Disclaimer: All recognisable fictional characters belong to Mattel. All fictional OCs belong to me.

Chapter 1

Brighton, England – Late August 1915

It all started on a beautiful, warm summer day; the sort of day when you'd expect crowds of holidaymakers to be flocking towards the beaches. Sadly, those sorts of occasions were now a distant memory for most of the British people as they waved their sons, brothers, and fathers off to war in Europe. However, not all men were queuing to sign up for war. The Home Front also required manpower to carry on with the everyday running of the country. That included the railways.

Historian nowadays agree that the golden age of the railways in the United Kingdom coincided with the start of the Great War when all of the independent railways came under government control. Civilians and military personnel relied on steam locomotives to move everything from troops to the daily milk. Railway lines criss-crossed the nation in all directions. In fact, there were very few towns that didn't have a railway station. However, the demand for fast passenger trains was dwindling as goods trains became more and more necessary for the war effort.

At the Brighton Works, things had become quieter than they'd been since the start of the war. Very few locomotives were being built due to the lack of funding and manpower, so the focus had shifted to keeping the working locomotives in service.

That meant that the LB&SCR's Locomotive Superintendent and Chief Engineer, Lawson Billinton, didn't have as much work to do as he used to. And so, on this day, he entered his office at the works feeling rather down. He'd just returned from a visit to the company's head office in London where he'd been asked by the railway's General Manager, Mr William de Guise Forbes, to take a pay cut to help with the war effort. Although he had earned a decent salary, he couldn't really afford to lose any of it. However, he'd reluctantly agreed to it, because he knew that they could just as easily sack him.

After he'd hung up his bowler hat and coat on the coatrack, Mr Billinton leaned over the blueprints that lay unrolled on his drafting desk. The blueprints were of his redesigned E2 class locomotive. The first five locomotives in the class had sadly suffered from some significant issues, which he hoped he'd now fixed with this redesign. The first of the redesigned E2s, no. 105, had now entered traffic and seemed to be doing well. However, the second of the redesigned E2s, no. 106, had just rolled off the production line earlier that week and, after being painted in the LB&SCR black with red lining, he'd been parked out of the way in the yard. They were now just waiting for the locomotive to become sentient before they started testing him.

Shouldn't be too much longer now, Mr Billinton thought as he rolled up the blueprints. He always felt anxious about his new engines. Designing them was the easy part; ensuring that the locomotives were constructed so that they'd wake up in a fit and healthy state was the hard part. As the chief engineer and designer of the locomotives, Mr Billinton always felt guilty if something was wrong with them right from the start. He still felt tremendously guilty over the first five E2s, and now 106 was taking a lot longer than normal to wake up for the very first time. Frowning, Mr Billinton decided to go and examine the new locomotive himself, for some reassurance.

Just as Mr Billinton was leaving his office, the Works Manager, Mr Riley, approached him. He was carrying a clipboard, which he handed to Mr Billinton.

"The morning report, sir," he said by way of explanation. "B1 214 'Gladstone' has just arrived. He needs his Johnson Bar repaired."

Mr Billinton flicked through the stack of papers attached to the clipboard as the two men walked towards the erecting shop. "What happened to it?"

"I'm not sure. The crew just reported that they can't engage reverse. The fitter who examined him in Portsmouth believes that a bolt has come loose, causing the lever to jam. Oh, and before I forget, the new locomotive, E2 106, has woken up at last."

Mr Billinton raised his eyebrows with concern. "Is anyone with him? How is he?"

"I left a couple of painters with him," Mr Riley replied. "His reaction to becoming self-aware seems to be pretty standard so far. He's disorientated but talking and asking lots of questions."

Mr Billinton breathed a small sigh of relief. He handed the clipboard back to Mr Riley. "I'm going to meet him. Put those papers on my desk. I'll look at them again later."

Mr Riley nodded, and he hurried away. Mr Billinton headed outside into the yard. He smiled when he saw 106 talking eagerly with a group of five painters. What always amazed Mr Billinton was the way locomotives always gained consciousness with a level of knowledge already implanted in their minds. He'd deduced that there must be some level of awareness that the engine had while it was being built, enabling it to hear the conversations around it; a bit like when a person was in a coma.

Upon seeing Mr Billinton approaching them, the painters stopped talking to the new engine, and they stepped back.

"Mornin', sir," one of the painters greeted him.

Mr Billinton nodded in response. He stepped in front of 106 and he looked up at the little tank engine. 106 smiled nervously. He had an adorable, cheeky face that made anyone who saw him want to hug him. But it was his eyes that gave away his true feelings. They stared at Mr Billinton with innocent curiosity.

"My name is Mr Billinton," Mr Billinton began, introducing himself to the new engine. "I'm the Locomotive Superintendent here at the Brighton Works, and I'm also your designer. I trust that these gentlemen have filled you in on what you are and why you've been built?"

"Uh, yes…" 106 replied slowly. "I'm number a hundred and six, and I'm an E2 class tank engine. I've been built to help work on the railway as a station pilot. I'm not sure what that is though."

Mr Billinton placed a hand on 106's front left-hand buffer. "Don't worry. You'll understand everything in time. I'm sure you're feeling rather overwhelmed right now, so we'll let you get some rest."

