Wreck of the Bridleway Limited

by Locomotion

Chapter 6: Sifting Through The Wreckage

Perspective: Locomotion

It was almost midnight when I reached the stationmaster's house, and I knew he would most likely be in bed by then. All the same, I had to alert him to the disaster no matter what it took, so as soon as I reached his front door, I started banging on it as hard as I could and yelling for him to wake up, trying my hardest to grab his attention.

Eventually, I heard a muffled groan from somewhere within the house, and an upstairs window slid open.

“Who's there?” asked a somewhat groggy voice.

“It's me – Locomotion,” I called. Again, the stationmaster was a stallion with whom Uncle Steamer and I were acquainted, though to a lesser extent than Switcher. “We've got an emergency between here and Winsome Peak.”

The stationmaster nodded grimly in acknowledgement. “I'll be right down, Loco,” he replied, and shut his window again. Only a few seconds later, I heard the sound of hooves clomping down a staircase, and the front door opened shortly after. “What's the trouble then?”

“Well, sir,” I began, “we think Switcher may have gone and crashed the Bridleway Limited into a pair of light engines he'd misplaced earlier. I happened to...”

“Hang on a minute,” he interrupted promptly, “when you say 'misplaced', what exactly do you mean?”

“He left them on the main line ready to head back to Delamare,” I clarified, “but he probably got distracted and forgot all about them until I told him what had happened just a few minutes ago. They didn't get a green eye until about twenty-five minutes later; I don't know if they even realised it was intended for the Limited rather than for them, but they certainly went ahead and left for home in any case.”

“Didn't they signal their departure to Switcher?”

“They did whistle, but I'm not sure Switcher actually heard them,” I answered. “If he had, he would have dropped the red boards before the Limited was anywhere near the station. I tried using hoof signals to warn the express crew, but the driver just waved back at me and advanced his regulator.”

“Right,” said the stationmaster, “thanks for telling me about it, Loco. I'll go up to the box and advise Switcher at once. Is your uncle around by any chance?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes he is,” I affirmed. “He and I had completed a banking turn from Ponyville about an hour earlier, and we were just about ready to head back down the hill when those two engines left.”

“Then go back to your engine and tell Steamer that I need him to take me to the crash site,” ordered the stationmaster. “I'll fill out a wrong-line order for you in the signalbox.”

“Okay, sir,” and I galloped back to the station as fast as my hooves could carry me, with the stationmaster close behind.

---

I returned to the 729 just after midnight. She was still waiting on the lay-by loop, quite close to the Down platform, and Uncle Steamer was leaning out of the cab with a worried look on his face.

“Hullo, stranger,” he remarked as I scrambled into the cab. “Where have you been?”

All that hard running had left me pretty winded, so I could barely speak I was panting so hard. “Limited...crashed...stationmaster...had to...inform...”

“Okay, Loco,” soothed Uncle Steamer, “catch your breath.”

I instantly obliged, collapsing onto my haunches and resting my back against the front of the tender.

Promontory gazed grimly out of the cab, probably focussing on the spot where the 669 and 1074 had been standing prior to the whole fiasco. “So the Limited really has gone into the ditch, huh, Steamer?”

“So it would seem,” agreed my uncle gravely. He had returned to his seat and was facing the controls, so I didn't see his expression; but from the tone of his voice, he too seemed a little shaken by the turn of events.

“I don't get it,” went on Promontory, pulling his head in again and looking over to Uncle Steamer. “How could Switcher have just forgotten about those two Delamare engines?”

Uncle Steamer paused. “They can't have adhered to Rule 55,” he replied. “Only the advance starter would have come off if they had.”

“Yeah, but shouldn't Switcher have slipped a collar over the appropriate lever?”

“I don't think he did, Monty,” I said, still a little short of breath but a lot more able to speak by this point. “There wasn't anything in the log book about him using one, and the way he was talking, he must have thought he'd already dispatched them.”

“So he didn't even think to block the Limited back to Windy Vale?”

“Nope.”

“Crikey!” remarked Promontory. “Talk about a grave signalling error! I tell you what, I wouldn't like to be in his horseshoes when Max Pressure and the stationmaster hear about this.”

