Synopsis: 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Thunderpups are go! A new heavy-duty ATV has been undergoing trials in the Australian outback when it falls down an unmarked sinkhole that's filled with burning materials. The air conditioning has only hours left with their power supply, so only the PAW Patrol can reach the site in time to haul the crew to safety.

*--***----**-**--***-****-**

Under the intense sun of an Australian November a stark white helicopter whirred its way above the brush. The wildlife down below barely paid any attention as helicopters had flown over their habitats all too regularly, but then the ground began to shake, and a strange persistent hum rung across the outback. Some animals made a desperate dash to get away from the source while others remained tense, waiting to see what they'd deal with, when a massive grey vehicle pushed through the undergrowth. It hardly shifted course as it ploughed over everything in its wake, the multitude of wheels bouncing up and down regardless as to the terrain as it cried out with a voice reminiscent of a stereotypical diner waitress.

"Gang way! Sarah's coming through!" The helicopter passed over her a few times as she continued pushing through the brush. On board a portly gentleman in a top hat and boardroom suit, dreadfully overdressed for the outback, watched everything through a set of binoculars.

"Most impressive." He remarked in clipped tones. "She's going through it like a scene from an old space opera." Sitting next to him a burly woman in attire more befitting an Australian summer added.

"Indeed, sir. For a prototype Surveyor's Advanced Rover: Aperture Heavy, she's performed exceptionally." As they watched, Sarah emerged from the brush on to a stretch of bare ground that might've been desert if it weren't for the evidence that it had been grassland fairly recently. They heard a radio transmission come through.

"Sir Topham Hatt from ground crew. Preliminary tests complete. Will there be any further demonstrations needed?"

"No further tests." He answered enthusiastically. "Sarah's proven to be most effective in the transportation of essential personnel across wild terrain. You may bring her in for maintenance." Having finished the radio communication, the Fat Controller now addressed his ride. "Right, Harold, let's head back to base."

"Roger that, sir." The helicopter replied as he made an about-turn while Sarah began to roll steadily along based on her navigator's direction to the nearest suitable garage. On board a representative of Sarah’s manufacturer called ahead to ensure that the mechanics and engineers would be ready for their arrival.

“We should be there in forty-five minutes.” The navigator estimated.

“That’s a relief.” Answered a member of the Sodor Construction Company. “Sarah’s a good option for moving heavy loads over uneven terrain, but her cabins could use some sprucing up.”

“Could be worse.” The representative affirmed. “Could you imagine having to camp out in those conditions?” Sarah couldn’t help but chuckle at that before remarking.

“It’ll be good if the mechanics could get their spanners on my axles. I think some of the hillocks scratched the galvanised coating.” This caused some amusement from her crew, which meant that no one noticed when the ground they were traversing dipped unexpectedly. However, their attitudes switched round once they felt Sarah going end-over-end as the sandy soil caved in under her wheels. As she plunged into the resulting sinkhole, smoke rose out thick and choking accompanied by a couple of bursts of flame.

“Sir Topham Hatt to Sarah. Please confirm your destination for maintenance.” The radio squawked just as she landed amongst a mass of burning debris, everyone on board conked out from the fall and she was rather dazed in the transmission shaft to say the least. “Sir Topham Hatt to Sarah, please respond.” His voice had some concern in it, but this was overlaid by a tone of annoyance at there being no prompt answer. On board Harold, the burly woman looked back at the last known position and became deeply worried by the rising column of smoke.

“Sir,” She reported, “Sarah’s not there. It’s like she disappeared.”

“What?!?” The Fat Controller leaned round to take a look himself. After all the accidents he’d dealt with on Sodor he thought he’d seen every kind of ground-based transport problem, but the sight of the smoke was something else entirely. “Get back there, Harold, and fast!”

“Immediately, sir!” Came the reply as he performed a one-eighty and made for the smoke column as fast as his throttles could open, drawing them back in again as he reached the site, squinting through the thick smoke. “Sorry, sir. I can’t make out anything down there.” On board the burly woman took up the binoculars and peered through the rising fumes.

“Huh?” She declared. “There’s a great big hole down there.” The Fat Controller’s expression was one of supressed forlornness as he reached for the radio once again.

“Sarah? Mr Smith? Anyone? This is Sir Topham Hatt; please respond.” He struggled to keep his voice level. He got a reply, but not one he was expecting.

“This is Bourke Maintenance Depot reporting. We have a scheduled overhaul for a prototype Alpha Tango Victor.”

“Gentlemen,” The Fat Controller replied, “There has been a major accident involving the prototype. Please follow these coordinates.”

Down in the burning pit, Sarah started to get her bearings and woozily noted how warm her hull felt before she realised that she was surrounded by a scattering of fires.

“Uh, Mr Smith?” She mumbled. “Mr Wainwright? I think you’d better call through.” There was no answer. “Guys?” On board the men started to recover from their tumbles, rubbing their heads as they tried to recall what had happened.

