Chapter 1: Ponies Who Drive Trains
A few notes. I grew up around train lovers. Much of the trains described here based on locomotives used by the Pennsylvania Railroad used between the turn of the 20th century and the 1910s. Some of the technologies and other things might be inconsistent with that period but My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic has always played pretty fast and loose with consistent technological levels.
The setting is based loosely on upstate New York where I attended college and the Cascade Mountains and Seattle area where my dad is from. I personally grew up near what were once the Pennsylvania Railroad and Baltimore & Ohio mainlines. I used the Pennsy’s letter desginations but they probably won’t correspond with specific models.
This chapter was written so it could in theory stand alone. I haven’t decided if this will continue. It’s very much a slice of life, a genre I’ve always loved and have always believed was the best way to tell a story about those who drive trains.
On a final note, I cannot proof read to save my life. I have done my best and sincerely welcome anyone who wants the role. Rest assured I will continue to try to fix this up and believe it or not this is tenth or twelfth draft.
Chapter 1: Ponies who Drive Trains
It was a normal enough morning. The foothills and mountains were covered in dense wet snow that sticks together making mounds that might as well be as impenetrable as the granite mountains a few miles north. Typical weather for the northern frontier of Equestria and seen mostly as a nuisance for those who ventured on the “open road” on the Neighagra Division of the Royal State Railway.
A young unicorn in his mid 20s stared out down with his morning paper taking sips from his coffee. He could hear his colleagues grumbling about the cold as they ate their morning meals and sat as close as possible to the wood stove. The unicorn however sat in his usual spot in the bullpen. He was big for a unicorn – which amounted to an average size earth pony – and the Greek fisherman’s cap he wore covered his horn which often resulted in him being mistaken for an earth pony. He had a black mane and blue eyes and a scar on the right side of his head. There were also a nick in his right ear as if it was cut by a knife.
“Cheap bastards in management still won’t spring for a proper heating system,” growled an earth pony.
“I’m sure they have their reasons,” said the unicorn without much interest.
“Like what? That’s its only cold 9 months out of the year and it be a waste for the three vaguely warm ones?”
“I didn’t say they were good ones,” said the unicorn looking up and offering an apologetic smile.
The earth pony sighed and seemed to deflate.
“How do you stay so calm, Axle?” asked Ticket Punch.
“By keeping my minds on the task at hand and the conditions I’ll have to do it under,” said Axle Rod jerking his head towards the window. “Also I learned to cast heat spells on myself to keep from freezing. It’s about the only magic I ever learned.”
The Neighagra Division was not one of the busier divisions in terms of passenger service on the RSR (Royal State Railway). It was however very busy with bulk freight with a smattering of thru-express trains. Up north it was mostly small local trains and slow moving coal, ore, and lumber trains coming out of the mines in the Bear Mountains bound south for the industrial cities of Trottingham and Detrot or east towards Mohawk River basin. The Neighagra Division was mostly made up of old timers looking forward to retirement, young ponies who got the short end of the stick, or were born up north. In the case of Axle and Punch, they were natives to the region.
“They’ve got me on the milk run again,” said Ticket Punch. He referred to the local slow passenger trains. “How about you?”
“Yard duty,” he said with a shrug.
“Boring day around the yard, eh?” asked Ticket with a smile.
“Better that than be out there today, you seen the weather report?” asked Axle holding up the weather section of the paper.
“Bloody hell.”
“Good luck out there, you’re gonna’ need it.”
“Have fun shuntin’ in the yard.”
Axle was actually a road certified engineer, which meant he was allowed to take a locomotive and train onto a branch line. He was not yet a mainline driver nor was he certified for passenger service. That suited him fine though, he liked driving low speed high drag freights through the winding mountain lines. He never cared much for the intense schedules and the constant stopping and starting of passengers trains that inevitability went to hell thanks the weather. Freight certainly had its own tight schedules, but the freight never complained if it was late.
Outside Axle trotted his way through the slush from the shack that acted as the mess hall/ready room for crews to the standby line. The air was cold and wet and his breath left steam, but it was nothing compared to what was billowing out of locomotives sitting on standby for yard crew to take them to the departure tracks. He frowned in annoyance as thick snow instantly started to accumulate on his face and his horn glowed briefly making it melt. He tightened the scarf around his neck and tried to discern shapes more than 100 yards away which was proving to be hard.
Just a normal day at the Neighagra Yard.
“You!” shouted a pony. Axle looked up at the pegasus clad in several layers of clothes and armed with a clipboard. She pointed towards a small 0-6-0 switcher with a stumpy tender. “Passenger yard track three and take to platform two.”
“Got it,” he said with a nod. He carefully trotted over tracks making sure not to get in the way of somepony bringing rolling stock in or out of the yard in such low visibility. The wind coming out of the northeast was picking up blowing the loose snow across the yard. It felt like small knives were cutting across the exposed parts of his fur and he could feel clumps of ice forming in his tail and mane. It also didn’t help that Axle was partly deaf in his right ear. If a cut of cars appeared suddenly through the snow he might not hear it until it was too late.
Neighagra was only a moderately busy yard this time of year when snow made travel difficult at the best of times. Mostly it was raw materials or through traffic going north-south or east-west. Then there were the tourists who came to see the famous waterfalls or something called skiing.
“Morning, boss!” called a firepony.
