Here it is. My mid season finale, as it is. I hope you enjoy. Will warn you straight away, portions of this are going to be some of the darkest material I've written thus far. Just warning you. This will probably provide a great deal of mood whiplash with regards to the content of the actual episode that I'm abridging. Fingers crossed it won't be too bad, and you'll enjoy it regardless. Next time, we go back to lighter stuff, I promise, but even so, this is the point now where I've got to start bringing in certain things regarding the build up to Magic Railroad now. Consider this, perhaps, a taster of the mix of drama and humor that I hope to bring to that movie's abridging.
Cue the theme.
...
May 12th, 1944.
"Not a bad run, all things considered, is it, chaps? Fastest and the best. Pulling the express has never been done better, am I right, little brother?"
"Again with the little brother! I'm the same age as you, we're the same size, the only difference is that you're red! Red, of all colors! No one has ever gotten popular being red before, am I right, Albert...ah, now when I say no one, I mean-" Gordon shut up, as he became aware of how much deeper he was digging himself in. Albert laughed, and backed up rather quickly.
"Not to worry, old chap. Perfectly fine. Trust me, if I had my choice, I'd be a bright blue engine, like yourself!" Albert's direct play to Gordon's ego clearly worked, as Gordon swelled with pride. "Isn't that right Henry?"
"If you say so." Henry was morose, his face looked as though he was trying to do a Queen Victoria impression. "I mean, not like it matters, does it? You'd never catch me being painted blue. No one'd be able to tell the difference."
"Oh trust me, we would!" Eagle laughed, a rather vicious and odd sounding one. "Hey, you boys heading over to the docks later on? I think we have to give the Blue Engine over there a little bit of a hand!"
"My name is Edward! EDWARD! Do you always do that when there's a new person with you? It gets old really, really fast!" Edward looked cross, to say the least, and he backed up rather harshly on the trucks.
"You get used to it." remarked 8783, better known by his nickname of Biggles due to his enjoyment of watching the planes fly. "They called me Greenie for the time I was the new boy."
"You loved it! Don't lie!" Eagle cackled when Biggles gave a quick little smirk. "You coming, Henry?"
"Not me" moaned the green engine. "I've got a doctor's appointment at the sheds. This new medication's supposed to unclog my entire system. Don't think it will though. I suffer dreadfully and NO-ONE CARES."
"You got that right, old chum." Gordon muttered viciously. "I can't come either, I have to pick up the slack while Thistle swanks off to see those tarts at the docks." He laughed, until Thistle lightly thumped him on the back of the tender.
"I'll be heading over as well, I have some last minute shunting to do. Careful, Blue Engine, don't want you getting lost."
"Albert, not you too!"
"Biggles over here's acting as a back engine for me, and we'll join you, Eagle. I imagine we'll give the yards a bigger run for it's money than the oldie over there! I mean, look at how ickle-bickle he is. Might get lost in his own yard."
The Blue Engine grit his teeth and whistled up into the air with no small amount of anger.
...
Present Day.
Edward jolted from the memory. He looked around him, trying to gauge what exactly had happened. But everything was very quiet and very still. It was the middle of the night, or to be exact, two o'clock in the morning, where no one else was awake unless those working the night shift and those who suffering from insomnia. Or the lunatics. There were a lot of them on Sodor as well. Thomas, Toby, James, Gordon and Henry all rested together in the sheds, in that order, and were all snoring away happily as ever.
Thomas's brow did look a little more wrinkled than it had since he had last seen him though. Perhaps he should...
No. No, if he got back onto that again, it'd risk the chances of another argument, and they were still trying to get over the most recent one. By the time the three of them had returned from Crosby, Thomas was already fast asleep, and Edward had no intention of waking him up just so he could get a forced apology out of him.
He glanced out the window. A nice night, all things considered. No thunder, no lightning, no rain, no snow...barely any noise at all.
At least until James woke up a few minutes later, at which point it was pretty certain that aliens far away on Mars (Or Clangers on the moon, take your pick) could hear him screaming about the horrible dream he had had about where his stylist had revealed himself to be a secret one of the 'haters' of his online blog, and took revenge by viciously maiming his paint scheme to be slightly less splendidly red than usual.
Edward rolled his eyes.
Back to normal then.
...
Eventually, the day began in earnest, and as the engines rolled out of their sheds all over the Island and yawned very, very loudly, the Island began to stir into life. The Narrow Gauge engines were no different, and as Sir Handel and Peter Sam rolled out of the sheds with exhausted expressions on their faces, and Rusty tried to keep their eyes open as they shunted the trucks, Skarloey himself gently rolled forward and continued to snore.
