Does the Marklin engine exist in your AU??
They're my favourite obscure 'character' if you can call them that lol
Okay so i hadn't considered it before, but A. I've done far crazier things in my Au, B. Blue Mountain Mystery Implies they were scrapped (a scrapped version of them is used as set dressing) and that ticks me off so here we go.
From 27-28 39 new 0-6-0 tank engines were built for Deutsche Reichsbahn as their new standard shunter to replace ageing older engines. Around this time, the Harwick Shipping Company was owed a debt by a German Company (one of many struggling at this time) and said company was looking for a way to pay off the debt. The HSC had recently begun supplying the majority of Coal for not only the North Western Railway, but the Island of Sodor at large due to interfernce from the LMS. As such, shipping at Tidmouth harbor had increased drastically and more dock shunters were needed.
The Harwick Shipping Company was a fair company, and so asked if the German Company had any old dock shunters they could trade to pay off the part of the debt. The company didn't, but did have connections with the Deutsche Reichsbahn and managed to arrange a deal for a 40th member of the class, 80 040, to be constucted for HSC in return for a portion of the debt being forgiven. The HSC then turned around and offered the NWR the brand new engine for a good price.
Once completed in 1928, 80 040 was loaded unsteamed to the HSC's RMS Lucania. She was lowered onto the Tidmouth Harbor tracks directly from Lucania the next day. The minor modifcations needed to prepare the locomotive for service on a British Railway, as well as application of the Harbor livery and number, were able to be done in the Harbor sheds and the new North Western Railway No.40 was steamed to life.
The former 80 040 was quickly dubbed Grey, as she liked the nickname one of the workers gave her. She spent most her time shunting coal trains at the HSC Dock, although she could occasionally find her way into Tidmouth proper when needed.
She retained her red wheels and underframes until her first overhual, when her wheels were painted blue and the frames black out of concern the rising tension with Germany would be taken out on the engine if she retained the characteristic German trait, but would regain her original red wheels and frames in her 1950s overhual.
After the war, Grey would contiune her job largely un-interrupted, as the NWR and the island still needed coal. Other engines would join her as the harbor and island grew, with diesel tankers joining the coal wagons in the 60s. Even when North Western began the conversion to biofuel operations in the 90s, the biofuel in its various forms still needed to be unloaded from HSC ships.
Grey never found fame from the Reverand's books, or the television series. The closest she came when a gauge one model of one of her siblings was used in the background of the early model seasons, but shes fine without the fame. She prefers being left alone to her work rather than being hounded by tourists. Although she does appreicate the small number of railfans who come to see Britian's DRG Class 80.
Even when Thomas/Casandra's role of Caomhnóir came to light in the 90s very few put together just who would have helped the No.1 sneak many of the saved engines onto HSC ships bound for safe harbors across the Atlantic.
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
I know it’s not hard to point out reactionaries hypocrisy when it comes to like safe spaces or hug boxes or whatever but genuinely how much of an echo chamber do you have to exist in for you to think this is a reasonable thing to say
Hey everyone seems real sad for some reason. Could not imagine why.
Anyways if you squint real hard you may notice a similarity to Thomas and the Jet Engine. That is intentional.
You can also squint and notice some similarity to several Traintober prompts. That is intentional.
Also, if you notice any similarity to any of SiF's character names... that's right! That is intentional. I did that and it's on purpose and I'm making fun of them. If you're from SiF either recognize that it was a dumb name or die mad about it.
Pip and Emma at The Top
2021 - The Summer
It was the longest summer since the last one. There weren’t any tourists - obviously - but even the inter-island traffic had died down considerably. The government on the mainland was skittishly enacting and then subsequently revoking plans to allow gatherings again, and the people of Sodor were prudently trying to keep the Island’s activities out of London’s sphere of notice.
As events were curtailed and people limited their own travel, the railway cut back on services, as they’d done several times before. Pip and Emma were the first to be relegated to the yards; while they could run a much shorter train - and often did - a shortage-related spike in the price of diesel fuel meant that it was more economical for James or Henry to take the two diesels' trains instead.
Henry had tried to make sense of how the economics on that worked out, but numbers were not his strong suit, and so he instead passed along his sympathies every time he passed the twins in the yard.
James (and no-one else) thought that he was being rather magnanimous by not endlessly laughing about how he was cheaper to run than a diesel. Several cutting responses had been prepared if he ever got too full of himself, but shockingly he’d kept the snickering to a bare minimum.
As the days stretched on into a week, and then two, a bigger problem soon began to present itself:
“I’m bored, Pip!”
“Me too!”
Pip and Emma were getting restless.
“WILL YOU TWO KEEP IT DOWN?! IT IS THREE IN THE MORNING!”
And they were more than willing to make that everyone else’s problem.
-
A few days later, and the diesels were overjoyed when an inspector came to them with instructions to report to the works.
Equally overjoyed were the engines in the big shed.
-
Pip and Emma arrived at the works in a right state, having been held up by trackwork along the main line.
“Two hours! Can you believe it Emma?”
“I don’t like running light engine, they can push us around too much.”
“Right? We’re express engines, not a train of old rubbish!”
“I think they prioritized the rubbish train over us, if that smell at Kellsthorpe Road was anything to go by.”
“Ugh!”
-
Mr. Tedfield, the Works Manager, eventually arrived, bringing an end to their complaining. “Right you two. Seems like we’ve got some work for you.”
“Here?” They chorused.
“No,” he said quickly. “But the work is going to be a lot different from your usual job, and we’re gonna have to do some modifications.”
“Oh no,” Pip cried. “It’s going to be buffers, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?” The man was baffled.
“It’s the only thing it could be, sir.” Emma explained. “That’s what they said on the Eastern Region, back in the 1980’s. ‘Just some little modifications!’ and they came back from Derby with the ugliest buffers ever!”
“It was a hatchet job!” Pip agreed. “All their lower valances, gone!”
“Easy, easy!” Mr. Tedfield yelped, not expecting that sort of response. “I’m sure that we can do a better job than that!”
“Promise?” they said in worried unison.
“Promise.”
-
A few days later, and the twins were relieved to discover that the works were as good as their word. Unlike the Eastern Region “hatchet jobs,” they still sported all their bodywork. Holes had been drilled through the lower valances, and buffers, couplings, and air hoses now poked through. The fibreglass was a little rough around the edges, but everyone agreed that it could also look a great deal worse. (Apparently, custom fibreglass was one of the only things the works staff couldn’t do in-house, and there was a concerning amount of murmuring from the staff about how they’d change that.)
Rolling out into the sun for the first time since they were “slightly modified,” they blinked the light from their eyes to find Mr. Tedfield, the Fat Controller, and another man who they didn’t know waiting for them.
“Well,” Started Mr. Tedfield. “I’m glad to see that our concerns were unfounded.”
The twins knew he was being diplomatic in front of the Fat Controller. He’d already said “I told you so!” several times earlier in the day.
He continued. “So now we should probably tell you what we would like you to do!”
“Because somebody forgot to mention it earlier…” The other man muttered under his breath.
The Fat Controller looked from one man to the other, and shook his head slightly. “Pip, Emma, as I’m sure you’re already aware, we are not going to be running the Express to London anytime soon. So, with that in mind, you two are going to be assigned to mixed traffic work until passenger numbers allow us to put you back into normal service.”
“Mixed traffic work?” They said as one.
“Oh yes!” The Fat Controller looked quite pleased with himself. “We have quite a lot of cargo traffic coming in through the ports right now, and you two will help take the strain off everyone else.”
