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The Story Of Gordon

Written by memesandtreasure

Edited by the S:TTS Team

Chapter 2: Breaking Point

Isle of Sodor: July, 1938

Gordon was tired.

Very tired and very irritable.

The fire at the Steamworks meant that maintenance had been reduced by an incredibly high margin, leaving the poor number four to grapple with his inner valve gear and cylinder constantly feeling sore as a result.

He was mad that it had to be an inanimate A4 titled Mallard who held the record for the fastest steam locomotive in the world, but was glad that it was, at the very least, Gresley designed.

But the thing that stuck out to him the most was none other than Henry, or rather… what Henry's new status meant.

The number three had returned from Crewe a new engine, and took with him new rolling stock of all sorts from their neighbor's main workshop to help fill out the NWR's depleted numbers, among other things to help further improve the railway.

Since then, his performance had become incredible: he steamed the easiest out of all of the other engines under the North Western Railway, in stark contrast to the problems he was plagued with before, and could now take on the most demanding of Sodor's trains.

This, a greater ability to tackle Gordon's Hill, and Henry's minimal maintenance needs in comparison to the other engines had cemented his place as the go-to engine of the fleet for whatever the North Western Railway needed.

While Henry thrived under the new spotlight, Gordon found himself getting less and less attention, and simply put… he was jealous.

There were some days where Gordon dreamt of Crewe, but others where he spat on it.

There were some days when Gordon and Henry were cordial with one another, but their pettiness shined through during others.

But today was a first, because all others shared one thing in common: Gordon's pride.

Mallard's record had been the last straw: it dawned on Gordon that he simply wasn't the remarkable engine he used to be, who he thought he still was anymore.

Henry had become Sodor's star.

Abel had broken the ton.

The Mallard was the one who held the speed record for steam traction.

And here he was now: alone, with nothing to do, and no one to really look forward to.

"Oh, the indignity." Gordon sighed as he waited for his crew to return with the papers.

The blue pacific was desperate for any crumb of work: Ruby and Yang already had their grip on the other passenger trains, as the Red Engines did for goods traffic.

Of course, Henry was out with the Express, but no one could say he didn't deserve it.

Gordon was glad to hear the sound of gravel underneath the soles of his crew's boots, if his eager look was anything of an indication.

"Did you find anything?"

"Well… I've got good news and bad news." His driver awkwardly chuckled.

"Good news is, you'll get to stretch your wheels. Bad news is… well, see for yourself."

"An ore train? We got assigned to an ore train?"

"Now, hear us-"

"No, Fireman. I will not. How did we get assigned to an ore train?"

Standing before them was a long line of hoppers, each filled to the fullest with iron ore; it wasn't even coupled up to Gordon, and yet the number four could already feel the sheer weight of its load.

"To be honest, I have no clue," said the fireman, "and my name's George, for the record. You've known me for over a decade, Gordon: you have the right to call me by my name like everyone else does."

"Mm, yes. My apologies, Fire- I mean, George."

"Thanks… and your driver's name is Gregory, by the way."

"G-George, how-"

"Hey, I had to get it out somehow."

"Fine… but he's right though. We've worked together for fifteen years now; just a little bit less formality would suffice."

Gordon opened his mouth to refute the argument, but stopped short of himself. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to start calling his driver and fireman by their names, right?

"I suppose that you are correct… Gregory."

"Good. Now come on. This train won't move itself."

Gordon rolled his eyes and sighed in agreement as his crew climbed back into his cab.

Coupling up to the train was a quick affair, as was being sent on his way, but as the pain in his cylinders flared up with his slow but steady departure from the harbor, Gordon had only a single thing on his mind.

"Oh, this isn't going to end well."

Edward had seen many things throughout his tenure as a working engine.

He saw the Great War come and go, the young grow old, and the old pass on.

He saw engines of all sorts come and go from Barrow as it changed over the decades; it saddened him to see the Furness slowly fade, but at least some of it lived on.

But this?

This was a first: after all, Gordon had never looked so… haggard.

Even during the early 30s, he seemed to be the most well kept together of the engines.

Now though?

He bore so many wrinkles from stress, his wrinkles bore wrinkles.

His eyes had become a fair bit glossier from the lack of energy he had these days.

And whenever he tried to thunder down the line, the slightest clanking of metal followed.

This was… very concerning, to say the least.