He didn't have long to himself, though.
Nancy was the daughter of one of the guards. It doesn't matter which one, so we shall simply pick one at random. The one who had briefly been involved in the incident with Henry trapped in the tunnel. There, that's a good one. She lived at Callan station, and was looking to finish up her exams in school and go into work on the railway. As part of her work experience, she had decided to work at the Skarloey railway for a time, doing odd jobs and so on. On this day, she had to wake up Skarloey and give him a proper dusting down. She pulled out some polish and a rag (actually part of the world's biggest piece of blu-tack) and began wiping down Skarloey.
Nancy wanted to talk. It was very boring when the engines ignored her (which they rarely did, so sensitive were their egos) and so she didn't really care much that Skarloey wanted to stay asleep for as long as possible. "Wake up, you lazy twit! Look at that brass of yours! It's almost as filthy as my mother's mouth! Aren't you ashamed?"
"Nah." muttered Skarloey. "Old fusspot. Like a old wife, so you are." And he closed his eyes and returned his mind to the many times where he and Rheneas had gone out clubbing on occasions, back when he had a personality and didn't have a stunt double who wandered into shot every so often. All the good times that they had together...even if Skarloey couldn't think of any off the top off his head.
Nancy finished her first round of polishing, and dismounted quickly. "Don't you want to look nice for when Rheneas comes home?"
"Nancy, be a dear and- EH!? What?! Hang about, he's what! What?! When!?"
"Soon. Daddy told me, But you'd clearly like to go back to sleep, I'll head off to school now, bye!"
"Nancy, stop!" wailed Skarloey, dragging the last word out painfully long in desperation. "Do I look nice?! I need to look like a bleeding firecracker! Please, can't you apply that gentle touch of yours to this old fool's paint, please?!""
"Now who's a old fusspot?" Nancy laughed quietly, and returned to her work.
There was a rather loud chuffing sound, and Duncan sprang from the sheds like Dracula from his coffin, albeit a Scottish Dracula who smelt of alcohol and regret. "Aye, aren't ye going ta give me a wee bit of a dram and a polish?" He asked in a rather thick accent.
"Bloody hell, Duncan, don't do that! It scares an engine have to death! How long have you been waiting in there!?"
"Long enough. Well, what about it?"
"Sorry, not today, I'm going now. My planet needs me."
"Is that a reference to something?" Skarloey muttered under his breath.
"That's it for today, see. I'm helping the Refreshment Lady this afternoon, we're making ices for the passengers. Trust me, I'd much rather be doing that with you than working with Bella Lasanga, but them's the rules. Never mind Duncan, Maybe another time."
Duncan did mind. He made his thoughts perfectly clear to Skarloey, who returned back to sleep as he ranted on about how "It isnae fair! Peter Sam gets a stupid special funnel, Sir Handel gets steam roller wheels, passengers get bloody ices and I cannae even get one measly polish!" And he clanked off angrily, leaving Skarloey to bask in the morning sun with no small amount of joy at being left alone at last.
Of course, this wasn't true (In fact, Duncan had even turned down a polish the day before, on principle) but Duncan liked to complain, and do so in a loud fashion. He directed his vitriol towards Percy, who quickly rushed away, suddenly realizing that he had something important going on. Somewhere wherever Duncan wasn't, was his excuse.
...
"Hello, and welcome back to Trainspotters, that short little break there was sponsored by Spottiswood and Company, proud owners of TV's Bertha! Spottiswood, where joy isn't manufactured, it's created! ...Did we really have to shill that, Nige, I mean, the joke didn't even make sense."
"Well Stan, if we don't want to get fired, we do! Now, there has been rather a slow newsday in the office at the moment, isn't that right. Stan?"
"Indeed, Nigel. However, while things on the political campaign for Sodor's newest mayor has cooled down significantly since the heated debates between prospective candidates Drampf and Bedella, and the rather embarrassing incidents regarding Thomas the Tank Engine since rumors of his campaign manager abandoning him have been spreading. However, we have word from Mr Drampf that he has come into the possession of evidence that he will be airing on Trainspotters for the first time publicly, information that he promises will change the way that one of our most senior Island residents is viewed. Edward the Blue Engine, he says in a official statement, will never be viewed in the same light again."
Edward spat out his drink as Drampf's smug, smarmy looking face filled the screen. He was saying something about how it was high time that the ladies and gentlemen of the Island of Sodor knew who it was they were trusting with their children, but it was like someone had fired a shotgun next to his ears. It was a murmur, a whisper compared to the very loud, very painful screams of panic in his head.