The man they didn’t know coughed slightly.
“Of course, how foolish of me,” The Fat Controller rolled his eyes. “I also recognize that you two have some… special abilities that the other engines lack, namely your high-speed capabilities. With that in mind, Mr. Hargrave, from the coach and wagon department here at the works, has had an idea.”
“Yes, right.” Mr. Hargrave said with pride. “So, back when we first started coming back to work after the lockdowns, the government gave us a whole pile of Levelling-Up money, to “get us back on our feet.”” He paused, bouncing on his heels. “Thing is, we’d already fixed up everything beforehand, because we didn’t want anyone locked away in the works during the end of days with their bits in pieces, so we didn’t have anything to spend it on, but we had to spend it, otherwise they’d take it back!”
“Government logic at its finest…” Mr. Tedfield said under his breath.
“Ain’t that the truth.” Mr. Hargrave agreed. “So anyways, we decided to just make everything as perfect as we could make it.”
He stopped for a moment, long enough for the Fat Controller to look at him. “Such as…?”
“Hm? Oh! Yes, the container wagons!” He said all at once. “We took all the container wagons that were sitting around idle - and some other stuff besides - and we took them and fitted high speed bogies and bearings to them.”
Pip blinked slowly. “High speed bogies?”
“That’s right! They ride like coaches now.” He said with childlike joy. “And they won’t weigh much more than them either, so it shouldn’t be much trouble for you two. High speed containers, all the way to the mainland!”
Pip looked at him, then at the Fat Controller. “Sir, why are we doing this?”
The Fat Controller looked much more reasoned. “Quite a few companies are willing to pay a premium for their shipments to arrive as quickly as possible. There’s a lot of congestion at the bigger ports in the south, and Liverpool is operating almost at capacity, so we have an opportunity to get some very lucrative traffic.” He smiled knowingly. “And if we play our cards right, some of the companies, like Amazon, might build a few warehouses just across the channel on the mainland, and then we can serve those in perpetuity.”
The twins slowly digested this. “But sir, will it matter if we can go that fast?” Pip asked. “Once we cross the bridge, we’ve got to deal with Network Rail, and they don’t know anything.”
The Fat Controller looked as pleased as punch. “But you’re not dealing with Network rail.” He said with a satisfied smile. “Our contract for this ‘express freight’ is to get it as far as Barrow-in-Furness. If Freightliner or Colas Rail happen to be tardy after that…” he made a gesture with his hands. “That’s of no importance to us.”
Pip and Emma blinked slowly. “So, you want us to go as fast as we can?” Pip said with an expression that was rapidly passing “gleeful.”
“I do.” The Fat Controller agreed, before walking away.
---
Across the Island, the trucks and wagons shuddered.
--
A few weeks later
Pip and Emma fit in surprisingly well on goods trains, and could soon be found on everything from trundling pickup goods to the Flying Kipper. The Works really had made every truck as “perfect” as they could make them, and so every train, regardless of what it was or who was pulling it, was rolling on new bearings and freshly-trued wheels. Bear, BoCo, James, and Henry claimed it was some of the easiest work they’d ever had, and even the trucks agreed with them!
Pip and Emma, however, were mostly focused on one thing: speed. They’d been promised the ability to go as fast as they liked, but there was a significant obstacle to it:
“Oh come on! How long can it take to re-lay one set of points!”
The Permanent Way and Signaling departments had also received a great deal of this “use it or lose it” government funding, and were furiously working to replace, re-lay, and re-wire seemingly the entire island.
Fortunately for the twins, the work was almost at an end, and as the summer began to wane, they soon found that more and more of the line was back up to full capacity. Shortly thereafter, the “Container Express” was a regularly scheduled train on the main line, running twice a day between Tidmouth Harbour and the yard in Barrow. Keen-eyed observers of the timetable would note that it was the exact same pair of slots previously occupied by the Wild Nor’Wester, which had last run in March of 2020.
The Fat Controller promised anyone who asked him that it was absolutely a temporary measure, and most believed him, save for one group in particular…
“Lads,” A voice murmured in the container yard one morning. “I think this is forever… ‘s our purgatory for whatever it is we’ve done to the engines.”
“Nah, this ain’t purgatory,” whispered another, as a two-toned horn blasted in the distance.
“Hi everyone!” “Ready for the trip?”
“This is hell. We’re in hell.”
-
A few days later - Barrow
The lift bridge over the Walney Channel operated very differently than it did pre-COVID. A train would arrive at the Vicarstown side of the bridge, then it would lower. It would stay down while the engines were turned round, or were uncoupled from their train and connected to a new one. Then the train would leave, and the bridge would go back up.
This happened two to four times a day, now that the lockdowns had lessened, but there was one constant - the same train that left the island would be the one to return to it.
Then, one evening in the late summer, the bridge rolled down for a train coming from the mainland.
There was a very familiar two-toned honk-honk as it rolled over the bridge and onto the Island, wheels click-clacking across the bridge joints in great numbers.
The rear power car vanished with a roar of sound and a whoosh of diesel exhaust, and then the train was gone into the distance.
The bridge slowly cycled back up. There was a new train on the Island of Sodor.
-
The next morning
Pip and Emma woke up much later than usual - the main line was undergoing its final “track geometry inspection”, and freight services had been curtailed for most of the day to allow the inspection to be done as quickly as possible.
Eventually, they were rolled out of the diesel shed mostly on BoCo’s urging, (“You two are not allowed to get bored in here.”) and made their way to the platforms of the big station.
“Oh, this is weird!” Pip exclaimed as she backed down onto a set of coaches. She and Emma had been coupled back-to-back for over a month now, and it seemed like nobody was in a hurry to position them “normally” for a short run down to Suddery and back.
“Not as weird as your- oh my goodness it’s you two.” James started his sentence with a considerable amount of venom, but squeaked halfway through his sentence before stopping altogether.
“What was that?” They both looked at him funny.
“Nothing!” He said quickly. “Nothing at all. I, um, I thought that you were somebody else!”
He vanished as though by magic, and neither Pip, Emma, nor the coaches had any idea of what to say until the guard waved his flag.
-
Making their way down the line, they encountered several other engines, each of whom gave them some kind of funny look. As they headed down Edward’s branch line, it was all they could talk about.
“Maybe it’s just how strange we look back-to-back?”
“It can’t be, Pip! You saw how Edward looked! I think he was actually upset!”
“Goodness, I hope it wasn’t anything we did.”
“I don’t think so. They all seemed to stop once they saw us.”
“...”
“What?”
“I just had a thought.”
“What?”
“Who looks like us, but can make everyone hate them in no time flat?”
“Oh no!”
-
Later, they arrived back at Wellsworth station with the return service. The train terminated here, instead of returning to the big station, so once the passengers had disembarked, they had to shunt the coaches out of the way. It was somewhat novel for them, and Pip took great joy in being shown how a shunter’s pole worked. Emma, on the other buffer, was busy eavesdropping; Edward was getting ready to bank Bear’s goods train up Gordon’s Hill, and he was fuming about something to the stationmaster.
“-that damn banana shows its face here again I will show them what for!” he hissed sternly, before puffing away in a huff.
The stationmaster didn’t say anything that Emma could hear, but he seemed to look very intently at the signals outside the station. There was one signal set for an arriving train.
Emma didn’t like that, it felt very ominous. “Pip, look sharp. I think we’re going to have trouble soon.”