At that moment, Uncle Steamer must have remembered that I'd been gone a lot longer than any of us anticipated, because he turned around and asked of me, “Did you say you'd gone to tell the stationmaster about the accident, Loco?”

“Sure did,” I affirmed. “Switcher sent me there shortly after we heard the collision from the signalbox. The stationmaster said he was gonna go fill out a wrong-line order form at the signalbox so we could take him up the line and investigate.”

Promontory looked a little perturbed when I mentioned that we were needed to try and find the stricken train. “Well how do you like that?” he muttered. “I've been up for about sixteen hours, twelve of which I've spent on the 729, and now I found out we're gonna have to stay up all night because the Limited's in the ditch.”

“Don't really have a choice, Monty,” said Uncle Steamer unhappily. “Ours is the only readily available engine for miles; nopony else will be able to get another one up here for at least an hour.”

“You might have a point there,” mused Promontory. “But what about Loco? It's way past his bedtime already, and that banking turn of ours can't have helped matters either.”

Uncle Steamer paused again. “Well we can't take him home just yet,” he replied at last. “We might still be needed to help any casualties that the crash might have claimed, and as I said, there aren't any other engines that can take over from us as yet. Are you okay with that, Loco?”

I took a moment to consider this. True, I was liable to tire more easily than the others, being the company's youngest employee and all, but then again, there would surely be plenty of stranded passengers out there who would need all the help they could get – and passengers, as far as I'm concerned, must always come first. With that in mind, I steeled myself for what I knew would be a long, grim night, and turned to face Promontory and Uncle Steamer. “Guys,” I stated resolutely, “any way in which I can help those passengers, I'd be more than willing to go. If that accident is as bad as I think it is, there are probably dozens of lives that depend on us from here on in.”

Uncle Steamer looked rather stunned for a few seconds, and at first I thought he was going to question my decision – but then he smiled broadly and patted my withers. “Attaboy, Loco,” he encouraged me, and I modestly returned the smile.

---

A few minutes later, the stationmaster joined us in the cab, and we set off along the Down line in pursuit of the Limited. We were only travelling at a maximum of ten miles an hour, so even if we didn't manage to stop in time, we wouldn't do too much damage to ourselves or the 729; but Uncle Steamer didn't want to take too many chances, so I volunteered to keep an extra eye on the road ahead from the tender. Not the sort of thing I'd recommend to most foals, but in a situation like this, needs must.

It only took us less than ten minutes to get to the crash site, but to me, it felt like forever. We drifted sedately across the viaduct and crawled laxly through the tunnel, me biting my hoof with concern as I watched the track slowly slide beneath us like a conveyor belt – until, at last, I saw a red light shining through the darkness. Squinting in an attempt to get a closer look, I could just about make out the outline of the observation car at the rear of the express.

“There they are!” I crowed down to the cab. “I can see their tail lamp up ahead!”

Uncle Steamer leaned out of the cab, probably to verify that I was right. “Well spotted, Loco,” he called back to me at last. “Hold on – I'm setting the air,” and the next moment, I felt the 729 gently coming to a stop just a few yards short of the stricken train. As soon as we were stationary, I carefully picked my way down the coal pile and rejoined Uncle Steamer, Promontory and the stationmaster in the cab.

“Right,” said the stationmaster, “let's go and inspect the damage. Promontory, you stay here and keep steam up.”

Promontory nodded in reply, and Uncle Steamer and I disembarked from the engine, followed closely by the stationmaster. As we made our way towards the front of the train, the scene that befell my eyes was absolutely harrowing! The last five coaches were still on the rails, but the remainder lay at odd angles, riddled with dents and scrapes and half a dozen other forms of damage. One of the bogies appeared to have been ripped clean off, and was now lying upside down next to the service coach in the middle of the train, the front end of which had derailed along with the other five coaches in front of it. Miraculously, although the front buffers of the service coach had overridden, or “locked”, with those of the bar coach in front of it, the rear buffers had remained face to face with those of the dining car behind as they should have done.

