FOREIGN EXCHANGE
Chapter Four - Berlin
The Soviets had been fortifying the physical barriers between West and East Germany for years by the time Lammergeier undertook his tour, and one of the few places left where land traffic was allowed to pass through the border was at Helmstedt. The little town marked the start of the shortest land corridor between West Germany and Berlin and was heavily used by the Allied countries who were still occupying and supporting the western portions of the city. Lammergeier and his party would not be restricted to the carefully monitored and official rail lines, however. He'd been granted permission to use any tracks managed by the Deutsche Reichsbahn, the overseeing body governing all of East Germany's State-owned railways.
The visitors did spend a short time waiting in a queue of trains before reaching a set of seldom used points which one of the German crewmen in Lammergeier's cab activated for them; he then watched carefully until the locomotive and its coach was through before resetting them and swinging back aboard. They next stopped at a platform where a car was already waiting. There, the German crewman jumped out again along with his buddy and they both left, although not before retrieving their luggage from Lammergeier's carriage. The media people and all but two of the Western railway reps collected their baggage and equipment and left too. They didn't have permission to cross the border and their part in supporting the tour was now over. Christophe and Surendra moved their engine on as soon as they could. There was no need for any additional guidance. The line they were on led only one way and they could already see what was waiting for them on ahead.
They quickly came up against a great chain link gate which barred their way and forced them to halt. Several spikey contraptions of the sort designed to deter tanks sat on the tracks beyond as well, but not for long. A sizable group of men, all in uniform, most of them carrying rifles, were already manning the gate and some of them went back to move the tank barriers as soon as Lammergeier came up. They then unlocked and pulled back the leaves of the huge gate just long enough to allow the locomotive to pull his short train through before securing everything behind him again. Two of the rifle-toting men hopped onto the coach's exterior steps and hung on to act as impromptu escorts as the engine continued chuffing very slowly forward. They didn't get off until they'd reached and entered a big barn-like building straddling the track, where Lammergeier was ordered to stop.
The building was already full of even more uniformed men and this time some of them held even heftier weapons and two of them were managing dogs. The dog handlers got straight to work as soon as Lammergeier had fully halted, directing the animals to sniff all along the loco's undercarriage and back along the sides of the coach. Other men walked the same route and used mirrors on the ends of long curved handles to examine the underside of the parked 48. It was something Adler would have been familiar with for he'd undergone the same inspections years ago when he too had crossed the border, although in his case, he'd gone from East to West through a different checkpoint further north. They hadn't found anything of note on Adler back then, and his brother didn't raise any suspicions either. He was just a big red steam locomotive pulling a simple passenger coach, who was following directions so far just as he should.
Then it was the turn of the people inside Lammergeier. They all disembarked, Surendra and Christophe as well, carried all their luggage and satchels over to a line of long tables pushed together and dug out their paperwork. Mister Moderhack had already warned the Sudrians that something like a customs inspection would occur when they went through the checkpoint, but he hadn't mentioned that all the inspectors would be wearing army- or police-looking uniforms and sporting an impressive variety of hand weaponry!
The atmosphere was grim at first. Denise found herself at the very end of the row of long tables when she popped open her suitcase so its contents could be inspected. The man who poked through her belongings seemed very young, just a skinny blond teen who kept his head down while he worked and who never once looked at her. When he turned over one of her sweaters and exposed her stash of spare undergarments, he blushed.
There was an older, more composed man just standing by the end of the table too and Denise guessed that he was a supervisor of sorts and wound up giving him the contents of her working satchel for review. She'd already taken the precaution of packaging up all the media clippings and articles she'd been collecting about their tour and leaving them with the front desk of the hotel they'd stayed at overnight to mail back to Sodor for her. The East Germans would have just confiscated her collection as capitalist propaganda, she knew, but there was one item left in her satchel which she'd hoped would be allowed through, just a big photo binder full of pictures (and they were all copies, just in case) of Lammergeier going about his jobs back on the Island and relaxing back in his shed. All the German members in their tour party had really enjoyed looking through the photos and getting a sense of what their former elite engine's life—the lives of two of their elites, actually, since Adler was also pictured—were like now.
The inspector who was probably a supervisor and who was paging through Denise's binder looked much less enthused. He scanned every photo carefully for several seconds and his face remained expressionless throughout. When he was done, he paged back to a two-photo spread showing all the engines of the Knapford roundhouse chilling in their berths. Pierre had been the one who'd taken the photos, on a clear lovely evening, and all the locomotives had been caught in the midst of looking out at him and smiling. Denise wondered if the inspector was annoyed because it demonstrated the quality of the housing used for engines in a non-communist country.
The man glanced up at her for the first time. "This is where your loco is stabled?"
"Yessir. That's him right there in the furthest berth on the left. The similar one right next to him is our other 48, Adler."
He tapped a forefinger on the other half of the spread.
"And these are the Canadian engines?"
"Yes, they are."
The man paused, studying them all over again. "What are their names?" he asked.
Denise felt a gust of relief sweep through her. "The tall, streamlined one, that's Justin. He's a U4 who's always worked as a passenger engine," she answered happily. "The one next to him is Francois, a Royal Hudson. Also mostly a passenger engine, but he's pulled freight in the past too. Guy's the last one. A freight specialist, as I'm sure you can tell. We call types like him Northern engines."
"They're very large."
"Yes, sir, they are. But we need big engines back in Canada. It's a big country."
"Like Russia," the man remarked, then closed the binder and handed it back to Denise and smiled. "Enjoy your tour."
Denise was quick to return his smile and voice her thanks and then, impulsively, put out her hand. They shook hands gravely, both of them still smiling, after which the man walked back behind the tables to get back to his supervisory duties. Denise stood there and watched him, hugging her photo binder to her chest. You just never knew where you'd find a rail fan, she was thinking to herself.