“Morning, Coal!” called back Axle. Coal Scoop was relatively new to the RSR and was so far only qualified for yard engines. He had just made the jump from fire lighter, the ponies who got the locomotives started in the roundhouse. He was an eager earth pony barely 19 years old with cream colored fur and a dark blue mane cut short like most ponies up north so the ice couldn’t accumulate on. He was larger than Axle, which was normal for earth ponies, though Axle was bigger than the average unicorn. “I did the trot around. Nothing frozen. She’s ready to go.”
“Good initiative. I’m just gonna’ double check.”
The C12s, the 0-6-0 switcher he was task with using were once a series of 2-6-0 mainline freight engines that were retired and many were refurbished into a yard switcher. They were slow, but had good traction and smooth handling for an engine that were nearly older than Axle and Coal combined.
Coal looked a little offended that Axle wanted to do his own check, but in the near zero temperatures at night and the wind shear coming off Lake Neighagra made metal brittle.
Satisfied that this Class C12 would still hold up he climbed into the warmth of the cab.
“The guys at the shop need to check these gauges,” commented Coal.
“It’s an antique and a yard switcher. They’d be more worried about the road engines,” said Axle. He looked at his firepony. “We work with what we have.”
Axle was a simple pony. He wanted to drive trains and despite the hostile conditions of cold, wind, ice, snow, slush, and unforgiving mountainous terrain, he loved the northern divisions.
“Where are the brakeponies?”
“On the way.”
“Good. Build her up a little more,” he said pointing to the firebox with a hoof. He examined his instruments. Steam pressure looked good, his air brakes were at full service, reverser was at the neutral position, and naturally the throttle was closed. All the gauges showed normal for a locomotive ready for departure. The unicorn took a moment to listen with his good ear to the sounds of mechanisms at work and hissing steam. Eventually two ponies appeared through the driving snow.
“Sweet Celestia, it’s getting bad. Sorry we’re late. The assigned ponies showed up drunk.”
Axle growled out a curse, the first bit of anger he’d shown today. It was an old problem. Conditions were miserable and there was often little to do. Drinking was one of the few pastimes they had during the worst weather. Axle also knew if they were behind schedule he would be blamed for it regardless.
“Let’s get going.”
The two brakeponies stood as close to the firebox as they could without being in the way as Coal started to shovel fuel into the box. Axle slid the reverser forward and the throttle to a low setting. All four of them could feel the wheels slip, but the C12s despite their age were popular for a reason up north. Gently the locomotive crept forward out of the standby line and towards the south entrance yard tower. He gave a wave towards the tower and wondered if they could see him. It seemed so since he was shunted onto the yard where passenger cars were stored and maintained.
“Visibility is really going down,” said Coal.
“Yeah,” agreed Axle. That worried him. Even at the low speeds of 5 mph he knew if they visibility went even lower he would no warning if he had to make a sudden stop.
I sure hope they aren’t the old wood cars or I’m gonna have a lot of explaining to do, he thought. Somepony in Central Management apparently had a brief moment of clarity and realized that the old wooden passenger cars, especially ones dubbed Cream Puff Cars, were easily breakable death traps with wood burning stoves for heating. (1)
As it turned out they were some of the Mk II passenger cars. He could see them ahead. Their bodies were mostly wood, but it had a steel frame and was heated with from the locomotive. They were much tougher than the old all wood ones.
Those clerestory cars sure are pretty, he had to admit. They were on a parallel track and then they were back into the front of the cars and push them into the terminal. Axle eased into the first car of the train. Axle wished they had the new magic-based communication system so they could talk to the tower, he had to trust the timetable which specified the window of opportunity to get safely into the passenger terminal.
“How are we on time?” he asked Coal.
“We’re two minutes behind,” the earth pony answered checking his watch.
Axle levitated his pocket watch to his eyes. That also worried him since the timetable was all he had to tell him if he could safely proceed.
“Let’s get rolling then. Keep an even fire,” he ordered.
“Aye, boss.”
Axle watched his gauges as the locomotive slowly backed towards the terminal.
“Shit, it’s slipping,” cursed Axle. He leaned out the cab’s window only to be assaulted by a cold gust of window. He opened a valve to dump sand onto the rails to give him more traction. He was already going easy on the throttle.
“There, it’s catching!” shouted one of the brakeponies. Axle could feel the driver wheels gripping the rails successfully. He affectionately patted the side of the cab of the C12 switcher.
“She’s a tired old hulk, but she handles,” he said quietly.
Coal chuckled. “Yeah, they sure do.”
Axle knew Coal would love to get out of shoveling on the C series which was the designation for yard engines and switchers and into some of the road engines.
“Sir, why do they put you on yard duty?” asked Coal after a few minutes of silence.
Axle had spent the last seven years of his life on the State Railway going from bringing engines out of roundhouse to being a yard engineer to becoming a branch line driver. Mostly he hauled freight trains on the dangerous mountain lines between the Neighagra Yard and his hometown of Skyfall.
“I don’t ask. I’m just happy to drive trains, son. Ya’ here?” he asked.
“Well, I’d be pissed, but…,” his voice trailed off. Coal was ambitious but Axle could see a glimmer in the colt’s eyes as he looked around the cab. The combination of steel, fire, and raw power of a locomotive had captured his heart and soul probably as a foal like it had for Axle.
Axle patted Coal on the back. “Hang in there, son. You never know when your chance will come.”
“Really?” asked Coal hopefully.
“Around here, yeah. We’re so short staffed they might put us on a mainline train.”
“Like the Royal Mail Express?”
“Let’s not go crazy,” said Axle deadpanned while internalizing a grin. Only the most senior engineers drove those. The highest qualification for a driver was hazardous freight, special express passenger, and priority express mail. The latter two required ponies who could keep to nightmarishly tight schedules.