“This is Sir Topham Hatt.” Their radio squawked. “Please respond.” One of them reached the radio and hit the mic button.

“Sir? We read you.”

“Mr Smith?” The Fat Controller checked. “Are you okay?”

“A bit banged up in here,” Smith replied, “But otherwise we seem okay. I’m not sure about Sarah though.”

“I could be worse.” She affirmed. “But I’m stuck on my side, so my wheels can’t get a grip.”

“What’s your position?” Smith checked the dials and their last GPS reading before answering.

“Sir, we’re one hundred metres down.” On board Harold, the Fat Controller’s face scrunched up a little at this.

“One hundred metres?” He looked at his companion, who recognised his sentiment.

“A little over three hundred and twenty feet.” She explained, resulting in him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Since Sarah’s about a hundred tons in weight, we’ll need some industrial-strength hauling equipment.”

“Ms Packard,” He pointed out, “The nearest place we can get a mobile haulage system with the right clearances is over a thousand miles away. It would take at least two days to get it here, even if there weren’t a whole multitude of forms to fill out.” Just then they were rocked about in a rough manner.

“Uh, sir.” Harold reported. “I’ll have to fly clear of the smoke; the heat’s causing some serious turbulence. If I keep hovering here, we’ll need rescuing too.” Picking himself up and dusting off his top hat, the Fat Controller replied.

“I suppose that would be a sensible move. Come in for a landing close to the edge of the hole, but not too close.” Harold swung away from the smoke column and sought out a patch of ground that looked stable enough within the immediate vicinity. At the same time a jeep came rolling up from the South, drawing up close to Harold’s landing site.

“Bourke Maintenance Field Team reporting.” The driver radioed in as they came to a stop. “What’s the situation here?”

Back on-board Sarah, the crew began to take stock of their situation. The navigator concluded that they’d fallen into a sinkhole, but Mr Smith was deeply worried about the fires surrounding them.

“You’ll be safe for the time being.” She informed him. “When I fell my air conditioning got switched up to maximum.” She coughed slightly as some of the smoke entered her voice box.

“I’m afraid that’s only a small consolation.” Smith mentioned with a tone of apprehension. “Your fuel tank appears to have been dented in such a way that your engine can’t receive any, and your batteries can only run these systems for so long.”

Up above the Fat Controller had gathered everyone together to discuss the matter, with one of the maintenance personnel having determined how long Sarah’s batteries would last while maintaining survivable conditions on board for the crew. The estimate was not promising.

“There’s got to be a way to get everyone out of there.” The Fat Controller spoke desperately as he fretted over the lives of the crew. “Sarah might be able to endure long enough for suitable haulage to reach us, but any useful engine would see about getting the people on board to safety first.”

“Well, sir,” One of the maintenance personnel suggested, “The first thing would be to get a visual assessment of Sarah’s condition. If I could abseil down to her, I could get some idea of how they might be able to reach safety.”

“Impossible!” Jenny Packard declared. “Have you felt the heat coming out of there? You could be roasted alive!”

“And if we do nothing,” Came his response, “Sarah’s crew will be roasted for certain.” There was a brief period of foreboding quiet before the Fat Controller made a decision.

“Very well. Harold, do you think you can maintain position for a reconnaissance mission?”

“Absolutely, sir.” He answered. “I’ve plenty of fuel and my control surfaces have cooled enough, just as long as it’s not longer than half an hour.”

Down below, Wainwright gave a report on Sarah’s power supply, informing Smith that all her systems could still operate at the current charge. Just then the radio crackled.

“Sarah and crew, this is engineer Pete Travis. I’m about to perform an abseil to reconnoitre your situation. What is the ambient temperature?”

“In my surroundings?” Sarah replied. “According to my sensors, it’s one hundred degrees Celsius. Don’t attempt it, you’ll get fried.” There appeared to be no response to this as Pete was busy hooking up a breathing apparatus to prevent asphyxiation in the thick smoke.

“Ready, Harold?” Pete asked the helicopter once he was in his harness.

“Ready and able.” Harold answered, warming up his motors. “As long as the radio transmissions are continuous, you’ll have the best chance.”

“Now, when I yell, get me out of there fast.” Pete instructed firmly, recognising the danger posed by the heat. Harold’s blades wound up and he began to rise.

“That is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” The Fat Controller uttered with a sense of apprehension as Harold hovered over the hole and the cable was deployed slowly, sending Pete down through the thick smoke.

-******--*-****-**--***-*--**----*----

Tracker kept vigil on the airwaves, searching for any sign of a disaster in the making, when one frequency came back with some ominous communications.

“Thirty metres down. Ooh, it’s getting mighty hot down here. They’re in serious trouble.” Tracker listened to a little more of the transmissions before activating his pup-tag.

“Hey, Tracker.” Ryder answered his call. “What’s up?”

“He interceptado radio traffic from Australia. It seems a new model of ATV has fallen into un profundo pozo ardiente.”