The inspections took some time, but even once completed, the members of Lammergeier's human party were not allowed to approach their loco and were instead herded together to wait off to one side in a group. The 48 too was being examined with meticulous care, especially his coach, and there were still people inside him. Then a new piece of rolling stock suddenly arrived, being pushed forward into the building by a little shunter. Mister Moderhack had told everyone to expect this development as well, that the East Germans would be attaching their own special carriage behind the DB one whenever they were travelling within East Germany. But again, he'd neglected to mention a few select surprises. The new coach was made up just like the other one insofar as its livery was concerned and again matched perfectly, true enough. What didn't match this time was that the coach's sides were slatted and armoured, that its windows were narrowed gun slits, and that its roof sported a partially recessed well at each end, both of them already occupied by sentries brandishing submachine guns. It looked far more like a heavily fortified military freight car than anything designed to carry passengers.
"Is the army escorting us?" Christophe exclaimed, voicing what several other onlookers in his group were thinking. The senior West German railway rep, overhearing, laughed.
"No. Zhose are police…Volkspolizei. Ve call zhem VoPos. Zhey are just comink along for security and vill help at ze stations."
"Oh my…" Sir Topham remarked. He felt like asking how many more policemen were already inside the new coach and what other sorts of weapons and other things they might have at their disposal, but suspected that the answer would simply be 'don't ask'. Well, as long as they left his employees in peace… From his perspective, the tour had been very enjoyable so far and his hosts nothing but cordial, and he supposed that even people wearing uniforms and body armour and carrying guns could be cordial once you got past their rather oppressive exteriors.
Two cars suddenly zoomed up to the building entrance facing Lammergeier's front. A new party of people got out, noticeable because they were the first ones the Sudrians and others had seen clad in civilian attire since passing through the first border barrier. Mister Moderhack strode forward, smiling. He'd already dealt with several of the new men while organizing the tour and took it upon himself to begin the introductions. There were representatives from the Deutsche Reichsbahn, one from the Soviet Union who oversaw railway operations in a number of their Eastern Bloc countries, a new cab crew who'd be riding along with Christophe and Surendra, and several political officers who were euphemistically introduced as aides. Towards the end, one uniformed sort did wander over from the new coach and introduced himself as the senior police chief in charge of the VoPo contingent that was coming with them and that seemed to complete the necessary exchanges. Lammergeier's tour party had swelled back to over twice its starting size, but they still weren't allowed to board their locomotive. There were still too many people crawling around him and on him.
Some of the workers on the ground began loading all the luggage, the old and the new, back into the Deutsche Bundesbahn coach. That was one positive development and a sign that things were progressing, at least. The new people, the railway reps and the cab crew and the politicos, didn't seem very inclined to talk and the others in the group thought it might be impolite to converse without including them, and so nobody said much of anything as they waited. Even Lammergeier appeared a little subdued. There were men close to his face, messing with one of his big flags, but he seemed not to care at all, just kept looking straight ahead, his aspect pensive and a little distant.
Mister Moderhack had moved off a little to stand by himself as they all watched the East German workers in lieu of interacting with each other. Denise eyed him. The old Controller always stood tall and erect, surprisingly so given his advanced age, yet his posture seemed stiffer than usual to her. And there was a tight look about his mouth and the hand he'd clasped over the handle of his cane.
She sidled over to him. The men on top of Lammergeier's foremost running board had just finished replacing one of his big flags with another that seemed virtually identical, aside from some odd markings that were hard for her to make out given the fabric's current drooping state. The sight of it seemed to annoy the old Controller.
"So, uh, what's with the flag change?" she asked quietly.
"It's their new proposed national flag," Mister Moderhack replied, still looking grim and keeping his voice down. "It's not official, not yet, and they're not supposed to fly it within Western sectors. But I can't stop them flying it here."
"Oh."
"They're using it on their coach, too," he added.
Denise studied the four flags adorning the corners of the top of the new carriage. Although much smaller than the big flags on the locomotive, she could see that the black, red and gold backgrounds were likewise marked with something extra.
"What is that?" she said. "I see a…hammer? Some math instrument?"
"A hammer, compass, and grain garland. It's a coat of arms. Supposed to represent workers, farmers, and the intelligentsia."
"Ah."
Well, now she knew. And decided on the spot not to ask after the subject any further.
Lammergeier, meanwhile, continued to ignore what the humans around him were doing, nor would he have cared any about the ideological message his flag change was meant to convey even if he had been paying attention. He'd been looking eastward the whole time and feeling the tug of his old works and home stables as never before. And Berlin was so close now! If he ran at full speed, he could reach it within two hours. But such would not be allowed, he knew.
The people seeing to the attachment of the new carriage and other security concerns were finally satisfied and the passengers who'd been waiting to board Lammergeier's newly augmented train were cleared to do so at last. The VoPo chief who'd come over to introduce himself went back to the armoured DR coach. The new driver and fireman followed Lammergeier's crew and got into his cab, and all the new East German civilians joined their peers in the DB coach; their own car was evidently reserved for the armed muscle they were bringing along. Lammergeier started forward, slowly, mindful that there were two men now sitting on top of one of his carriages. The new piece of rolling stock might have looked heavy and impressive, but the actual weight it added was negligible to a strong, overpowered engine such as Lammergeier. He steamed forward, his acceleration smooth and sure, until he'd achieved the rather slow speed desired and no more, just enough speed to make all his now numerous flags stream out and start to ripple without causing the sentries on the DR coach any undue stress.