The third coach lay on its right-hoof side across both running lines, and the first sleeping car, second from the front, appeared to have telescoped into the luggage van – in other words, it had banged into it so hard that it had smashed through its bodywork. Beyond their crumpled remains, the “City of Coltenburg” was sprawled out against the side of the cutting, battered and forlorn, a far cry from the proud, muscular and thoroughly immaculate machine that I had been preparing at Ponyville just a few short hours ago, and just ahead of her were the two light engines that only three quarters of an hour ago had been waiting to head back to Delamare, both of which had also been damaged and derailed by the sudden impact.

As I gazed upon the wreckage, the wailing and moaning of injured passengers seemed to echo in my head, and I felt myself going weak in the legs. “Cinders and ashes!” I exclaimed breathlessly. “What a mess!”

Uncle Steamer nodded gravely. “Terrifying, isn't it?” By the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, I could tell that he too was having a tough time trying to put up with the shock of the whole thing. And I don't blame him either – I'd seen train crashes before on video, and when I was much younger, they sometimes had me running from the TV room in terror they were so graphic. If those crashes were anything to go by, then to actually see the aftermath of such a horrible accident up close would probably be enough to make even the most hardened rescue worker shudder. A gravelly voice from nearby promptly cut off my train of thought, and I looked up to see John Bull, the “City of Coltenburg's” driver, limping towards us from the wrecked second coach.

“John!” exclaimed Uncle Steamer. “Are you okay?”

“Just about, Steamer,” groaned John. “A few bumps and scrapes here and there, but I'll survive.”

More than a few bumps and scrapes, I thought as I looked him over. Judging by the injuries he had sustained – a bump on the head, grazing on his left arm, bruised ribs – he'd had a pretty lucky escape.

“I tell you what,” went on Uncle Steamer grimly, “it's a good thing we happened along. We saw the whole thing from the turntable siding.”

All of a sudden, my fears seemed to give way to anger and annoyance as I remembered my earlier attempt to stop the Limited. I kinda lost control of myself at that point and butted into the conversation without any warning whatsoever; “What was the meaning of ignoring my warning, John?!” I burst out. “Had you gone crazy or something?”

A look of shame spread across John's face. “I...I didn't realise you were trying to warn me of anything,” he confessed. “I thought you were just waving an overenthusiastic greeting.”

“I most certainly was not!!!” I snapped back. “You know perfectly well, John, that both front hooves in the air means 'stop'!”

“Well yeah, but all the signals were at green when I passed through the junction,” protested John pathetically. “I had no way of knowing that you intended it seriously.”

“So?! It still counts as a SPAD...”

“Okay, okay, stop bickering, you two!” interrupted the stationmaster before my fury could develop any further. “John, have you evacuated all the passengers from the derailed coaches yet?”

“Well that's just it – we can't.”

“Why not?”

“There's no way of getting into the second coach, and the third one is in a pretty awkward position,” explained John. “The ends of both coaches have compacted together in such a way that there's very little room to get from one to the other, and I'm not sure it'll be big enough for a full grown stallion to get through. We would have cut part of the side panelling away, but we don't have anypony capable of such a job.”

“What about the third coach?” asked the stationmaster.

“That in itself is a bit of a tight fit now that the coach is on its side,” John replied. “It'd take somepony the size of a foal to get those passengers out safely.”

At that moment, Uncle Steamer's eyes lit up. “Funny you should mention that, John,” he remarked. “Need I remind you that we've got one right here?”

I looked up at Uncle Steamer in anxious anticipation. While John and the stationmaster had been talking, I'd been staring at the wreckage in the almost frantic hope that there was some way in which I could help; but when Uncle Steamer mentioned that I would be small enough to get them out of the second and third coaches, I immediately saw my chance.

“What, Loco? But he's just a colt!” objected John. “You send him in there, he'll probably come out traumatised!”

“I'm well aware of that, John, but there's no other way,” replied Uncle Steamer grimly.

“Uncle Steamer's right, John,” I added firmly. “It's either I go in there and risk being scarred for life, or we wait until the wrecking train arrives and find that there are so few passengers still alive that it wasn't worth the wait. Now what's it gonna be?”