“A colt can dream.”
“Yeah, you can,” said Axle warmly, almost fatherly.
Finally they could see the terminal ahead. It appeared at first as a dull grey silhouette that grew into the alpine style building with a steel arched roof over the platforms. Originally it had a glass panel roof until it shattered under the weight of snow during its first winter and was replaced with a much stronger all steel structure.
He eased into the platform on track two. The brakepony in the cab unhitched the switcher from the coaches and they immediately departed for the standby track.
“Job well done, ponies,” said Axle without looking away from the road ahead. They all nervously watched as an inbound passenger train passed them for track four. When the weather was this bad you never knew if the tower crew could actually see the receiving tracks and might have somepony on a collision course.
“Never knew one mile of travel was so stressful,” said Coal as they pulled into the standby track.
“You!” shouted the same pegasus Axle had seen earlier.
“You know you see me daily, you could stand to learn my name by now!” called Axle.
“Get over to the ready track. Dispatch called and we’re down a crew. Take him with you. Brakeponies will meet you,” said the pegasus ignoring him and handing him a message strip with his orders.
“Buckin’ pegasi mares. They never hear a word you say,” grumbled Axle. “Come on kid, looks like it’s your lucky day.”
“Right,” said Coal trying not to look too excited.
Axle looked over his orders from dispatch.
Train #191 F. Departure track 5. Dry run. Calling on Deer River North Mine 1:15 pm. Depart with load 1:30. Calling on Neighagra Yard 4:30. End.
Axle frowned. Dispatch seemed to think three hours was enough. Normally it was two and a half hours one-way in good weather.
“Okay, let’s hurry,” he said galloping through the snow. Coal didn’t expect his superior to hurry off like that and clumsily ran to catch up, sliding in the slush.
“Careful, kid!” called Axle. “The engines melt the snow. It’s always slippery where they park ‘em.”
“R-right,” stuttered Coal nervously.
They reached the departure tracks for the northbound freights. Axle wished there was a better way to get to this side of the yard without trying to cross possibly active tracks. They were both breathing hard from their run through the increasingly deep snow. There was a brakepony, a pegasus, waiting for them with the conductor, another earth pony.
“Morning,” said Axle.
“Morning,” said Porter, the conductor. They had worked together many times of the years. Porter was yet another young pony stuck in a northern division and like half of them he was partially resigned to working here and maintaining some hope to be assigned to the more attractive central lines… or at least the warmer southern divisions around Applelossa. The other half like Axle shuttered at the idea of working anywhere else.
“I haven’t seen you the past few days. How have you been?”
“Busy, I’ve mostly working out of Whitetall so I can be closer to my marefriend.”
“When did you find time to meet a mare?” laughed Axle.
“I don’t even know,” grinned Porter. He looked at Coal. “Who’s the new guy?”
“This is Coal. He’s gonna be my firepony. He knows his business. We ready to go?”
Porter looked briefly at Coal, but didn’t think much about it. Axle vouched for him and the young road crews knew Axle’s word was a good one.
“Yeah. We just needed you two.”
“Coal. make sure we have the steam for departure.”
“Yes, sir,” said the earth pony as he toss aside his scarf and his heavy overcoat so he could move easier.
Porter watched him go.
“Young and eager. Makes you feel old, don’t it?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m 25,” joked Axle. “But seriously. Any last minute details.”
“Nothing official. But I’m worried about taking the East Ridge Branch Line. But you know it better than me.”
“Yeah. We’re just goin’ to have to keep a careful eye and hope we don’t wreck.”
Axle took a look at his locomotive for the first time and was surprised to see an L1, one of the new the Mikado type engines. It had eight short driver wheels for good traction, typical of freight engines. Its domes and smoke stack were shorter than most locomotives, but it was a deceptive appearance because the boiler was much larger and could produce a hell of a lot more steam. The cab wasn’t wood and there was not color other than black giving it a very utilitarian look that gave Axle confidence this was locomotive and not some showpiece for the brochures. This was meant to be the future middle weight freight locomotive replace the older 2-8-0s (2). He also noted the nameplate: Iron Side. He frowned a little at an old memory upon seeing the name but put it aside.
It was hard for Axle to not be as overexcited as Coal was on going on his first excursion on the road. This was by far the newest engine he had ever gotten to drive.
Axle took a seat in the cab and marveled at what was before him. Whoever at the Altuna Locomotive Works was responsible for designing the new model L series clearly knew their business. It featured a radio phone which used an enchantment to link it with the crew in the caboose and even the tower, though it had limited range. These were already standard in other parts of Equestria but not fully in place up north.
“Fire is burning good, boss,” reported Coal.
Axle nodded, but didn’t answer. He was busy checking the manifesto. He had 35 empty open top hoppers. They were designed to hold 50 tons each with a weight of 18 tons empty. In his head he was already estimating how much braking power he would need for each grade and how much speed he would need to make it up every climb. The L1 could easily handle more which was good since snow could be piling in adding weight and ice would make the return even more dangerous.
“Okay, let’s do a static brake check,” announced Axle. He still had a few minutes before departure and the light on the semaphores ahead still glowed red.
“Roger,” said the brakepony, a pegasus named Hotboxer. Hotboxer was in Axle’s opinion, a typical pegasus. Like most of his kind he was smaller than a unicorn and certainly less sturdy than an earth pony. He was loud and obnoxious, but he knew his job and Axle regarded him more or less as a friend.
Both ponies watched the needle on the gauge for air pressure move as Axle applied the train’s air brakes. The locomotive had its own separate brake which also was in good order.
