THE SMOG IN THE ORCHARD

It was morning in Equestria, and Celestia's sun shone brightly through the clouds.

The air was crisp, and moist with dew, most lights still dim, even the sun itself seemed sleepy (and you haven't even seen the princess herself!). But still, even so early in the morning, the railway was already bustling with life - freight trains being delivered from town to town, or beyond the borders, morning commuter trains, filled with the many office workers of Canterlot and Manehattan that lived away from the bustling cities, and the earliest morning local goods trains, not moving beyond their sectors of the railway system.

But in Ponyville, things were different. The recently opened marshaling yard was short on employees, so, it was yet to deal with multiple tasks at once. However, the usual trains, such as the local high-speed commuter service, the Express, and the local freight was already dealt with. But today, there was a... Minor disturbance: Bowler, code number D261, had to pull the goods train for the day (much to his displeasure and total retaliation), as it's usual runner had other business to attend to.

The usual engine in front of such trains, on the Other Railway, at least, was the engine numbered D199, but referred to as "Spamcan" by his peers. Said engine was currently resting in his berth in the engine shed, most of the others had already left, the remainder being him, the posh-toff Express engine, number 40125, "Old Stuck-Up", and the kind and polite, if wussy, mix-traffic engine, Derek.

The LAST thing Spamcan wanted to do is talk with the snooty express locomotive, and Derek was parked to far away - the goods engine didn't felt the urge to shout THROUGH Stuck-Up, either.

Moments passed, and his driver was yet to arrive.

This was no surprise, though: it was his turn to take train a temp. Since the Other Railway (and it's surrounding comrades, the engines of the many different, low-quality private railways of Britain, and from all around the world, later) made it's unwilling escapade, and ventured to Equestria - permanently, as it seemed, they had been working hard under better conditions, as they promised to the supreme rulers of the country, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. However, Equestria's already existing rail network was in an era of stagnation, and the new fleet of engines and rolling stock needed new operators - as such, a training program had began, where university-age ponies and others could temporarily join the railway, learn a certain job as back-up in case they couldn't fill in their desired occupations, and in return, do some work for the railway as well. So far, the program was running smoothly, more and more adolescent equines, griffons and other beings joining the rails for a work experience (to skip school), and similar programs were in full swing in the many provinces of the Equestrian Kingdom, and abroad as well.

As an engine, Spamcan HAD to take part in this, although he wasn't really willing to do so. Sure, the ponies were kind sorts, eager to work, and looked after them well, but training newbies has always been a chore, especially when they were new ENGINES rather than people. In fact, when he thought back, he figured that working with the benevolent equine dwellers of this world may turn out to be a piece of cake... Derek and Bert were in it deeply, and although the former was a complete wuss, and the latter probably had a toaster in the place of his brain, he trusted them just enough to give this world a try.

So he sat there, in the darkness of his berth, waiting, his mind busy digging trough it's nothing box.

Then, the door opened.

"Good morning, Spamcan!" the driver greeted him, opening one wing of the double door. Light poured in, temporarily blinding the diesel, as the other wing opened as well. Nictating in order to get used to the increased amount of light, he could still make out the silhouette of another pony at the door. Soon enough, his eyes got used to the light, and he could see who the two ponies were. One was the temporal driver he had been working with, and the other one was the trainee.

"Heh... Sorry 'bout that..."

What a familiar voice. The pony itself - herself - was familiar as well: orange fur, brown cowgirl hat, blonde mane and tail tied in ponytail (quite fittingly), and three apples on her flank. A name flashed through his mind.

"You'r'... Applejack, right?" he asked, in his thick, British working class accent. The cowmare smiled.

"Eeyup!" she replied. Spamcan just sniffed, his nose yanked to the side, slightly, as his mouth grimaced, pushing up one of his cheeks up, wrinkling it. It was just a quick motion, but it remained clear in the orange pony's brain. Still, she decided to ignore it.

"An' ya must be D199!" she went on.

"Eh, jus' call me Spamca'. Ev'rybo'y does..."

"Ah can see why..." the mare smirked.

