{{#ifeq: User |User| The Donkey of Transportation | The Donkey of Transportation}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| The Donkey of Transportation | The Donkey of Transportation}}| ]] {{#ifeq: | |
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Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}| ]]
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{{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}} | | Authors: ' |
Authors: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}]]
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Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Sturmovik | Sturmovik}}]]
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}} {{#if:| — see [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}
Author's Comments
Perhaps the story with the most explicit railfan content. Written in May, 2001.
Engineer Robert Mack notched up the throttle to Run-8 as he cleared the curve at the east end of the Shocks Bridge over the Susquehanna River. The light engines quickly reached the linespeed of 50mph and Engineer Mack again reigned in his steeds to avoid speeding. He yawned. It was just another pointless day working on the railroad.
Robert had been a full fledged engineer for almost 24 years and 22 of those had been spent working for Conrail, the majour carrier in the Northeast that had resulted from a score of previous bankruptcies. What had started as a government bailout had evolved into a first rate company. It was well run, well managed and good to its employees. Then, just as it began to show some real promise the shareholders got greedy and sold out. What had once been a large and efficient system was split between two rival firms, CSX and Norfolk Southern. Almost overnight Robert had found himself working for a new employer.
It soon became evident to Robert that NS couldn’t tell its ass from a hole in the ground. The Southern coal hauler wasn’t equipped to handle operations in the busy, industrial North. Things quickly ground to a halt and the shit piled up so high you needed to stand on the cab roof to get above it. After almost a year and a half they had cleared up most of the problems, snags, snafu’s and glitches, but the system wasn’t anywhere close to its former glory.
Robert was tempted to retire, but his seniority and the prospect of lush retirement benefits had compelled him to stay on, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. He was always the first one with a snide remark or joke about the new operator. He posted humourous printouts on bulletin boards and had a slew of anti-NS t-shirts and coffee mugs. The local employees and managers loved his antics and would have joined in had they not had the corporate ladder to climb. Robert was already near the top of the ladder so it didn’t matter anymore.
To him, everything from the days of Conrail (now Gonrail) was good and anything new from NS was bad. Nevertheless he always toed the line and never did anything that could get him disciplined. The imported NS management had begun to take notice of his actions and sent him letters and memos asking him to rectify his behavior. For all Engineer Mack cared they could suck his dick. He knew the rules and they were going to have a tough time getting rid of him.
Robert disliked NS so much that he was paying the hostler at the Harrisburg engine house a little gratuity to make sure an old Conrail painted locomotive was always in the lead of his consist. He couldn’t stand those black NS engines with that stupid rearing horse painted on the sides and front. The black wasn’t even a proper black; it looked more like manure brown.
“The Thoroughbred of Transportation my ass, more like the donkey of transportation.” Robert said aloud to nobody in particular, mocking the corporate motto then looking down at his T-shirt that read the same. Robert sighed. He would normally have a conductor or assistant engineer to talk and joke with, but a crew shortage at the Harrisburg Terminal had meant he’d have to run alone to Perryville, MD where he’d pick up his running mate. Amtrak wouldn’t even allow such an unsafe practice as one-person operation on its rails, but because this was only a lite engine move federal regulations let NS get away with a one-man crew on their territory.
In fact this whole run was because of a fuck up. Robert’s normal assignment was running priority intermodal trains from the new Rutherford yard to a hand off at Altoona, PA and then back again. However, today the trainmaster came in begging him to run some light engines south to Harrington, DE. He was the only one available who was qualified on the route and they needed those engines badly. There had been a mistake and now there was not enough power in Harrington to pull several hundred empty grain hoppers back to Ohio. The hoppers were clogging the yard so that they couldn’t fit in the full grain train that was now waiting in Wilmington, DE. The grain was for the massive poultry farms on the Delmarva Peninsula and if they couldn’t deliver there was going to be damages and lawsuits.
At this point Robert could have cared less if NS got sued, but when the trainmaster offered double time pay he couldn’t refuse. In reality Robert felt like he had hit the jackpot. He was getting double pay to run lite engines (which even a baby could handle), down the Port Road Line, one of his most favourite routes. The Port Road ran along the banks of the Susquehanna River from Columbia, PA to Perryville, MD where it ran into Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor. It was a picturesque route that ran between sheer cliffs on one side and a 4000-foot wide lake on the other.* It was an engineering marvel built by the Pennsylvania Railroad with slide fences, rock bore tunnels and shoo flies that carried flood prone creeks over the tracks. The line was so remote that access to most places was only possible by boat.