“Looks good, skipper,” said Hotboxer.
“Yeah, now if only the weather improves,” said the pegasus with a broad wry smile as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Weather report says it won’t. Need a light?”
“Figures. I’m surprised they gave us a sobbin’ knew engine. And I got it,” said Hotboxer pulling out a book of matches. “It’s goin’ be a bad storm tonight.”
The further one got away from Canterlot, the more independently the weather acted. Teams of pegasi and griffons in Neighagra, Vanhoover, and Skyfall barely managed to keep the worst of the storms in check. It wasn’t like the middle of Equestria where weather was neatly managed out of Cloudsdale, or so they heard.
The phone buzzed and it took a moment for Axle to react. The phone was above his right ear.
“Front end,” answered Axle.
“Back reports ready for departure,” said the brakepony in the caboose.
“Good. How well can you see?” asked Axle. The point of the observer in the caboose was mainly to look for overheating axles, something called hotboxing.
“Not great. I imagine once we get rolling all the snow will obscure the trucks. But I doubt they’ll burst into flames today. But you know how heat and this kind of cold fucks them up.”
“Fair enough. Keep watch.”
“Will do. Out.”
Movement ahead caught Axle’s attention. The arm of the central signal in a group of three rotated to a vertical position and the light shone yellow.
Red, yellow, red, read Axle. The top and bottom singles were both red, but the middle one shone yellow. That pattern meant he was being given a slow approach. In simple terms it meant he was allowed to move at a speed lesser than the maximum on this section of track until he reached the next single.
“Okay, we’re off,” announced Axle. He watched as pressure in the brake system dropped and the reserve pressure in the air tanks increased. He had the reverser set and pushed the throttle to departure speed. The bell rang a warning and he blew a specific sequence of whistles to alert the crew and the controllers in the tower that he was departing. Everypony was settling in for the trip up the East Ridge Branch Line.
Axle immediately tell the wheels were slipping and that he had given it too much power. He had underestimated the power of the L1. He assumed it would be about the same as the consolidations he normally drove, but this monster was much more responsive.
“Dear Luna above,” he laughed. This was fun. It was certainly the best handling locomotive he had been at the controls of. And the upcoming N series were supposed to be even more powerful. Coal was laboring hard to keep this monster fed. That was the biggest disadvantage of these engines. They were a little too taxing on the fireponies and it was reported that future locomotives were going to have automatic fire stokers.
The rods moved at a smooth pace and the engine clanked gently through the yard at a steady 10 mph. Axle’s horn glowed and he levitated a pair of goggles over his eyes. Even at this low speed the wheels were kicking up a spray of loose snow into anypony’s face who leaned outside the safety of the cab.
“Ridin’ on the City of Neigh Orleans, Fillynois Central, Monday morning rail,” sang Axle to himself. He couldn’t remember enjoying himself more. It was almost enough to make him forget about the weather as they passed strings of flatcars loaded with fresh lumber and hoppers full of iron and copper ore and steamed towards the north gate.
“Good mornin’ Equestria how are ya, don’t you know me? I’m your native son. I’m the train they call the City of Neigh Orleans, and I’ll be gone 500 miles by the day is done.”
“There’s Tower J,” said Hotboxer.
“Yeah, I see it,” said Axle. He gave two short blows of the whistle to alert the tower he was passing. Inside one of the ponies made a note of their passing and counted each car to make sure it was correct. He saw the last signal bridge at the north end of the yard. The mainline split off to the north where it would bend west once it cross the massive Neighagra River and head towards Skyfall and eventually the terminus at Vanhoover or Seaddle. There was also the new mainline that headed straight north to Crystal City in the Crystal Empire that branched off on the way to Skyfall at the junction of Dalehurst. But they were heading towards the foothill. The East Ridge Branch Line, also known as the Skyfall Direct and the Old Line, was the original line when it was deemed cheaper to build through the ridges and foothills instead of trying to build a bridge over the massive Neighagra River Valley. Now trains cross the river and run flat out on relatively flat terrain.
Still, the company used the East Ridge Line since many mines, quarries, and log camps dotted it and used it for overflow freight traffic if the mainline got logjammed.
“Pace yourself, kid,” ordered Axle. “We’ll really need steam once we reach Bear Ridge Tunnel.”
That was the one thing that worried Axle about Coal. He was eager, but Coal hadn’t actually served outside the yard yet and a good firepony like an experienced engineer memorized the road. They knew where the grades and deadpony curves were. They knew where they needed a full head of steam and where they needed brakes. Bear Ridge Tunnel was about halfway up the line and was the worst grade on the line.
The L1 snaked through a series of cuts and narrow valleys and short tunnels. Where possible the company had added a second track so trains had a safe up and down line, but in other places it would mean blasting through solid rock and weakening already eroding hills. The best they could do was employ the new automatic signaling system and trust in their crews kept to schedule.
Needless to say, more than a few had died on this line.
“I can’t see for shit, boss!” called Coal over the roar of the locomotive.
“Yeah, it ain’t much better on my end!” said Axle. “Hotboxer?”
Pegasi usually had superior eyesight over earth ponies and unicorns. He squinted his eyes through his goggles while snow and sleet bombarded him.
“I think I see Gilfoal Cut, skipper!” he hollered.
“Right, we’re braking then,” announced Axle as he reduced speed. On the other side of the cut would be Little Rock Creek. A third track split off for a small depot that serviced a few small mountain communities and then merged into one track at the mouth of Bear Ridge Tunnel.