Stress of a different sort soon arose within his other coach, however. Everyone from the East German party had seated themselves on one side of the comfy bench seat area and their West German counterparts and the foreign visitors had taken the spaces on the other side. The broad aisle between them seemed to function like an invisible divisive wall all on its own. Nobody said a word to each other while the loco they were riding behind finished his comfortable run-up and began cruising along, his chuffing louder and slower than usual and quite hypnotic to listen to given the otherwise pervasive silence.
Denise, stashed on one of the bench seats between Mister Moderhack and Sir Topham Hatt, began to feel a little sorry for both men as the minutes continued to tick by. The old German Controller in particular…it had to be awkward, she thought, to be sitting across from representatives from the very forces who occupied portions of his country. And Sir Topham Hatt and even herself in a sense, they'd been allies of said forces as well, still were…sort of. That last ought to count for something, the woman pondered on, because she for one wasn't about to sit there and put up with things as they were for much longer.
When they began steaming through an obvious agricultural area, with fields of golden grain and other crops stretching off on either side of the tracks. Denise finally got her chance to break the ice.
"Oh!" she exclaimed before going on to address the East German contingent in German. "Is that one of your collective farms out there? What we're passing through just now?"
The man who'd been introduced as one of the political aides assisting the East German railway reps, stirred and dug up a reply.
"Yes. It is."
"I thought so, just from the size of the acreage. Your new State farms, they've really boosted the productivity of the land over what any private farms used to manage, haven't they? You'll have to forgive my curiosity, but I come from a rural background myself. It's still a big interest of mine."
The politico who'd spoken perked up. "Yes," he affirmed again. "Some of our yields have improved quite remarkably."
"What crops are you getting the best results with using your collective reforms?"
"Grain," the man said. He seemed surprised by his own ready reply. "Grain and orchard crops."
"Is that from implementing some of the policies used in the Ukraine? I've read that Ukraine is considered the breadbasket of the Soviet Union now."
The politico actually smiled after hearing that one. He chatted on with the woman about various agricultural concerns in a much friendlier fashion after that and the tension in the coach began to ease. Then Lammergeier offered up his own form of distraction; he began whistling and slowed even further to accommodate a large road crossing. A fair number of people, likely labourers from the nearby farmlands, were already lined up on either side of the crossing along with a variety of tractors, wagons and other agrarian conveyances, and all of them were waiting to watch the big red oncoming steam engine pass by. Denise broke off her conversation to open up the window directly behind her—"We have to wave!" she insisted. "They came just to see us."—after which everyone caught something of her enthusiasm and got into the spirit of things. By the time they reached the actual crossing, their engine was moving at a brisk jogging speed and there was plenty of time to hang arms and heads out and wave like mad and call out happy greetings to the likewise happy cheering onlookers. It was their first real encounter with the local populace in the Soviet controlled part of Germany and their first opportunity to do what their tour was meant to do, spread goodwill and remind everyone that good locomotives were universal.
The mood in the coach remained far more comfortable than it had been and all the men became more talkative after that, speaking English for the most part to accommodate Sir Topham Hatt. Denise, meanwhile, shifted fully over into tour mode and kept an eye out for more locals near the tracks to wave at. Occasionally, she'd translate a comment of note for Mister Moderhack, but mostly she was content to just listen instead of trying to instigate more chat herself. Anytime she did look at the old Controller, he gave her a big smile. She knew it was his way of letting her know that he approved of how she'd taken the lead earlier in trying to get everyone to adopt a more congenial attitude.
The cultivated fields and pastures continued to fall away behind them on both sides of the tracks and they chuffed through numerous additional crossings and little unmanned stations—the quintessential whistle stops—as the hours passed. Then came an area which seemed devoted to broad sprawling factories, with stacks that spewed great clouds of oily smoke. The stations they passed through became more elaborate, equipped with long sidings abutted by large dirt parking lots. Most had a scattering of fans onsite, waiting to see Lammergeier go by. His passengers, the ones who could, always waved back and called their helloes. Everyone onboard was having a working lunch by then and drinking thermos coffee or tea and noshing on sandwiches and cold breaded pork chops and hard boiled eggs. There were certainly worse ways one could spend a nice day, most of them were thinking, than to have a picnic aboard a beautiful private train rolling through fertile and productive countryside.
Eventually, they made a stop at a large manned station and everyone in the Deutsche Bundesbahn coach got out to stretch their legs and use the station amenities. A lot of fans were waiting for them this time, a surprising number of fans, and several of the East Germans who'd been riding aboard went over at once to quietly speak with them. It began to dawn on the Sudrian members of the tour that the fans, all adult men, must actually be a work party from some of the surrounding factories, bussed over perhaps as part of a scheduled recreational work stoppage. Whatever the true reason they were there didn't really matter in the end. Rail fans were rail fans and the men were obviously delighted to see Lammergeier up close enough to actually touch him and exchange a few words and even climb up to have a quick look inside his luxurious cab.
The stop at the manned station must've ticked off another item on their itinerary, for Lammergeier was allowed to pick up speed after that for the first time since crossing the border. He was scheduled to arrive in Magdeburg by the midafternoon, where he'd remain until the following morning and his last run into Berlin itself. Lammergeier was already not crazy about the notion of having to overnight in yet another small city, not when it was so very close now to his ultimate destination. He hid his frustration as best he could, but Christophe, who was driving, could feel it even so in the way he leaned on the throttle for a few minutes when he was first permitted to go faster.
Magdeburg was another city which had suffered much towards the end of the War and there was a lot left of the demolished sectors to restore to any sort of usable status. But the main railway station, where they stopped, was in fine form, and so was all the limited infrastructure that was being built back up around it. And the welcoming party waiting for them was in good spirits and just as happy to see them pull in as elsewhere; there just weren't as many people. No speeches or unnecessary decorations either. Just a small crowd of very polite, restrained fans who'd come to see the engine and a bunch of very efficient station workers who stepped up immediately to manage everything.