Pip didn’t have time to respond, because at that instant, the two-tone horn of an HST rang out in the near distance. The rails hummed with the noise of an approaching train, and a 5-coach HST set pulled into the station.
The train was safety-yellow, and bristled with cameras, sensors, lasers, and measurement equipment of all kinds. Large “NETWORK RAIL” logos were plastered on every coach and both power cars, right next to the words “NEW MEASUREMENT TRAIN.”
It was glossy. It was shiny. It was freshly washed.
“Oh, must we dawdle around this dump? I know what sort of conditions this lot keeps!”
It was rude.
“Will you stop already? I would like to not be thrown off this island, thanks.”
Well, half of it was.
Pip closed her eyes to steady herself. Emma ground her teeth audibly. Of course it was them.
Quickly, quietly, they tried to reverse out of sight, but the camera-studded train saw all, and criticised everything.
“Oh I say!” The lead power car laughed mockingly. “I thought those rumours were wrong but look at that! You two really have been demoted to common shunters!”
“Hi Pip. Hi Emma.” The rear power car said, utterly defeated.
“Hi John,” They chorused, equally displeased. “Hi, Obs-”
“Do not use that name!” The lead power car snapped brusquely. On his side there was a big brass nameplate that read “The Railway Observer.” “Use my real name.”
“Not this again…” The rear power car moaned. He had “John Armitt” bolted to his side. “I know that you think it sounds better but I promise you it isn’t-”
“I’m sorry,” The lead power car snapped. “But are you undermining me in front of outsiders?”
“They’re our sisters, you numpty.”
“And they shall refer to me by the name of my choice!”
“It’s a stupid name!”
“It’s a regal name!”
Pip and Emma observed the bickering train with muted resignation. “Why couldn’t he have been at Ladbroke Grove?” Pip said to nobody in particular. “Would’ve done the world a favour.”
Emma just wanted to get this over with. The coaches had been safely shunted away, so it was just a matter of getting out of the yard - then they could go down to Tidmouth and get their next train. “And what name would you like us to call you?” She said eventually.
The lead power car puffed himself up like a self-important cockatoo. “I,” He proclaimed regally. “Am Murgatroyd. It is a noble name, with a rich history, and-”
Pip almost swallowed her own tongue from the sudden outburst of laughter, while Emma couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. “Oh my god, that is the worst name I have ever heard of,” She said, barely audible over Pip’s gale-force guffaws. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you do that to us?”
Murgatroyd turned red with indignation (which, thanks to his yellow paint, was actually a shade of orange) and started shouting. “How dare you, you- you- you low-class harlot! This is a regal name, chosen to signify-”
“How much of a pretentious twat you are?” John scoffed from the other end of the NMT. “Usually people can tell when you talk.”
The retort that followed was unprintable, and a vicious three-way argument soon struck up, lasting until Pip and Emma left Wellsworth for the harbour at Tidmouth.
The New Measurement Train left a few minutes after that, an argument trailing in its wake. The yard was silent after that.
BoCo, who had been trying to nap in the shed, looked around the yard. “I don’t think anyone will believe me…” he said to himself.
-----
At the harbour’s intermodal yard, Pip and Emma found their train already waiting for them… although it was slightly different from usual.
Fifteen container trucks sat mostly empty, with just a few loaded ones up at the front. Ahead of those were two low-loaders, one empty, the other… not.
“Finally!” Thomas the Tank Engine groused from atop the front low-loader. “It’s been ages!”
“It’s been two hours.” The low-loader rolled his eyes. “We left at 11:00. It’s barely past one.”
“Well, who asked you?!”
Pip and Emma were surprised, to say the least. “What’s he doing here?” They asked the yard supervisor. “Can we take him on this train?”
“As a matter of fact,” He consulted his clipboard. “You can. I spoke to the works, and they’ve “improved” some of the flatcars with the high speed bogies they had left over. Should be fine.”
“Should be?”
“That’s what they said.” He shrugged, flipping through the clipboard to a printout of an email. “They put it in writing.”
Pip had to squint to see the small text. “I don’t like that they put “It should be fine!” on an official email…”
Behind her, Emma rolled her eyes, in the process noticing something above them. “Wait, what’s that?”
The supervisor looked up. “Oh, that’s a jet engine for an airplane. Rolls Royce rebuilds them down in Derby.”
“Why is it here? This isn’t the airport.”
“Airport’s closed for a few days because they lost their electric transformer - surprised you didn’t ‘ear about it. Rolls didn’t wanna wait, and we’re quicker than a lorry it seems.” The man smiled at the last part. Everyone in the freight division was very pleased that this “hare-brained, half-baked, absolutely ridiculous” concept (as some “industry observers” had remarked) was proving successful.
Emma watched as the jet engine was craned onto a flatcar behind Thomas. “Oh great!” He scoffed as it was chained down to the car. “Not only am I getting shuttled around this Island like a piece of lost mail, but now it’s air mail at that?”
“Oh shush!” Pip said, somewhat bemused by the whole situation. “We’ll get you to Barrow double quick!”
“Barrow?! I’m going to the works!” Thomas was irate.
“If you ever listened,” The low-loader started. “You’d know that they don’t stop there, so we’re going to Barrow, and then back to Crovan’s on the pick-up goods.”
“Oh! Wonderful! I am a lost parcel! This is all Toby’s fault, the square-”
“Thomas,” Emma cut him off kindly. “It’ll be fine. Think about it this way - you can say that you went there on the Express! Won’t that be fun?”
“I’ve been on the express before…” Thomas said darkly.
“See? Then you know how fun it is!”
Thomas looked like he wanted to say something else, but before he could, the shunters allowed Pip and Emma to back down onto the train, and connected the coupling chains and air hoses.
Emma winked at him reassuringly, something which he felt was only unintentionally patronizing.
And then the train set off for the mainland.
-
Leaving the port was a slow affair - the container yard was off to one side, and they had to dodge Marina and Salty as they shunted cars into the bulk terminals by the yard throat. There were a lot of low-speed switches to navigate as well, and the train rocked from side to side as they crossed over. Thomas thought about saying he was getting seasick, but chose not to tempt fate after the seventh such switch made him actually feel a little nauseous.
After reaching the end of the harbour tracks, they came to a complete stop, and waited for several trains to leave the big station.
First came Gordon, who stormed out of the station canopy with the mid-day semi-fast behind him. His expression was thunderous, as were his clouds of smoke and steam. He passed by with a roar and a clatter and vanished into the tunnel towards Knapford.
Edward was a few minutes behind, with a train of ballast from the Little Western. The expression on his face was neutral, almost intentionally so - a clear sign to anyone that knew him that he was blisteringly furious.
“Oh no…” Emma sighed.
“What?” Thomas asked, watching Edward’s brake van disappear into the tunnel.
“Not what, who.” She said, resigned. “And you’ll find out soon enough.”
Up front, Pip grit her teeth and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long - another minute, and an unusual signal dropped into place: an up-bound train cleared for the down slow line. A very familiar two-note honk-honk sounded from inside the station, and then Murgatroyd appeared, a self-satisfied sneer on his face.
He roared out of the station, New Measurement Train shining brightly behind him, John on the tail end calling apologies to someone. It would have been a rather splendid sight, had there not been a massive cloud of sooty clag hovering over the station entrance, and trailing in his wake.