“That sounds like serious injury potential. Can you give me a live-feed of the transmission?”

“¡Absolutamente!” Tracker reached over to a particular set of buttons and gave a tap, relaying the received transmissions through to the pup-pad.

“Forty metres down. This is some seriously thick smoke.”

*-**-***-*-**-*-*****--*---**---****--*-*-*-

The tension among the people witnessing Pete’s efforts was rising as time passed, whether his callouts on the radio were helpful or exacerbating rather depended on what he had to say or the tone of his voice.

“Temperature’s rising.” Was the next thing they heard. “Give me more line, Harold.” He descended further past some smaller patches of burning materials. “Seventy metres. Crikey, feels like I’m on the barbie.”

“Hold out there.” Jenny muttered anxiously. “You can do it.”

“This smoke’s too thick.” Pete’s voice was fumbling from the conditions he was passing through. “I’ll have to go right down the bottom. Stand-by, Harold.”

“Roger.” Harold acknowledged as he reeled out more of the cable. There was a foreboding quiet for a couple of minutes before they heard one last transmission.

“I see her! Get me outta here!” As Harold rewound the cable back up there was an incoherent shout of searing pain. Everyone watched the line, waiting to see Pete’ condition. The moment he was visible over the rim of the hole, the Fat Controller issued a command to the assembled team.

“Get a stretcher and call an ambulance.”

*--*****-*-*-**-*-**-****--*--

In the middle of all this, Ryder had summoned the PAW Patrol and debriefed them when the radio transmissions went quiet.

“It would be best for us to be ready.” He advised. “There’s no way of knowing how this will unfold.”

“Why don’t we zoom over?” Marshall asked with some concern and confusion. “We could offer assistance promptly.”

“It’s not that simple.” Ryder explained, his tone indicating how much he wanted to follow Marshall’s suggestion. “If we turn up unexpectedly, we could be accused of industrial espionage. This machine they’re working with could be under censorship.” They’re expressions certainly weren’t making him feel any better about it, but there was one thing he considered. “Tracker,” He called through, “Keep monitoring their transmissions while we stand-by.”

“Si si, señor.” Came the response.

“Chase,” Ryder addressed, “Ready Thunderpup 2 for launch. If they decide they need our help, we’ll have to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Chase is on the case!” He responded before hopping towards the corresponding dog-bed.

*-**-***-*-**-*-*****--*---**---****--*-*-*-

Medical personnel had just arrived on the scene as Pete got some first aid from his colleagues. Before any of them could see to him he had some advice for the team.

“It’s possible, sir. A sturdy cable could lift her onto her wheels.” His voice reflected how sore the burns across his body were as the medics reached him.

“Don’t move.” One of them advised him. “You’re in no condition to work.” Another addressed his colleagues.

“Get him into the shade, keep the sun off him.” With firm nods all round they set about moving the stretcher in the swiftest way they could without throwing Pete about.

“Hold on for a while.” The Fat Controller told the medics. “There may be another casualty.”

“You’re not sending anyone else down there!” One replied.

“We must!” Jenny told them. “We’ve got people down there who’ll die in three hours if we can’t extract them!” This resulted in an argument about applicable equipment and personnel that the Fat Controller had already considered before Pete volunteered to go down and have a look. It took about ten minutes until the arguments made by the medics were finally quelled. “Right, I’d better suit up and get the right cable attached.”

“Excuse me, miss.” One of the maintenance personnel responded. “You’re not equipped for this job.”

“Don’t give me that old rubbish!” She snapped at him, fortunately he seemed to realise that she’d misconstrued his issue with her decision.

“It’s not like that.” He explained. “You’re akin to a foreman, we need someone whose tolerance is substantial and has the experience in performing such a move in difficult circumstances.”

“He’s right, you know.” The Fat Controller affirmed, fanning himself with his top hat as the heat of the day weighed upon his attire. “Anyway, I’ll need you by the radio to relay instructions to Sarah and her crew. If she can be put back on her wheels.” His tone reflected the general sense that the odds of success weren’t good.

On board Sarah, Wainwright was checking on her battery life and he wasn’t too happy about the result.

“Your battery power’s down by twenty percent, Sarah.” He reported.

“Twenty percent?!?” She repeated with alarm. “But that means my air con is gonna be underpowered.” Smith recognised the point she was making.

“It’s gonna get warmer in here from now on.” He confirmed, doing what he could to maintain rational thinking among the crew. Just then, another voice came through the radio.

“This is Donald Reith speaking. We have a prospect to help you get out. If I can hook a sturdy cable onto Sarah, we can try to pull her the right-way up and onto her wheels.” Sarah swiftly tuned in to reply.

“The surrounding temperature’s now risen to a hundred and twenty degrees.”

“No doubt I’ll have to work fast.” Was the only answer they got.

“Maybe we could find a slope up,” Smith suggested half-heartedly, “Or a tunnel out of here in the remaining time.”

