Departing from Providence brought us further south. it was in the Saybrook region, at the mouth of the Connecticut River, that we ran into more trouble. The weather took a turn for the worse. A nasty squall blew up from the southwest, forcing our train to slow down to a crawl. The Prydwen traveled northwest, further inland, to avoid the squall - which could potentially cause her to crash. Unfortunately, that maneuver put us out of radio contact, leaving us on our own.
After sunset, in the middle of the squall, a radio message came through my walkie-talkie. "3162 calling Conductor, we have a situation with the engine."
I was in the kitchen car eating a plate of salisbury steak when I received that call. I swallowed what was in my mouth, then replied with, "What's the matter, Scribe?"
"The tender is low on water, sir. We need to refill now or we can't proceed."
I remembered that we were nearing the Connecticut River's eastern bank. If we reached the river, then we could run a hose down from the tender and pump water in. "Roger that. Bring her to a stop when you see the bridge ahead. I'll come up and join you once we've stopped."
"Yes sir. 3162 out."
We stopped about twenty minutes later. By then, I had made my way through the train up to the lead car, stopping to grab Righteous Authority from my footlocker. I stepped off the train and out into the pouring rain. My boots crunched in the soaked gravel around the tracks. The wind, just shy of gale force, blew at my front, stinging my eyes with rain. I turned on my pip-boy light to illuminate the way ahead. With some effort, I made it up to 3162's cab. Scribes Cordas and Jenson were there waiting for me. "What's the situation, gents?" I asked. "Are we in danger of a boiler explosion?"
"Affirmative, sir." It was Scribe Jenson, the fireman, who spoke. "Water level in the tender is below fifteen percent. The same holds true for the boiler."
"We followed your orders, sir," Scribe Cordas added. "The Connecticut is about ten yards ahead of us. We can uncouple from the train to refill, or bring the whole train onto the bridge."
Putting the whole train on the bridge was absolutely out of the question. Doing so would put it in a highly exposed position, in bad weather, and in poor visibility. There was no telling what kinds of threats might be using the darkness and foul weather as a shroud. "We'll uncouple. Safer that way. Let's go now."
"Yes sir," The Scribes said together.
I climbed down from the cab and back onto the gravel ballast, walking back towards the tender. With a lift of the cutting lever, and a signal from me to move ahead, 3162 parted company with her train and rolled onto the bridge. The water, just fifteen feet below, was black as the sky overhead. I climbed up the tender and prepared to lower the hose when the bridge suddenly shook violently, nearly knocking me off the tender.
"What the hell was that?!" I hear Scribe Cordas exclaim. I was ready to ask the same question, which was answered by a familiar - and terrifying - roar. I had last heard that roar when doing the Captain's Dance outside Far Harbor, and before that, when reclaiming the Castle for the Minutemen. To this day it still gives me nightmares.
"Mirelurk queen!" I screamed, unslinging Righteous Authority. Toward the locomotive, I yelled "Get us off the bridge NOW! All hands to battle stations." I exclaimed those last words into my walkie-talkie. The situation was absolutely frightening. There I was in an extremely open position, atop a centuries-old bridge, being attacked by one of the most dangerous creatures in the Wasteland. Nonetheless I leveled Righteous at the queen and let off a few shots. After what felt like minutes, the locomotive jerked into motion, rolling back towards the eastern bank. We moved just as the mirelurk queen began spraying acid at the bridge. It was only sheer luck that none of her acid hit the locomotive. I continued firing as we rolled off the bridge. I must have gone through three fusion cells from all that shooting - I never did stop and check my ammunition.
We managed to get 3162 safely off the bridge and couple her back up to the train. In my absence, Paladin Theron had taken command, and saw to it that everyone was at their stations. I joined her in the CIC, soaked to the bone and out of ammunition.
"Here's the situation, Theron. A mirelurk queen is near the bridge up ahead. We need to get the train across before she makes it unusable. When we cross I want as much fire poured onto her as possible."
"You've got it, sir!" Theron said with a salute. She then began barking orders over the PA.
I picked up my walkie-talkie. "Conductor to 3162. Get us across that bridge as quickly as you can!" A blast from the whistle signaled their acknowledgement. The train lurched forward, gathering speed with each turn of the wheels. I took up position at a gunport on the train's north side, seeking our target. We rolled onto the bridge. A flash of lightning revealed the mirelurk queen's position just ten feet from the bridge. The entire train opened fire on her, bullets and laser beams tearing through her flesh and ricocheting off her armored carapace. The queen swayed and roared, yet stayed on her legs. She sprayed acid onto the bridge's side, which mercifully continued to hold, despite groaning and sagging under the train's weight. I didn't see it myself, but later learned that one of the sharpshooters in the caboose targeted the mirelurk queen with a missile launcher, hitting her square in the face. After that, the queen finally went down. I also later discovered that a mirelurk king - perhaps coming to his queen's defense - had charged across the bridge, only to end up under 3162's wheels.
The train began squealing to a stop once we cleared the bridge. I found that puzzling, because I hadn't ordered a stop. "What's going on, 3162?" I radioed.
Scribe Cordas responded. "Red light on the side of the tracks, sir."
Cordas was correct in obeying a red light. Scribe Haylen had trained all of the engine crews in lineside signals, in case any were still active. An indication to stop from before the war might mean trouble ahead. We did not expect to find any actually working, however.
When the train stopped, MacCready, Dogmeat and I went on the ground to find out what was making the red light. The rain had slacked off by then. Instead of a functioning trackside signal, the red light was coming from a lantern, held by a wastelander. He was middle-aged, with weathered skin, and wore a heavy rain jacket like a sailor. A hunting rifle was slung over his shoulder.
"You there," I barked as he approached, "identify yourself."
The man halted and put his lantern on the ground. "My name is John," he said calmly. "I lead the Saybrook colony. And you may have just saved all of our lives."