"Bill, Ben, head over to the docks and give Oliver a hand, would you?"
"But BoCo!"
"Now!" Edward was vaguely aware of two sets of wheels rolling off in the general direction out of the China Clay Pit, before BoCo came into his line of sight and spoke gently. "Edward? Listen to me, you don't have to, but-"
Edward snapped out of it. "Awah?" He coughed and focused his mind on creating actual words. "I mean, uh, it's okay. Trust me, BoCo, it's fine."
"...There any truth in what Drampf's saying?"
"...Well-"
"You're being obtuse, Edward. Not like you. Which makes me think all the more that there is the very, very distinct possibility that perhaps...Drampf is right. Something is there that you don't want people to know. Now might be the best chance to tell me. I don't watch the news, but I imagine that it would be pretty hard for even myself to view the story that Drampf's going to tell with any objectivitiy."
For a moment, Edward said nothing. Then, as BoCo looked down and began to back away: "If I tell you this...you have to accept one thing first."
BoCo looked up. "What's that?"
Edward stared out at the warm, beautiful sun, set just above the horizon as befitting the dawn.
"It was all my fault."
...
1944.
The fireworks had been a surprise, the Blue Engine had to admit. A bunch of drunken sailors had boarded their ship (A old rusting hulk of a tramper that bore the signs of intense burning and bomb damage, referred to simply as Krakatoa) and pulled them out of storage. Their captain had clearly gone off with a lady of less than reputable nature, and would clearly not be coming back for quite a while.
Edward was slightly jealous. The captain got to get away from his annoying co-workers. He, on the other hand...
"Honestly, Blue Engine, the way you handled those trucks was...average, at best." Eagle grinned, that little cocksure grin that Edward was pretty sure was one of the most hated things on the island. "Oh, but if 98462 was here now. He'd tear you to pieces."
"Shut up, Eagle!"
"Now now, leave him alone, old boy." Albert smiled kindly to Edward. "It's good, Edward. It's very good. Don't listen to him. Just as long as you don't get the trucks too against you." Albert looked off into the distance. "Don't those bloody fools know what they're doing!? There's people here. Women and children! If they attract the Jerrys over here-"
"Jerry's probably at home, toasting his feet over a roaring fire!" Eagle turned back to Edward and grinned, rather savagely. "And what are we doing out here?" He banged one of the trucks aggressively. "Trying to give laughing boy over there a lesson on the art of truck treatment? Give me a break."
"Now now, calm yourself." Thistle's smile was proud, boastful, but warm. "I know it may seem hard to believe, but us bigger engines-"
"Don't put that damn tosh on me, Thistle!" snapped the Blue Engine. "I work just as hard as you all do, and I'm pretty sure that without me, you wouldn't have trains to run."
"Calm down, Edward." remarked Biggles. "It's just the way that they treat you. Give it five or six years. By that point, all but Eagle will have grown out of it."
"You love me!" Eagle grinned at Biggles, who merely gave a quiet laugh in response. "See? Maybe one day, Blue Engine, you'll be lucky to get as close as we are! Then you'll be really useful at last!" His hyena cackle came back in full force as Edward gritted his teeth and pushed the last set of trucks into line.
Which was when the bomb exploded.
It had been a old one, one left over from the last war, actually. For years now, it had been left in the foundations of the dock, forgotten by all who had constructed the port and left alone, completely silent and untouched for a few decades. However, one of the fireworks had gone astray, and with a deafening bang, it pierced one of the warehouses. Finally, the bomb fulfilled it's purpose.
In the chaos, the mad chaos of screaming and shouting and wailing and terrified pleas for help, the engines were momentarily all stricken dumb. Albert was temporarily blinded by the light, Eagle and Biggles were both on further off tracks to the landing site of the bomb, and to make matters worse were drenched in the remains of some of the unfortunate trucks, and Thistle...Thistle was struck mute with shock. There'd never been such a explosion this close to the express engine, and it had stunned him completely.
No, the only engine in even remotely working state either mentally or physically was Edward, and that was thanks to the incredibly lucky co-incidence of his shunting the trucks as the bomb went off. He stepped back, dazed somewhat. And then he snapped out of it. He had often been witness to many such bombs, as he had not been allowed out before, so this one didn't particularly shock him that much.
But what he did notice was that all of the engines, the engines that had mocked him, belittled him, patronized him, who considered him to be somewhat lesser because of his size were now completely out of it. In a brief, mad second, two very simple facts became apparent to him, as his crew and many others rushed towards the flames.
No one would suspect a thing if something was to...happen to them, would they?
No one would blame him for being unable to save them.