“That’s if I can get onto my wheels.” Sarah acknowledged, spluttering through the smoke.

Once again, Harold had to hover right over the smoking crater to lower someone in, but this time observation was playing second fiddle to their planned recovery operation.

“Speed it up, Harold.” Donald called out. “The less time I spend down here, the better.” Harold readily unwound the lines, happy at the prospect of spending less time hovering in that rather warm space. “Hold. I’m a hundred metres down now.”

“Can you reach Sarah from there?” The Fat Controller called in.

“Maybe,” Donald answered, “I can’t see well through this smoke.” His voice was already cracking from the heat. “Harold, move slowly to your right until I yell.” There was an uneasy quiet for a moment before he managed to get a fix on Sarah. “Ten metres ahead and I’ll be able to reach her.” He moved part of the way before Harold helped him get close enough, accounting for the harness. He swung the recovery cable into position around Sarah’s bumper, just before the warming metal could melt through the gloves on his hands. Nevertheless, the heat was a serious struggle to coherently convey his radio messages through. “Okay. Winch up!” His calls were interspersed with cries of pain, prompting the Fat Controller to direct Harold urgently.

“Get him up!” The winch immediately began rewinding, pulling Donald out of the hole as quickly as possible. Still, the amount of time spent down there left him with some serious burns for sure, prompting the medics to attend to him promptly and get both him and Pete into town for proper treatment. Thankfully for Harold, this warranted a landing for ten minutes or so before the line affixed to Sarah was more firmly hooked up to his underbelly. “Okay, Harold. All we need is to lift Sarah on to her wheels. You’ll need to give it your all, with her weight.”

“Roger that, sir.” Harold began to power up his rotors once again, this time with a hundred tons of weight on the end of the cable. He rose as high as he could to get it taut, and then he found himself hovering despite his efforts to rise. The Fat Controller kept vigil through the binoculars, hoping to see Sarah the right way up again through the smoke. In the pit, Sarah felt herself shift as the cable tugged on her bumper, but then she seemed to fall back a little. This process repeated and repeated, Harold’s engines overclocking from the strain, until finally Harold shot up as the weight seemed to disappear. Watching the cable rise from the crater, the Fat Controller discovered why.

“Oh, the line broke.” He observed with a worried tone.

“But still,” Jenny suggested, “She could’ve been lifted sufficiently.” She switched on the radio. “Jenny Packard to Sarah, what’s your position?”

“I was lifted by about a foot towards the correct orientation, but then I fell back on my side.” The response came with periodic coughs. “It was a good idea, though.” Jenny gave it some thought before making another suggestion.

“Sir, I’d better get down there and try again.”

“No.” The Fat Controller’s response was emphatic. “We’ve already suffered two casualties. I can’t risk everyone available. If only we had proper equipment on site, then we might be able to perform a proper rescue. Come to think of it, how come there seem to be no local patrols who cou…”

“Patrol!” Jenny blurted out. “That’s it, sir! Remember that news story about how an air disaster was averted in Wales?” There was a momentary quiet before the Fat Controller gave a resigned groan.

“Okay, but I’m much more accustomed to working with intelligent machines than conversant canines. How do we contact them, anyway?” Jenny pulled out her mobile phone and tapped through to an article that included a supplement provided by Mayor Goodway.

*--*****-*-*-**-*-**-****--*--

Ryder’s pup-pad emitted the signal for an incoming call, prompting him to answer. Though the caller was relying on a strictly audio-based communication, he could see the burly woman on the other end.

“Hello?” She said. “Is that the Paw Patrol?”

“It is.” Ryder answered. “How can we help?”

“An experimental all-terrain vehicle has fallen into a burning pit with people on board. The battery power won’t hold out long enough to keep their air con running until we can rescue them ourselves.”

“Don’t worry, we’re on our way.” Ryder declared, recognising the description. “No job is too big; no pup is too small.” He put her on hold while tapping through to Thunderpup 2. “Chase, we’ve received a request from the Australian emergency. Blast off when you’re ready.”

“Yruff, yruff.” He responded, manipulating his controls to align his seat with the take-off orientation. Then he waited a bit to ensure the exit was open before taking off. Once he’d reached cruising altitude and set course for Australia he radioed through. “Thunderpup 2 to PAW Patrol and Tracker, is there any more information about this rescue?”

“Si, si.” Tracker was the first to answer. “The machine in question is identified by the name Sarah, it’s over three hundred feet underground surrounded by fires and weighs a hundred tons.”

“According to Ms Packard,” Ryder interjected, “This vehicle is one its side, so it can’t go anywhere. There are no details about how or why the crater occurred.”

“By the sounds of it, you should join us on scene, Ryder.” Chase suggested. “We’ll need someone who can quickly analyse the available evidence.”

In the Lookout, Ryder acknowledged this while adding another point. “And we’ll need some seriously heavy lifting equipment. Rubble, prepare Thunderpup 6 for launch with pod six.”

