s head and found two bumps—one near the hairline and one on the back of his head. One was probably from the crash in Thunderbird 2, and the other was from moments ago when he was thrown against the wall.  Luckily the skin had’t been torn or cut so there was no blood to deal with—Gordon had probably bled enough for the two of them as it was.

Gordon tried again to wake his brother up, but was met with more grumbling.  Not sure with what else he could do he grabbed his helmet and slid it on. He placed his regulator into the slot in the front of his mask, grabbed a small toolkit he kept for emergencies like this, and exited the mini sub through the back airlock.

None of the electric parts were assessable from the outside for obvious reasons—there was access for them from the inside if he needed it, but he wanted to make sure there wasn’t a mechanical issue first. He swam over to one of the thrusters and noticed some damage to the side of it. He paused for a moment to try and remember, but he was sure all the dents and dings had been taken out of her during her last maintenance run—Brains had even warned him about slowing down around rocks and while in narrow crevices, Virgil couldn’t help but laugh at that.  

He pulled up on the hatch that led to the mechanics of the engine and frowned. Sitting in the way of the fan and the belt that moved it was a wrench. Probably the same one that had dented the side. Reaching in he pulled it out and then checked to see what damage it had caused.

The blades on the fan had been bent, the wheel wobbly in its seat. It was something that definitely needed to be fixed, but it might just hold for now.  

He shut the hatch and went to the other side. There were even more dents on that side which just broke Gordon’s heart. No, he wasn’t the most careful with his bird, but he had never damaged her on purpose. And his bird had never done anything to deserve this kind of punishment.

He pulled open the hatch to find a hammer wedged in the engine. It was stuck good and he found himself using the wrench to try and free the hammer. He felt that he had done more damage than needed, but was finally able to get the hammer out after a few minutes of struggling.

The blades on this side were in worse shape, torn in spots and completely folded over in others. The belt was almost split in two, but that at least he could fix—he always carried spare parts like that just in case. He reached into his tool pack and pulled out the extra belt and a small wrench. Carefully he loosened the gears, replaced the belt, and tightened everything back up again.

Gordon made his way back into his bird, checked on Scott, and crawled back into the cockpit. He held his breath as he started his bird up again and crossed his fingers as he activated the thrusters. They sputtered to life and the sub took off limply from the seabed.

He instigated emergency surfacing procedure, and wished he could speed it up more, but if he went too fast he would risk more damage with the change in pressure. Plus it wouldn’t do him or Scott any good either.

It took about twenty minutes before the little yellow bird finally broke the surface. Gordon glanced around, looking for any sign of the island Thunderbird 2 had crashed on. He searched for the automatic tracker that should still be going off in Thunderbird 2. It took his damaged bird a moment but it was there, just to the south—they hadn’t gone very far after all, thankfully.

The module was where they had left it, but the tide had come in a bit and it was bobbing a little in the shallow water. Gordon got his bird backed up to it and felt the jerk as the latch caught and started to pull him back into the module.

Gordon flipped himself back and made his way back to check on Scott. He was still doing good, his breathing normal, and his heart rate had even calmed down a little. Gordon shook his shoulder a bit and was rewarded with more grumbling and a weak attempt to swat him away.

He decided that it was would probably be best to leave him in the sub for now—if anything happened to two, the module would protect 4, and if the damage made it into the module, Thunderbird 4 should protect him.

He made his way out of his bird and found that the module had been completely gutted—those pirates had found and taken everything they could have. Gordon fumed—though most of the items in the module were only minor pieces, they all had upgrades from Brains, and that was technology he’d rather not see in the hands of people like that.

He stood in the stripped module as a small flame of hatred and fury attempted to consume him, but Gordon was exhausted. Light was fading, his nose and head hurt, and his brother needed help—if he tried to track that ship he’d probably end up dead and accomplish nothing.

With a frustrated sigh of defeat Gordon shut the module up and slipped out through the small door making sure it sealed securely to keep Scott safe.  He made his way over to Shadow and climbed up the plane to the ridge it had crashed against. There was an area just behind the ridge where it was clear the tail had once been, but was now gone. One wing had also been taken, but the main part of the bird remained.

He then turned to the behemoth and made his way over. The entrance to the ship from the module looked like they had attempted to break into it, but had given up. He thought he should be grateful for that, but was finding it hard to feel anything anymore, even his anger was fading away with every step, but there was still a lot left for him to do.

He sat down in Virgil’s seat and started flipping switches to initiate a full systems check. The comms were out—Scott had mentioned that earlier—and the front left vertical thruster was misfiring. Other than that—and of course the smashed nose cone—Thunderbird 2 was in okay shape. It would fly at least once Gordon fixed that thruster, or else they’d be sitting there until someone decided to come looking for them and at this rate he wasn’t sure that was going to happen.

They had been gone for almost the whole day without any contact.  If his brothers had returned from space, they’d surely be in Thunderbird 1 looking for them, but the skies were empty. That had to mean that something had happened up there. Gordon was worried for them, but right then he had his own worries to think about.

They had all been taught how to repair each other’s machines, but each of them were protective of their birds and had not actually attempted such repairs—and to be honest Virgil didn’t really like anyone else working on his bird. However, Virgil wasn’t here to do the repair himself. Gordon knew the theory behind the engines, but had never been under the hood, so to say.

He pulled up the plans from the computers and downloaded them into his wrist controller. Then he made his way to the machinery room to grab the tools he would need. He made his way back outside and up to the top of the bird. He secured his line and took a quick look out to sea to make sure the module with Thunderbird 4 and Scott were still there. The module was starting to bob a bit more as the tide came in, but otherwise still where he had left it.