No one at all.
...
PRESENT DAY.
That afternoon, there was a great deal of bad news from further up the line. Duncan's driver hurried out of the crew's mess hall and quickly tapped Duncan on the buffers. "One of Skarloey's coaches came off the rails! We're the only engines ready at the moment, and we're closest. We'll have to take the workmen and their tools right away!"
"All this extra work!" complained Duncan, loudly. "It wears an engine out!"
"Rabbish!" said his driver, aping James. "Come on!"
Duncan angrily clattered over the bridge of Rheneas Waterfall, aggressively muttering words under his breath to describe what his driver was, and what he did in his spare time. Words that should never pass the lips of humans, never mind engines. Skarloey had long since scarpered off to go and get drunk somewhere, leaving his train in a siding somewhere. The coach itself was in the middle, so Skarloey had been able to drop off the first two coaches with his passengers at the station before getting tipsy.
Duncan shunted the works train into the corner and let them work on the coach, leaving them there for whenever Rusty was coming back around to take them home. They were glad. Anything was better than listening to Duncan and his insane ranting, especially as he had now reached the conspiracy theorist level of intelligence, where he was randomly making links to whatever it was he thought of to explain why he was being held back. It was a relief to all when he finally started off towards home with the remaining passengers in the rear coaches.
He clanked aggressively as he passed Lake Skarloey, muttering angrily about how Skarloey was clearly some upper class twit who clearly hated that he, as the voice of the working class, was more popular and handsome and more beautiful (That last one suggested that he had spent a little too much time with James) than the silly old red engine. His driver considered, not for the first time, jumping into the lake and just waiting until he ran out of air.
"Ah get no rest, ah get no rest!" Duncan complained viciously, out loud.
"Join the club, join the club." muttered his driver and fireman in tandem. They reached the causeway across the lake, next to the old abandoned castle that had once belonged to one of the many King's of Sodor, who often fought a great deal over who'd get to have the bigger scepter and so on.
It won't shock you that Duncan made it very difficult, to the point where he came temporarily to a very harsh stop on the middle of the line and refused to move for a good several minutes. This didn't help how short of steam Duncan was, and his driver decided that waiting for a bit would be advisable to create more. Duncan wouldn't even try. He sat there, and if he had arms, he would have had them crossed like an angry child.
"You are keeping the passengers waiting." ground out the driver through gritted teeth.
"YE ALWAYS THINK ABOUT YER PASSENGERS! NEVER ABOOT ME! Why don't ye bloody marry them, ye prat!?" And he promptly stalled even further, until such time as he had built up enough steam that his driver could very grimly force him onwards. He was now outright refusing to puff, doing everything he possibly could to delay the train.
...
Edward arrived at Knapford, nervously looking this way and that. Everyone was looking at him with...distrust? Fear? Dislike? He swallowed, trying desperately to wet his suddenly dry throat. He looked around, and he noticed the coaches that were to be readied for the next train. So, very quickly, he backed down onto them, and waited for Sand and Heaver to couple him up (the workmen didn't seem to want to come near him either).
And then the TV switched on.
Drampf was on there, talking, as he usually did, complete bull from his rather large office. But Edward wasn't focused on that. No, he was focused on the pictures that were rapidly scrolling past as Drampf talked.
Thistle.
Eagle.
Alfred.
Biggles.
And then suddenly Drampf stopped talking, and a old, grainy piece of footage began to play. It showed five engines in a shed. Five engines sitting there. Right at the end, was Edward.
And then...
And then...
And...then...
Edward's mind was skipping, like a very, very broken record. Everyone was staring up at it, everyone was watching, everyone knew, they all know about it now, they all know what a coward you are, Edward, they all know your secret. The screaming reached a pitch that he'd never before heard of before, and without even a second though, Edward bolted, rushing from the station. He had to get somewhere, had to hide, had to...had to do something to just get away from them all.
...
Drampf stared, open mouthed in complete horror at the sight in front of him. Gotch looked completely and utterly dumbfounded as he sank into the nearest chair. Both men watched as the video played out, the audio (though somewhat crackly) very clear to even the most blocked of ears.
"You...idiot."
"Now hold on-"
"You said, you said that this would...that this would end it. That this would change the way they saw him forever. That it would the final nail in the coffin of Thomas the Bloody Engine! Well you were right about it changing the way they see him. He's a goddamn war hero now! And if there's one thing that the public likes, it's a war hero! You didn't even bloody check the goddamn film reel!?"
"I-"
"Shut the hell up and let me think! We're meeting with Marklin tonight, and I can assure you, your arse is grass when he hears of this!"