Spamcan was, even by freight engines' standards, incredibly dirty. From wheels to top, he was covered in grease, soot, ashes, dust, and on the lower regions, close to the wheels, dried mud, scratches and spots of rust. His buffers were only clean because he used them so often they couldn't stay dirty. His paintjob - dark BR blue with bright red buffer plates, yellow warning panels and a gray roof - was JUST recognizable through the layers of filth. Filth, that he reveled in - the less he looked like upperclass Stuck-Up, and the more he could make the picky, hypochondriac Bowler freak out, the better he felt. And, a true working class engine at heart, he couldn't care less about his looks - he was unshaven with a heavy stubble, his nose dent, presumably a result of being broken once or twice, and he, like the many diesels of the other railway, had quite large eyebrows, though his weren't snaky like Diesel's or fuzzy like Stuck-Up's. His eyebrows were straight, a bit angular, and thick, nevertheless.

They were now bent down, in the habitual frown he usually had, as he eyed up the earth pony in front of him, while the workcolt checked him for any mechanical problems.

He knew it from Derek that Applejack herself was a hard-working mare, honest (heck, even the element of it), stubborn, and always ready to help. She stood for no nonsense, be it Rarity's artsy melodramas, or Rainbow Dash's own stubbornness or boasting - pretty much like how he thought of and treated the other diesels. There were MINOR differences, though:

He was, by all sense of the world, a British engine - he worked hard (when not slacking off), drank heavily with ease, fought dirty and without hesitation or restrain, was quick to trash-talk, yet, had his standards, and was everything, but UNfamiliar with the many sorts of industry.

Applejack, on the other hand, was typical American farmer (Spamcan thanked the God of Combustion Motors for her not being a redneck stereotype when met in person). She also worked hard, trying to prove her worth, even if it was unnecessary - akin to the way he tried to be the toughest engine around -, and while trying to remain a sensible and tranquil mare, she was presumably a top-notch fighter, without doubt - learning to fight wasn't that hard, and being as hard-working as she is, she VERY probably had the muscles to back it up. She wasn't likely to loose self-control as easily as he did, and while she had the stamina to stand drinks, her digestive system didn't had the same capacity - unlike him, who had fuel tanks as well. Also, she probably had (at least, SOMEWHAT) higher standards than him. But most importantly, she was a farmer, used to being close to nature. And he was worker, used to smoke, steel, concrete, and long shifts at awkward times.

An inevitable difference.

"So..." he spoke on his gruff voice "Yer goin' t' be my dri'e, righ'?"

"Ah thin' so." she replied "And yah'll be mah mentor."

"Not JUST your mentor." the colt replied, stepping out of the cab "He'll be your engine as well."

"WHAT?" the two asked in unison.

"Oh, didn't you heard?" the colt asked, surprised "It's the Princesses' orders. You'll learn how to drive an engine on D199, and you'll be his permanent driver from then on. Sure, he may have substitute drivers in case you're busy or sick, but he's your engine. And you'll be his driver. Now, if you'd come with me, I'll show you the controls and tell you some useful information. The rest will be up to you and Spamcan."

And, he and the mare made their way into his cab, where he explained the engine's control panel. Meanwhile, Spamcan waited outside, thinking about what the colt said. It didn't lasted long, though.

Spike showed up, making his morning routine as a fitter - his small size proving to be a great use in his work. As he checked over Spamcan, more thoroughly than the driver, they began to talk.

"So... You're the trainer this week?" the dragon asked, checking his couplings and break pipes.

"Yeah." the engine replied shortly. He wasn't really in a talkative mood, heck, he wasn't even a talkative sort at all. But, you gotta socialize...

"It's Applejack."

"Really?" Spike asked "Good. She suits you." He had been around the engines for a time long enough to know their personalities and relations. They weren't that nice, but acceptable - better than the group of his own kind he had to deal with when he joined the Migration. The Other Railway engines were different - they were sullen, and rough, but not tumble and antagonizing like the dragons. They were also quite sardonic and sarcastic - much like him - and were in for a good laugh - "for a change", as they often said.

Spike himself WAS surprised how quickly he learned the "physiology" of the engines - their mechanism, namely - and was on his way to gain expertise. Naturally, the most problematic case was Derek with his constant overheating and other, plentiful engine problems. The Class 17 was optimistic, and this quickly stuck on Spike as well, whenever he was dealing with Derek - which was QUITE a lot of times.

As for Spamcan, while he naturally had no concept of what was the country and place the gruff goods engine came from, he could still see that he was a hard-working sort, who, if encouraged to actually DO his job, did it very well, even if half-heartedly.

"Yeah... I gue' so." the diesel replied, pondering "Although, CLE'LY, we'e NO' th' same. She's a' apple fa'me', I'm a freigh' diesel."

"Ah, you'll manage." the dragon replied, trying to scrub off some dirt from his lamps using the scales of his elbows "Besides, it could be worse..."