“Rubble on the double!” Came the response as he galumphed over to his assigned dog-bed.

“Rocky,” Ryder addressed the pair, “Take the main slide, where you’ll be redirected to ride shotgun on Thunderpup 6. I’ll be right along with Thunderpup 1 once you’re airborne.”

“Arf! Green means go!” With the acknowledgement, Ryder hit the corresponding buttons to get them underway with a declaration of.

“All right. PAW Patrol is on a roll!” The floor opened up in front of Rubble as his dog-bed lifted at the rear to let him slide down while Rocky leapt down the regular slide and Ryder made for the firepole.

As Rocky went down the slide the lower-most part detached, and a separate segment emerged from the base of the lookout to substitute. Inside Rubble slid smoothly into the cockpit of a sleek but squat lifting-body aircraft with a gaping void in the middle, which was painted JCB yellow with black highlights. As the slide withdrew into the ceiling and the top of Thunderpup 6 closed, Rubble hit a couple of buttons to turn the internal lights on while also declaring.

“Yaff, yaff. Pod Six.” Underneath a conveyor hauled a series of yellow pods, shaped almost like woodlice, until the one with a big black 6 on the front was lined up right under the empty space of Thunderpup 6. At the same time a second slide lowered into place and a smaller hatch opened in the top of the cockpit, Rocky sliding down smoothly into a vacant seat behind Rubble just before he hit the button to lower the jacks that kept them suspended over the conveyor.

Outside a large runway lay tucked out of sight of the town itself, against the side of a cliff, where a series of lights along the side flashed amber with a dull alert sounding from the end that backed right onto the cliff. Just then the cliffside began to descend slowly and smoothly, revealing a great space behind where Thunderpup 6 sat, jet engines beginning to wind up. Once the doorway was wide open with a smooth transition to the runway, Rubble began to taxi forwards. The roll was just as slow and smooth as the main hanger door’s descent. Eventually Thunderpup 6 came to a stop with its engines at idle and its nose almost right over the end of the runway, whereupon a ramp rose beneath it and a heavy metal flap popped up behind. Once at a thirty-five-degree angle, Rubble tapped a command upon a touchscreen and hidden rockets within the jets’ exhausts fired as the throttles opened up to full. The thrust struck the metal plate with the force of a Vostok rocket launch as Thunderpup 6 soared into the sky.

Just after they took off, the garage door beneath the Lookout rotated upwards before opening and a small red-and-white jet shot out, coming about and speeding towards Thunderpup 6.

*-**-***-*-**-*-*****--*---**---****--*-*-*-

The Fat Controller was standing as close to the crater as he dared, fanning himself with his top hat again.

“How long has it been since you called the Paw Patrol?” He asked Jenny as she stood a little closer to the crater, straining through the smoke for a glimpse of Sarah.

“About eighteen minutes, sir.” She answered matter-of-factly. “I’m sure they’re getting here as fast as they can.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief before replying.

“Still, I’m getting worried about everyone down there.”

“Sarah to Sir Topham Hatt.” The voice crackling through the radio was clearly from Sarah herself, but she was starting to sound weary. “I estimate I have only ninety minutes of power left to run my air con.” This wasn’t good news, and the Fat Controller was about to tromp over to the mic in an effort to retrieve an estimate from the PAW Patrol about their arrival time, but just then Harold had a little news.

“Sir! Sir Topham Hatt, there’s a call coming in for you.” The Fat Controller made his way over to utilise Harold’s radio.

“Sir Topham Hatt?” A voice on the verge of puberty came through. “This is Thunderpup 1; I’ve sighted your position with the GPS, will be with you in about four minutes alongside Thunderpup 2.”

“You can’t come soon enough.” He replied with some relief. “Still, the heat from that crater is quite intense; you could find it something of a challenge.”

Thunderpup 1 came in smoothly with its landing gear deployed, maintaining VTOL engines until it came to a stop close to the crater while Thunderpup 2 approached more gradually with a longer application of VTOL before settling down slightly offset from Thunderpup 1’s landing site. At this time the situation for the people on board Sarah was getting tougher.

“Hold on.” Smith muttered. “Seems to be getting even warmer, and smoke’s getting in.” They looked round, trying to find how the fumes were entering until Wainwright saw it.

“Her hull’s cracked!” He cried out, provoking deep feelings of distress among the crew.

“Get the respirators out.” Smith ordered as he opened a cupboard. “Someone, soak these old rags and stuff them into the cracks; that should slow the inflow of smoke.”

“I could amp up the air conditioning,” Sarah suggested woozily, “But I’ll have to divert power. Consider me comatose and let’s hope we can all get out.” Those were the last words they heard from her for the day.

Up above Ryder had met up with the Fat Controller and Jenny, which was a momentary anti-climax for them until Chase strolled up alongside him.

“Has there been any news from the people down there?” Chase asked rather more sharply than the Fat Controller was used to.