The Western members of Lammergeier's human entourage felt the weariness of their busy day come on quite early that afternoon and were happy to retreat to their assigned nearby hotel to claim their rooms by teatime. The hotel had a good restaurant besides offering the best digs in town. When Denise, who always bunked alone given that she was the only woman on the tour, went down later for supper, she found herself sharing a table with Mister Moderhack, who was also in the mood for some peace and a break away from the railway talk. Oddly, she found herself thinking of Adler as she and the man exchanged idle chitchat over an excellent meal of venison. Both of them, the old Controller and the locomotive he'd once directed back in Berlin, had a certain sort of Old Country charm about them which she enjoyed responding to.
When they both left the restaurant afterwards and took the elevator up to their floor, Mister Moderhack of course held back and let Denise precede him. They were the only two people using the car and he regarded his companion fondly during their short ride.
"I forgot to mention how much I appreciated how well you did earlier today getting our Eastern counterparts to relax and talk," he said to her. "I think you might have even made a new friend."
"Oh. That one." Denise laughed. "He probably thinks I'm just a dumb farm girl."
"Don't kid yourself. That man already knows everything you've done and everywhere you've been. They're all Communists, but that one's also Stasi…the intelligence bunch headquartered in the Soviet zone in Berlin."
"Is he really? He looks like a postal clerk."
"They're meant to blend in," Mister Moderhack said. "I'm sure you'll be fine, but still…something to keep in mind. Let me know if he ever starts asking you about things that seem a little off to you."
"I will," Denise promised, then laughed again. "In the meantime, maybe I'll keep him off balance by talking about the most popular breeds of chickens or something in our respective countries."
The old Controller chuckled in turn. "Don't have too much fun with that. He knows you can drive."
"I'll gush over my favourite engines' colours then. Something womany and inane and totally useless to him," Denise decided in jest.
The elevator stopped and the pair wished each other good night and made for their respective rooms, both of them still grinning. She was glad the old Controller was like her and able to find some humour in even the grimmest of situations. He'd probably gotten a lot of practice at it during the latter part of the War, she realized in retrospect, to have come away from his experiences without becoming embittered and hopeless.
Denise took a quick first pass through the newspapers she'd snagged down in the hotel lobby, then found herself just sitting and staring out of the room's single narrow window. It was still quite early, but there wasn't a peep of activity outside to be heard. She guessed that Magdeburg's night life wasn't exactly thriving. Then she heard the distant blat of a diesel horn; a freighter perhaps, slowing as it approached the nearby station. It reminded her of just how close the railway station was to her hotel, only a few blocks away, and she wondered how Lammergeier was making out. She hadn't had a real talk with him since they'd all been on the ship together, travelling over from Sodor, and although he was no doubt being guarded well so he could get some rest and sleep in peace, Denise didn't think that anyone would take the time or trouble to speak with him as though he were another person.
The thought that Lammergeier might be lonely and pining for some conversation and familiar faces got her back onto her feet and out the door before much longer. The engine was still a pain at times and his recent obvious attempts to get Denise to regard him more favourably had its annoying side, yet he'd also been behaving himself perfectly since arriving in Europe and that in itself deserved some reward. Luckily, it was still a nice evening and all she needed to add for her walk over to where Lammergeier was spending the night was a light jacket. As she expected, she didn't see a single other soul out and about. Yup, a seething social center of midnight madness for sure.
To her surprise, Denise found Lammergeier already entertaining his crew, Christophe and Surendra. The men had evidently shared her concerns for the engine and had decided to swing by the railway station to see how he was doing, just as she had.
"Ho ho! The gang's all here now," Christophe crowed as soon as he spotted her. "The gang that matters, at least. Glad to see you, old girl. Maybe you can help us out with what Lammergeier's been whining on about."
"Oh, he's whining, is he? What else is new?" She finished walking up to join her colleagues, who were loitering by Lammergeier's leading axels. Several VoPos were on the platform too, standing back by their armoured car, watching, no doubt members of the contingent who'd been riding aboard their train, but they weren't so close that they were likely to overhear anything. She suspected they wouldn't like it much if she got up on top of Lammergeier's running board; they had kind of an antsy look about them. Denise settled for looking up at the engine's face from platform level and sure enough, he began to smirk the instant their eyes met. "Okay, what's going on?"
Surendra added his own rather lopsided grin. "He doesn't like his overnight accommodations much. He says it's a silly dorf."
"A what?"
"Silly dorf?" he tried again. "That's a village, isn't it?"
Denise frowned at the loco. "You say it," she demanded of him, and he complied, his smirk more pronounced than ever.
"Zilledorf."
"Zille… Wait. Is that a Berlinisch phrase? Zilledorf? As in Heinrich Zille?"
"Maybe," Lammergeier said evasively.
"You should be ashamed of yourself!" Denise exploded. "You do know they took heavy damage here during the War, don't you? You should—"
"Whoa! Whoa!" Christophe broke in with a little laugh. "What's with the sudden hostility?"
"Zilledorf. It's so rude! And I don't care if he means the station here or the whole of the city, he shouldn't be saying it aloud where our hosts can hear him."
"I don't think anyone heard him but us," said Surendra, "and we were mainly trying to figure out what it meant. Something worse than what we thought, obviously."
"It's very insulting, like saying a place is nothing but a slum or a bunch of hovels packed with too many people."
"Why…zilly? What was that name you said?"
"Oh, the real Zille was this German who lived in Berlin years and years ago. He did a bunch of drawings and took early photographs of what life was like in the city back then, mostly the poor parts. He's kind of famous for it…poked fun at being impoverished, if you can call something like that funny."
"Oh yeah?" Christophe remarked, intrigued. He aimed a look up at his engine, who didn't appear the least bit sorry about throwing around a slang term which Denise had just maintained was terribly insulting. "So how come you know about this, Lammergeier? Did you learn it in Berlin before?"