"Yeah, I figured." Spamcan replied before adding with a guileful smirk "I could've go'en Rari'y..."

The dragon only frowned on that comment, forcefully scratching the engine's paint with his tail as he examined the bogies.

Spamcan just laughed.

"Anyways." Spike grumbled, before changing his tone "Don't you find it suspicious that, all of a sudden, you're chosen to be working with Applejack, of all ponies, who suits you well? I mean, Twilight is a clever pony, the smartest I've ever met, beside the Princess, and she get's to work with none other, than THE 'Devious' Diesel!"

"Ya migh' be onto sum'thin' dere, lad..." D199 replied, after a pause "Yeah, tha's qui'e cu'iou'..."

They were interrupted by a voice coming from the cab:

"Alright, now that you know all the controls, let's see, how well can you drive." it was the voice of the workcolt "Let's start this nice and simple... The door's open, and I want you to drive Spamcan onto the turntable. You finished yet, Spike?" he asked, leaning out through the door.

"All done, sir!" the dragon replied, and stood aside.

"Right." the colt replied, and turned to the mare "Alright, Applejack, all set. Let's see how it's done."

"Alright! Let's go!" she replied. But as she looked down at the control panel, she grew nervous. Just to start this engine, she had to turn THREE different levers into separate directions. She began to sweat.

""It's OK, Applejack, you can do this!"" she encouraged herself, mentally. Slowly, with forelegs shaking slightly, she brought her hooves down onto the brakes and throttle...

Spamcan, still thinking about what Spike said, was woken from his thoughts by the feeling of his own engine starting with a rumble, two thick pillars of dark gray smoke shooting out of his exhaust, adding to the soot splodges on his roof. There was the hiss of his brakes, and, with rev of his engine, he lurched forward, towards the door - a bit too fast, maybe, but he trusted the colt enough to help the mare in case something goes wrong. He could see that the table was already set to his direction, but suddenly, something blocked his vision - one of the wings of the shed's door had mysteriously closed.

It was probably wasn't secured properly, and a gust of wind must of blown in shut, but that was the last of the engine's worries.

"Pull the brakes, PULL THE BRAKES!" the colt yelled. Panicking, the mare pulled just the right lever, and with a shrill hiss, Spamcan's brakes came on hard, his wheels screeching, but his momentum carried him on, slipping down the rails.

With a loud BANG!, he smashed into the door, making it slam open, finally stopping.

Immediately, the colt and Applejack jumped out of the cab, and rushed to his front, to see if he suffered any damage (or injury, given the fact he ran face-first into half a shed door), while Spike examined the door.

Thankfully, Spamcan wasn't hurt - his buffer was the first to crash into the door, and those things are sturdy - his face barely touched the door.

"I'm no' 'ur'." he muttered, surprised by the worrying ponies "Jus' star'ed."

The door, on the other hand, wasn't fairing that well. It's metal frame was badly twisted, some of the ground glass windows were fractured, or even broken, many hard wood planks were broken into splinters, and the hinges were deformed.

"Who opened this wing?" Spike asked.

Applejack's eyes went wide, and she bit her lower lip, before muttering.

"Ah... Ah did..."

"Sorry, that was my fault!" the workcolt interrupted quickly "I should of told you to fixate the door. Anyways..." he muttered "Let's continue with the training, we'll deal with the door later. But this time, be a bit SLOWER..."

It was as easy as pie (though, not Pinkie Pie, of course) from then on.

After the initial shock, Applejack's stress had disappeared, and she could handle tasks with ease.

Backwards or forwards, tackling sharp turns, and railway regulations, even Rule 55!

Soon, it was time for the earth pony and the diesel to pull their first train together. The colt had already left, leaving the two to deal with task themselves.

Spamcan was calm, even a bit bored, but Applejack was nervous again.

'Arry and Bert, the Ironworks diesels shunted their train of flatbeds full of metal girders and pipes. They were for a construction in Stalliongrad Oblast, which meant they had to take the train all the way to the northern border, where the North National Railways would take over. That was a long way away, so Spamcan had a nice, long refill at the fuel depot.

He did noticed, however, that Applejack was fidgeting around.

"If ya go'a go t' th' toile', go no', 'cuz' we ca' sto' du'in' th' tri' if we wanna ma'e i' ba' b'fo' mi'nigh'."

"No, it's not that, sugahcab." Applejack blushed. "Sugarcab" was her moniker for the grimy engine, who wasn't at one bit pleased with this, but didn't complained.