Pip smirked with a hint of schadenfreude - John wasn’t trailing any sooty exhaust smoke, and five empty coaches were not that heavy, so somebody was ignoring his fitters it seemed…
She would have been content to sit there smugly, her well-tuned engine firing cleanly on all cylinders saying more than she ever could with words, but naturally Murgatroyd had to make things worse.
“Oh good god!” He bellowed in mean-spirited mirth, his mouth twisting into a cheshire-cat smile. “Look at that! They really are Valenta freighters now! And they’re slumming it with a tea kettle! I thought that I had seen it all!”
He vanished out of sight before he could say anything else, the coaches streaming by in a yellow blur.
Pip could just see her reflection in the passing windows - they moved so fast it looked like a solid mirror - and it was not a pretty sight.
Emma, who’d heard everything, reckoned that if he’d gone on for one more sentence, her sister would be spitting fire and roaring loud enough to be heard in Cornwall.
Thomas, who had said worse to Toby and Daisy just this morning, suddenly felt a great sense of unease…
-
A few tense minutes later, and the signal finally raised, giving the train access to the main line. Pip set off with a roar, Emma reluctantly following her lead through the multiple unit connection. Thomas choked and spluttered from the wave of hot exhaust gases going right into his face, and barely noticed as the train rocked and rolled onto the Up Fast line.
Blinking and tearing up, his vision finally cleared just in time to see Pip’s cab roof disappear into the darkness of the tunnel to Knapford. It was much closer than it usually was, and with the train rapidly increasing in speed, Thomas yelped as it cleared his funnel by mere inches. “YIKES!”
Emma laughed, eyes shining in the darkness, and Thomas knew that the sooner he got off this train, the better!
-
After that, for a little while, the trip continued smoothly. Knapford, Crosby, and Wellsworth stations all slid past without issue. Traffic was extremely light, and they didn’t pass any down-bound trains in the entire period. In fact, if it weren’t for the occasional blot of Gordon’s smoke on the horizon, it would have seemed that they had the entire main line to themselves.
-
It was just past Maron station when the trouble began.
As they crested Gordon’s hill, the first signal past the summit had fallen to “approach” almost as they passed it, and some quick shouting at “control” on the radio had revealed that the last of the permanent way crews were taking longer than usual to clear the main line near Kellsthorpe Road station.
This meant that Pip and Emma were practically at a crawl as they reached Maron, and the train eased to a stop at the signal bridge just past the platforms.
Pip, still hot under the buffers from her encounter with Murgatroyd, was not exactly thrilled at the idea of “dawdling” in stations, and audibly fussed as they came to a halt.
Her poor temper didn’t help her train handling skills any, and the train lurched inelegantly to a halt, causing the slack in the couplings to run in, and the entire train banged against her and Emma.
There was much shouting and complaining from the trucks and Thomas at this, and Pip growled menacingly.
“Oh, well.” Emma said quickly, trying to put a positive spin on things. “At least it’s a nice day out-”
CLONK
Before she could even say anything, the signals rose to the “approach slow, expect stop” aspect. This meant that they were getting moved forward exactly one signal block, to the Cronk home signals near the Hawin Ab Viaduct.
“Oh come on!” Emma cried in frustration.
It was abundantly clear what was happening now: they were going to be yo-yo-ed up and down the main line. Yo-yo-ing was what happened when a fast train was stuck behind a slow one, and had to constantly stop at each signal and wait for it to clear. It was hard on an engine’s brakes, worse on their buffers and couplings, and worst of all, was annoying as sin. This was exactly the sort of constant, low-grade irritation that she (and Pip) did not need right now.
Pip’s driver was entirely unaware of this, though, and so he increased the throttle and watched with some bemusement as Pip let her engine furiously rev all the way to the top of the tachometer right from the jump.
She and Emma lurched forwards, and the entire train crashed into motion, each car yanking the one behind it as they all set off.
Thomas rocked back and forth against his tie-down chains. “Careful!” he shouted.
“Shut up!” Pip and Emma scowled.
Thomas frowned, ready to give them a piece of his mind.
“It’s no use,” tThe low-loader sighed. “They’re in a strop right now - best you can do is make them forget that you’re here, til they calm down.”
“When will that happen?”
“That, lad, is something that the smartest trucks in all the land have been searching for an answer to for many years.”
-
To add insult to perceived injury, Pip’s driver didn’t bother accelerating to any real speed, since they were only going one signal down the line. Pip and Emma stewed in their own irritation at twenty-five miles an hour as they rolled up the line towards the next signal. There was very little that could be done to make them more upset, but of course when there’s a will, (and a Murgatroyd) there’s a way.
-
“Oh, no…” John murmured to himself.
The New Measurement Train had been caught at a signal for almost thirty minutes, as the Island’s P-Way team cleared out in front of them. The positioning of this particular signal was not ideal, as it left the tail of the train caught on the exposed tracks of a windy viaduct. Furthermore, the signal, like all signals on Sodor, was a relatively vintage semaphore design that still used colored filters over a white light. He knew this from experience, having been all over this island for the last day, however he was hearing all of it now because his royal Murgitude had been griping and whinging about it literally since the moment they stopped.
And now, look at who was coming up to the signals on the fast line…
“Hi Pip, Hi Emma,.” he said weakly.
He almost wanted to tell them to stop further back, and be near him - away from the irritating mass at the front of the train - but looking at Pip’s enraged visage gave him pause. He stilled his tongue, and let them roll up to the signal mast next to Murg.
Judging from the way that the train screeched and bashed to a halt, Emma wasn’t happy either. A smart engine (or one with a functioning self-preservation instinct) would have kept quiet at that stage, however Murgatroyd was neither self-preserving nor intelligent, and John could hear his mocking tone from five coaches back.
Pip said nothing, and at first neither did Emma, but as Moron-a-troyd went on and on and on, John could feel a shift in the container wagons next to him. It was almost like they were cringing, trying to keep themselves as far away from whatever was about to happen next.
Finally, he could take the suspense no more. “Is it bad?” he asked the nearest truck.
“SHUT UP. I AM TIRED OF HEARING YOU SPEAK,” Emma bellowed, loud enough to be heard clearly at the other end of the train.
“It’s awful bad,” the truck whispered. “You can tell he’s never dealt with real engines before. One of us acts like that and we’d be the next Scruffey within a month!”
John didn’t know who “Scruffey” was, but he understood the sentiment regardless.
Silence reigned after that… for all of ten seconds, before Murgatroyd said something about “decorum” that set off a screaming row between all three of them.
It was bad enough that the Network Rail crew inside the coaches started making a fuss on the radio, and within a minute, the container train roared away, leaving the New Measurement Train in windy silence yet again.
After a few short seconds, John felt a “poke” over the multiple unit connection. Clearly Murgatroyd wanted to say something.
“Well,” he said, voice warbling from some damage in the connection that John hadn’t ever told anyone about. “I think they said their piece didn’t they? I tell you what John-old-boy, but this island produces some of the worst examples of engine-kind that I have ever seen. I think that one was breathing fire!”
-
At Cronk station, Pip and Emma were idling so loud and so roughly that the stationmaster radioed the crew to ask if something was wrong.
“That damned flying banana got them in a state, that’s what’s wrong,” The driver snapped over the radio. That awful measurement train had been nothing but problems since it showed up on the island, and he was willing to do anything to see them gone. Heck, if it wasn’t likely to make his engines even angrier, he’d give that train his path to the mainland, just so it’d be gone faster.
What they really needed was a good fast run, to get them back into their usual state, but with the P-Way team taking their sweet bloody time of it, it didn’t seem likely.