"Of course I did," the engine said. He'd been thoroughly enjoying his conversation with his crew before Denise had barged in and tried to quash his fun and was still on a roll. "And it is you humans who taught me zis phrase and vhere it come from," he pointed out. "No vun else."
"That's pretty impressive. So was it all through listening to what people were saying around you or did someone actually—"
"Quit encouraging him! The last thing Lammergeier needs is to learn more ways to be sarcastic and nasty. He'll get himself into trouble, I just know it."
Denise had gotten so mad that her face was flushed. Neither Christophe nor his locomotive could take her anger seriously, but Surendra took a stab at trying to calm her down, even though he had a hard time keeping a straight face while he did so.
"He really didn't speak all that loudly," he said. "We were all just playing catch-up and comparing notes and the policemen went back to their car once they saw who we were. I'm sure they never heard anything bad, although I think they're wondering why you're so angry just now."
Denise started guiltily and glanced over at the VoPos. Sure enough, they were all staring at her. She plastered a feeble grin on her face and waggled the fingers of one hand at them, trying to convey that she'd just been kidding. Luckily, they must have bought it because they kept their distance.
The rest of the Sudrians' brief visit with Lammergeier went fine after that. There wasn't even any tidying up for any of them to do. Some station rail workers had come by earlier and checked over all his decorations, and cleaned and polished him and topped up all his lubricants, the engine told them. They'd done an excellent job of it too. Even if they did live in a Zilledorf, naughty Lammergeier couldn't help throwing in at the end, then had a good laugh with his crew while Denise glared daggers at him. He didn't even care when she walked off afterwards in a huff without even wishing him farewell. The engine knew she'd get over it.
And then, after one last long, anxious, fretful night during which Lammergeier had finally forced himself into torpor in order to get the rest he needed, it was early morning again and the humans were piling back into his coaches and into his cab. This was it for him! No more silly cities or towns and no more stations. It was a straight run eastward and his next stop would be in the very outskirts of Berlin itself, his crew had told him the evening before, and he'd be allowed to run fast; there just weren't that many people living along the line they were going to use and the guards on top of the Deutsche Reichsbahn car would just have to hold on tight. He was going to Berlin!
Anyone who saw the 48 race by during the next two hours was treated to a rare sight not seen within any version of Germany for a long, long time—one of the true locomotive elites of the pre-War era thundering down the rails again, flying all his flags, moving his passengers with style and speed. Occasionally, when steaming through the flatlands and fields dotted with grazing cattle, everyone aboard could look way up towards the north and just make out the other rail lines, the official ones which stretched between Helmstedt and another checkpoint controlling access into the city they serviced, where the trains were crawling along like fat patient ants, one behind the other. Cars were crawling along there too, and trucks and other heavy motor vehicles confined to the official roads married to the railway lines. But none of that was for Lammergeier on this day. The big red engine was running free and he had an arrival date with a station he'd once used in the middle of Berlin.
There was Potsdam, guardian of the river and the border between city and state. Lammergeier looped past it. He had to slow now; the first outlying districts had appeared. Once in Treptow, a borough in the Russian sector of Berlin, he was asked to briefly halt at a substation where his DR coach and its inhabitants was uncoupled, then he moved on, leaving it behind. No need for high security any longer. Berlin was still Berlin, from one end to the other.
Lammergeier's chuffing grew even slower. He was recognizing buildings now, or at least the ruins of buildings. The skyline all around him was broken, dented, had pieces missing, yet still he knew it and his smile widened. And there were people lining the tracks now, cheering him on, ecstatic to see him. Never had he ever hoped to see again what he was seeing now. His iron heart swelled. He was home, really home, and the main station with its adjacent big plaza was coming up right in front of him.
The welcome waiting for the engine and his party dwarfed everything they'd experienced since arriving several days ago. They stopped while still well out on the line closest to the plaza. It was the only way to accommodate the crowds of people who'd come to the station, thousands of them, and the roar they let out as he pulled up drowned out even his magnificent wailing whistle. Flags, banners, balloons…the platform and the plaza was jam-packed…so packed that the station workers had been forced to erect temporary barricades about the spot where Lammergeier halted, in order to make it safe enough for him to chuff in at all. A band began to play as his crew inside began the business of shutting down his fire and preparing him for several hours' stay. The hissing of his excess steam blowing off competed with the musical notes, muted the happy exclamations of all the Berliners who'd come to see him.
A large decorated podium with a smaller lectern on it had been set up close to the tracks and a number of city officials were already seated there, looking happy as clams, waiting for their special guests to join them. Surprisingly, it was the four Sudrians alone who found themselves being ushered over to it as soon as they'd disembarked; all the other members of their party, even Mister Moderhack, remained in the scant open space behind the barriers and next to their engine. They clapped like crazy right along with everyone else as Sir Topham Hatt and Denise, and then Christophe and Surendra climbed up onto the podium and turned and faced their audience before taking their seats, all four of them looking a little dazed at being singled out, yet very happy.
A brief pause followed as the officials who were going to speak gathered themselves. The crowds, who'd wrapped themselves right around the podium and were pressing up against the barricades around Lammergeier, waited impatiently. They were still highly excited by the engine's arrival and in a mood to be entertained. They hoped that the speeches wouldn't be too boring or too long and that they'd get to actually meet the engine and the English folk he'd brought along with them as soon as possible,
A young boy of about eight suddenly yelled out something in a high prepubescent voice that cut right through the crowd's low muttering. Ripples of laughter followed at once. Denise, who was up on the podium and who'd been alertly trying to take in all she could, had to concentrate at first to get through the heavy Berlinisch dialect and when she did, she flushed immediately. What the brat had called out was the equivalent of "Hey! Check out Fatty with the lid!"
