Like many others of my generation, I grew up with Thomas the Tank Engine. Stored away in the dark recesses of my house, you can still find the Diecast models, the "Railway Series" books and nearly all the original TV shows. So, what better way to celebrate the end of my exams than with this adult homage to one of my childhood greats?
Everything 'ere is property of Christopher Awdry and the late Reverend Wilbert Awdry, minus the 'army' characters. They belong to myself and my good friend, Mr Ellis.
Have fun now, y'hear?
"The Invasion of Sodor!"
by Professor Reginald Fortesque Vengeance (Esquire)
It was a typically glorious day on the Island of Sodor. The sun beamed down on the main shed of its infamous railway, causing the turntable in front to sparkle and the tracks themselves to shine like diamonds.
If only the engines felt as good as the weather did.
"Oh, these bloody cramps!" Henry groaned, "That 'Goods Special' yesterday made me strain my axle rods something dreadful and it's bound to get worse if I keep up that sort of thing up today!"
"Cramps, my tender!" James snorted, "You'd just rather tip your workload onto our pile and lounge around here all day getting pampered by the foremen!"
"Stop your moaning!" snapped Gordon, "If anyone has a right to gripe, it's me! Those new coaches of mine won't stop talking! Every time I take them out, they just natter away to each other on and on and on! It drives me to distraction!"
"It's the heat that does this, I tell you", Edward whispered to the smaller engines, "Fries their boilers." Thomas, Percy and Toby smiled in silent agreement.
At that point, a loud tooting could be heard alongside the shed. The trains peered over and saw a familiar blue car pull up beside them. Out stepped an even more familiar gentleman from within - the owner of the Sodor railway, Sir Topham Hatt. Better known to his staff as 'The Fat Controller'.
"Morning, all!" he said briskly. The engines greeted him back in a low mumble, but he didn't bother with correcting their manners today. "Now then, as you're probably aware, recent events have forced Britain to undergo some heavy security changes. I have decided that Sodor needs them as well and have helped authorise a private military force to protect us from any sort of invasion. Ah, that sounds like them now..."
As he spoke, an immense rumbling began to fill the area. The engines could actually feel their rails juddering from the unusual vibrations.
"What the Duke's going on?" Thomas called over the noise. He quickly found out.
Trundling towards them on the road alongside was a tank. His turret whirled around to reveal a rather snobbish face, a monacle covering one of his eyes. Behind him was an Armoured Personnel Carrier truck. He was terribly battered and scuffed, with broken windows and a smashed headlight eye. Being towed behind him on a low-loader was a sleek black helicopter. He had a gun attached to his underbelly at the front and his permanantely tired face bore a dark nine o'clock shadow.
"Allow me to introduce the First Sodor Battalion", the Fat Controller announced proudly. "This is Colonel Coxwain..."
"Charmed", the English tank drawled snootily.
"...Billy Blackhawk..."
"Hey", the helicoptor replied simply. He had a deep American accent and his eyes darted around the yard, taking everything in.
"...and Bradley."
"The BulletMagnet", Billy chuckled.
"Just because I ain't got no gun like you wimpy li'l girls!" the APC retorted to his fellow yankee.
"Anyway", the Fat Controller went on, "These three are basically going to oversee your work and keep you protected in case of any trouble."
"...I like fire..." Billy whispered. The engines knew at once that this wasn't going to be an easy adjustment.
Not long after, James was puffing grumpily through the countryside. Colonol Coxwain was on board the flatbed he was pulling to be taken to the docks. The journey thus far had mainly consisted of the tank moaning about the ride.
"Sluggish!" he grumbled, "You're in pathetic shape, m'laddo! If you can't pull this much at a decent speed, then you'd never survive in the middle of a warzone!"
"It's not my fault you're so damned bulky!" James snapped back. "I could go faster without you weighing me down!"
"Oh, Stalingrad!" the Colonel exclaimed, "If you want something done properly, you've got to do it yourself!" and he whirled his turret round to the back end of the train.
"Don't you dare!" the red engine cried. A large bend was coming up just ahead.