“If they keep going like this, they’re going to burst a manifold somewhere,” the guard poked his head into the cab. “We’ve got to calm them down.”
“I would love to see you try!” the driver retorted. “They’re not gonna stop until they’re good and ready.”
“I can hear you, you know!” Pip huffed.
“And? Are you going to calm down?”
A slow growl that shook the entire cab was his only answer.
“Go put the radio on,” he said to the wide-eyed guard. “They need something to keep their minds occupied.”
“Radio? Like, to control?”
“No, you nit! Like the radio radio! With music! There’s a circuit breaker on the electrical panel. Bottom row.”
Confused, the guard retreated from the cab and made his way to Pip’s electrical cabinet. Opening up the “low voltage” door, he traced his finger down the rows of breakers until he found what should have been immediately obvious: a handwritten label on some sellotape next to the last of the breakers. It said “TUNES” in shaky handwriting, and was one of the only ones not turned on. Hesitantly, he reached out and switched it on.
“-and that was “No Diggity,” by Blackstreet, here on ManxPirate, the eternally annoying voice of the Sudrian Sea. Catch our sound wherever you are, on 107.9 FM, 927 AM, 13.68 Shortwave, DAB, DAB+, and online at ManxPirate.co.im.
“Oh come on!” Pip groused. “Now they’re gonna do the adverts! This isn’t any better than listening to the moron!”
“And now that brings us up to about five minutes til’ the top of the hour, so we’re gonna run some adverts so we can keep the lights on. We’ll see ya on the flipside with DJ Geordie Poppers, who’s gonna run a very special block of music for us, right here on ManxPirate.”
“How often do they listen to this?” the guard asked with some astonishment.
“Too much, if I had any say in it…” the driver mumbled.
“Are you tired of your washing up smelling like mildew? Are you sick of having to pull down the drying lines at the first sign of rain? Then the new automatic clothes dryers at B&Q are just for you…”
The radio continued on with an inane advertisement about tumble dryers, and the driver put his head in his hands. “We’ve just got to make it to a song… I hope.”
Pip and Emma continued to stew in their own irritation.
-----
Far away, at Kellsthorpe Road station, the last of the P-Way Gang hauled their equipment off of the line, sharing a celebratory high-five as they did so. There was due cause for celebration: once the NMT traveled over this section of line, their yearslong work of relaying the entire main line would be finally over. In the station’s car park, a champagne bottle was popped, and the foreman revealed that he’d brought real crystal stemware for the occasion, instead of plastic.
Presently, a radio handset buzzed. “Is that the lot of you off, then?”
It was Control, sounding less than pleased with the delay…
----
At Cronk, the signals for the down slow line rose into the “all clear” position, while the up fast signals remained red.
Pip ground her teeth noisily.
“HI, I’M BARRY SCOTT, AND I’M HERE TO TALK ABOUT THE ALL NEW CILLIT BANG UNIVERSAL DEGREASER! NOW WITH NEW FORMULATION! SAY GOODBYE TO LIMESCALE AND RUST STAINS…”
The radio continued to play adverts.
Thomas was growing increasingly fearful of the look on Emma’s face.
--
A few minutes later, as an insufferably bad advertisement about comparing your car insurance provider finally faded out, a two tone honk-honk sounded behind them, and the New Measurement Train roared past in a cloud of exhaust and dust. Pip and Emma didn’t say anything, or even look in the general direction, but the raucous laughter that trailed in its wake said enough.
Mercifully, the radio had begun playing something else. “All right then, got those ads out of the way. So what’s up listeners? It’s DJ Geordie Poppers in the hooo-use, coming to you LIVE from our studios on the ever so beautiful radio ship Tharos out here in the Sudrian Sea. We’ve got a very special bit of music for you coming up now in the upcoming hour - it’s a rare daylight sighting of our After-Dark Eurobeat Power Hour! I’m gonna be spinning some CDs and MP3s with the most pulse-pounding beats this side of Mount Akina - so if you’re driving right now, sorry about this.”
As John got smaller and smaller in the distance, the music began to fade in, very gradually.
“And a bit of housekeeping here - we’ve heard from the artist and they’ve had a bit of a name change. Out goes Ken, and in comes Kendra. This is the extended version of “The Top,” by Ken (short for Kendra) Blast.”
Slowly, a piano track began to fill in.
Pip raised an eyebrow, irritation momentarily sidetracked. “Is this really the Eurobeat block, Emma?”
“I think it is,” she said, starting to go along with the intro.
Thomas, who couldn’t hear Pip or the radio, had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t like the look on her face.
The trucks didn’t either.
“Lads,” the lead container wagon said with gravitas. “We may not make it through today unchanged. It has been an honor serving with you.”
“What?” The low loader that carried the jet engine coughed as the container wagons murmured about honor. He was relatively new, and this was not how he expected his day to be going.
“Laddie,” Thomas’ low loader said gravely, understanding at once what was about to happen. “You’re about to experience something that you’ve never been through before. I’d recommend preparing yourself.”
“What?!” Thomas yelped.
---
Back in Tidmouth, the people in “Control” were staring at the “big board.” For weeks now, the section of line near Kellsthorpe road had been a mess of green, yellow, and red lights, as the P-Way gang slowly finished the banked curve on the station’s east end. Trains, represented by little markers on the computer screen, waited for a free path, oftentimes with large delays, which showed up in flashing red and white boxes.
Now, though, their frustration was finally at an end. The last of the yellow was disappearing, section by section, as the P-Way gang reported that they were clear. Three of the four lines were bright red - clear but with no train signaled through - while the down slow line was a green and yellow stripe. It was getting shorter and shorter, as the little marker labeled 1Q01 moved steadily eastward. That was the New Measurement Train, finishing its final pass of the system.
Behind it, with the box flashing red and white from the delay, was 1B07 - the “Container Express,” already twenty minutes late. More trains were lined up behind it and the NMT, and others were queuing in a line that started at Kellsthorpe Road and went all the way to the mainland.
The yellow segments were almost entirely gone, with just one signal block outside of Kellsthorpe Road left.
There was a five minute safety delay coded into the signal control computers, specifically for when crews were working on the line.
It had been four minutes and fifty six seconds since they’d reported that they were clear.
Four minutes and fifty seven seconds.
Four minutes and fifty eight.
Four minutes and fifty nine.
---
The signal in front of Pip raised with a clonk.
There was still a slight haze to the air from Murgatroyd’s exhaust. In the distance, the plume of sooty white smoke he was making stood out against the clear blue sky like a signal fire.
“Emma?” Anyone with sense would recognize the danger in her tone.
“Yeah?” Unfortunately for everyone else on the train, they couldn’t do anything about it.
“I think we should catch him.”
“I think you’re right.”
--
In the cab, the driver looked nervously at the rev counter, which had started to climb rapidly.
“Here goes nuthin’,” he said quietly to himself, before advancing the throttle.
--
The music, which had been slowly building over the last twenty seconds or so, abruptly kicked into a high gear, with a frenetic electronic beat that belted along at 160 beats per minute.
White exhaust belched from the twins’ exhaust, before quickly turning black under the load. Their engines ramped up to an ear-piercing howl, obliterating any sense of quiet at Cronk station.
Thomas once again got a face full of noxious choking clag, and his eyes watered while his hearing was momentarily deafened by the noise of it all.
The train began to pick up speed, and the container wagons groaned in fatalistic anticipation. “It’s all downhill from here!” one of them shouted.