“The last we heard was that they’ve had to use gas masks.” Jenny answered, ensuring the Fat Controller wouldn’t get snappy about the seeming insolence of Chase’s line of enquiry. “I tried a few times to contact them, but I fear that Sarah’s radio’s on the fritz.”

“So, how long can the people down there hold out?” Ryder asked once the introductions were dealt with.

“They have a high-powered air conditioner,” Jenny explained, “But at maximum power it will drain Sarah’s batteries in two hours tops.”

“Right, Thunderpup 6 will arrive in due course with heavy equipment.” Ryder affirmed. “Meanwhile, Chase, send out a drone to recce the conditions in a methodical manner.”

“On it, Ryder.” Came the reply as he dashed back to Thunderpup 2. Ryder spent the intervening period deploying a larger screen to provide a live-feed from the drone when Rubble called in.

“Thunderpup 6 to Thunderpup 1, we’ll be with you shortly. What’s the situation?” Ryder gave a simple answer.

“Chase is about to send out a drone; it’ll give us an idea of what we’re up against.” As he said this the drone shot up out of Thunderpup 2 and buzzed towards the crater, sailing down through the smoke like a hornet on a return trajectory.

“Hold on.” The Fat Controller almost shouted as he saw it go. “That could get burned to a crisp.”

“Don’t worry.” Ryder reassured him. “The drone’s especially designed to cope with high temperatures.” He was just about tuned into its frequency, but Chase was ahead of him to provide confirmation of its condition. Just then a heavy whirring sound came in as Thunderpup 6 soared into view, coming in for a landing at a more significant distance than the other two.

“Thunderpup 6 to Thunderpup 1,” Rubble called in, “We’ve just landed. What’s next for the rescue?”

“Chase and I will be right with you.” Ryder answered. “Rocky, stand-by in the observation booth. You should join us, Rubble. We’ll need all paws on deck for this.”

“You got it!” Both pups answered before momentary laughing at this.

On board Sarah the crew’s efforts to counteract the breach weren’t quite as effective as they’d hoped. While the damp rags helped stop up the cracks and reduce the influx of smoke, they tended to dry out in the heat and catch fire, forcing them to bring out an extinguisher.

“Boy, this heat’s getting unbearable.” Wainwright groaned.

Up above the Fat Controller was getting antsy about the PAW Patrol’s current approach while they had gathered in the backroom of Thunderpup 6’s pod to review the footage from the drone. Observing the various formations in the crater, Ryder finally came to a conclusion.

“Looks like this was once an old mine. It would have left a massive hole in the ground when it shut down.”

“And it was used to dispose of old military gear.” Rocky added as the footage showed pieces of debris with markings denoting the Australian armed forces.

“I still don’t understand.” Chase remarked as he looked between them. “How could this have gone unnoticed?” Ryder pulled up an interactive graph with a crude depiction of the current conditions in the pit.

“Basically,” He explained, “The pit was backfilled about fifty years ago, after which the weather conditions caused a layer of natural sand and soil to cover over any sign of it. The explosives in the military wreckage sorta detonated and produced a slow, smouldering fire that burned out most of the infill. When this machine they’re calling Sarah passed across, the weight of it made the thin upper layer to collapse at a weak spot. So, for this mission we’ll have to get rid of what’s left of that thin crust, and then we can haul Sarah up and out of the pit.” There was a brief moment of silence between them before Rocky asked.

“So, how can we remove all the dirt that’s built up quickly?” Ryder turned towards Rubble and explained.

“You’ll have to suit up against the heat and go down there to plant a series of detonators to dislodge the material. Once you’re clear, we’ll fire them off.” There was some concern all around at this, but of all the assembled pups Rubble seemed the least concerned.

To get Rubble into the pit they had to request some support from the people onsite, resulting in Harold being called upon to winch him in. What made Rubble nervous at this particular point was what he called ‘the face’, believing it was merely decorative but with the same creepy feeling he got when around paintings were the eyes seem to follow you around the room. Still, he managed to remain steady on the hook until…

“I reached the bottom, Chase.” He called once his descent stopped.

“Okay, Rubble.” Came the response. “Can you see this Sarah device?”

“No, the smoke is too thick.” Rubble got off the hook and began to follow the HUD readout’s directions to the corresponding positions for the detonators. “Boy, it’s like a blast furnace down here. I’m starting to set the charges.” At this Chase provided instruction to the people on board Harold, not registering that he could instruct the helicopter directly.

“Okay, Sir Topham, you can reel in the line and get clear of the smoke. Rubble’s at the bottom.” This wasn’t the kind of instruction the Fat Controller was expecting, prompting him to reply.

“But will you get him out again?” At this Ryder intervened.

“We have a machine that we named the Mobile Miner, sir. Rocky’s about to operate it and then you’ll see it in action.” The next thing that happened was a prominent cylinder that tapered into a screw at the nose atop a set of caterpillar tracks rolled out of Thunderpup 6’s pod, grumbling against the ground.