Robert whistled for a grade crossing as he sped through Columbia, PA and onto the Port Road, each of his two 3000hp SD40-2’s barely working up a sweat. He saw a railfan standing near the old COLA tower getting ready to take a picture. Robert waved and gave a toot on the horn. He liked the train buffs as they were the only ones who would share in is NS bashing. Whenever he was stopped do to NS mishandling he would talk to them and give cab tours. NS had been trying to crack down on the buffs, which management saw merely as trespassing vandals. They wanted crews to report them to the NS police, but Robert saw it as a hobby like fishing or hiking and he gave them a free hand.
Because of Amtrak restrictions trains rarely used the Port Road during daylight hours, but this time the sky was blue, the sun was shining and Engineer Mack was enjoying some impressive scenery. It was late April and the landscape had turned from a muddy brown to a vibrant green. He had the whole line to himself and was getting clear signals all the way.
Robert smiled as the automatic defect detector came on over the radio. The reassuring Conrail voice had not yet been defiled by the NS maintenance gangs. At a lively 35mph clip he rolled past the Safe Harbor Dam, the little village of McCall’s Ferry and finally the end of the controlled siding at CP-Midway. After Midway there was about 7 miles of pure wilderness excluding the small village of Peach Bottom. It was Robert’s favourite part of the line as it contained the 3 tunnels and the best views over the river.
Robert put his feet up on the control stand started to relax, just soaking up the sunny day. Then just before he exited the Williams Tunnel the calm in the cab was shattered by the piercing sound of an air whistle. Robert’s cab signal had gone from Clear, all the down to Restricting. He threw the train into emergency, acknowledged the whistle and got to his feet. The line was prone to rockslides and washouts and Robert wanted to be ready to jump if necessary. What greeted Robert next was not a large rock or a broken rail, but rather pair of big red eyes and they weren’t on a colourized position light signal.
There, sitting astride the tracks was a large red and gold dragon, its metallic scales shunting the track circuit. For a minute he thought he might collide with the dreadful beast, but lite engines don’t have much mass and they came to a rest with some 15 feet to spare.
Robert franticly grabbed for the radio mike. He pressed the dispatcher call button and started to yell. “This is NS train 962A calling the Port Road Dispatch over!”
“NS Port Road,” replied the dispatcher calmly, “Go ahead 962A.”
“YOU’VE GOT TO HELP ME! THERE’S A FUCKING DRAGON ON THE TRACKS!”
“Could you say that again, I didn’t quite ::scccht::”
“THERE’S A REAL LIVE DRAGON ON THE TRACKS! I’m not kidding this is real! Oh please, you gotta send help right now!”
“::buzz:: ant ::ssscht:: you ::crackle:: ing up ::scchhhhhh::”
Then Robert heard a booming voice that shook the windows and rattled the doors. “Alright human, enough playing with the radio. Nobody can hear you and nobody is coming to help. No be a good little mammal and come out here where I can talk to you.”
Robert cursed the fact that employees were not permitted to carry firearms. Unable to form words Robert shook his head “no” and balled up on the floor of the cam hoping this would all go away.
“Listen human, if you won’t come out on your own, I’ll rip that little tin box apart and remove you forcibly. I’m giving you 30 seconds to get out here.”
Gathering all the courage he had Robert grabbed a crowbar, opened the door and climbed down onto the ground. I looked around for a place to run and hide, but his only options were a cliff on one side and a large body of water on the other. Not knowing what else to do he pointed the crow bar in the general direction of the dragon and trembled.
“Are you the human know as,” the dragon looked at inside of his arm, “Engineer Robert Mack?”
Robert still couldn’t form words and just stood there.
“ANSWER ME HUMAN!” The dragon roared.
Robert nodded.
“Good, for a minute I thought I had the wrong person. Now hold still, this will only take a minute.” The dragon began to draw a complex pattern in the air with a talon. As the talon moved it left a glowing line hovering in midair. Soon the dragon stopped, inspected his work and upon being satisfied with it said a few unpronounceable words.