“What?” Thomas hacked from inside the cloud. He couldn’t see anything, and his hearing was ringing like a church bell.
In front, Pip could feel the unrelenting wave of horsepower and diesel surging through her system. She laughed joyously, with Emma soon joining in.
To everyone else, it seemed somewhat maniacal.
🎶 Final lap I'm on top of the world
And I will never rest for second again!
One more time I have beaten them out
The scent of gasoline announces the end! 🎶
--
The train vanished from sight, on its way towards Killdane. The stationmaster poked his head out of the station door.
“There goes trouble…”
--
The New Measurement Train rolled through Killdane with fleetfooted ease. The rails were clear and the light train was aided by the downhill gradient. From his position on the rear, John felt like the entire consist was weightless, with barely any effort required to keep the train at speed.
“You think we should go any faster?” he called up the multiple unit connection to Murg. They usually ran at well over 120, but today they’d barely crested 90.
There was a cough over the connection. “Oh, not today. We’re still the fastest train on this backwards island!”
Ah yes. A sudden excuse. Surely that was completely unrelated to the plume of smoke trailing in their wake.
“So, how’s cylinder four feeling today?”
“Shut up.”
John smiled pettily to himself.
In the distance, Killdane got smaller and smaller. A small dot of yellow could just be seen…
---
🎶 They all said I'd best give it up
What a fool to believe their lies!
Now they've fallen and I'm at the top
Are you ready now to die-ie-ie?! 🎶
---
At Killdane, the sounds of the NMT had scarcely faded before the sound of howling diesel engines filled the air. Heads turned to the east just in time to see Pip and Emma hammering around the curve into the station at full throttle.
The curve was banked, but not nearly as steeply as the ones to the west, and there was a piercing screeeeeech of steel on steel as the train whipped past.
“Slowdownslowdownslowdownslowdownslowdown!” There was also a piercing screech coming from the train’s cargo, as Thomas the Tank Engine felt himself rock back and forth atop the low loader. It really did feel like he was going to fall off!
Pip had a very determined look on her face, eyes focused well into the distance, but those who saw Emma in the brief moment she was in view noted an almost demented smile on her face. She was laughing.
All this happened in just a moment, and then the train was gone, roaring off into the distance at just below the line speed limit. The wind from the train’s passage rattled a lineside sign. It was a white circle with several thin diagonal slashes through it.
It was an “end of speed limit” sign.
--
🎶 I came up from the bottom
And into the top
For the first time I feel alive
I can fly like an eagle
And strike like a hawk
Do you think you can survive... the top?🎶
--
John noticed that the small yellow dot in the distance was getting bigger. Squinting, he couldn’t quite see what it was.
Whatever it was, it was slowly gaining on them.
Hang on…He thought.
The cameras that were blanketing his sides were supposed to be recording the lineside for defects, but nobody ever cared about the “going away” view. Very quietly, he “looked” through the lens mounted just above his eyes. It had a nice zoom, and could see much further than he could.
What he saw made him blink and look again. Then a third time. Then a fourth. After looking for a fifth and final time. He finally wrapped his mind around what exactly he was seeing.
“Hey Murg?” he said innocently.
“Yes? What is it?” Murg sounded far more irritated than he should be.
“Think you can get us into the triple digits? Some of the boffins are worried about their readings not being calibrated right.”
“Oh damn them all.” Murg cut the connection with a pained cough. John had a distinct feeling that the Infallible and Most Invulnerable King Murgatroyd was hiding exactly how bad cylinder four really was from everyone, lest he be seen as “weak” or “mortal” by his inferiors.
Well, he thought to himself with a hint of smugness as the train slowly began to increase speed. If he wants to play the perfect king, he’ll have to deal with the locals.
Behind them, Pip and Emma continued to get closer and closer…
---
James and his coaches had been waiting on the dratted P-Way gangers for over half an hour at Kellsthorpe Road, and set off with a will when the signal changed.
Of course, the signaling was all out of sorts, and he was running “wrong main” on the Up Slow line, but he didn’t much care. There wasn’t anyone in front of him, and was making “good” time on his way to Killdane. “Maybe we’ll still make it to Tidmouth before tomorrow!” he joked to his driver, who had long since given up on making light of the situation.
They leaned into the curve heading towards Killdane, and that awful banana of a measurement train streaked by in the other direction. James whistled derisively at it out of reflex more than anything else, and was quietly grateful that the unpleasant train had nothing to say in return.
In the distance, a giddy-sounding honk-honk drew his attention back to the line ahead, and he had just enough time to make out something streaking on the next line over before something-
-ripped past them with a honk, a roar, and a scream.
“What was that?!” He yelped as the wind buffeted him.
“I think that was Pip and Emma!” his driver said, looking backward. “With a container train!”
“What?!”
---
🎶 One more turn and I'll settle the score
A rubber fire screams into the night
Crash and burn is what you're gonna do
I am the master of the asphalt fight 🎶
---
John watched as Pip and Emma got closer and closer. In a macabre way, he felt giddy about it. At their current speed, they were going to eat Murgatroyd for lunch and still have room for tea afterwards.
He had been paying such close attention to the rapidly-closing distance between the two trains that he completely missed the start of the banked curve until he was leaning into it. The rails bent underneath him and the ties whipped past at an odd angle as the whole world tilted a few degrees. They weren’t going slow, by any means, but the sensitive equipment in the coaches (and his years of experience) told him that they could have been going much faster.
“Oh Murg… you might want to speed up…” he sing-songed. “They’re gaining on us…”
“Who’s gaining on us? What?!” Murgatroyd was oblivious, as was his wont.
John wanted to say something else, but his voice failed him as he watched the container train, with low-loaders on the front, rocket through the curve at speeds that he didn’t even want to contemplate.
A train passed on one of the other lines, and he watched the smoke from its stack get whipped and roiled by air currents of the two trains passing each other.
Seconds later, Pip and Emma passed the train, streaking through the remaining smoke, and the force of their passage tore the cloud to ribbons.
---
🎶They all said I'd best give it up
What a fool, to believe their lie-ie-ies!
Now they've fallen, I'm at the top
Are you ready now to die-ie-ie?🎶
---
Pip was high on speed, and she was loving every second of it.
Emma was right behind her, literally and metaphorically; the sensation of pure motion and velocity was coursing through their systems like a drug.
In front of them, so close one could almost reach out and touch it, was the New Measurement Train. John was watching with restrained giddiness as they started to draw abreast of him. He said something, but the wind whipping by erased all sound. There was just speed, and that was more than enough.
Slowly, they pulled even with the coaches, and with each window they passed, another Network Rail employee could be seen looking up in astonishment.
In Pip’s cab, the driver was holding onto the controls with a white knuckle grip. Officially, he was the driver, he was in control of the train. Realistically, he was nothing more than a rider on a bucking bronco. He surveyed the line ahead, and gulped.
Behind Pip and Emma, Thomas’s eyes were right in the most turbulent part of the wake that followed the diesels. Air, superheated and filled with grit and soot from twin exhausts, poured into his eyes and swirled around his face. He couldn’t hear, he could barely see.
Behind him, the wind whipped through the turbine blades of the jet engine on the next low-loader. It had been secured for transport, so the blades didn’t move, but the wind rushing through it created a high-pitched howling noise that simply added to the cacophony.
Lost in the chaos of the wind and the noise and the exhaust, the container wagons and the low-loaders were holding onto each other for dear life.