"It's just that... Ah'm worried..."

"'bou' wha'?"

"It's a looong trip we're lookin' towards... What if Ah fail?"

Spamcan grunted.

"Bullcrap. Th' o'ly one 'o ca' fail is ME. All YOU gotta do is kee' ca'm an' obey s'mapho's an' re'ula'ions. So don' worry. No' c'mon, we go' a train t' pull."

They trundled into the station, next to the narrower goods platform. The train was just being shunted in by the Iron twins - a long line of steel girders and pipes, all chained down in flatbeds. The trucks were newer ones, so they didn't needed a brake van. Spamcan gave them a small bump to test their weight - they were pretty heavy, but evenly balanced, so they would stay on the rails, even if they would be going fast in bends. The diesel was coupled up, but he didn't had time to turn around, which meant that Applejack had to go to his other cab, and that he couldn't see what's in front of the train - but at least could keep an eye on the trucks, well, the first one, anyway...

However, this didn't help the poor cowmare, who grew increasingly anxious, as she walked over to the other cab. She climbed in, and sat down on the seat, shaking slightly.

The shunters ran around the train, to see if anything was amiss. Finally, they were given the all clear - the electronic signal of the station turned green. With a deep breath, the mare released the brakes, and pushed the throttle forward, making the train move.

Suddenly, there was shrill whistle, and the light turned red again. Applejack quickly stopped the engine, and climbed out of the cab.

"What it Tarnation?!" she snapped.

"Well, we'e 'bou' t' fin' ou'..." Spamcan muttered, looking forward. The Doctor was running up to them.

"Wha's u', Doc?" the goods engine asked on a sarcastic voice.

"Sh-Sh-Sorry abou' that!" the brown earth pony huffed as he stopped beside them "There was a change of orders in the very last second!"

"Oh, Ah can imagine THAT!" Applejack muttered, but listened anyway.

"Nuh-Now, it seems that there was a change in the transport plan. A Stalliongradian engine is waiting in Manehattan Central's freight department. So your journey is reduced to that destination."

"Righ'." thus Spamcan.

"OK." thus Applejack.

"Alright. The line's clear, so I suggest you start as soon as possible. You'll have to take the same route, all the way to Trottingham Junction. It changes there, but they've been called in advance, so you don't have to worry around it..." Doctor Whooves continued, walking off to the other side of Spamcan, when he suddenly notices something... "Also, change the headcode! You'll have to be able to be identified!" and with that, he trotted off.

"Oh, bollocks!" the engine muttered. The mare looked puzzled.

"Headcode? What's that?" she asked, walking up to the end of the train. Then, she saw it.

Two black blocks in the front of this side, one with the the letters "AC" and the other with the number 10 in it, all white, and seemed to be illuminated by a faint light from behind. The glass covering them was incredibly dirty, yet, the code was still visible. They seemed to be a bit dispossession, though: the 'A' was a bit crooked, and the zero of the '10' was half off...

"What's all this about?" she asked. D199 took a deep breath.

"Ev'ry eng'ne on th' rai'way has a numbe'. Mine's Dee-One-Nine'ynine. Bu', if a' eng'ne 'as t' pul' a trai', dey also ge' a headcode. Mine hasn't bee' set fo' ye'rs ou' o' negligence. Bu' I 'AVE bee' giv'n th' new set of code le'ers fi'in' fo' DIS rai'way, an' a new device t' change 'em. Ya'll fin' i' on th' control panel."

Applejack quickly climbed back up, and soon found the device in question: a small box secured on the very right of the panel, with a four-digit quartz screen, and four nabs underneath it. As she turned it on, the faint light behind the code became stronger, simultaneously, as the screen of the device turned on. There was a clank, and the mare hurried outside, only to find that the 'A' and the zero were now perfectly on the spot, no longer crooked or half off, as if pulled tight on their black canvas. Climbing back in, she sat down, staring at the quartz screen, displaying the numbers and letters in red...

"Oh, God... I'll 'ave t' 'xplai' th' codin', righ'?" the diesel muttered.

"Ah believe so, sug." the cowmare sighed.

"Righ'..." Spamcan groaned, and began:

"Each ch'racte' ca' be a le'er, rangin' fro' A t' Z, or a numbe', rangin' fro' zero t' nine. The fi'st, lef'mos' ch'racte' ind'ca'es th' class of th' trai', so i's usu'lly a numbe'.

