AN IGNORANT MISTAKE by MS IMAGINE RATED FRPT

The phrase 'no one is perfect' offers little comfort when Gordon feels he has messed up a mission. 

No one is perfect, you can't be right all the time. We all make mistakes. Chalk it up to a learning experience; take what you can and move on.

All polite ways to tell me I screwed up.

I wish they'd just shut up, you know? They keep coming up to me with concern and worry and asking 'you ok, bro?' It's ridiculous. I mean, how would Scott have handled it, huh? What about perfect Virgil? If he had to deal with it, would he be so easy to brush it off as a lapse in judgement? As for Alan -- let's just say I can't wait for you guys to swap shifts.

Dad keeps hanging around. I can see him behind me now. He's pretending to check your 'bird stats.

That's right, Dad -- I know you're there, now will you please give me some space?

He's not impressed. He's pulling that face -- you know, with the eyebrows and the lip, like he's got a mouth full of sour grapefruit. I'll get nagged about this for the next week but at least he's leaving the room.

You should have seen that kid, John. He was going crazy, screaming and kicking and laying into this woman -- his Aunt, as it turns out. She just took it and tried to help me get him onto the rescue platform. Every time we tried to touch him he went nuts. The fire was getting really close and I thought he was just panicking. We've seen that before, right? So I'm trying to tell him to calm down, relax...she tells me he's autistic, that all the noise and the people and the mess of the place was too much for him. She bent down to try and pick him up and the kid wailed and kicked her in the face.

She backed right off and covered her face with her hands. I don't know how she kept her temper. I grabbed the boy. When she took her hands away I could see that he'd broken her nose -- there was blood everywhere. I couldn't let go of the kid or he'd take off. She was coughing from all the smoke and crying from the pain. She got herself a bandage or something from the first aid kit and tried to soak up the blood. I couldn't help her.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't think I could get him on the platform. It was only the three of us and she couldn't help me anymore. I told her to get on and I picked the kid up in a bear hug. He couldn't move his arms but he kicked and squirmed and fought me, screaming the whole time. I had no idea a seven year old could be so strong. We literally wrestled. I only just made it to the platform in one piece! She shut the gate behind me and I called to Virgil to pull us up.

It didn't get any better. He squirmed and shouted and fought me hard. We were maybe ten metres in the air when the kid kicked me in the groin and I dropped him. He landed in a frenzied heap, thrashing around -- his Aunt screamed and dove for him just as he slipped through the rails.

She only just caught him. One hand, that's all she had. She was sobbing. I took the kid's arm and hauled him up. He still fought me. I managed to get his torso back onto the platform but his legs were dangling over the edge. I could hear Scott yelling at me through the comm. I ignored him. I had to get this kid back on the platform, right? Apparently not 'cause Scott chewed me out later for disregarding an order. I'd like to see him wrestle with a super-adrenaline charged autistic kid in a panic.

No, I take that back -- it was horrible. I just couldn't help this kid. Everything I did made him worse. His Aunt said not to worry about it, that once we got him some place quiet he'd be ok. But there we were, dangling in the air above a bushfire, smoke and sparks everywhere, and she was telling me not to worry?

We held onto that kid for dear life. It felt like hours before Virgil got us inside Thunderbird Two. I think the boy had worn himself out. When it was safe I let him go and he crawled into a dark corner of the hull and curled up. Alan and most of the other people we rescued just stared at me with a collective expression that asked 'what the hell did you do?'

His aunt asked if we could all let him be for a minute. She explained that he didn't like to be touched so any comfort we might try and give him would just frustrate him even more. She looked terrible -- stressed, pained and bleeding. I helped her clean up her face. She kept her eyes on her nephew the whole time.

It got worse trying to get him back on the platform when it was his turn to be dropped at the hospital. His aunt tried to get him to come with her but he took one look at her broken face and got upset again. I asked her what I should do; she said we'd just have to carry him.

Alan was watching this time. Of course the poor kid went nuts when I picked him up. Alan shouted at me to let him go, which didn't help. The kid slid out of my arms again and tried to get away but he fell over and screamed. That's when his aunt noticed his leg -- it was broken! She swore something awful and that's when Alan decided to try and take over. He marched over to me and went to say something but I cut him off and told him to make himself useful. Of course, the baby brat didn't like that much and proceeded to give me the tantrum treatment while we shoved this poor kid onto the platform again.

The others just stared at us. I don't know how that woman managed to keep from bursting into tears -- they must have thought we were doing something really horrible. She just stayed with her nephew and tried to keep him subdued long enough to get him down to the hospital.

She actually thanked us (can you believe it?) and told me not to feel bad. She said that he had a very high tolerance for pain and the leg wouldn't have bothered him until he tried to put all his weight on it. Apparently, something similar had happened a few years earlier. It had taken three days before she noticed anything was wrong. Something to do with the autism. She followed the orderlies who were pushing her nephew's stretcher and they disappeared into the hospital.

It was the most stressful rescue I've ever been on.

Alan started as soon as we strapped in on the bridge. He told Virgil I'd broken some kid's leg 'cause I dropped him on the rescue platform. I tried to tell him that there was nothing I could do except haul him to safety, literally, but even Virgil looked slightly disgusted in me.

You would have heard the rest with Scott shouting over the airwaves at me. It didn't stop there. They got Dad involved as soon as we got home. He didn't say much, just told them all to settle down and pulled me into his study for a debriefing.

You won't tell him I'm writing this, will you? 'Cause I just want to get something off my chest. Dad gets me mad sometimes. Really mad. I understand the commander mentality - how many years was I in WASP? But sometimes he just can't switch it off! It drives me crazy! I feel bad enough; I didn't need him getting all GI Jeff on me.

I did talk to Brains this afternoon, though. I asked him about setting up rescue procedures for mentally ill victims. That way no other kid out there has to be traumatised because I happen to be an ignorant ass. He said he'd look into it, but he made a point that you can't always be gentle in emergencies. You do what's necessary to save lives. I did that, today. But look what happened in the process. There has to be a better way to handle these situations.

I guess Dad said something to the others cause they stopped hassling me and started with the sympathy nonsense this afternoon. Well, everyone except Alan. You know how he hates to admit when he's wrong. I wish I could just swim, clear my head -- but not even I'm stupid enough to jump in the ocean at night. I can't wait until the pool is fixed. It's going to be a few more days before the filter arrives. Until then I just have to make do with the bathtub and writing to you, bro.

You make any rubber ducky jokes and I swear I'll find some way of making your life up there miserable.

Aside from my monumental stuff up, nothing's happening. Tin Tin gets back from her shopping trip tomorrow. That should cheer Alan up. Kyrano is baking something. I didn't go down for dinner, I wasn't hungry -- but that smells suspiciously like chocolate cake. He's a sly man, that Kyrano. Trying to bait me out of my rotten mood with warm chocolate cake but I'm not tempted. Nope. I'm tough. Man, my stomach sounds like Thunderbird Two taking off. Fine. I'm going down to the kitchen -- but I'm not going to enjoy it.

Why does this always happen? The alarm's just gone off. Cake's gonna have to wait. Dad better not scoff it while I'm gone.

Later, John...and thanks.

Gordon.