...
Far away, unaware of any of the revelations and baffling stuff that was going on, Duncan clanked moodily up the mountain, snarling and muttering slurs of all kinds. "AH'M OVERWORKED!" He declared "AND AH SHALL NOT STAND IT!"
"Then sit down" suggested his fireman, reaching the end of his tether and being perfectly willing to leap off the mountain at this point. At last, they reached the viaduct near Rheneas, and both crew members sighed a sigh of relief. It was practically over.
It was. Just not in the way they intended it to be.
"Come on, Duncan!" encouraged his driver. "We're almost there, once you do, you can have a rest and a drink at the station! We'll get you so much beverage, you'll be swimming in it."
There was a rather rough clanging noise as the coaches banged into each other as Duncan came to a complete standstill. He glared angrily at the crew. "Keep yer silly auld station. I'm staying here."
And he did. No matter how many pleas or arguments or threats or bribes were thrown his way, he moved not one more inch off of the middle of the viaduct until such time as Skarloey was sent out just to put the day of the visitor's out of it's mercy. By the time they reached the station, the passengers were angrier than a hornet's nest having just been poked, and they stormed out and angrily told anyone and everyone they met that this was a very,very bad railway.
By the time Duncan had been roughly shoved out of Crovan's Gate shed by the other engines, all very much angry with him, news had traveled fast, and while Edward's past being revealed was the big story, the Fat Controller took very, very detailed notice.
...
The entire island watched it. Watched the video with open mouthed expressions of shock. The children were sent out of the room, locked in areas where there was no radio, no TV, no internet, nothing.
Hatt spat out his tea in shock. He glanced outside, almost just to check, and was not surprised in the slightest to see that Edward, supposedly gathering coaches for James's train, had vanished. A distinctly familiar looking blue tender had just vanished round the corner as Gordon and Henry thunderously roared for those in charge to turn off the signal.
The engines were in a terrible state. Seeing what they had seen was...well, shocking. They felt sick, all of them, and the search to find Edward was immediately declared to be the top priority. Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver joined Thomas's team as he puffed around, looking desperately. He had to talk to Edward before he did something...stupid.
Edward had locked himself tightly at Kildane. No one ever came here, mostly because of how bad the tea service was. The shed was old and rusty and filled with rather nasty bits of rubbish that indicated that this was used as a meth den.
Good. No one was likely to look for him here.
He needed a moment, a moment to collect himself before going out to face the music. What the tune was, he had no idea, but suddenly the screaming grew louder and louder and the smell of the rust and the sound of the sawing-
Edward screwed his eyes up tight and tried desperately not to think about it.
But it rose to the surface nonetheless.
...
1944.
No one would suspect a thing if something was to...happen to them, would they?
No one would blame him for being unable to save them.
No one at all.
...No.
He would know.
And so, taking a deep breath, Edward sprang into action. He glanced from side to side. "All right lads! Let's get cracking! Here's my idea, we get as many people into the trucks as we can until the ambulance get here! We get the trucks as far away from the fire as possible, which means we get the people as far as we can. There are some fuel trucks over there, which means that if the fire spreads to them, the whole dock goes up in flames, right?" He spotted their crews heading back, and was pleased to see them nodding.
"Right on!" Biggles agreed. "Come on lads, let's do what the Blue Eng...what Edward says!"
"All right, I'll handle the fuel tankers, Edward, if you'll give me a hand?"
"Certainly Albert. Eagle, you and Thistle take care of the passengers and the injured. We want to clear as big as space as possible for the ambulance and for the firefighters!"
"You got it!" Thistle snapped out of it, and rolled forward. "Everyone here please, express coming through! Get on-board, we'll get you to safety."
"Folks, focus on the splendid red engine, all right!" Eagle called out. Elsewhere, Albert andEdward began pushing the fuel tankers out of the way, directed by Biggles. Those injured were helped onboard the trucks and pushed away from the fire towards the road, while all those who weren't left on Thistle and Eagle.
At last, the firefighters arrived to throw sand on the fire, and to beat it down with blankets, and medical personal were dealing with the wounded. The engines quietly headed off for home, towards Wellsworth.
And then the very loud, very clear sound of a air raid siren cut through the midnight air.
"Blimey!" Albert was stunned. "Not now! Of all times!"
"The fireworks would have attracted them anyway, but the explosion can't have made things better." remarked Biggles grimly. They were still in the area of Tidmouth Harbor, so the five engines were quickly driven into the sheds. The firemen damped down their fires, and joined the drivers as they made their way to the nearest bunker.