With that fear quelled for the moment he repelled down so that he was even with the troubled VTOL. The side in question was nearest the rocks and there was a large dent down the side of the green bird. Gordon couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, Virgil was not going to be happy. He looked to his right and could see and outcropping of rock that was probably to blame for the scratch and the condition of the thruster.

He pulled out the automatic wrench and undid the bolts securing the panel, but since it had been caught on the outcropping he had to use a crowbar to pry the panel open. He found, once the panel was off, that part of the metal had torn slightly, producing a sharp jagged edge along the bottom.

Being careful to avoid the sharp metal Gordon inspected the thruster and quickly found the problem. A frail smile flickered across his face, only one part had truly gotten damaged in the crash and it was a part that he knew Virgil kept in stock in the supply room onboard. Finally some good luck.

He pulled himself back up, confirmed that his precious cargo was still floating in place, and made his way to the supply room.

Thanks to Virgil’s organization he was able to find the part quickly and was back on top of the bird and with another gaze out to check on the module he repelled once again down the side.  

He started to use the automatic wrench, but the bolt he needed to get to was in a small cramped space and he was forced to put the tool away and grab the more traditional wrench. The part was held down by two bolts and it took all of Gordon’s remaining strength to get the first one loosened. Pocketing the bolt—he would need it to reattach the new part—he went to work on the next one.

This one was stubborn. He pushed, he pulled, but it did not want to budge. He went from thanking Virgil to cursing him for tightening them so tight. He tried to get at it with the automatic wrench but it just wasn’t going to work so he pulled himself up so that he was above the bolt and started to push down with his hands and all the weight he could.

His right hand slipped and went straight down into the damaged hull, cutting it straight across the palm.

Gordon let slip a word his Grandma would never have guessed he knew and pulled his hand to him. He slowly looked down at it and then quickly away. The only thing he saw was a pool of blood.

He clenched his teeth and then clenched his fist. He wanted to get that part changed and then he would deal with his hand.

He adjusted his position, pulled himself up higher and used his foot to kick the bolt loose. The bolt finally submitted to him, but the wrench slipped off and fell to the ground below.

Gordon didn’t care.

He really didn’t care.

He pulled off the part, threw it to the ground—a move Virgil would probably yell at him for—and then slammed the new part on.  He secured it as best as he could with his left hand and then tried once again to use the automatic wrench to tighten them more, but quickly gave up.

He pulled himself back up to the roof and made his way back inside and to the med bay.  He tried to look at his hand again, but all he could see was the blood dripping down his arm and off his elbow. He took a clean cloth and tried to soak it up a bit but every time he tried to look at the cut his vision wavered.

He had taken care of numerous people with worse injuries with no problem, but looking at his own blood was somehow so much worse. He gave up and grabbed a clean gauze laying it over the cut and then wrapping his hand with a bandage. It wasn’t a long term solution but hopefully he’d be getting them home soon, so it would do. Virgil or whoever was there could do a better job.

Gordon made his way unsteadily back to the cockpit and flopped into the pilot’s seat. He scooted the seat up and even had to jack it up higher—Virgil and Scott were both a little taller than him after all. Once situated he started the pre-flight checks.

Yes, he knew the comm was out. Yes, he knew the access panel over that thruster was gone—deal with it. Yes, he knew that numerous things in the nose cone were malfunctioning. He over rode several of the safeties and started her up.

Everything seemed to be working fine—well, maybe not fine, but it was working. He took her up into the air and hovered over the module. He had never reconnected a module before—he was usually in it—and it took him a couple of tries to get the grapples in the right spots. Once the module was back in place he left her on hover for a moment and went to check on Scott.

Scott’s condition hadn’t changed much, which was both good and bad. His heart rate was stable, he was breathing and still wouldn’t stay awake. Gordon had thought about leaving Scott in the sub, but they needed to get him to the infirmary as soon as they could and it would be faster from Thunderbird 2’s med-bay.

So, Gordon activated the hover capabilities so he could easily push him there. He found himself leaning on the stretcher more than he should have and tripping over his feet a few more than just a couples of times. After a crash, a broken nose, and a cut hand he was just as bad off as Scott. However, someone had to get them home and Gordon was at least conscious.

He was able to get Scott to the med-bay and strapped the stretcher in. It took him a bit longer than it normally would have—his good hand shaking just as bad as his injured one—but he got it done and made his way back to the cockpit.

He sat down with a sigh and then looked over to where Thunderbird S sat sullenly. He couldn’t leave it there so he maneuvered Thunderbird 2 over her and shot the grappling hooks onto her. He didn’t have a good hold, but he had to get them home, so he lifted the poor craft into the air and headed for home.

"Come on, Gordo. You can make it." He fought droopy eyes the entire way, his hand aching and even starting to feel cold and numb—the bandage soaked through.

It took him longer than expected to make it home, but with the damaged plane and Thunderbird S underneath it really was expected. He was ecstatic—though you couldn’t tell—when he finally caught sight of the island. He tried his comms again—with no luck—and swung around for the final approach.  

He let go of the yolk and rubbed his eyes, but had to grab it quickly when the bird started to bank too far to the left. Gordon couldn’t even tell if the runway was ready for him—his eyesight was fading fast. He really didn’t care one way or the other, it could be fixed. He just wanted to be done with it all.

He lowered Thunderbird 2 for landing and was caught off guard by something pulling him back.

He had forgotten about Thunderbird S below him. He quickly let go of the yolk and hit the button to detach the load. Thunderbird 2 launched forward, its nose down, and crashed, skidding onto the landing strip.