"Thank you," 106 replied quietly. The young engine then yawned sleepily. He was just like a new-born baby so in many ways. Mr Billinton knew from experience that new engines needed plenty of sleep during the first few weeks of their lives.

The painters dispersed to return to their work, and Mr Billinton returned inside the erecting shop, leaving 106 alone in the yard. Mr Riley approached Mr Billinton again.

"The men aren't ready to work on Gladstone yet. Should I have him sent to the shed?"

"Yes... No. Have him shunted into the yard next to 106. They can keep each other company."

Mr Riley smiled. "You really care about how our engines feel, don't you?"

"It's my job to care. Besides, engines learn so much from each other. Gladstone can teach 106 more about life as a steam engine than we humans ever could."

106 was resting peacefully, taking in his strange surroundings, when he saw a large tender engine being shunted onto the line alongside him by a small tank engine. The tank engine had the name BOXHILL painted on his water tanks, while the tender engine had nameplates over his rearmost splashers that read GLADSTONE. Both engines were painted in shades of umber. 106 knew from the reflections he could see in the Works windows beside him that he was painted black with red outline. The letters LB&SC were painted on his water tanks in yellow, while the number 106 was painted in the same colour on either side of his bunker.

"There you go, Gladstone," Boxhill said as he finished shunting the tender engine onto the track alongside 106. "I'll come back and get you once the men are ready for you."

"No hurry," Gladstone replied. He smiled warmly at 106 as Boxhill steamed away. "You must be the new tank engine."

"So they tell me," 106 replied. "They just call me one-oh-six. Are you a tank engine too?"

Gladstone chuckled. "No. I'm what they call a tender engine. I carry my fuel – water and coal – behind my cab in my tender. Tank engines like you carry your water in tanks next to your boiler, and your coal in a small bunker behind your cab."

"Oh." 106 blushed, slightly embarrassed.

"Don't be embarrassed," Gladstone soothed. "There are no stupid questions; only stupid answers."

"Ah! Well, could you please tell me what those strange creatures that built me are called?"

"They're humans. Most of the ones we see are males called men. There are also females who are called women or ladies. They're much more delicate than the men. Oh, and small, young humans are called children and babies."

106 still looked confused, but he had no reason to question what Gladstone was telling him. "What did the men build me for?"

Gladstone eyed 106 for a moment. "Well, considering you're a tank engine and painted black, I'm sure the men have built you to either become a shunter or a station pilot. Shunters sort rolling stock – carriages and trucks – into trains for other engines to take away. Station pilots are similar to shunters, only they're also allowed to enter stations to add or remove the rollingstock from departing and terminating trains. Station pilots have to be very reliable because if they're late, the trains will depart late and that will throw out the entire timetable. Humans are very strict. They hate being late for anything."

"Do they mind being early?"

"Actually, most rather enjoy it. Being early or right on time is the best way to ensure that you're a really useful engine."

At that moment, another, even larger tender engine, pulled up alongside Gladstone. He coughed for a moment before he spoke.

"What are you here for, Gladstone? You've never broken down before."

"Well, I have this time," Gladstone replied. "My Johnson bar has failed."

The other engine winced in sympathy. "That's never fun. I remember when my brother's failed. He threw a massive temper tantrum about it, and all because he couldn't reverse off the turntable." He coughed again. "I'm here for new tubes. They keep blocking up on me." At that moment, he finally noticed 106. "And who are you?"

"I'm a new engine," 106 replied proudly. "I just woke up today."

Both tender engines exchanged glances. 106 could sense that they were debating whether or not they should tell him something.

"One-oh-six, this is La France," Gladstone said, introducing us. "He was an express passenger engine before the war started."

"War? What's a war?" 106 asked innocently.

"It's when different groups of men fight and kill each other," La France explained. "Right now, it's our people, the British, who are fighting another group overseas called the Germans. No engine can make sense of it. I've tried, but I think there must be better ways of settling a disagreement instead of killing each other."

"Humans are very strange creatures," Gladstone added. "They often do silly things that we engines simply cannot understand. And yet, we must obey them. They're our lords and masters. They build us, so they have full control over our lives."

"There's no point in trying to fight against men," La France said sadly. "So many young engines make the mistake of trying to get their own way with them, but it's no use. Men will always be stronger than us. That is why we're being forced into this wretched war with them."

"They make horses and dogs fight too," Gladstone pointed out. "I'm sure they don't want to fight either. Like us, they just have to do what they're told to do."

106 remained silent as he listened to what his new friends were saying. Once they'd stopped talking, he spoke up again. "The Germans must be very wicked humans if our men are prepared to travel overseas to fight them," he said thoughtfully. "But…maybe the men don't want to fight each other either?"

"Oh, one-oh-six!" La France exclaimed with bemusement. "You're too naive to know any better. The men relish in it. They call war a fine and honourable thing, but I can't understand why."

"How long do you think the war will last?"

Gladstone and La France exchanged glances again.

"Who knows?" Gladstone replied. "It's already gone on for too long, if you ask me."

106 fell into silence while he took in everything his new friends had just told him. He had a lot to think about.