John paused for a few seconds. He still seemed pretty reluctant, and at first I was expecting a response that would warrant a long and pretty ruthless lecture; but in the end he nodded and said, “Of course you're right, Loco – we must rescue those passengers no matter the cost.”

“My point exactly!” I stated triumphantly.

“Right,” said the stationmaster, “I'll let the passengers know what's going on. Steamer, you take the last five coaches back to Horse Junction as soon as I'm done.”

“Will do,” and Uncle Steamer galloped back towards the seventh coach, which he would detach from the derailed portion of the train before coupling the 729 to the observation car at the rear. The stationmaster followed, while John helped me climb into the third coach to begin my rescue mission. All the lights had gone out when the train had crashed, so I had to illuminate the corridor with my own horn in order to see properly. Perhaps it was a good thing I wasn't alone in that coach; a little way behind, John's firepony Coal Heaver was on hoof to assist if need be, and if nothing else, it reassured me to know I would at least have a bit of moral support.

I hadn't gone very far when I heard somepony crying hysterically for help from one of the compartments below me. “Hang in there, sir!” I called above his terrified screaming. “I'll get you out! Stand back!”

I knew the door would have been locked some time before the accident in order to allow the passenger some privacy, so it was no use trying to open it by hoof. Using a crowbar that John had given me, I began hacking away at the door until finally I had prised it open. The passenger was in a right state when I reached him, and even with the knowledge that he was safe, he wouldn't stop babbling and whimpering in fright.

“Oh, disaster! Oh, the equinity! Oh, the hundreds of lives endangered by this accident!” he howled as Coal Heaver and I helped him out of the compartment. “I'm gonna be having nightmares about this for months! Somepony, please tell me this is just a bad dream!”

“Calm down, sir,” I tried to soothe him. “You're gonna be okay. It's just a minor bump, that's all.”

“Just a minor bump?!” wailed the passenger. “It could have been the end of the world! I could have been burned to the ground! The ground could have swallowed me whole! Anything could have happened to me!”

That, I thought, was a bit of an exaggeration; but nevertheless, I could only sympathise with him as Coal Heaver guided him out of the coach and over to a small triage we had set up on the lineside. The poor guy must have gained a pretty awful fright to have become so hysterical, and if I'd been in his horseshoes, I probably wouldn't have been that much better myself.

That pretty much set the tone for the remainder of the rescue operation. The coach was made up of eighteen small sleeping compartments called “roomettes”, nine on each side of the corridor, along with a toilet on one side and an attendant's compartment on the other. After helping the first passenger, I worked my way along the coach, prising open door after door and helping passenger after passenger scramble out of their respective roomette. Some were surprisingly calm and collected; some, like the first one I'd rescued, were in an absolute state of hysteria; and others seemed pretty angry and abrasive. Two of the compartment doors above me, however, felt like there was an immense weight preventing them from moving, so after a few moments' worth of struggling, I gave up and moved onto the next compartment along.

There was one particular passenger I can recall – a mare by the name of Upper Crust, if I remember correctly – who reacted very stubbornly when she saw who her rescuer happened to be. She was in Compartment D, near the front of the coach, and didn't seem to realise the full gravity of the situation even when I broke through her door.

“You okay, miss?” I asked, pulling the door open.

She gave me this really dirty look as if I was little more than a street urchin. “And what, might I ask, is the meaning of breaking into somepony else's compartment?” she demanded.

I was most offended by that mare's attitude. “Well how else was I supposed to get you out of here?” I replied, trying to sound reasonable. “This coach is on its side – you need help.”

Upper Crust looked down her nose at me with a snooty scowl. “You're the one who needs help, little colt, thinking you can intrude on other ponies without their permission,” she said curtly. “Just who do you think you are anyway?”

“An employee of the company, that's who I am,” I retorted sharply, “so you'd better watch your lip, miss. And no; I don't need permission to come in and rescue other passengers. I repeat – this coach is on its side, and you need help.”

“What? Some impertinent little runt such as yourself?” scoffed Upper Crust. “Don't make me laugh – who in their right mind would employ an eight-year-old hooligan in any business, let alone a railway?”