She glanced at the intended target of the words, but of course Sir Topham Hatt had no idea of what was going on. From his perspective, he just saw a bunch of happy, laughing people and thought they were just very glad to see him and all the rest of his entourage. Denise didn't know what to do. She couldn't believe that someone hadn't censured the little hoodlum who'd yelled, and worse than that, she could overhear many adults passing the comment on to those who'd missed it, after which everyone would yuk it up in turn. Nobody was being angry or malicious about it in any way, but still! How rude!
The official part of the Berlin Friendship Tour's welcoming ceremony began and things simmered down a bit. But the watching thousands were clearly still restless and were quick to applaud and shift around every time one of the speakers was done. They wanted the speeches to be over and the barriers around Lammergeier to come down so they could get closer to the beautiful locomotive who'd once graced their city's railways while carrying the Olympic rings and who'd gone overseas to become a hero. Their restive impatience didn't ease until Sir Topham Hatt himself suddenly got up and moved to the lectern to take his turn. That the new owner of Lammergeier—Fatty himself—was going to speak to everyone was unexpected. The Berlin crowd calmed down, focusing their attention back on the plump little Englishman with the big hat.
Sir Topham hadn't initially meant to make any speeches to any Germans—he really hadn't. But he'd become so appreciative of how wonderfully welcoming everyone had been to date that he felt obliged to at least try and express his thanks. When Mister Moderhack had passed on through Denise that a lot of Berliners understood a little English nowadays thanks to working alongside so many Allies from the States and the UK for years, he'd decided to seize the opportunity and had scribbled out a short speech while in his hotel room in Magdeburg just the evening before. And now, here it was, his big chance. Everyone was looking at him and waiting to hear what he had to say.
It went askew almost at once. The lectern was a little too tall for Sir Topham and one of the city officials had to nip over quick and slide out a hidden step for him so he could get up high enough to use the microphone. He also hadn't memorized his speech and had to smooth out several folds in the sheet of paper he was using before he could read his own handwriting. And it began well, it really did. He had to get at least four sentences in before the trouble started all over again.
"So then…heh... Ladies and gentlemen…young Masters and Misses…honoured hosts…" the Fat Controller started happily. "The first thing I want to say is thank you for all your extraordinary kindness and enthusiasm in welcoming myself and the other members of my railway family. I know I speak for them all when I say that we truly appreciate your hospitality and have very much been enjoying our tour. I would also like to thank you for having created such a wonderful engine such as Lambchop and for entrusting him to our care since his arrival on Sodor. Right from the start, I knew that Lambchop was a very special engine…"
And that was it. The muted buzz had begun again. As before, Denise could clearly overhear what the audience right next to her end of the podium was saying amongst themselves: …what did he just call that Lok? cutlet?...lamb cutlet, I think he said…he called his Lok lamb cutlet!...he can't pronounce his real name!...lamb cutlet!... And on it went, the low remarks and titters and scarce withheld snorts of amusement growing by the second. Sir Topham kept his head down to read from his sheet the whole time and never saw a thing, never once got to see all the hundreds of people spread out before him fighting hard not to crack up completely and trying their best not to get so loud that they'd drown out the rest of his hilarious references to the locomotive.
It came to a head when Sir Topham threw in a random hand gesture aimed at the engine parked behind him. "Lambchop here…" he intoned grandly, keeping his eyes glued to his sheet so as not to lose his place, and flung up one arm for emphasis. Almost everyone in the crowd looked at Lammergeier, just as directed. So did Denise. And to her horror, she saw his formal exterior suddenly fall away from him like a paralyzed falcon. He was no longer Lammergeier the good obedient German Lok who was willing to dutifully toe the line. He was Lambchop of Sodor now, and he felt compelled to make his own views on his ridiculous nickname crystal clear. The instant he saw that everyone was looking at him, he made a terrific show of rolling his eyes. Then he smirked. Then he smirked and winked. See what I have to put up with? the engine seemed to be saying, and the Berliners finally lost it and burst out laughing en masse. They couldn't help themselves anymore. It was just too funny!
Even better, Sir Topham looked up, startled, and misconstrued the crowd's reaction completely. "Oh, thank you!" he exclaimed, then bent back down over his sheet. "Now where was I… Oh yes! Lambchop here…" And again he gestured in the engine's general direction. Mercifully, his speech only lasted a few more sentences because the Berliners by then were almost beside themselves with glee. They erupted again with a roar of approval the instant the Fat Controller was done, by far the loudest cheer given any of the speakers, and clapped for a long time afterwards for everyone. Denise, who'd actually done a facepalm and tried to hide what she'd done by fiddling with her bangs, peeked over at the other people on the podium with her. Nothing but delighted smiles and good will, even from the ones who must've seen Lammergeier mugging for the crowd. They just thought it was funny too.
The woman's appalled apprehension faded as the applause continued to swirl around her. Nobody but her seemed to care a rap that Lammergeier had just behaved with monumental rudeness in mocking his own Master in public. But what was she expecting, really, from people who were themselves so impolite? She'd heard that the people who lived in Berlin could be very upfront about expressing their opinions, but had never expected to witness such outrageous examples of it for herself. The things they'd said about poor Sir Topham! Thank goodness he hadn't been able to understand!
The welcoming ceremonies shifted over into something much less formal and the band onsite again began to play. The station workers at last allowed the eager crowds full access to the visiting 48 and to his human entourage. Even the East German members of the tour seemed to be having a good time as they mixed and mingled, everyone's ideological differences swept aside for the moment by universal train-love. Denise was the only person present who still seemed a little uptight. Once allowed off the podium, she'd sidled over close to Lammergeier because she was still half-afraid some angry railway official would come up to demand an explanation for the engine's insolent behaviour, but it never happened. On the contrary, far more adult rail fans than usual wound up talking to Lammergeier, and he talked right back to them, laughing often and obviously very happy. They also loved Sir Topham Hatt, the unwitting human half of Lammergeier's naughty comedy act. A constant stream of fans kept coming up to shake his hand and personally welcome him to the city for as long as he remained at the station and he welcomed their attention just as much as did his engine.