The pattern exploded in a flash of light. Robert was confused. He had expected an attack, but now the dragon was just sitting there grinning. Suddenly Robert began to feel very strange. There was an odd tingling throughout his body like he had come in contact with a large electric current. Suddenly the tingle turned into an itch, which spread over every square inch of his body.
Then something felt wrong with his hands. He looked down and saw his fingers getting shorter and his hands puffing out to look like small clubs. Unable to grasp, the crowbar fell clattering on the ballast. Robert couldn’t believe his eyes. What had been his hands were now getting harder and turning into...hooves! Robert heard 2 pops as his feet underwent the same change and caused his work boots to explode. The changes didn’t stop at his extremities; black fur covered everything that had once been pink skin.
“What are you doing to me?” Robert yelled.
He heard a loud crack as his backbone and pelvis reshaped themselves, forcing him over onto all fours. He felt his mid section expand like a balloon. His belt popped and his pants ripped open. His prized “Donkey of Transportation” T-shirt was reduced the shreds. He felt his neck growing longer and his full head of hair shift back into a mane.
“Oh God no! Please domp mhu mus maa.”
Human words no longer fit in Robert’s mouth. His depth perception faded as his eyes moved to the size of his head and his nose and mouth moved out into a horse’s muzzle.
Now, in front of the dragon where Robert had been, stood a beautiful black Thoroughbred stallion. Robert felt his concerns with things like signal rules, hours of service and hazardous materials drain away. His new priorities were to eat and move. He glanced down at the weeds along the right of way and felt that this was a good place to start. There was a large creature near by, but something kept telling him that it was not a threat and to ignore everything except eating and moving. He didn’t even hear the other train back in from the north.
There were footsteps. “Well Bob, it looks like you’ve had a busy day.”
Upon hearing its name the human mind came back. Bob looked up at a blur that seemed to resemble the regional director. He knew he should be angry at this blur, but he wasn’t exactly sure why.
“Well I’m sorry he had to do this Bob, but you were causing too much of a dip in employee morale. We couldn’t fire you so the board decided that the best course of action would be to move your into a position where you would increase morale instead of,” the official picked up the remnants of his T-Shirt, “sapping it.”
There was a large bang behind as the ramp on the last car of the train hit the ground.
“Anyway from now on you’re going to be the star of our special Employee Morale train. We felt the former star had learned his lesson and that brought up the need for a replacement. You name jumped to the top of the list.”
A rope was slid around Robert’s neck and he was led up the ramp into the specially outfitted rail car. It was the size of your typical 50’ boxcar, but the superstructure consisted of thick Plexiglas panels bolted to a skeletal frame. The outside was adorned with NS horse logos. The inside was designed for the real thing.
The director turned to the dragon, who was by the lake trying to spear fish with his claws. “Well I must congratulate you on another job well done. I know that your working on salary, but I felt you deserve a little bonus for these special assignments.”
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have. After all your company has done for me I feel I am in your debt. If you hadn’t found me while digging that tunnel I might have been locked away in that horrid West Virginian mountain until the end of days.”
“What did you do to those Native Americans to make them put that spell on you anyway?”
“NOTHING,” exclaimed the dragon, “I was just on vacation. You know how turbulent Europe got in the 1400’s. I came over here, you know basking in the natural beauty, eating some exotic creatures, catching some rays on the beach, but everywhere I go the natives treated me like Eurotrash. Ok, I might have lost my temper just a little (I mean my gold is just as good as anybody else’s) and Ok, I might have torched a FEW villages here and there, but the next thing I know I was trapped alive in a stone tomb.”
“Yeah, those Indians are nuts. I’d stay away from casinos if I were you. Anyway, we hardly call rescuing an individual and respecting his property (i.e. “incredibly large hoard”) something special. You are not our debtor, but our valued employee and we treat our employees well.” And he handed the dragon a small sack.
This remark brought an indignant whinny from the special horse car where Robert was now angrily stamping around and snorting.
“Oh do be quiet Robert. You don’t have a family, we’ll cover for your friends and we’ll maintain your property. The sooner you relax, the better you behave and the more you work with us the sooner this will all be over. Once we feel you have learned your lesson you’ll get you old body and old job back. Besides, you’re getting paid 24/7 as our new morale officer. Can you imagine how much overtime that will add up to?”
The stallion stopped stamping for a moment to ponder the last statement.
“It should be a pretty tidy amount even after we subtract room, board, vet bills and transportation.”
The horse started stamping and snorting again.