If looks could kill, I suspect the one on my face at that very moment would have more than done the trick. I was almost ready to fire an energy bolt from my horn in retaliation; but instead I just glowered at her and thundered, “Look, are you going to cooperate, or do I just have to leave you there?! Because nopony else is gonna pull you out in my place!”

To this day, I still can't believe that my outburst was enough to force that pompous, overstuffed hay-bag into submission. I think I did a pretty good job of hiding my amazement as she reluctantly took my hoof and clambered out of the coach, but like I said, it still staggers me to think that I managed to exhibit such incredible powers of persuasion that night. Still, it didn't do that much to suppress her attitude as I found out when, with my help, we finally managed to get her out of the coach.

I suspect John must have overheard the conversation from the back of the coach, because as soon as we reached the corridor connection, he comes up to us and says, “Okay, miss, what's your problem with a little colt working among the ranks of stallions like us?”
Upper Crust let out an annoyed groan. “Don't tell me you're as unbalanced as this little runt,” she muttered crossly.

“I heard that!!” I barked severely. “If you weren't some feeble...”

“F-f-feeble?! Now look here...”

“No, you listen to me! You put me down for being a mere colt, you offend a second member of the company, and now you have to act as if you're the one who has been subjected to unprovoked insults?! Well, let me tell you, 'Your Majesty', you're nothing but a spoilt, idealistic brat with ideas millions and millions of miles above your station, thinking you can verbally assault us railway workers and get away with it!”

“And since when does a snotty little nopony of a colt qualify as a railway worker?!” demanded Upper Crust rudely.

“Since about eighteen months ago,” John spoke up sternly. “Our Locomotion was hired personally by our very own Motive Power Superintendent, Max Pressure, so if you think you can make fun of him and get away with it, you've got another thing coming. Now come on, you need medical attention.”

At that moment, a light grey unicorn stallion emerged from next to the fourth coach, his expression an uncanny combination of relief and annoyance. “There you are, Upper Crust,” he said thankfully. “I was worried you might have been trapped in your compartment.”

“I was,” replied Upper Crust sourly, “but then this impudent little colt came and dragged me out – made all sorts of disgraceful comments about me, and then these other ponies...”

“Well you started it,” interrupted Coal Heaver. “If you had been a little more gracious with Loco, you wouldn't have had to suffer the humiliation of being put back in your place. As it is, you risk losing your compensation for your rudeness to employees of the railway.”

The grey stallion turned and glared at Coal Heaver. “You...how dare you!” he exclaimed. “You'll be hearing from our solicitor about this!”

“Oh yeah?!” I snapped back. “Well you'll be hearing about it from the company!”

“Leave them, Loco,” soothed Coal Heaver, “they're not worth it. Let's just get back to helping those other passengers.”

Part of me still wanted to march up to those two windbags and bellow every single insult I knew of; but I knew Coal Heaver was right, so I was like “Ah, what the hay – just get on with it, Loco.” With that, I went back inside the coach, picked up the crowbar and began hacking away at the next compartment.

Mercifully, the remaining three passengers in that coach were by no means as difficult as that Upper Crust and her husband, so I experienced no further trouble with uncooperative passengers. Quite soon, I managed to claw open the last remaining roomette and free the passenger trapped within. He was a brown Earth stallion with a light tan-coloured mane and tail and two quavers for a Cutie Mark, and he seemed pretty worried as he gingerly stepped out, because he was muttering something to himself about the fellow members of his music group. I couldn't quite understand what he was getting at, but I quietly reassured myself that I'd find the answer in the next coach along.

The second and third coaches had come to rest in such a way that their corridor connections were almost perpendicular to each other, leaving only a squarish access hole that I could just about squeeze through. While Coal Heaver helped the anxious passenger out of the third coach, I tossed my crowbar into the second and wriggled through the gap – not a very comfortable experience, I can tell you that much.