The noontime break to settle the tour guests in their new hotel and get them well fed and give them some time to just breathe and freshen up was especially appreciated that day. It had been a truly exciting morning and a rather touching one; there was no denying that the Berliners loved having one of their engines back and that the Berlin Friendship Tour was already a huge hit. Mister Moderhack was perhaps the happiest person of all. He'd taken a big chance trying to get the East and West railroaders and governments to consider his idea for a unifying rail journey in the first place. After witnessing what had just happened downtown at the main station and how well everyone was getting along and being received, he was at last confident that everything would go off just as planned after all and that in itself was a great relief.
In the afternoon, Lammergeier undertook a short trip to visit the locomotive works where he'd been made, which now resided at a State-managed plant sited just outside the city proper at Hennigsdorf. The old Borsig Works had since acquired an improbably long new name better known by its acronym, LEW, and had shifted its speciality into the building of electric locomotives. Despite this, a surprising number of the people who'd once worked on Lammergeier and his kin still worked for the LEW or had emerged from retirement to attend the festivities, and they were all there at the factory, waiting to welcome their old steam engine back to the fold. One of them was the very foreman who'd supervised the crew who'd welcomed Lammergeier into the world when he'd first awoken. He remembered the third 48 they'd built quite well, he related to the human guests who'd accompanied the engine as they all milled about on one of the factory platforms, meeting and greeting. He'd struck everyone as unusually inquisitive and talkative once he'd found his voice, even as living locos made expressly for public relations work went.
"Opinionated too, I'll bet," Denise remarked to the old foreman, grinning up at Lammergeier as she spoke. "I've come to know both of them well, this one and your first 48 too. Adler seems almost reserved by comparison. He's very well-mannered."
The old foreman chuckled. "Yes, it was the same way with them here. Adler and Habicht, they were the polite ones. Lammergeier… Ein echter Berliner… You understand what I mean by that, yes?"
Oh boy… A real Berliner, the old works man had said. The woman's smile grew even broader. "Oh, I think I do," she replied.
There were a lot of additional media people present for the LEW visit too, divided as to which journalistic organization they represented. Denise entertained herself by watching them as they made the rounds and interviewed and filmed and clicked away, always angling and sometimes jostling one another for that perfect visual or quote. She suspected that a lot of the footage of Lammergeier interacting with his old engineers and fitters would wind up being used to brag up East Germany's current management of the former Borsig Works and the success of their former steam projects and the new, modern electrical designs. If only they knew, she pondered as she nibbled on her slice of party cake and sipped at a bit of celebratory champagne. Before the trip, Christophe had expressed his opinion that if certain factions within the Soviet ranks ever found out that Lammergeier was perfectly capable of driving and navigating himself, thereby reducing his required crew's manpower in half, that they'd confiscate him and ship him off to some factory lab in Russia to disassemble him to try and discover his secrets. He'd probably said the exact same thing to the engine too, she thought further, making it a dire warning as to why Lammergeier had to be especially careful whenever they were in any Soviet controlled space or dealing with the people there.
Whatever had been said to the 48 in order to prepare him, seemed to be working, though. Denise could overhear him now, bantering with his old fitters in Berlinisch, which obviously amused them. Nothing too elaborate or insightful. Just the casual small-talk level of conversation which any good, well-socialized locomotive ought to be capable of. It again reminded her of how Lammergeier had ingratiated himself with the people at the Sodor Steamworks when he'd first arrived on the Island. It also served in her mind as a fine example of the apolitical nature of all locomotives. Engines didn't really care much about the political leanings or ideology of the humans they worked for, not even Lammergeier with his heightened intellect and comprehension. They had more practical concerns to occupy their minds for the most part…safe, smooth rails to run on, clean water, quality fuel, and railway personnel who knew what they were doing and jobs aplenty to keep one busy yet not overburdened.
The Borsig Works reunion proved another great success and was enjoyed by everyone in attendance. By now it was obvious that the Berliners got a kick out of Sir Topham Hatt, and seeing him paired up with one of their own, even if it was a locally-built, hundred-ton, living locomotive, seemed to strike them as intrinsically humorous. It didn't hurt that Lammergeier was so inspired by his exciting visit that he briefly lapsed back into his less formal Sodor habits and got quite impertinent again, by backing up what Sir Topham said about him during some of his interviews, using heavily-accented English and the odd Berlinisch phrase to remark upon his Master's words in a way that was just short of naughty. As good news copy went, it was perfect. Best of all, the Fat Controller either didn't mind or never fully caught on.
Everyone's good spirits persisted even when they returned to Berlin later on. They took a roundabout route—literally—hooking up next to the city's outer ring railway which had recently been built by the East Germans to accommodate their new specialized passenger trains. The passenger engines were all electric, but there were sections of freight lines paralleling the new tracks too, linking up some of the old local railways into one unified whole. Lammergeier recognized some of his old haunts as he chuffed along and put on a wonderful show for anyone lucky enough to see him that afternoon, billowing out great clouds of excess steam and whistling up a storm at the slightest excuse. There was a Raubvogel class 48 back in Berlin, by God, and he was determined that everyone should know it! Eventually, they made it back to the main station near the city center, where Lammergeier was scheduled to remain on public display for the remainder of the evening. His entourage, meanwhile, took off to enjoy a special dinner and some relaxation. They were already too tired out by their day's worth of socializing to worry about leaving their engine in the hands of the Germans anymore.