For a while, after the bombing had ceased, there was little anyone said or did. Nothing moved. The only thing that they could really gather was that whatever damage the Luftwaffe had done was quite severe, from the smell of the rather pungent smoke.
Then, there was a very loud and very audible clinking noise, as one of the shed doors (which had been closed) was slowly opened. From what the engines could see, it was still dark outside, the sky only lit by the bright orange glare of fires far off in the distance. And there, standing in front of them, was the Captain of the Krakatoa. Besides him stood...well, it was pretty obvious who they worked for.
"And you are completely sure that these are the engines."
"Listen, sir, I did what you told me to do, I found the engines from the Ministry, can I please just go?"
"But of course. Your Fraulein is waiting for you Good luck."
The Captain smiled and turned back.
He walked fifty paces before the man in charge pulled out a gun and...well, you do the math.
As the body was removed, the leader smiled a rather horrifyingly calm smile to the engines, who were terrified. "Now then...shall we begin?"
...
"Edward?"
No, no no no no, not him, anyone but him. Please, please just go away, find another shed...anything, anything, just don't-
"There you are."
Edward opened his eyes. Thomas was looking at him. He averted the gaze, focusing on anything, anything at all that wasn't Thomas's face. He couldn't look at what was in those eyes? Sympathy? Empathy? Anger? Disappointment?
"Edward...God...I..."
"Shouldn't you be back at the press conference? They'll want to talk to you."
"Screw that. You're the priority now."
"They know, Thomas. They know it all. They know my skeleton in my cupboard. And boy oh boy, it's a amazingly large one, isn't it?" Edward laughed, a low and bitter sound. "You just know they're going to use that against me...my one moment of weakness. You see it was my fault."
"I didn't see that. No one saw you doing anything that we blame you for."
"Funny. BoCo said the same thing. I wonder, if he gets it now. I told him, you see. He was the first living soul who I've told in years. Henry and Gordon knew, of course, there had to be a reason why suddenly four of their fellow engines weren't working any more. And Charlie and Sidney knew, naturally. They were the ones who rescued me. I'm not sure if Hatt knew. I think he did. His father passed that secret on to him when he retired."
"Edward, what are you-"
"The Fat Controller of my time, Charles Hatt, was a kind soul. He saw me struggle in certain areas, not unlike you, when you first started. I was good with the coaches, but not quite at mastering how to get them to the station on time. And I was okay at taking care of trucks, but I needed help. So, naturally, he asked the others to give me a hand. They resented it. But what could they do? Disobeying your controller back in those days was a far more risky thing than it is at the moment. ...So they went. With degrees of sincerity. And everything was going so well. I think I'd finally proven myself to them like...like everyone else had to. Like Henry did after the tunnel, like Duck, like Donald and Douglas, like Mavis, like the Skarloey engines...that's how it goes on this railway. You see, I think if I had been perhaps a bit better, they wouldn't have been at the harbor. And they wouldn't have been there when the bombs were dropped. And they wouldn't have been helpless to the advance party sent by the Reich to scout out Sodor for a full scale invasion."
...
"Now then, my...lads, is that what you are? My friends, I am a simple man, who speaks plainly. I am merely here to speak with the one who works for the Ministry of Defense. I imagine that we have much in common to talk about, you understand? Should he identify himself, I assure you, you will all be safe. I merely wish to know where she is."
The engines looked at each other. They were terrified, but many of them tried to avoid it. "We...we don't know an engine who works for the ministry." spoke Thistle at last.
The man shook his head. "Such a shame. We could have had this all sorted out...ah well...Hans, pass me the hacksaw, if you please."
...
"It was Thistle they tortured first. They didn't keep it going for long, just long enough for us to get a idea of what was coming out way. We tried to help him, but we couldn't move with our fires dampened down...they cut so much of his face off that he...he bled out, but I'd never seen blood like his before. It was...different, it wasn't right, it was wrong somehow and it just spread and pooled everywhere. The smell was...It took him a long while for him to die."
...
"Have I made myself perfectly clear? I believe I have, ja? Now...the Lady? She is here, on this railway, I am sure of that."
"There is no stinking engine!" shouted Biggles, his composure broken by the horrifying sight of the still twitching corpse besides him.
"You require more, ah, persuasion? Now then...eeny. Meenie. Miny...you."
...
"And then he went for Biggles. i...I don't know why, he did, I think it was to show that we shouldn't mouth off if we wanted to live. He started off with the hacksaw again, but this time he went for his boiler. The screams...it was...it echoes, echoes everywhere in my mind, like it did that night, and there was so much blood and black smoke, it was impossible to tell what else they did to him, before...before one of the others sliced through his forehead with a pair of shears...he cursed them all as he died, it was the loudest I'd ever seen him...then they turned to me."