As he got closer to the cut he could see the switch and a signal in his path that showed red and yellow, a restricted approach signal (3). He was already slowing down to 35 mph and prepared to bring his train to a complete stop. Sure enough as he was slowing to 7 mph there was an angry red danger signal that glowed through the white.
“We’re stopping.”
“Right, skipper,” said Hotboxer who carefully monitored the gauges as Axle applied breaks to full service. Axle was pissed. This was a bad place to stop. It would make his climb through the tunnel even harder and since he would have to accelerate from a dead stop. That also mean lots of smoke in the confines of one of the longest tunnels on the line. That would make breathing let along seeing all the harder.
Little Rock Creek Station was a small two-storey building. It was originally just a signal tower that somepony expanded into a depot. A small D40 4-4-0 was waiting on the passing track. He counted two box cars, one refrigerator car, a mail car, and two passenger cars. A typical milk run that delivered everything the smaller communities needed with a single train.
“Afternoon!” called Axle as he brought his locomotive to a stop level with the other.
“Hey, boy’o!” called an engineer named Firebrand. He was an older stallion who had spent most of his life driving trains on these mountains. “How’s this bloody storm treatin’ ya?”
“Can’t see for shite,” the unicorn called back. Firebrand laughed boisterously. “Ya’ know what we’re waitin’ on?”
“Something southbound and not scheduled!”
Axle frowned. With radio communication only just starting to be standardize, the good old telegraphs, timetables were the key to keeping trains from crashing into each other when they had to share right of way. For that reason dispatchers hated things like specials, which were chartered trains and were not part of a normal schedule. Sure they made the railroad money and could be great PR stunts, but many wrecks in the early days were caused by specials colliding with other trains.
Out of the station with a lamp clutched in his jaws came a large wolf with wearing the standard blue heavy wool overcoat and fur hat affected by company employees in winter climates. Axle envied the wolves native to the area. With their natural thick coats they stayed much warmer than the ponies. Pegasi at least he oily fur that made moisture roll off of them to keep them dry and warm at high altitudes, but the other ponies had to make do with warm clothes.
He seemed to be making his rounds as he held his lamp over the switches making sure they hadn’t frozen over. Axle saw the wolf’s ear perk up and he looked towards the tunnel. Even if his hearing was perfect Axle still would have trouble hearing any noise not louder than the locomotive.
Then he heard the whistle from a southbound train coming out of the tunnel. In a terrific cloud of smoke, steam, and snow a G20 4-6-0 roared out of the tunnel. G20s were not a common sight on East Ridge Branch Line since they were the primary mainline express engine of the RSR. Behind the engine were heavy steel cars similar in design to a baggage or mail car. They had the words “Principality of Equestria – Treasury Ministry” on the side. From one open door they could see stern looking ponies in uniform. These weren’t the fancy ceremonial guard armed with spears and swords with gold plate armor, they were wearing dark blue and white collared uniform and kepis and the pony leaned against a lever action rifle.
“What’s goin’ on, boss?” whispered Coal.
“Speak up, son, I can’t hear ya,” said Axle as he turned to bring his left side towards the earth pony.
“I just asking what’s with that train.”
“Oh. Just a vault train,” he said.
“Yeah, boy’o,” said Hotboxer. “So nopony robs ‘em, they run ‘em down random routes.”
“Plays hob with our scheduling though,” grumbled Porter.
As the last car moved clear, the signals immediately changed.
“We’ve got a slow clear,” said the conductor.
“I see it,” said Axle. “Take a deep breath boys.”
It was a real testament to the skill of the designers of the L1 that most of the smoke kept clear of the cab at first. The Bear Ridge Tunnel was the beginning of a long difficult climb that drivers on the East Ridge Branch Line called the Gauntlet. It was nowhere near as notorious as the Cliff, the infamous mainline that climbed the south side of the Unicorn Mountains to Canterlot, but the Gauntlet was bad enough. Once you were clear of the tunnel the grade only got worse topping out at nearly 1.8 percent grade up 15 mile stretch of track until you reached the summit.
“How are we doing on sand?” asked Porter.
“Good, we’ll have plenty to get us back down,” said Axle as he opened reverser to get more steam on the rods.
“More like slide down,” said Hotboxer. As the brakepony his job was the worry about the brakes. “Hope you like slides kid, it’s gonna be better than any playground you’ve ever seen.”
Coal looked up at the pegasus. On the surface none of the three more experienced ponies seemed worried and Coal drew confidence and assumed everything was fine. The reality was that Axle, Porter, and Hotboxer were all concerned that coming back down with a full load of coal would end badly. But all of them had done it before and had no doubt they’d do it many more times. But it only took one bad run…
“If they have a helper engine at the summit junction we’ll pick one up,” declared Porter. Axle and Hotboxer nodded in approval.
The locomotive was making great headway at least. Axle opened the damper and blower to get the fire hotter and more steam built.
Poor Coal started to cough as the smoke got thicker in the confines of the brick lined tunnel.
“How ya’ hangin’ in there?” asked Hotboxer. Coal wanted to glare at the brakepony laughing at his expense, but was surprised when the pegasus hovered in front of the younger pony. With his forehooves he had the scarf Coal had put aside and secured it over his muzzle. It was also then he realized that the other three had already done the same.
“Learn what we teach ya’ and ya’ will be fine,” said Hotboxer with a tone that told Coal he had a broad smile under his scarf. Hotboxer returned to hovering in front of the gauges and looked over to Axle. “See, I can take care of the boy’o too.”
“You’re still an ass,” said Axle flatly.
“Hardly gonna’ fix that today,” replied Hotboxer.
