Will O' the Whistle

by Railroad Brony

Journey Into Terror

An hour after sunset on the following night, Sparks and Hooves stood in a field at Redmane, not far from the Horseshoe Tunnel. It seemed to Spark that there were railroad lines all around them. To the south was Ponyville. To the north, across the Horseshoe River, was Baltimare.

“Where do we go from here?” asked Spark. Hooves pointed down a railroad track. “That’s the way,” he replied. “The tricky part will be going under the road bridge. The Griffons have sentries there.” He moved on at the side of the railroad, which plunged into a cut and descended quite steeply. Spark had been surprised to hear from his companion that the old steam trains of former years used to dash down into the tunnel at seventy miles an hour. Both of them had blacked their faces. Bradshaw had a small, automatic pistol. Soon they were deep inside the cut. Moving with extreme caution, Spark and Hooves neared the bridge. The tunnel portal was only a short distance away. Spark and his comrade crept under the bridge. They kept moving till they approached the portal of the Big Hole.

Hooves grabbed half a dozen detonators from his pocket. He clipped them on a rail by bending the soft, lead strips attached to each disc. No explanation was necessary. He had previously told Spark that the Griffons ran patrol cars along the line, and that he had seen one enter the tunnel. However, his general impression was that the average Griffon Trooper, whose intelligence by Equestrian standards was low, was scared by the Big Hole.

Water dripped from the top of the tunnel. The sides were running with damp. They walked on the sleepers because there was slush between the ballast and the walls. Spark caught his foot and stumbled.

“It’s too soon to use our flashlights,” said Hooves. “We can put ‘em on when we’re farther down the line.” Spark whipped his head round. Far away, outside the tunnel, there was a flicker of light.

“There’s something coming!” he exclaimed tensely. Hooves looked back. The flicker became a steady beam. It was cast by a powerful headlight on a track speeder carrying six or eight Griffon troopers.

“This is where we get our feet wet!” growled Hooves. Spark put a hand on his companion’s shoulder. They stepped off the track and stepped into the slush filling the narrow gap between the ballast and the wall. It came halfway up their shins. They squelched along till they found a shallow manhole in the wall, an opening into which workers could step back when trains came along. The headlight from the speeder threw its beam into the tunnel. It was still a question as to whether the Griffons would run on down the Big Hole or not.

The glare lit up the walls. The clatter of the wheels became louder as the trolley entered the portal.

BANG! BANG, BANG!

With a series of bangs, the detonators that Hooves had put on the track exploded. Shrill yells of alarm were uttered by the Griffons. The driver brought the speeder to a jerky stop. The troops leaped off and fired wildly down the tunnel. The driver got into reverse and the Griffons ran with it. The speeder was well clear outside the tunnel again before it stopped.

“They were scared as rabbits,” said Hooves with a chuckle.

“I expect it seemed as if they’d run into an ambush,” Spark answered, “the detonators made a lot of noise. I think we should push on. When an officer arrives he’ll force them down the tunnel again.”

The two stallions left their niche and stumbled on along the bore. The track rose steeply. “We can use our lights now,” Hooves said. “They won’t be seen from the outside.”

There was a click as he turned on his flashlight. They passed through a stretch where water was dripping like heavy rain. The rails were rusted from disuse. The air was cold and damp. It seemed an endless walk into the utter darkness. As they trudged along, a continuous hissing sound developed ahead.

“Water?” Spark muttered.

“It must be water,” answered Hooves tensely. “It’s started since I came through last time."
He turned his light up after they had walked another hundred yards or so, and startled exclamations broke from them both at the sight of powerful jets of water that spurted out of the wall in a dozen places.

Jets as thick as a stallion's arm shot across the tunnel and formed clouds of spray as they broke against the opposite wall. The water trickled away down the grade.

“Come on,” urged Hooves. “I’m hoping the tunnel hasn't filled to the top.”

They were doused with spray as they passed under the jets. Bricks that the water had dislodged littered the track. After they had advanced perhaps a third of a mile, the light of Hooves’ flashlight was reflected by tongue of inky black water lapping between the rails.

Hooves splashed into it, and they were soon knee-deep. Spark had a clear idea in his mind now of how the water filled the tunnel at its lowest point between the east and west cuts.

“Where’s the canoe?” he asked.

“I’m hoping we’re nearly there,” Hooves answered harshly. “The water has risen a lot.” Soon, the icy-cold water was up to their waists. Hooves kept turning his flashlight to the side and, after they had splashed along a bit further, fixed his aim on a recess. The canoe was there all right. It had been left standing vertically in the niche, but the water had slanted it.

They untied the cord that held the canoe, drew it out and tipped it to empty it of water. Spark held it while Hooves scrambled in. Then, expertly, he slid in himself.

“You light the way,” Spark said. “I’ll do the paddling.” He dug the paddle into the water and the canoe glided ahead. The light showed the water level rising towards the rounded roof.

“The question seems to be whether we’ll need a submarine or not,” Spark grimly remarked. Hooves ducked lower to avoid striking his head on the roof.

“We’ll know in a minute,” he said hoarsely. The water rose until it was within eighteen inches of the top of the arch.

“It’s impossible to use the paddle now,” Spark exclaimed. “We'll have to use our hands.”

That was how they got through, stretched out flat with the roof pressing down on them and paddling the canoe along with their hands. The bow scraped the brickwork of the roof. They worked their hands frantically and barely kept the canoe moving.

“I think we’re going to do it!” Hooves panted. “This must be the bottom of the dip. If we can keep moving we’ll get through.”

“We’ll keep moving,” replied Spark, and when, after another minute, the bow no longer grazed the roof, they knew they had succeeded. The water level dropped and they were able to straighten their backs, Spark used the paddle again until they reached the spot where the bore rose towards the western portal near Horseshoe Tunnel Junction. That was how Spark used the Big Hole to get to the other side of the Horsehoe Bay.

Author's Note:

Detonators let an engineer know when there is trouble ahead.
If you notice any strange things with the directions, please tell me so I can fix them.