"FIRE!" the tank yelled and fired a single blank shell from his cannon. James gave a great lurch forwards from the blast straight into the curve and following a little wobbling, the mixed-traffic engine's run came to a halt. His front wheels had come clean off the track and he couldn't haul himself back onto the line.
"Bugger it!" he roared, "I hope you're satisfied now!"
"Satisfied?" the Colonel spluttered, "That was a hopeless display of balance, young puffer! If you'd have been able to hold your own like a true soldier, I'd have us at my drop-off in next to no time! This is just like back in the Fawklands..."
James gave a great groan. It was going to be some time before the breakdown crane arrived.
By comparison, Billy's journey to the airfield had been fairly uneventful. Short of a few nervous jumps caused by the odd passing pigeon, things seemed to go pretty well. Until he arrived.
Sodor's resident helicoptor, Harold, was hovering above the base to help guide him down. But as Billy caught sight of him, the American chopper's heavy eyes flew right open. Maddening screams and the roar of gunfire filled his ears as memories of fights past flooded through his mind.
"Goddam Somalians!" he yelled, "Take my firewater, will ya?" and he let loose two missiles from his side-launchers. It was only the quick reflexes of Harold's pilot that stopped both of them being turned into powder.
"Ease up, old bean!" Harold called over, "We're on your side!" But another rocket told them that Billy hadn't heard. This time, too, the missile had just managed to clip the British chopper's tail rotor.
Spiralling out of control, his pilot tried to keep as much control as possible and forced Harold over to the farm on the other side of the line by the airbase. With plenty of luck, he managed to settle down safely, allowing the helicoptor to flump into a large haystack in the nearest field.
"Sorry", Billy mumbled, finally landing and realising his error, "I just gotta lot of issues with forgein choppers, y'know?"
"Think nothing of it, old chap", Harold told him dizzily, "Medic!"
Things weren't much better over at the quarry. Brad was supervising the engines' work, but had quickly become bored with his dull surroundings. He was starting to crave a little bit of excitement when he heard a little commotion nearby.
Toby had just backed down to a fresh line of slate trucks, but they didn't want to be moved. Angrily, they chattered away and gave the tram engine a large bump.
"Quiet, you!" he ordered and bumped back to show them who was in charge. It was then he noticed Brad thundering across the tracks towards him.
"Hostile resistance encountered!" he called out, "I'm going in!" and with an almighty clatter, he smashed into the side of Toby's trucks. Several were tipped right over, while one or two had been completely smashed to pieces.
"What the hell are you doing?" the tram flustered in amazement.
"Saving your hide from those li'l SOBs", the APC returned moodily, "And where's my thanks, huh? They never gave me a parade when I got back from 'Nam, y'know..."
"If I want a nutter to ruin my work, I'll ask first", Toby snarled, "Now, can I get back to work?"
"...ungrateful hardass...", Brad muttered to himself and slinked away to continue his patrol. With a great sigh, Toby left what remained of the trucks alone to alert the foreman. Now he could see why the truck was such a 'BulletMagnet'.
It was late afternoon by the time Colonel Coxwain had been taken to the docks. Finally away from that 'weedy red runt' as he put it, he was able to do some proper work, trundling around the harbour and proudly dispense helpful advice. In everyone else's eyes, however, all he did was trundle around the harbour and nag at anything that moved.
This point is best proved late in his shift, when he checked up on Henry's fish train. The vans were being loaded up at one of the depots and the the green engine was in front, being an earful by the Colonel.
"You're off schedule!" he badgered, "This cargo should've set off two minutes and twenty-three seconds ago! Punctuality! That's what you need if you're ever going to make it in the Armed Forces!"
"You think I don't want to be away from this godawful smell?" Henry grumbled, "It's not my fault, anyway. The doors of these damned vans are so old, they've practically rusted shut!"
"Then, don't just sit there whining like a jessie!" the Colonel snapped, "Take command of the situation!" and he aimed his cannon straight for the trucks.