Both ponies couldn’t keep up their deadpanned expressions anymore and burst out laughing.
“We’re almost at the top.”
Axle could see the green beacons of the signal at the summit where the track split into two tracks. All shone green indicating he was clear on through the junction.
“Go baby, go,” mumbled Hotboxer.
“100 yards,” said Axle. He recalled from the manifesto the train’s center of mass was. Once that was over the crest of the hill it be smooth sailing.
“80 yards.”
He could see the beginning of the small yard outside of Bear Ridge Junction. He also could see smoke belching from a waiting southbound log train.
“40 yards.”
Coal was too busy doing his job to see how with each call of distance that the conductor and brakepony visibly relaxed more and more.
“Engine on top,” called Axle as he passed the marker sign. “Ease up kid, we’re goin’ be on mostly level ground for a while. And somepony let me know when the center clears.
”
“Can the rear see it?” asked Hotboxer looking back. It was normally the job of the caboose’s crew and the head brakepony to make that call, but they could barely see the lights of the caboose.
“Whoever can see it, just tell me.”
“I think it’s clear now.”
“Okay, then I’ll open hear up,” said Axle as he closed the blower and damper and reduced the reverser and Porter picked up the radio and made a call to the Bear Ridge Summit Tower.
Bear Ridge Summit Junction was a bigger affair than the Little Rock Creek 15 miles behind them. It had a small station and a small yard and engine shed. Nearby was a major iron mine and a rock quarry. Further up the line was a log camp. These fed the yard via a pair of branch lines and were assembled at the junction. Lights on telephone poles lit the area, but the there wasn’t much to see other than a series of bumps that were the tracks buried under the snow and sidings with freight cars awaiting pickup that weren’t likely to come today.
The howling winds assaulted the crew and all thought bitterly of the brakeponies in the caboose enjoying a fully enclosed structure with a warm stove. Then again the caboose was pretty flimsy probably wasn’t much warmer. Axle kept a sharp eye ahead for any gangs of railroad ponies that might be clearing snow off switches by hoof or some hapless pony in his path. He did spot a few ponies and some wolves clearing switches but they were well clear of his train.
“I’ve got a clear signal ahead,” said Hotboxer pointing to two green lights of the semaphores ahead.
“Yeah, I see,” confirmed Axle. “I’m worried this wind will be blowing snow across the tracks. It’d be pretty buckin’ bad if we hit a big snowdrift at 45 mph.”
“Pick up the pace a little, Axle. As much as you think safe,” ordered Porter. “I don’t want us getting snowed in.”
“Right, I’ll take us up to 40.”
“We’re accelerating through 35 right now,” noted Hotboxer.
Coal sat in the back next to the tender listening to the more experienced ponies talk. He had never worked with Porter or Hotboxer, but knew them by reputation. In his mind he wondered why they worked the Neighagra Division and not something like Manehattan or Fillydelphia Divisions. Or at least the Seaddle Division. This was the middle of Luna damned nowhere and Coal dreamed of working someplace better and warmer. Maybe even become a legend like the famous Highball (5) or Iron Side.
“You asleep back there, kid?” asked Hotboxer.
“No, sir,” said Coal grabbing his shovel.
“Good. I like yer’ hustle,” he said encouragingly. Hotboxer like to hassle others a little, but he wasn’t much for hazing. Conditions were tough enough on the new colts and fillies learning the job out here. He saw Axle give an approving smile. Another thing Hotboxer knew was Axle did not tolerate hazing and was known to break a few jaws when pissed off.
“There’s a turn off,” called Porter.
“Right. Setting brakes to reduce speed.”
“I want 30 mph.”
“Aye, capt’n.”
Hotboxer watched as pressure went into the system and the gauge creep as the air brakes reduced the train’s speed. Axle’s eyes flickered between the gauges for the brake pressure, the reserve air, the train’s speed, and the road ahead. Axle eased off on the brakes as the locomotive reached the switch the turned into a shallow canyon. The turn would slow him down to the desired speed and then he would lightly apply the brakes. It would be a very shallow grade downward to the mine.
“Take a seat, Coal. We won’t need you the rest of the way down.”
“Aye, now you can sleep, boy’o,” laughed Hotboxer.
“I’m fine, sir,” insisted Coal.
“Sleep when you can,” said Porter sagely.
“How can anypony sleep like this?” laughed the earth pony.
Axle chuckled. “It’s acquired skill. And it’s a good one to have. That’s the last marker by the way. Next bend we’re be in the mine.”
“Right.”
Axle brought the train brakes to just below full service. A signal gave him a slow approach. Porter told the head-brakepony in the caboose to get ready to detach it. Once they were entering the yard the caboose would we switched separately and would glide into a ready coal train.
Deer River Mine was a pretty active one located in the middle of a canyon. On the bright side that meant it was shielded from the worst of the winds. Several strings of hoppers waited for locomotives to pick them up and small switcher was pushing empty ones to coal loader.
The mine was still running full force. Since most of the work was done underground the miners took little notice of the storm raging above. He brought the train to a complete stop and set the brakes. Hotboxer spread his wings and zoomed out of the cab to detach the locomotive from the train. He unlatched the train and flew off to the switches ahead and aligned them properly. It was a slow and mundane process. Some curious miners puffed on cigarettes and watched from scaffolding on the cliff face.
With a green lantern in his hoof, Hotboxer guided the locomotive back on to the waiting coal train. Axle looked over his shoulder and backed the engine. Porter was giving him distance, but Porter was also speaking into his right ear, which was Axle’s bad one. Still, what problems he might have with his hearing, he didn’t have with his eyes. With expertise and the smooth handling of the L1 he cut the throttle and waited for the light bump as the engine coupled with the train.