"Er, Gordon, are… are you all-"

"Y-yes, Edward, I'm… I'm fine. Just… just a bit tired is all… heh… yeah…"

Edward was starting to get more concerned.

"You know, I could have my crew contact Sir Topham, have Henry take the train over the Hill to Barrow for you if he can help it."

"No, no. No need. Just assist me in getting the train up the hill please. Oh, and do lather on the sand this time around. The load behind me is especially heavy."

And now he was alarmed: Gordon, publicly announcing that he needed sand?

This definitely needed to be brought up sooner rather than later, but first, the train of iron needed to be banked up the incline.

As Edward buffered up to the train with a practiced grace, patiently waiting for the signal to leave, he felt the wind change ever so slightly.

Only seconds later, the guard's whistle blew, and the train set off.

The slog up the hill was slow but sure, as wheels grinded against the steel rails beneath them. Their pistons pumped, their axle rods ached, and their firemen were growing tired from shoveling load after load of coal to fuel the effort, but still, they pushed on.

Gordon could feel his inner cylinder and valve gear strain against the effort, but he didn't dare to say anything about it: they were too close to making it over the hill's peak to quit. Not now.

And so, he pressed on, but as his fire roared, he had a feeling that something was going to give… and it did.

A loud crack, the equivalent of thunder, rang through the air.

Gordon grit his teeth in complete and utter agony as he felt his undercarriage's workings finally give out.

His cylinder came loose, as did his valve gear, and soon, both dropped to the ground as the train finally ground to a halt.

And all Gordon could do… was scream.

Henry rushed over from the other side of Sodor to back down onto the train as his friend wailed in pain.

Soon, Gordon didn't have it in him to shriek any longer, finally passed out upon reaching Barrow.

Green water was quickly administered, as Henry looked on in abstract horror.

For all of his faults, for all of their bickering and arguing… Gordon was always there.

Through the strike, through the illness, through the tunnel… through everything.

Sir Topham Hatt stepped out of his car, noticing the worry etched across Henry's face.

An accident this bad hadn't happened since Klondike and the Kipper.

"Sir, will Gordon be… alright?"

"Yes, he will, Henry. Crewe did a fine job for you. It should be more than enough for him. William still owes me another favor after that debacle at Euston shortly after your stint at the workshop."

"Good… good…"

"...He'll be fine, Henry. The damage is fixable, but not here. Do you trust my best friend? Do you trust me?"

"...Yeah, I suppose I do, after the miracles he worked to rebuild me. Thank you, Sir."

"Don't worry. Now run along. I'll be contacting the HSR about leasing Noelle; she should prove a good substitute for Gordon in his absence. Make sure you get the other engines to be nicer this time. Don't want a repeat of your departure."

"Understood, Sir. Right away."

Henry soon puffed away, leaving Sir Topham alone with the unconscious number four.

"I… I should have seen this coming. There were already problems with the maintenance beforehand, and now… if only I'd gotten something done about this sooner. Don't worry, you'll be fine… I'll make sure of it, for you, for the others… for the railway."

And with that, Sir Topham stepped back into his car and drove away.

"And that's why I am in need of your company's help. I know that William isn't here, but I am certain that your workshop is the only place that can help Gordon. Permanently."

The man sitting opposite of him swirled the liquor in his glass.

"...Before we follow through, allow me to set a few ground rules."

"Okay. You may proceed."

"One. Your engine will only use parts already in production."

"Acceptable."

"Two. We shall keep a copy of the resulting plans for future reference."

"I will have to talk with my company's workshop, but again, acceptable."

"Three. You will allow us to experiment within the parameters you have set out."

"Fine. But only upon seeing the final product."

"Then it is a deal, Mr. Hatt."

"Glad to hear it. It was nice discussing terms with you, Mr. Coleman."

"Please. Call me Tom."

NWR No. 4

Name: Gordon

Design: Prototypical A1

Cylinders: Unknown

Driving Wheel Diameter: Unknown

Boiler: Deliberating

Result: N/A

Rebuild status: IN PROGRESS

Notes:

Cylinders: Deliberating; worth removing inner cylinder?

Driving wheels: Deliberating; potential candidates not finalized

New tender: Potential candidate found; LMS 6200 "Lizzie" not happy.

Gresley boiler good base, high potential for modifications

Should be revolutionary

Sudrian crew slated for test drive