...
"The little runt in the corner...hiding. Like a coward."
"You...You k-k-killed him!"
"Very observant. Now, I ask you again-"
"IT WAS HIM!" Eagle burst out in complete and abject terror, gesturing towards Edward. "It was him, I told him that he should give himself up, but he didn't! It's all his fault! You want him!"
The man looked at Edward, and then at Eagle. He nodded once. Two men moved forward, raised their guns up high...
-and began to shoot at Albert. The tank engine let out gasps of pain with each bullet piercing everywhere.
...
"His boiler, his face, his buffers, his cab, his gears and leavers...everywhere it would have hurt him to die. He never screamd. He never screamed out loud as the bullets kept smashing into him and ruining him and ripping him to tiny shreds of metal...he just kept telling me that it was okay, like he wasn't even feeling it, and then they...they..."
...
"Leave him...we shall take him back with us. Such a engine is strong...stronger than he looks for such a small one. But the other one, the one in red is useless to me. Proceed, Hans, and make it count."
"NO! NONONONONONO, IT'S HIM, IT'S ALL HIM, LEAVE ME ALONE, PLEASE-"
...
"Eagle was scared. Terrified. We all were, but him especially, he was just...standing there, next to the corpses, and he'd just seen his best friend die. I should hate him, because he tried to send me to my death, but I can't help but feel deathly sorry for him. He was scared. Scared and desperate. I tell you something, Thomas, if it had been me tortured, I don't know if I could have stood it without telling them anything to get me free...then they turned to me."
...
The Blue Engine shuddered in terror, twisting and writhing in fear. The blood-like substance had splashed down from...from what the men had did to Eagle. So much of it...there was no longer any sign that there had been a face. Just a raw twisted hunk of metal and flesh twisted together, so bad that no one could tell what it even looked like any more... He was ready.
"And this one, sir?"
...
"He looked at me. For the longest time."
...
"No. Leave him. He is not important. Come, take the tank engine out, clearly we have found the wrong shed. They were telling us the truth." The man waved, cheerfully, almost as if he was completely unaware of what it was he had done. "So sorry to trouble you."
He turned.
The bullets shredded him like paper in a fan. The others spun around, firing their own weapons, but were cut down like wheat. The home guard rushed in, staring around in horror at everything that had happened. Two in particular rushed to Edward. "Lads! This one's still alive! Old boy, can you...can you-"
And finally, Edward started screaming.
...
"Charlie and Sidney were soldiers at the time. That's when they found me, met me for the first time. I didn't give the best impression of myself. But they stuck by me, and they've stayed with me ever since."
Edward was silent for a long time after that. Thomas didn't know what to say. But he had to start somewhere. "What happened to Albert?"
"They...they got him to the works as fast as they could. He fought for five days like a beast to stay alive, but eventually they decided that his internal damage was too deep and too screwed up to ever fix right, and they decided to put him out of his misery as quietly and as humanely as possible. I was brought onto the mainline after about eight months of intense counselling, and I worked for a bit...I'd get these periods where it'd flare up again, really badly, but this is the first time that it just...went nuts. All the pressure, all the attention on me, it just brought it all back. You telling me that that I was...basically unimportant in our argument was the last straw."
"Did I ever mention that you shouldn't really trust me when it comes to saying correct things?"
Edward snorted. "You may have mentioned it once or twice." He paused. "What's the reaction been?"
"Reaction's that they never knew anything about what happened to you. They're feeling guilty that they could ever believe you'd be a murderer, and I get the sense that Drampf is getting grief from all sides for disrespecting a war hero."
"War hero." Edward scoffed. "I'm not that. The truth is, I was just a silly little engine getting over his head. It's ironic. I try and act like I'm this big and smart and wise old engine who has all the answers for every problem there is, and in the end, I can't even muster up the courage to tell you all what happened."
"Have you MET the other engines? Honestly, I get it. You show a bit of weakness, that's it, you're toast." Thomas looked downcast. "All honesty, no lies at all? I'm putting it on. A lot of it. The flash and the sparkle and the rebelling out against everything because I don't want to go back to being that little tank engine no one cared for and no one noticed. I don't know how to handle it, Edward. Which is why I'm quitting."
"Wrong, Thomas."
Thomas looked up in shock at Edward, whose face was now set in a very determined expression.
"That's why we're going to win."
...
That night, at the Skarloey sheds, the Fat Controller arrived, ready to give Duncan hell. We, er, had to cut things down a bit for the kids, so we shall simply sum up what he said with these words. "No passengers means no polish."