“Nice and smooth, Axle.”
“What?”
“Nice and smooth,” repeated Porter speaking louder and leaning closer. “You should have that checked out.”
Axle shook his head. “Who has the time? Besides, I can hear fine out the other one.”
Porter didn’t agree, but didn’t argue the point. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it while he waited for the yard master to send him the manifesto. They couldn’t head back down Gauntlet without precise weights. Axle levitated his pipe out of a pocket in his heavy coat. His hat glowed and it lifted a little so he could tap it against his horn. There was a small spark and the pipe was lit.
“Oi!” called a voice. Axle looked down from the cab to see a unicorn levitating the manifesto. He levitated it up to his eyes. He pulled out a pen and signed for it and then passed the receipt to the pony who waved and then galloping back to the yard shack and warmth.
“Full load,” said Hotboxer looking over Axle’s shoulder.
“These Mikados can take heavier loads,” said Axle. “We’ll use that extra power to get us back alive. Once we’re clear of the Gauntlet we’ll have a clear run back to home.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Porter who inspected the weight and length of the train carefully. Each pony examined the manifesto making his own calculations. “Who’s up for dinner when we get back?”
“Yeah, I could go for a nice baked potato or hot turnip soup,” said Axle.
“You’re makin’ me hungry, skipper,” said Hotboxer.
The phone buzzed.
“Front end… yeah, we’re ready,” said Porter answering it. “… uh-huh… good. We’ll start rolling then.”
“They ready back there?” asked Axle.
“Yeah. Home, driver,” he said in a mock Canterlot accent.
“Very good, sir, would you like me to fetch your slippers and then shall I suck your balls?” asked Axle. Coal burst out laughing and the other joined him. Like most ponies from up north, they held the Canterlot ponies and most everyone who lived south of Whitetall – which was located between Neighagra and Detrot – in contempt. In all fairness, those southern ponies probably found northern ponies to be crude and uncivilized group and these four were certainly no ambassadors.
With the cry of its whistle, the L1 rumbled out of the yard and around a loop that circled the yard and brought the train on a course back towards the Old Line.
It was dull going back. Only one northbound passenger train passed them until they reached Bear Ridge Summit.
“Dear Luna above I can’t even see the sky anymore,” said Axle.
“It’s really bad out,” agree Porter. He picked up the phone and pressed a button to speak with the local dispatcher. “Train #192 south, we’re coming up on Bear Ridge Summit, what’s the track look like ahead?”
“Dispatch to Train #192 South, visibility is bad. Tracks are clear, but we’re closing them to northbound traffic. You’re goin’ be the last southbound we’re letting through. Move boy before we close the junction.”
“Shit, right, we’re highball it,” said Porter. Axle gave him a look. He had no intention of going faster than 35 mph, let alone to the maximum allowed here, which was 45 mph. “Dispatch says they’re closing the line. We’re have to go or we’re sleeping here tonight.”
“And if that happens we all get a big black dot on our dossiers,” said Hotboxer.
“I’m amazed that word is even in your vocabulary. You takin’ night school?” said Porter.
“I read things and shite.”
“Wow, ‘things and shit’, well I’m impressed,” said Coal sarcastically.
Hotboxer let out a hearty laugh. “I like this colt. We should take ‘im with us more often.”
Axle rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let’s corrupt the poor kid even more. Are we gettin’ that helper at Bear Ridge?”
“I didn’t ask. Sounds like they’re closing everything down pretty damn soon.”
Axle nodded. They didn’t have time to stop anyways and he could already see the last turn before the junction.
“I have the junction insight, Hotboxer, how do the brakes look?” asked Axle.
Hotboxer immediately turned serious. “Reservoir is full, static brake check back at the mine looked good. I eyeballed all the air hoses myself. We have a shiny new engine and all the brakes work, skipper.”
“Rest is up to the weather,” said Axle. Coal moved to the rear of the cab. He knew he wouldn’t be needed until they reached the bottom of the slope.
“Kid, look for any wheels hotboxing,” called Axle as he cut the throttle and applied the brakes. “We’re down to 15. I don’t want to go any faster than 25. Sounds good to ya?”
Hotboxer’s smile was gone and replaced with intense concentration as he ran the numbers through his head. He weighed the braking power of the locomotive and the train brakes against more than 30 fully loaded hoppers combined with the weather. “Yeah. That’s a safe target speed and maximum. Maybe faster, but 15 is best.”
“15 is best,” echoed Porter in agreement.
The pegasus watched every gauge carefully for any sign there was something not working. It was tense again in the cab.
“Tipping over now,” said Axle. All four ponies felt the angle change and the bottoms of their stomachs drop with it. The brakes groaned and sang as pressure increased. The train was bounced back and forth through a series of S-curves at the top of the Gauntlet that would help slow down trains and make the grade easier than just a straight line.
Then they reached the massive wood trestle over the Stone Hoof River valley. This marked the beginning of the true Gauntlet. It would be a gentle curve going down at a steep angle until they reached Bear Creek at the bottom.
Axle was nervous now as they crossed the bridge where somewhere 90 feet below was the rocky fast flowing Stone Hoof River. If the trestle broke he might not hear it. Every creak and groan of the wood under the weight of a fully loaded freight train made their stomach churn into knots. He turned and saw Coal looking down and looking pale. Like all road crews, they treated every bridge with suspicion.
“Oi,” he said softly. Coal looked at him. “It’s okay, kid. They inspect this bridge every week.”
