The waters of the Maresippi River gently lapped against its southern shore as a cool breeze rustled nearby tree branches. The first buds of spring were starting to show this far away from civilization, and it was easily the warmest night in months.

The serenity was disrupted by the loud clatter of pounding wheels and rattling metal. A late night goods train, its lone headlamp piercing the dark with a golden beam, thundered along the tracks that hugged the southern side of the river.

The Equestrian freight line ran along the southern side of the river, while the passenger lines ran along the northern side. The freight line crossed the river via the great Tartarus Gate Bridge and met up with the passenger lines in the railyards outside Ponyville.

Engineer Smoky Jones leaned out of the cab’s left window and looked off across the glittering waters. The faint glows of Ponyville could be seen a few miles up the track, seemingly guarded by the dark gate-like outline of the Tartarus Gate.

He gave a nod to the fireman and crossed to the other side. One hoof instinctively went up to the whistle pull chord, squinting through the darkness. A small green dot emerged as they rounded a gentle curve, and Jones gave two short tugs on the chord – the engine wailed out twice through the still night.

He wished he could stop over in Ponyville for a shift change, but their freight was meant for Canterlot, another few hours away. Giving a sigh, Jones started to duck back inside, before pausing. He turned to look back down his train, past all seven of their boxcars and the faint red glow of their end-of-train light.

He could’ve sworn there had been the headlights of another train during one of their straightaways out west, and freight trains never usually ran that close together.

Shrugging it off, Jones reached over and patted his fireman on the shoulder. Coal Dust raised an eyebrow at him.

“Whatcha think we’re haulin’?” Jones asked over the sounds of the engine.

Coal shrugged. “Kinda short for a run-through hot shot, don’t ya think?” he asked with a thick Mareish accent.

“Must be some more magic stuff.” Jones huffed and wiped his forehead, barren of any horn. “All I know is, I’m gonna need a shower when I get home – my husband hates the smell of smoke.”

Coal grinned, his teeth nearly as dirty as his coal-dusted coat. “They’ve been runnin’ us long today, eh?”

Jones nodded. “Let me check the switch.”

Jones poked his head out of the cab’s right window again, looking through the darkness. Just before the bend that took them over the bridge, there was a lengthy siding. It was supposed to be empty and the points on the main, but Jones always checked.

They were only supposed to reduce speed after the switch – and if it were still open, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Just as soon as his eyes locked on the switch, he saw a shadow move. He thought it was a tree branch at first – until the points indicator switched.

“Brakes!” Jones shouted before his heart clogged his throat.

Both he and Coal Dust reached for the lever and yanked it back as quickly as they could. Dozens of thundering wheels turned into banshees as the train jerked. But as soon as Jones’ heart went up, it sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

The brakes were only reflexive.

In reality, the locomotive and boxcars – they lacked a caboose for their short, easily managed train – were travelling much too fast. The brakes could lessen the impact, if only by a tiny amount, but the freight train’s moving mass wouldn’t be so easily swayed.

The engine jerked to the right as it charged into the siding. Jones grabbed the whistle chord and tugged on it again and again. The engine wailed in protest as it met the curve of the siding too fast and left the track.

A terrific sound of crashing and grinding metal echoed through the forests, followed by the splintering of wood. The engine finally came to rest against an oak so thick around that it must’ve been centuries old.

Most of the boxcars had followed the engine off-track, while the tender had hit some rock or mound of dirt and tipped over, spilling its coal. Hissing could be heard from broken steam pipes, fortunately nowhere near the cab.

Jones blinked his eyes open from where he had fallen against the locomotive’s controls, his side sore from a run-in with the brake lever and his one leg out of its socket from holding the pull chord.

He felt something warm on his forehead and touched it gingerly. A spike of pain ran through his skull, and his hoof came away red. Jones looked across the cab where Coal Dust lay sprawled out on the cab floor. He swore he saw the faint rise and fall of breathing, but his vision was still wobbly.

He turned to the sound of the cab door being flung open, blinking through the haze. The leaking steam outside filtered in like fog, and Jones’s vision was blanketed in shadow.

“Wha—”

A thwack of metal on flesh sounded out and Jones dropped like a sack of potatoes with a groan. The figure tossed aside the now dented coal shovel and hopped back out.

“They’re out,” he said as more figures emerged from the underbrush. “Fourth boxcar.”

Some of the figures produced crowbars, and made short work of the boxcar’s dented door. It fell off its railing and the figures clambered aboard.

The cargo inside was several large, unmarked wooden crates. On first glance, it might’ve seemed like they were too heavy to have been disturbed by the crash – a second glance showed they were actually bolted to the floor and strapped down for good measure.

The straps were torn and lids were pried off, revealing large, black cases, designed to transport weapons. Much like a bucket brigade, the figures lined up and started handing off the weapon cases to the previous member in the line. The last member scurried through the underbrush to a nearby service road.

Several vans were parked up in a row with their rear doors open and ready to receive, revealed in the engine’s flickering headlight. More figures in the vans hauled the cases inside.

There came a long, loud cry of a steam engine down the tracks, and all the figures froze – if for a moment. They scrambled through the underbrush, some still carrying weapon cases. A few struggled to hold onto them in the scramble, but all of them made their way into the vans.

By the time the whistling neared the siding, the vans had locked up and peeled off into the night with their bounty.

A larger steam engine slowed to a stop by the siding. Unlike the train that had come before it, it seemed to be hauling two passenger coaches and a baggage car in the middle. What stood out, however, was the engine and rolling stock were painted in green camouflage, and the baggage car had large, white crosses painted on the sides.

An earth pony with a shaggy red beard and an officer’s cap scrambled out of the first passenger car and over to the entrance of the siding. In his hoof he held a lantern, which he lifted to reveal the last three boxcars still on the track.

“Sweet Mother,” he muttered, before turning to his train. “Medics, quickly now! And call this in! There’s been a robbery!”

Author's Note

Aaaand we're off. Track, that is. I hope you enjoyed.

Of course as a fan of most things trains I'm going to start things with a train wreck. Even threw in a little train slang. This is the first time I'm writing a story like this, so please take it easy on me.

I hoped you enjoyed the opening shots of Frost and Fire. Stay tuned next week for more!