"Hold it!" Henry yelped, but it was too late. A fresh shell was fired and blew several of the vans to smithereens. Fish flew everywhere possible.
"Ah..." Coxwain said simply, "...might've been a little rough, there..."
Henry said nothing. He just winced as he felt the fish slowly sizzled on his boiler and the oil trickle down his face.
That evening, the main shed was filled with frenzied rants about the Sodor Battalion.
"That damned helicoptor mistook me for a Panzer and nearly gunned me down!" Edward said angrily.
"The Colonel ran over one of my trucks!" Percy piped up.
"That lorry almost bumped me right over when I nudged my own coaches!" Gordon spat. Tempers were rarely this high and everyone was supremely agitated. Everyone but Thomas, who was desperately trying to keep the peace.
"Come on, now, guys", he said nervously, "I know these army lads are a little...well...enthusiastic, but they're here for our own good. It shouldn't take them long to get used to life here and calm down a bit."
"Oh, that reminds me", Percy added darkly, "While supervising my shunting, the Colonel also tried to help break Annie and Clarabel's couplings. Both are now being sent to Crewe with shattered framework and a massive hole each."
Thomas simply sat there, a twitch going off on his usually cheerful face.
"Those little bastards just crossed the line!", he growled quietly and joined the others in brainstorming a plan.
Early next morning, Thomas chuffed into the docks, the militant vehicles on a flatbed each behind him. He'd woken them up with a particularly loud whistlefest at the airfield and had brought them along for 'business of national security'.
"This'd better be important", Colonel Coxwain grumbled, "We superior officers need to be well-rested in case of emergency."
"Oh, I know", Thomas assured him, trying to keep a straight face while mentally heaving, "But I felt you should be alerted of this straight away. Because of your excellent work yesterday, the Fat Controller has recommended you all for the Victoria Cross."
The militants very nearly fell off their trucks at that.
"You don't say!" the Colonel spluttered.
"Woooo!" Brad cheered, "Right on!"
"At last!" Billy sighed with a small grin, "Some goddam recognition!"
"The ceremony's taking place in Washington", Thomas informed them, "And the ship next to us will take you straight there."
"But aren't we still meant to be on duty here?" Brad inquired suspiciously.
"It's all fine", the blue engine explained, "The Fat Controller's OKed the whole thing." This was actually true. The Fat Controller had quickly sided with the trains' views after Coxwain accidentely crushed his car. "Now, come on, are you going or not?"
They didn't need telling twice. As soon as they'd been unloaded, the Colonel and Brad dashed up the ramp aboard, while Billy aired himself on. No sooner where they all on deck, the ship began to pull out of the harbour. It wasn't just the engines who wanted the militants away.
"Bon voyage!" Thomas called and chuckled to himself as the garbage boat began floating towards the horizon. "Tommy, you old dog, you..."
He was just about to leave when he saw something being lowered down by crane onto a nearby track from one of the other ships. When he saw what it was, the blue engine nearly fell apart on the spot in shock.
"D'ya think it worked?" Percy asked, uncertain.
"It'd better", Gordon huffed, "Sodor will probably end up being bombed into the ocean if that lot carry on their antics!"
At that point, a familiar whistle could be heard in the distance. The engines in the sheds looked on eagerly and saw Thomas steam into view as fast as he could, coming to a halt right on the turntable.
"So, how did it go?" Toby inquired immediately, "Have the A-Team finally gone?"
"Yeah...they fell for it..." Thomas panted. "...but there's something worse...", he added as the others looked ready to start celebrating.
"What are you talking about?" Henry asked nervously.
"The railway's been taken over!" Thomas wheezed, "The worst possible person's now in charge of the whole island's transport systems!"
"Who on earth do you mean?" Edward said in befuddlement.
It was just then that something slunk sluggishly along the line beside the sheds. The engines froze in horror.
"Oh, God!" James yelped.
"It can't be!" Gordon gasped.
"Not that! Anything but that!" Percy squeaked.
The something was a clanking and coughing high-speed train, the word "Virgin" stamped on every carriage.
FIN.