And Duncan, contrarian that he was, muttered back. "No polish means no passengers."
The Fat Controller stared at him for a moment, and then just walked away.
Sometimes, that was all you could do at the moment.
...
At the quarry, humans and engines alike began to furiously accuse each other of betraying the end goal. Marklin and Davidson argued that thanks to Gotch and Drampf, their plan to kill Thomas at his lowest point popularity wise was a bust. Drampf and Gotch argued that if both engines had told them that that was the plan instead of keeping it amongst themselves, then they wouldn't have tried to go ahead.
"Ahem."
All four stopped dead in their tracks, and turned to face the source of the calm, almost formal interruption.
The Fat Director, flanked by Captain Zero and his own personal security guards, stepped off of their other spy on the railway, known only by his code name. Stunt Double. The Fat Director looked around, and sighed. "Such a waste of time, gentlemen."
"Sir! He messed everything up!" Marklin insisted.
"On the contrary. Mr Drampf and Mr Gotch's actions, though fool hardy and rather jeopardizing in the short term, have also provided us with a golden oppurtunity. You see, now that Mr Drampf has released the footage, the footage of what many people will see as a POW getting tortured, all of the blame will now become attached to him. Every bit of public ire and anger on the Island is now flowing towards him."
"And this is good how?!" Drampf was enraged "I'm trying to gain their support!"
"While all the hate, all the anger and all the ill will is directed towards you, Mr Drampf, it shall make things a great deal easier to make sure that my spies are planted upon the Island, one way or another."
"So the assassination is out of the question?"
"On the contrary, it is more important than ever that we proceed with the plans, just in a slightly altered capacity. We do owe Mr Drampf a great deal, after all." On this rather cryptic statement from the Director, Captain Zero walked forward and removed the tarpaulin from one of the many covered up wagons around the quarry. Everyone gasped, or at the very least, sharply inhaled.
On the truck, which Stunt Double had brought to the quarry this very afternoon, was Edward's tender. It was unmistakably his, the correct coat of paint, the correct number, the correct size and number of wheels...
"Where did you-" Davidson wondered breathily.
"Simple. While Edwards lept at Crosby, the good Captain and a number of paid off employees took the tender and had it delivered to the quarry while you were all playing at being in charge. In it's place, we replaced it with a exact replica, with one difference that only becomes apparent over time." The Fat Director pointed to a large screen suspended above the quarry. "I do believe we are to get a statement from the engine himself."
...
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Island of Sodor, I wish to thank all of you for the kind words that you have bestowed upon me. When the video was revealed, I thought to myself that surely, that was it. Everyone would look upon as some cowardly fool who couldn't fight back when he was most needed, as a hypocritical fool who should watch his tongue, or far worse, as a source of comedy. I have done you all, engine and human alike, a great disservice, and I feel no such hesitation in saying that this Island is the greatest place in on Earth, and there is nowhere else I'd rather be."
A loud roar of cheers sprang up from the assembled engines and humans alike. Edward stopped for a moment to collect himself, then needed to take slightly longer when a large chorus of whistles and horns sounded up in support. He looked up, and grinned sheepishly towards James, Percy, Duck, the Scottish Twins, Oliver, Mavis, BoCo and both of the Troublesome Twins. He approached the microphone again.
"And I believe I owe most of my friends in the sheds an apology for not telling them this sooner, as a way of guilting them into letting me take the top berth for myself." He let the laughter die down. "But...with all seriousness, I thank you from the top of my heart. Now, to business. You may have noticed that I was slightly conspicuous by my absence in the past weeks' worth of drama regarding the political race. In all honesty, that was because I was suffering from problems regarding my past, and I was not in my right state of mind to give Thomas a hand in dealing with it. When we talked earlier on, he suggested that he willing to drop his mayoral campaign. And after a number of months of having all this hassle and having to go on TV to justify everything, I could have easily said yes.
But I didn't.
We're going to fight! Mr Drampf, you wanted a war?! Well now you've got one!"
There was probably more to the speech, but it was drowned out by the roars of approval from everyone gathered there. And as both Edward and Thomas grinned at each other, with the kind of determination that only the most brilliant of mad people have, their drivers raised glasses to each other, and clinked them together.
No one could hear, of course, the sound inside Edward's tender, the very, very quiet ticking sound.
The war had just begun.
...
And that's that! This chapter is the longest I've written in a while, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Lighter stuff next time,, once I've done a few other things we're not getting anything this dark for a bit. And I hope I put enough humor in here to not completely turn you off.