“I’m not designed for thiiiiis!” one of them shrieked.
“None of us are!” the wagon ahead of him bellowed. “Just keep holding on a little longer!”
--
At the head of the NMT, Murgatroyd was trying very hard to ignore the slight off-beat throbbing coming from cylinder four. Something was amiss with it - what it was, he didn’t know for certain. Driver didn’t know either - blasted man hadn’t turned a wrench a day in his life; wouldn’t know the difference between an allen key and the keys to a house!
Of course there weren’t any fitters on board - “economic savings” kept them at home base - so he just had to deal with it.
Just so long as the underlings didn’t notice, everything would be fine-
“Oh Murgatroyd…”
“Yes, John?”
“You might want to look around...”
He looked off towards the Up lines, and was rendered momentarily speechless by the sight of Pip smiling wickedly at him.
“T-that’s not possible,” he said once he found his tongue. “That isn’t possible!”
---
🎶 I came up from the bottom
And into the top
For the first time I feel alive!
I can fly like an eagle
And strike like a hawk
Do you think you can survive...
I came up from the bottom
And into the top
For the first time I feel alive!
I can fly like an eagle
And strike like a hawk
Do you think you can survive... the top?🎶
----
Moments earlier
“So how late do you think we’re going to be?” Percy asked as the train rumbled through Kellsthorpe Road station.
“Oh,” Henry pondered. “We’re only allowed to do 45, and we’ve got to drop off the aluminium at Killdane, so probably two or three hours if we lose our path at all. Which we will.”
“Thomas is going to be absolutely livid when I get back.” Percy said from atop his low loader. “He was supposed to go in for his new cylinder block today, so if I’m not back, they’re going to have him stay in steam all day.”
“Oh, he won’t be thrilled about that.” Henry chortled. “I swear, he’s the only engine who likes going to the works.”
“They treat him the same way James treats himself. Of course he likes going there!”
“Hah! I hadn't considered that-oh dear…” Henry trailed off mid-sentence.
“What?”
“It appears that we’re about to go down the middle between Pip and Emma, and their favorite siblings.”
“What? The banana? Oh great.”
“Yes, they- oh goodness they’re quick-”
Anything else Henry said was lost to the deafening thunderclap made as the New Measurement Train and the Container Express roared past on the opposing lines. The wind felt like it was going to knock him clean off the rails, and Percy yelped in surprise as debris and exhaust fumes swirled around him like a hurricane. His boiler, a stout construction that could hold hundreds of pounds of pressure, felt like it was flexing and bowing from the vibrations in the air. He watched in open-mouthed shock as Henry’s cab windows were sucked out of their frames from the differential pressure, and were hurled through the air followed by every loose object in the cab, from hats and coats, to papers and even a coal shovel!
Behind and in front of Percy, open wagons of stone, and the coal from Henry’s tender sent huge plumes of dust and debris into the air, swirling and mixing into a funnel cloud that wrapped around the rear of the train. It danced in the tornadic airflow for a few seconds, before dissipating as the trains parted once more.
The silence afterwards was deafening.
“DID I LOSE A WINDOW?” Henry asked, almost unable to hear himself speak, as his driver applied the brakes and stopped the train.
Percy tried to make the ringing in his smokebox cease. Closing his eyes, he suddenly remembered seeing something in the fraction of a second before the world went topsy-turvy. “Wait a tic. Was that Thomas?”
“WHAT?”
---
🎶 What were you thinking, telling me to change my game?
This style wasn't going anywhere; it was kaput!
You want to see what I've done with this place; this whole thing?
You want to see that I changed the game?
No, I AM the game!
Before I knew where this was going, I would've listened to you
Right now, I distance myself from what you have to say!
I made this something way bigger than you're ever gonna be
I made it this far; and I'm taking it to the top 🎶
----
Pip and Emma laughed gaily as they overtook the NMT, and powered on towards Kellsthorpe Road like they weren’t towing several hundred tonnes of freight train behind them.
Murgatroyd gaped in shock as he was passed by the steam engine they were carrying as cargo.
The shock quickly turned into outrage, and he felt the red-hot sting of being one-upped surge through his system. His engine began to rev higher, urging the train to move faster damn it.
“Whoa there,” his driver exclaimed, laying a firm hand on the controls. “We want to make it to the mainland, right?”
“I don’t care!” Murgatroyd ground his teeth, watching as the container wagons slipped past him. “They can’t win!”
But no matter how he tried, his driver wouldn’t let him speed up.
He howled and roared impotently as Pip and Emma got further and further ahead.
---
On the platforms of Kellsthorpe Road station, several surveyors were getting measurements of the newly-relaid line.
Looking down the magnified optics of a theodolite, the true character of the railway could be seen. What appeared to be a straight and flat section of line was actually a ribbon of steel that undulated and flowed over the terrain. While certain sections had just been flattened and graded, it was impossible to fully eliminate the contours of the earth without starting from scratch, and so the line rolled with the small hills and invisible valleys instead of cutting right through them.
“Hey, look at that.” One of the other surveyors said from behind an optical level. “You can see the NMT from here.”
“Can you?” asked his coworker, who quickly pointed his theodolite down the line. “I don’t see it.”
“It’s just gone behind the dip. Should be back in a moment.”
He fixed his eyes on the dip in the terrain. It was actually visible to the naked eye, but its height differential - deemed to be “within acceptable limits” - and its presence directly under a road bridge - meant that it had survived the recent track relaying unscathed.
The surveyors waited for the train to reappear, the optics of their measurement devices making things appear much larger than they really were.
With that in mind, it was something of a surprise to see an HST appear two tracks over from where the NMT had been. They both looked to that line just in time for the train to crest the hill.
There was a brief moment, no longer than a breath, where both men could see daylight shine underneath the train as all the wheels left the ground.
----
Pip and Emma hooted and hollered with glee as they roared through the approach to Kellsthorpe Road station. High speed crossovers and the new banked curve meant they didn’t have to check their speed in the slightest as they charged onwards.
The station came and went in a flash, and they leaned into the new corner at unprecedented speeds. Behind them, Thomas wailed loud enough to be heard over their motors, but they paid him little mind; they didn’t realize - or understand - exactly what he was experiencing.
Behind them, now far into the distance, the New Measurement Train was just rolling into the station.
They had won.
---
🎶 I came up from the bottom
And into the top
For the first time I feel alive!
I can fly like an eagle
And strike like a hawk
Do you think you can survive...
I came up from the bottom
And into the top
For the first time I feel alive!
I can fly like an eagle
And strike like a hawk
Do you think you can survive... the top? 🎶
----
Further up the line, Bertie the bus was pulling up to a level crossing, just as the gates went down.
“That was a great song on the radio, wasn’t it?” he said to his driver, who was thoroughly regretting turning on ManxPirate, thanks very much. “I feel like I should be racing something! Ooh! I know! The next train that comes by, we’ll try and chase it, huh? Just like the old times with Thomas!”
Honk-Honk
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”
Whooooooooooooooooooooosh
The train passed in just a few seconds.
“Nevermind.”
-----
The song wound down to a stop, but Pip and Emma continued charging on.
The guard went so far as to pull the fuse on the radio, hoping that it would calm them down, but they were too far gone to consider dropping their speed until they reached Crovan’s Gate station. There, the speed limit dropped to 90; normally a mild inconvenience, but today it felt like they’d dropped an anchor behind them.
Still, they continued merrily along through the station as fast as was allowed (much to Thomas’s dismay) and continued east along the line.
