At first, it was a normal morning for the freight train in England. The cars were being hitched and were readying themselves for yet another round of carrying gravel, arrogate, and all other manner of stone. They talked and joked with each other, eager to begin moving. This was when they were happiest - when they were doing what they were made for.

Yes, everything was normal. Except for one thing.

A high-pitched whistle caught their attention, and they turned to see a red caboose rolling up to the train yard. He stopped a few feet away from the track and waved to them.

The freight cars glanced at each other before one with dark brown hair and brown eyes unhitched and made his way over to the newcomer. The blond caboose gave him a friendly smile. "Hi there."

"Hello. Listen, I don't want to sound impolite, but why are you here? The stationmistress doesn't allow newcomers to be near her trains unless she knows them. Do you have a clearance pass?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I know the stationmistress, and I'm one of Control's rolling stock."

"Control? You mean The Control who also owns the diesel champion?"

"That's him. Anyway, I thought I'd take a holiday by coming here."

"I thought so. You're from America, aren't you?"

"Right, first time."

"So why are you here? Have you come to watch?"

"Actually, I'd like to help. I asked the stationmistress, and she said it's alright as long as you all are okay with it. And it would be fun to work with new freights."

The English car's face was doubtful. "It would look unusual… But I'll ask the others and see what they think." He turned and rolled away to speak with his brethren.

C.B. was finding it hard to keep the eagerness from his blue eyes. It had been easy to disguise himself: fresh paint over his old station logos along with a little white and red face paint had done the trick. Now the first part of his game hinged upon one decision, and he knew all too well how much help a freight train usually needed. It would all fall into line.

The car came back from the discussion and nodded at him. "We're fine with it. You can join us. Just hitch behind me at the back, and we'll be set."

C.B. gave a salute. "Affirmative."

The car chuckled. "You're a strange one, but no matter. Come on, let's get positioned." C.B. obediently grabbed his couplers, and they rolled over to the freight line where his guide connected himself to the others. Once that was done, there was a moment of silence before the British car remarked, "You never told me your name."

"Just call me Caboose. A lot of trains do. What's your name?"

"Cole, C-O-L-E."

"I've never seen a train like you before."

"You don't have mineral cars in America?"

"Nope. What do you carry?"

"Mine products, to put it simply. It gets me dirty, but it's worth it."

Their conversation was ended by a female voice emmiting from a speaker, young but still authoritive. Like Control, C.B. thought. It wouldn't surprise me if they were related.

"This is the stationmistress! You all ready? Good. Go!"

"Yes, ma'am!" the train line replied. They all turned back to face forward and began moving, chanting as they did. The slow chugging of their wheels provided the beat. C.B. was a little surprised to hear them saying the same mantra of the freight cars at Control's yard: "Freight...is great!" I guess it's more popular than I thought.

As the cars picked up speed, C.B. glanced down at Cole's rear wheels. There were the brakes, just waiting. Better to wait, though, and see what type they were before he tried anything.

His chance came around noon, when the line stopped to take a brief rest. Everyone unhitched and went to refresh themselves with water and oil. Cole wiped his brow as he sat beside C.B. "Whew! It's like having a steamer's firebox in your face out here. Well, Caboose, how are you holding up?"

"I'm doing fine."

"You're much lighter than I thought. It gives me a nice break."

"You're welcome. Oh, by the way, I noticed your brakes at one point. They look a little unusual."

"You're right. That's the bad thing about being a mineral car. I can't use them myself."

So someone has to turn them on for you, C.B. thought. Interesting. That'll be useful. He kept his face passive as his mind raced, only half-listening. Cole didn't mind his silent audience, though, as he talked enough for the both of them.

Nothing came to him during the break, however, and so he hitched up with the freight line again, chanting and chatting with Cole and the others as if he really was the helpful caboose everyone believed him to be. Meanwhile he kept his ears open to the orders and conversations of the human employees, who seemingly didn't know the trains could hear them. They didn't react to anything the rolling stock said either. Cole said it was stupidity, but C.B. suspected that maybe the workers were just different from Control and the stationmistress.

It was soon the last part of the freight line's round, and C.B. was having a hard time keeping his annoyance and restlessness under control. The itch was becoming unbearable. He was glad Cole had not spoken to him yet. Any reply would reveal his straining patience and probably blow his cover. After another fifteen minutes he became desperate, and he leaned his head out to see if there was anything ahead that he could use. And it was then that a warning shout came from one of the employees.

"Watch out, fellas! Hairpin on the horizon!"

C.B. knew all too well what the human meant, and his eyes danced with glee. Without wasting time to see how close they were, the short red car eased back into a relaxed position as he hung loosely onto Cole's couplers, shifting his weight to let gravity pull on him more forcefully.

Cole looked back over his shoulder to see why C.B. was suddenly heavy, and his eyes narrowed. "What do you think you're doing, Caboose? We're almost at the station. We just have a tricky spot ahead, and if you don't stop that, you'll derail!"

C.B. merely winked at him. "I won't."

"This isn't funny, Caboose-"

Another shout from a human interrupted him. "Hairpin dead ahead! Slow down!"

C.B. finally let his facade drop, chuckling at Cole's widening eyes as the red car saluted him with a free hand. "Good luck," he whispered.

And then he let go.

Cole's head whipped around to stare in horror at the rapidly approaching sharp curve in the track. Unable to break, he shot forward and rammed violently into the car ahead of him, which in turn hit the car before it. Some cars in the front and middle tried to unhitch as they realized the impending disaster, but their added speed and the situation of being trapped between cars made this effort almost impossible. It was useless to try anyway. The momentum carried them straight off the curve and into a derailment. For Cole, it was all a blur. He felt himself come off the track, heard the shouts and screams of both human and train, and slammed onto the ground with enough force to knock him out.

When he finally came to, it was slow. He cracked his eyes open, then instantly shut them again at the light. Sound came pouring into his ears, all mixed and indistinguishable for a few minutes. He was aware of a numbness that was oddly comforting, and a haziness in his mind that blocked a sense that something had gone horribly wrong. Something was prodding him, and he wished it would stop.

"Say something, would you?" a female voice asked.

Leave me alone...

"Cole!"

Hearing his name suddenly brought back his awareness, and he snapped out of his trance. He hissed through gritted teeth as pain flooded through his frame, coming to a climax in his head. Through blurry eyes he made out a medical car with short red hair kneeling over him, looking relieved that he'd come to. "Cole?" she repeated.

It took a minute before a memory reminded him that she was a friend of his. "Maddie? What...what happened?" He winced at the pain in his jaw. Even talking hurt.

"Sshh, lie still. You were in a derailment, but you can get fixed. I know how you feel, but do you think you can tell me how it happened?"

He stared blankly back at her for a few moments. And then he remembered.

"A caboose..." he whispered.

"What did you say?" she asked, leaning in.

"A red caboose... He made us speed up..."

"Do you know his name?"

Cole was about to answer, and then realized that he had only ever called the traitor what the red car had said to call him - only the type of rolling stock that he was. That wasn't helpful enough. He wearily closed his eyes. "No. I don't know his name. He was American, one of The Control's trains..."

"Then we'll let him know about it. No use asking the humans, they don't know we're alive. Don't worry about it, Cole. Wherever this caboose is, he can't get very far."

"I hope you're right, Maddie. But I doubt it..."