Coal knew that knowledge didn’t comfort anypony else on this train then it did him, but he smiled weakly knowing what Axle was trying to do.
“Just watch those wheels and don’t look down,” said Axle.
Much to everyponies relief the bridge held and the engine now slid down the mountain. Amazingly there wasn’t as much ice as they had feared. Now they just needed to worry about overheating brakes. Metal tended to react poorly to being exposed to a lot of heat and a lot of cold at the same time. They had to use special alloys on the brakes up north or they might melt or even shatter in the extreme conditions. But that didn’t mean all the cars on this train had those brake shoes.
“Should we ease up a little?” asked Porter.
Axle and Hotboxer both shook their heads. “Better to let the brakes have constant heat then let them cool and deal with too many sudden temperature changes. Right, skipper.”
Axle nodded, but his whole attention was on the road ahead.
“I see the tunnel.”
“Final stretch,” mumbled Coal to himself. The grade got steeper, but the tunnel protected the tracks from snow and ice was unlikely to form here… hopefully. Despite the smoke the ponies breathed again. They would be safe. There was some foothills they would climb, but it would be a smooth ride home.
“Start shoveling, Coal. We’re goin’ need some steam soon.”
They couldn’t see the sun. The only indication that it was setting was that it was getting progressively darker.
As they rolled into the Neighagra Yard there was a break in the clouds and for the first time in days they could see the sky. All four ponies looked at the moon shining serenely upon them, a good omen to the northern ponies who held the moon and stars in high regard. They set up silent prayers to a safe and tranquil night for all their colleagues who were still out on the road.
“Full service stop,” said Axle tiredly as they pulled on to a receiving track. They could see a cold looking relief crew waiting to take the engine back to the shed. They didn’t wait for the train to come to a full stop either and looked eager to get their last tasks done for the day. It was pretty crowded now with six ponies up front. Axle made a note of their time of arrival and then nodded to the younger pony who would take it over from here.
“Good night,” he said and climbed down the ladder to the snowy ground. The four ponies trudged their way across the tracks keeping a sharp eye out for active trains. Axle paid particular attention to his right. As he did so he could see Coal trailing them instead of walking with them. “Oi, kid. Get a move on. We’re getting chow.”
Coal looked surprised. He didn’t realize he was invited. “But I’m just a yard firepony.”
“You’re a damned pony who drives trains,” said Axle. “You held up fine, kid. Now move or we will leave you behind.”
Coal tried not to look too excited, but the other three could see his tail wag and some of the exhaustion disappear. The other three couldn’t help but grin tiredly. They were ponies of the same profession and here because of a common love of seeing the trains run.
Appendix
1. This was actually a serious problem in 19th century railroads. If there was a wreck it was not unheard of for the cars to get smashed to pieces and then catch fire from their stoves.
By the early 20th century the 2-8-0 consolidations were pretty much as big and powerful as they could make them, but the demand for bigger locomotives required even better ones. The Pennsylvania is credited as popularizing the consolidations in the United States when they made them their standard freight engine in the 1870s. The 2-10-0 decapods were more powerful and the Pennsylvania maintained the largest fleet of them in the US (the decapods were much more popular in Europe), but the decapods were not popular. Due to its large rigid design they could not handle tight curves well and they were rough rides for its crews. Worse the decapods were known to derail if it moved in reverse more than 20 mph. The 2-10-2 proved much more successful for railroads and were some of the largest locomotives the Pennsylvania used until the 1950s when the steam era largely came to an end in America.
I’m going off a fairly modern signaling system used in the United States (I also believe Canada uses a similar system). Much of this had been standard throughout most of the 20th century. I’m going off CSX Transportation’s handbook.
I don’t know about those of you in Europe, but in the US many infamous train wrecks were caused by badly built bridges through the 19th century. It was not uncommon for a bridge (commonly made of wood in those days) to collapse under a train. It was also not unheard of for them to catch fire caused by sparks being spewed from the locomotive. By the latter half of the 19th century steel starting becoming standard in the United States and better building practices and government enforced standards (thanks to horrific loss of life) made bridge collapses pretty rare by the time World War I broke out. Still road crews treated bridges with some suspicion for a long time.
Highball is the main character in another My Little Pony fanfiction titled The Railway Ponies: Highball by The Descendant. If you haven’t read it then, why the hell are you reading this?
A few other notes, I made mention to an Altuna Locomotive Works, this is in reference to the Juniata Locomotive Works at Altoona, Pennsylvania. From the latter half of the 19th century until just after World War II they were responsible for the production of many of the Pennsylvania Railroad’s locomotives, making the Pennsy one of the last railroads to maintain its own in-house locomotive production facilities.
The L1 was a real locomotive that the PRR introduced in 1914 with 574 produced at Juniata Shops, Baldwin Locomotive Works, and Lima Locomotive Works. Despite good performance and popularity with its crews the L1s were replaced quickly by the more powerful I1s. The L1 in this story does not correspond with its real L1.
The PRR was one of the first railroads to implement wireless communication. It wasn’t really perfected until the 1940s and was largely made obsolete by radio communication. It isn’t quite accurate for trains made prior to the 1930s, but this is a world literally full of magic and unicorns, why not just run with it.
I wanted especially to make this place feel like it was truly a different world from Ponyville or Canterlot. These northern ponies live in a cold and harsh environment. They also feel completely comfortable with the consumption of meat (though they don’t eat it themselves) because of they live alongside large communities of bears, wolves, and dogs. Their accents are hybrids of Cockney, Irish, and American Southern accents.