As they cleared the station and began to speed up again, they noticed a cloud of smoke on the horizon.
There was still one more train they could catch…
-----
Compared to everyone else in this story, Gordon was having a blissfully uneventful day. He’d managed to put that vulgar measurement train almost totally out of his mind, and was making excellent time to the mainland when one considered the workmen-caused delay at Kellsthorpe Road.
There was a farm lane that crossed the tracks near Henry’s tunnel, and he whistled for it.
Honk-Honk
He was most surprised to hear a horn respond to him, and was flabbergasted to see Pip, then Emma, and then Thomas pass him like he was standing still!
“HiGordonByeGordon!” “HiGordonByeGordon!” “GORDON HELP ME!”
The train raced into the tunnel and vanished from sight.
Gordon could not believe what he had seen!
----
Eventually, the speed limits dropped, and the four track main line merged into two just after Vicarstown. Rolling over the lift bridge at a sedate twenty miles an hour Pip and Emma finally began to come down off their “runner’s really high.”
“That was great!” Pip gushed. “Just the sort of run we needed to clear everything out, am I right?”
“Uh, Pip?” Emma began to notice the state of Thomas. “I think we miiiiight have overdone this a little.”
Thomas could only whimper in agreement!
----
By the time the New Measurement Train rolled into Barrow station some thirty minutes later, Pip, Emma, and Gordon were all trying to console Thomas, to limited success.
“...Ahem!” Murgatroyd tried to slink into the station totally unnoticed, but John had no compunctions about making sure they were seen. “So, I assume that you two will be conducting all of this railway’s freight services from now on?”
“Oh,” Pip’s smile was very guilty looking as she turned away from the still shell-shocked Thomas. “Yeah. About that…” She swallowed deeply. “I’m… sorry about… y’know. All of that. The overtake.”
“What, me? Overtaken?” Murgatroyd tried and failed to play dumb. Well, a different kind of dumb from usual. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Pip’s smile grew much harder edged, and Gordon took the moment to intercede. “Look, Pip. You don’t owe that any apology of any form.”
Murgatroyd looked aggrieved. Gordon turned on him next. “And you. You are an uncouth abomination who have done nothing useful at all. Take the apology, cause no more trouble, and find yourself a better attitude elsewhere.”
Murgatroyd puffed himself up with self-righteous fury, and John regretted being an instigator.
“WELL, I-” He started.
“Oh shut up!” Thomas bellowed. “Stop talking before I come down there and peel you, you great useless banana! Everything that’s happened to me today is all your fault!”
Murgatroyd quailed under the impressive amount of vitriol Thomas was spewing, and he left in a chastised burst of soot and clag. John followed in his wake, not sure what, if anything to say. “Bye Pip. Bye Emma.”
Once the NMT had vanished from sight, Pip, Emma, and Gordon turned their attention back to Thomas.
“Great useless banana?” Gordon raised an eyebrow.
Thomas didn’t have the energy for a proper comeback, and simply stared at him knowingly.
“Fine, fine,” Gordon acknowledged the unsaid. “For an off-the-buffer moment after the day you’ve had, it was a fine jab. I’m just glad that you’re beginning to feel more like yourself.” He began to steam off towards the shed. “As such, I’ll be off.”
“Wait!” Thomas called. “Where are you going? Who’s taking me on the pick-up goods?”
“Thomas, I don’t take the pick-up goods,” Gordon called regally. “That’s what we have diesels for. I believe there’s two of them right in front of you!”
Admiral William Murdoch stared out at the massive battleship sitting nervously in Drydock 4. Strictly speaking Drydock 4 was not for military vessels, but it was the only open Drydock capable of fitting the German Behemoth. HMS Hood normally was an impressive sight, and in fact the Admiral Class battlecruiser was longer of the two by some 60 feet, but with Hood alongside Bismark in drydock 3 it was clear at a glance which ship was the larger vessel.
The Admiral drummed his fingers on his arm as he observed Hood happily chatting to her German rival. Officially Hood had been put in drydock for routine inspection, which was being carried out. Unofficially it was to keep her new friend calm as her ammunition was removed.
Most ships, having found their enemy's new flagship drifting abandoned on the Atlantic, would have sunk it without a second thought. Instead Hood had befriended the blasted thing and brought it home.
He frowned, Hood had deeply complicated matters. The Royal Navy now had Germany’s Flagship sitting in drydock, and no idea what to do with her.
If Vice Admiral Holland’s report was correct, the ship had already managed to wrestle control from her original crew, so putting her into service with the Royal Navy was not an option unless the vessel agreed to it. Hood's report read much the same. While intelligence reports had noted unrest at the shipyards Bismark had been built at, no one had realized the dissent towards the regime among the shipyard workers had been taught to the new battleship, much less cause her to desert outright.
The Admiral stared at the battleship for a moment longer then returned to his desk. No matter what was done with their guest in the long term, he knew they could not let the Germans find out they had her. Better for them to think she had been lost outright. She needed to be made to look like part of the Royal Navy, and named as such.
He nodded, yes that was the best plan. Let Germany wonder how they had built such a monster without them realizing. If they handled this right, Germany would probably think their ‘new’ ship had sunk Bismark.
He considered names for a long moment as he wrote out orders for her to be repainted into royal navy livery, and for the changes necessary to disguise her as a British built ship
He smiled as the perfect name occurred to him.
HMS Thunderchild, first of her class.
A/N: Hello Loves! Hood found Bismark adrift in the Atlantic andshowed up to Vicarstown like "She followed me home, Can I keep her?" I hope you enjoyed, Love Y'all!
Hello loves! How are you guys enjoying traintober?
I've got a question, I have both a fleetlist of the Engines and Ships of my Au, as well as a Timeline of all my fics, both on Google Sheets. They are wip, and likely always will be as I answer asks and write stories, but would you guy like to see them?
Buildings should be functional but also nice to look at Minimalistic design is a curse brought upon the world by people who only saw money in a trend that started in destopia
Imagine picking up up a pint of ice cream for $5 and when you get to the register it's $6. This is going to be a nightmare for everyone who works there.
If you catch them raising prices on you in the store, complain. Get a manager. Make a scene. Show them time-stamped photos of prices: "I put a $5 item in my cart and that's how much I intend to pay for it." Do it every day. Give them 1 star reviews.
Consumer backlash is how we stop this. It's the only way. Especially with companies like Walmart that have established themselves as the only option in rural communities. It's not "being a Karen" if you're making legitimate complaints and being exploited.
also you can report EVERY INSTANCE OF THIS to the ftc's bureau of consumer protection because it is deceptive marketing. you can report every single deceptive price and ad too if you want
Do not stand for capital to exploit you more and more if this happens it is a threat to any and all concept of a stable consumer price if we all them get through with this what is stopping them from doing stuff like this to any and all financial transaction
"Well obviously people arrested for drugs and other non-violent crimes shouldn't be forced to work but—"
No! There is no but!! There is nothing in the world that makes slavery okay!!!
I could talk about people being charged for crimes they didn't commit. I could talk about coerced confessions. I could talk about people being charged with more extreme crimes than what they did to fill prisons. I could talk about how slaves out of certain types of criminals creates an incentive to charge more people with certain crimes.
But I'm not going to actually talk about any of that because it doesn't matter. No one should be enslaved. No one should be defending or justifying slavery. This should not be controversial.
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
2087
prguitarman
titsay
gamechangershow