Early the next morning, Lammergeier was paid yet one more visit and this time it was someone he was especially happy to see. He was already smiling before one of the station guards finished helping Denise hop up on his running board. It had been far too long since he'd had the woman all to himself for a while.
"So!" she exclaimed at once, smiling back at the big 48, speaking in German to put him at ease. "I can't recall hearing any unusual police or fire activity overnight. There's no cop car out front, no ambulances. Nobody curled up on the platform in a fetal position, whimpering to themselves. I guess that means you must have behaved yourself quite well last evening once we left."
"Of course I did!" Lammergeier protested, not at all perturbed by her words. "I would never let down Sir Topham Hatt or the people of my former home here in Berlin."
"Just like you'd never have a little fun behind Sir Topham's back, huh? Well, no harm done, I guess. And speaking of your former home, what do you think of all you've been seeing so far? Is it anything like you remember? Different in a good way…bad?"
"It's not so different. There's less damage than I expected, or maybe it's already been repaired. The lines are all good. More railways now." He paused to look about, fixed his gaze back on Denise. "They upgraded this station since I was here last, but it's still recognizable. They must have been able to salvage most of it."
"Yes, two brand new national railways for two Germanys now…" Denise said slowly. "How do you feel about that? That your old homeland's been divided?"
The engine sniffed, his version of a shrug. "Whatever. If that's what you people believe you have to do, then so be it. Are you going to divide Berlin soon too?"
The question startled his human friend. "Where did you hear that?" she asked.
"I didn't. But when we came back to the city yesterday on those new outer ring tracks, I noticed that there wasn't a single line still running off it into the western sectors. There were some track beds still there, where the rails had been lifted, but no usable lines left until we passed the border between the American and Soviet sectors. That new ring railway is meant to bypass the western parts of the city entirely now, I think."
Lammergeier's observations gave Denise considerable pause. The possibility that Berlin would be divided by another impassible border not unlike the one which segregated East and West was indeed a topic of much concern at the moment. She was impressed by the engine's deductions reference the same. The big difference was that he didn't appear at all upset by the prospect. To him, it was just the humans doing more weird stuff.
"It's possible that the Soviets will start tightening up their border within the city, yes," she said at last. "But no one's sure how far it'll go. They're still allowing the Berliners to go back and forth at the moment." She stepped closer to the engine to stroke his face, to comfort both him and herself. Oppressive political wrangling always depressed her. "Well, we'll see. At least they're letting us move around freely for now. And you're having a pretty good time even so, aren't you? Even though you've got armed sentries riding around on top of your coaches!"
The big 48 laughed. Carrying sentries didn't bother him at all. Truth be told, he'd pulled trains guarded by people wielding a lot more firepower than a couple of puny submachine guns in the past. The Nazis had always taken the security of their high officials very seriously. Denise stroked his face some more while he continued talking about the parts of the tour which he'd enjoyed most so far. The station was starting to get busier and several locomotives and their morning trains pulled in nearby within a few minutes of each other. None of the engines were alive. It was part of why Denise had been determined to have some personal time with Lammergeier and play catch-up on this day. She knew he must miss being able to socialize with fellow engines or speak openly with his favoured human friends on a daily basis.
When his rush of words finally began to slow, Denise turned away to unfold the little wooden camp stool she'd retrieved from his cab before getting up on him. Lammergeier watched her keenly as she set it down near his face and seated herself. If she was going to sit with him, that meant she was going to stay with him for some time yet. He began to wonder what had happened to the rest of his Sudrian entourage.
"Where's my crew? Are they coming soon?" he asked.
"Oh, eventually. They were having breakfast back at the hotel last I saw them."
"Aren't you eating?"
"I already did. I had a lovely soft-boiled egg and a cup of coffee. That was part one. And now…" She rummaged within the purse she'd set down by her feet and pulled out a large bun wrapped in a napkin. "Here's part two."
Again, the engine fell silent as he watched the woman start unwrapping her meal. She'd picked up a newspaper too; he could see the top of it sticking out of her purse. The thought that she'd chosen to come keep him company over spending the remainder of her breakfast time with the other humans pleased him greatly.
When Denise first lifted her bun up, Lammergeier's sculpted faux nostrils flared and he made a snorting sound which was obviously intended to draw attention. Denise grinned at him.
"You can smell that?" she asked. She opened the bun, scooped a little smear of its contents onto one fingertip. "Here. Want to taste a bit of it? You engines can taste, right?"
Lammergeier managed to look even more disgusted, crinkling up his brow as best he could. "Ugh, no."
"Why? Don't you like the smell of liverwurst?"
"It's not that. I just don't know where your fingers have been."
"Swine," the woman retorted cheerfully. She licked the bit of liverwurst off her finger herself and pulled out the newspaper in her purse. "Okay then. You can watch me eat the rest of my breakfast and read a paper instead." Teasingly, she waggled her copy of the morning B-Z in front of the loco's face. "And guess who's on the cooov-errr…"
"Me! It's me!" Lammergeier exclaimed. He eagerly examined the front page of the B-Z newspaper as soon as she stopped waving it around, which indeed featured a wonderful shot of him pulling into Berlin's main station the day before, under a huge headline proclaiming a heartfelt welcome. Denise hitched her little wooden stool closer and offered to read the story aloud between bites after that, and Lammergeier happily accepted her proposal. He was perfectly capable of reading himself, he just liked the idea of being catered to plus enjoyed the greater interaction.
His sometime-driver settled herself, paused to chew and swallow her first bite of breakfast bun, and began.
"'A Berliner came home yesterday, a very special Berliner too long absent from our midst who weighs a hundred tons and spans more than twenty-five meters in length…'"
to be continued...