“So long Bob! Yelled the director as he walked up and boarded the office car. “Have fun in “training” down on the farm.”
The lite engines Bob had been driving were hooked on the front of the Morale train, itself having been push to the scene by another locomotive.
Meanwhile the dragon set his bonus down and began to concentrate. His powerful wings began to wither and finally flopped down completely limp as the bones dissolved. The skin and membranes slowly sucked into his back as he rapidly got smaller. His once hard scales turned to soft putty and flowed together to form soft, weak flesh. The long tail telescoped into his rear, as did the long neck into his torso. There was some muffled cracking as his muzzle and jar reformed into a human mouth and his razor sharp fangs melted into human teeth. His talons flattened into pathetic human nails and finally his horns lost their rigidity and were absorbed into his skull like snakes. The other railroad personnel didn’t pay him and mind. It was all in a days work for the Special Operations Division.
All that was left of the dragon was a tall, muscular, well-built human male. The dragon didn’t like to take on human form, but he found t necessary in found it necessary in today’s climate of declining values. He retrieved the clothes he had left earlier behind a bush and quickly put them on. The dragon then picked up his bonus and peeked inside. The dragon couldn’t help but let out a little yip as he gazed upon the cash, gold chains and a few loose diamonds and pearls. Carefully cradling his prize he uncovered his boat from its hiding place and took off down river to where his ride would be waiting. They needed him for a salvage operation in Lynchburg, VA. A dragon’s work is never done.
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A lone railfan sat in his lawn chair on the Perryville MARC platform watching the afternoon parade of trains on the Northeast Corridor. He was puzzled as to the fate of train 962A, the lite engine move he had shot at COLA. He had raced down here in his car to catch it as it entered the NEC, but it had been over two hours and nothing had shown up. Earlier he had recorded some frantic call about a Dragon on the tracks. People are always joking around on the radio and he was pissed that the signal had faded before he could get the punch line. However, with 962A having apparently disappeared the railfan began to rethink his earlier assessment of the transmission. Anyway, joke or not, it would be solid gold when he posted the audio clip on his website.
Just then his scanner began receiving another transmission. “This is NS 046A calling Amtrak CETC 3, over”
“Amtrak CETC 3, go ahead.”
“Yeah, I'm coming up to your railroad and I was hoping to head north to DAVIS. Do you think you can take me now? I can give you a good move.”
“I can fit you in right now if you hurry.”
“We’ll be there in about 2 minutes.”
“Ok, sounds good. You have the railroad and I’m going to send you north on 2. Amtrak CETC 3 out.”
“Great, NS 046A out.”
“Train 046A? That was the symbol for the Employee Morale train. That finished up its tour about a month ago and no new tours had been scheduled,” Though the young man.
This was all very weird, but the railfan thanked god for his good fortune and grabbed his camera. As the Morale train rounded the north leg of the wye he saw it was powered by the two SD-40’s he had seen on the engine move. Now it all made sense. The lite engines were probably part of a rescue train when the previous Morale train engine had died. He took several photos of the engines, the office car on the rear and the special horse car complete with the famous NS black stallion.
“Wow, the message board is never going to believe this. I can’t wait to get this film developed. Nice sunny day too. These photos should turn out great,” he said to himself.
The railfan would have stayed longer, maybe explored PERRY tower a bit, had he not gotten the feeling that someone was watching him. The station building was now a restaurant serving fast food to commuters and in the parking lot was a white NS company sedan. It was the same sedan that had pulled up and yelled at him for taking pictures at COLA. He was on Amtrak property now, but he knew that fact would stop them from being ass holes. It was probably best to call it a day. He packed up his stuff and walked back to his car. As the railfan passed by the NS sedan he mumbled under his breath.
“Stupid NS, ruining everything for everybody.”
Despite its extremely low tone, the tall man on the passenger’s side clearly heard this remark. The dragon put down the soft taco he had been munching, took a sip of his soda and opened the door intent on following the loudmouth human and teaching him a lesson. A hand from inside the car grabbed him and held him back.
“No! Employees only.”
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Three months later the first quarter morale reports came out. The Harrisburg division had improved by 15 points. The new programme was working.
The Susquehanna River has numerous hydroelectric dams on it. Therefore for most of its length the river is also a lake. However, because the river runs between two sets of rather high cliffs the lake is a lake in depth only.
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The End 
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