As I finally pulled myself into the second coach, I could see that the door of the attendant's compartment, first on my left, had been left open, and the compartment itself was empty. With that in mind, I made my way forward to the first roomette on my left and started hacking it open – but when I finally did manage to gain access to that coach, I was startled to find Roseluck, Daisy Jane and Lily Valley, of all ponies, lying stunned on the compartment floor. Heck, I was so taken aback that I just uttered their names in disbelief, at which point Lily came to with a groan – but just as I was about to ask if she was okay, she suddenly sat up and screamed loudly, almost busting my eardrums.

“What is this?! Where am I?! How did I end up here?!” she hollered, overtaken by hysteria as is not unusual.

Again, the noise boomed around the coach with such volume that I had to cover my ears up to avoid being permanently deafened. “PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, LILY!!” I shouted. That promptly shut her up, and I resumed my calming, level-headed tone as I continued; “You're gonna be okay, so just calm down. We're doing all we can to get you out of here.”

“What happened?” Daisy was the next to regain consciousness.

“Yeah, how did we end up sprawled out over my compartment?” added Roseluck, holding her head.

“Well, to put it bluntly,” I replied gravely, “your train has run into a pair of light engines that were making their way home.”

Lily sprang to her hooves. “Oh my gosh!” she gasped. “Is everypony else alright? What about those two...what do you call them...light engines?”

“Lily, please, let's not start losing our heads,” I interrupted calmly. “We've got most of the passengers out already, so there's no need to overreact.”

“But what if some of the passengers have lost their heads already?” objected Roseluck fearfully. “They could have lost arms, legs and tails as well. What if they've been...well...killed?”

I couldn't help but shudder at this point, knowing full well just how right she might be. But there was no point in further alarming our passengers over what, for all they knew, might merely be a false alarm, so I replied, “I don't think we've had any fatalities as yet, Rose, so please, try to relax.”

“Relax?!” wailed Roseluck. “How can I relax when it's all happening so quickly? The shrieking whistle, the groan of the brakes, the sudden impact...the horror! The horror!” and she immediately broke down into frightened tears.

For a while, I could do nothing more than stand in the doorway, trying to work out a way in which I could reassure the three flower salesponies. I certainly couldn't guide them out of the coach for medical attention because, as I said, there was no way anypony other than me would be able to get through the rear corridor connection. At that moment, I heard somepony tapping on the window. Looking out, I could see John Bull and two unicorn platelayers standing on the lineside, gesturing to me that they were going to magically cut out a side panel from the coach and asking me where to start. I pointed to my left, indicating towards the empty attendant's compartment, and they nodded in reply.

“What was that about?” asked Daisy.

“They're gonna cut this coach open so I can get you out of here,” I explained. “They'll let us know when they're done.”

Roseluck pulled her tear-stained face from her hooves. “Then...we're gonna be freed?”

I merely nodded in reply, whereupon Roseluck's sobbing gradually began to subside.

After a few minutes, we heard a clang from outside as the panel finally fell off the side of the coach. John and the platelayers then came back to our window and gave me the hooves-up to say it was okay to start bringing passengers out. I replied with a wave and led the three shaken mares towards the attendant's compartment, where John, Coal Heaver and the light engine crews helped them out of the coach and over to the triage.

While they were at it, I went back into the coach and was just about to start prising open the next compartment door when I noticed that another, about two doors away, had been left slightly ajar; but what really caught my eye was a tuft of grey fur, which only just poked out of the roomette and into the corridor. Puzzled, I dropped my crowbar and ran forward to investigate – but when I got into the compartment, the sight that met my eyes came as such a bombshell that I just stood and stared, mouth agape, for what felt like an eternity. Then, in a state of shock, I uttered the following words......

“Holy smoke!!!”

There, lying unconscious on the compartment floor, was a grey-coated mare of around twenty-five, with a dark grey mane and tail and a pink treble-clef for a Cutie Mark. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. Her left arm seemed a little twisted, and there were some nasty bruises on her head and chest, the former of which also appeared to be bleeding. Quickly coming to my senses, I yelled out loud for John, Coal Heaver or anypony else to come and help me; but they must still have been over at the triage, because nopony replied. Realising that I was on my own, I decided then and there that I ought to try and revive the stricken mare myself. A quick check of her pulse revealed that she was indeed still alive, so I began shaking the mare vigorously in a bid to awaken her...