“Mobile Miner to PAW Patrol.” Rocky called through. “Proceeding to digging site.” Rubble had already laid the first of the detonators by this time, but the crew on board Sarah were have a harder time of it as the inflow of smoke was barely hampered by their efforts.

“There should be an emergency battery pack in the stores.” Wainwright choked out as he struggled between the choice of being unable to cool off while wearing his gas mask and the impact the smoke would have on his lungs. “Without it we’ll only have forty minutes of power left on the air con, but it should give us another fifteen minutes or so.”

At the designated digging site, Rocky hit a switch that swung the Mobile Miner up at the rear, allowing the nose to make contact with the ground before he started up the drill, making it push forwards through the soil, sand and compacted earth.

“Mobile Miner to Thunderpup 1.” He radioed in. “Tunnelling at a sixty-five-degree angle. Do you have me on the pup-tracker?”

“Roger that, Rocky.” Ryder’s voice came through. “Right, right, four degrees.” Rocky acknowledged this and made an adjustment to the digging program.

“Turn made.” He confirmed, but then he suddenly found himself being shaken about and a nasty scratching sound coming off the drill. “I seem to have hit an obstruction.” There was a few seconds of radio silence before Ryder came back to him.

“Might be solid granite. Detour two degrees left, then resume your original course.” It didn’t seem long afterwards that Rubble called in to report he’d set the last of the detonators.

“Three degrees more to the left, Rocky.” Ryder reported when it seemed that the Mobile Miner was a little bit late reaching the crater.

“Digging much easier now.” Rocky reported once he confirmed he was on the correct course. “Should be in the crater in two shakes.”

“Chase,” Ryder called through, “Stand-by on the detonator switch, but do not release the safety until the Mobile Miner’s back in its transit stage.”

Rubble hoped that the cooling system in his suit would hold out long enough as he waited for the Mobile Miner to penetrate the wall of the crater. Fortunately he didn’t have quite as long to wait as he feared, seeing the whirring drill emerge through the compacted dirt.

“Hatchway unlocked, Rubble.” Rocky’s voice came through on the bulldog’s radio. “You can come on board.”

“Approaching you now, Rocky.” Rubble called once the digging mechanism wound down, all but leaping towards the entry hatch.

“Mobile Miner reporting.” Rocky radioed. “Rubble’s aboard. Preparing to reverse.”

“Roger, Rocky.” Ryder replied. “You may withdraw at your discretion.”

“Are you ready to get out of here, Rubble?” Rocky asked, receiving a prompt response from the passenger compartment. “Okay. Arf-arf, reverse gear.”

Rocky powered up the engine again, but this time the Mobile Miner trundled back up the tunnel it had bored, the heat from the fires of the crater having pushed through just enough to make Rocky start to pant. Eventually the Mobile Miner rolled back up onto its all-terrain mounting, the engine winding back down as it settled into position before the mounting retracted back into a horizontal position. Slowly Rocky drove the Mobile Miner back from the hole until he radioed in that they were out of the way.

“Acknowledged.” Chase responded as he sat at a set of controls in Thunderpup 6’s pod. “Firing now.” He tapped one button in particular, causing a series of ground-shaking explosions within the pit. Of course, the force was bound to be noticed by the people on board Sarah.

“What are they trying to do?!?” Smith blurted out. “Blow us outta here?” Some more explosions occurred that weren’t quite as violent for the crew.

“We’ve only a matter of minutes before the air con cuts out.” Wainwright reported as the rumbles died down. Up above the Fat Controller was getting seriously impatient.

“Paw Patrol,” He radioed through, “Sarah can’t have more than eight minutes of battery power left for her air conditioning.”

“We’re doing our best.” Ryder responded, getting a little annoyed at his pestering as he switched frequencies. “Ryder to Thunderpup 6. Are you ready to deploy the recovery trucks?” In the pod two squat vehicles sat revving up in preparation for the rescue, on board one of them Rubble replied to the enquiry.

“Recovery truck one, power ok.”

“Recovery truck two,” Rocky added, “Operation positive.”

“Let’s roll.” Rubble let off the brakes as he said this and his truck rolled down towards the edge of the now much wider crater, Rocky following in his until the two of them were lined up along the rim. “Ready to deploy the magnetic grabbers.”

“Okay,” Chase was the one to answer this, “Here are your coordinates. Seven left, four right right.” Two arms on each of the trucks rose at the back, pointing large metallic stamps into the pit before a pneumatic charge fired them straight at Sarah, long strong cables leading back to the trucks. “Magnetic clamps in position.”

On board Sarah the impact of the electro-magnets upon her compromised hull gave the crew a sinking feeling that there was no way to avoid being exposed to temperatures in excess of fifty degrees Celsius.

“Recovery truck engines in transmission.” Rocky reported to all other participants, signalling to Rubble that they were ready to back-up. The engines strained as they tugged on Sarah’s considerable mass, but the shifting of her chassis attracted the attention of her crew.

“We’re moving.” Smith gasped. “We’re moving!” It was very slow going as Sarah was dragged across the floor of the crater, but when she was up against the wall the weight made the effort even harder as part of her slid back slightly when Rubble’s truck slipped on a patch of looser sandy soil. There was some respite as Sarah was hauled slowly up, but when she was only two hundred and seventy feet below the rim…

“My recovery truck’s skidding again!” Rubble reported as he struggled to stop it from sliding back towards the smoking crater. He and Rocky continued to push their trucks to the limit in order to lift Sarah out, but another issue occurred when Rocky ran into a problem of his own.

“One of the lines has failed!” He reported. “I’ll have to wind it in and fire again.” He hit the corresponding retract button, bringing the electro-magnet back into its mounting. Sarah was hanging precariously at the two-hundred-foot mark as Rocky made sure that the system had cooled enough. “Firing again; let’s hope it’s not damaged.” The launch went off without a hitch and the electro-magnet was almost in the exact same spot it had first made contact. “Line in place. Starting motors again.” With that the two pups managed to steadily haul Sarah ever closer to the crater rim, there was a moment of panic when Rubble’s truck slid upon another patch of loose earth before Sarah’s hulking mass of metal and rubber slipped across the edge and settled upon the open plain. But still, the impact of the rising temperature and smoke meant that the crew were none-too sensible.

Smith felt like he’d been run over by a steamroller as his vision swirled in a blur, confused as to where he was. As he roused himself, the first thing he knew was that he was on a thin bed inside a metal compartment and there appeared to be a brown figure in blue standing over him, then as his vision recovered he saw it was a German shepherd puppy in a kind-of police outfit.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Chase asked. Smith blinked a few times, trying to get what he was seeing to match up with what he was hearing.

“I’m not sure.” He replied. “From here it looks like I’m talking to a dog.”

“Uh, make that a pup.” Chase explained. “You don’t seem too bad, considering, but I’m not a medic.” Smith tried to lift his arm as he felt like pinching the bridge of his nose, but it wouldn’t rise beyond his torso. “Steady there. The nurses did say you’d need plenty of bedrest.”

“Were you the one who got us out of that pit?” Smith asked with a sense of wonder.

“Well, I was a part of the team.” Chase affirmed. “The other pups will be leaving in a bit.” Smith groaned slightly as he felt the urge to move, despite the discomfort in his bronchial tubes.

“I’ve worked with many different vehicles,” He muttered, “And every one had its own personality and quirks. But I never imagined I’d get pulled out of a jam by little dogs that were at least as capable.”

“You can’t deny we owe them a lot.” Wainwright piped up from a nearby cot.

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Chase affirmed as he swung his head between the two. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

“But Mr Wainwright’s right.” Smith affirmed. “We all owe you a vote of thanks.”

At this point a hatch opened up and in walked two figures, one taller than the other but clearly human.

“How are they, Chase?” Ryder asked as they drew up alongside him.

“A bit woozy, by the sounds of them. But I think they’ll be okay.” At this the taller figure seemed a bit nonplussed but managed to recover before saying.

“Well, if you could give them some space. We’ve got to get them to hospital, quick sharp.” In response Chase hopped off of Smith and walked out with Ryder close behind as the sound of a helicopter’s engine whirred into action, the hatch closing behind them as the air ambulance began to rise into the air. When the downdraft eased off Ryder received a call from Thunderpup 6.

“All equipment and vehicles are stowed.” Rubble reported. “Ready for take-off; see you back home.”

“Roger that.” Ryder answered as he and Chase approached their own rides back to Adventure Bay, where they found Jenny and the Fat Controller waiting for them.

“Young man,” The Fat Controller spoke, “Thanks to you and your team of trained, uh… puppies, Sarah has been successfully recovered and not one of her crew members has been severely injured, or worse. I don’t know how we can possibly show our appreciation, but…” Before he could go any further with his speech, Ryder interjected.

“No worries, sir. Whenever you have a problem, just yelp for help.”

“But still,” The Fat Controller continued, “It wouldn’t be right to let you go without some way to say thank you. At least allow me to say that, from those of your team members that I’ve seen, they are Really Useful Dogs.” Chase dipped his head in a manner to acknowledge the praise while attempting to demonstrate a sense of modesty as he went past to board Thunderpup 2, leaving Ryder to wrap up the goodbyes.

The Fat Controller almost jumped out of his skin when Thunderpup 2 took off, making him quite eager to get on board Harold before watching Thunderpup 1’s take-off, whereupon Harold’s motors whirred into action to get them back to civilisation.

“What a day it’s been.” The Fat Controller remarked. “I’ll be glad of a relaxing bath when we get back.” This earned a few little laughs from Jenny and Harold as they flew off towards Bourke.

“Maybe you should pack some lighter clothing next time, sir.” Jenny suggested as the smoking crater slipped below the horizon.

THE END