One, o' numbe' 1, mea's i's an e'spress trai', nomina'ed pos' or parcel train, o' any kin' o' maint'nanc' trai' goin' to fix sum'in', fo' example, clea' th' line fro' snow, o' - God forbi'! - a trai'wre'k, maybe fix th' ove'ead wires, o' assis' a fail'd train.

T'o, o' numbe' 2, mea's i's a no'mal pass'nger trai', o' a maint'nanc' trai' tha' has done i's job, an is returnin', o' maybe an Off'cers' Spec. trai', ya 'no', sor' o' li'e an inspecto' trai'.

T'ree, o' numbe' 3, mea's i's a freigh' trai' tha' ca' run fas'e' tha' 75 mph, essentially, an "E'spress Go's trai'", or a Spec-Aut empty train."

"A what?" Applejack asked.

"A Specially A'thorized trai' o' em'ty coaches."

"Oh."

Smapcan continued:

"Fo', o' numbe' 4, mea's i's a freigh' trai' tha' ca' o'ly go as fast as 75 mph.

Five, o' numbe' 5, is an trai' o' em'ty coaches.

Si's, o' numbe' 6, is a freigh' trai', tha' ca' o'ly go as fast as 60 mph.

Se'en, o' numbe' 7, is, again, a freigh' trai', tha' ca' o'ly go as fast as 45 mph, essentially, a slo' go's trai'.

Eigh', o' numbe' 8, is a freigh' trai', tha', ei'he' due t' i's load, o' th' timetables, CAN'T go fas'e' tha' 35 mph, o' o'ly has t' tra'el be'wee' t'o sta'ions.

Nine, or number 9, mea's i's an int'rnational trai', whi's 'as qui'e freakin' jum'y schedules."

"An' zero?" the mare asked.

"Eh. A locomotive tha' isn' nee'e' anywhe'e, so i' jus' tra'els down th' line, pe'haps i's bein' reloca'ed fo' th' time bein', o' wha'eve'. Worse case s'enario, i's on i's las' journey, as i's bein' sold t' ano'he' com'any."

He pondered for a moment.

"Now, we'e ta'in' a trai' tha' is deliverin' freigh', an' goes fas'e' than 75 mph, which mea's..."

"Th' fi'st numbe' is numbe' t'o!" Applejack exclaimed, not noticing that she had somehow picked up the grimy engine's accent for a moment "Now, wha' 'bou' th' se'on'?"

"Sto' mimi'in' me." the diesel grunted, making the mare blush.

"Sorry."

"Anyways, th' se'on' ch'racte' indica'e' th' region o' province, so, i's usu'lly a le'er.

A is fo' Appleloosa, an' th' west'n region in general.

B is fo' Brüissail, an' th' Europonian Union in general.

C is for Canterlot, an' since we'e in this province, i' may also mea' we'e goin' T' Canterlot i'self.

D is fo' Dainmark, and the Scandeneighvian region in general.

E is fo' Equestria, i' case i's a numbe' 9 class trai'.

F is fo' Fraunce, an' West'n Europone in general.

G is fo' Girafrica, again, i' case i's a numbe' 9 trai'.

H is fo' Hungery, an' Central-East'n Europone in general.

I is fo' Iraland, which mea's we'e NO' be goin' t' go de'e tha' much, as all services de'e are dun' by th' Eagleland Cross-Coun'y Rail Service.

J is New-Jockey, an' th' east coast o' Phillydelphia in general.

K is fo' Coltland, 'cause Canterlot to' th' 'C' ea'lie', again, all service is dun' by th' E.C.C.R.S..

L is fo' Lieutenania, an' th' Boltic region in general.

M is fo' Mexicolt, an' th' South'n states in general.

N is fo' Neighterlands..."

"Which means we're NOT goin' to go there, wha'ever the reason, WHATSOEVER!" Applejack interrupted in a hurried, declarative manner.

"Ya go' tha' fro' th' tip o' my tongue." Spamcan smirked, and went on:

"O is for Oxfort, an' th' Brutish Isles in general.

P is for Phillydelphia, spe'sificly, i's wes' side.

Q is fo' track testin' trai's an' extra-special deliveries.

R is fo' museum an' priva'e trai's.

S is fo' Stalliongrad, and th' Northern Region in general.

T is fo' tes' trai's, ya 'no', li'e pro'otypes, new rollin' stock, essetra.

U is fo' "Unde'cove'", to'-se're' trai's, usu'lly mili'ary.

V is fo' VENDETTA! Nah, jus' kiddin', it's fo' "Vaul' trains", specific pos' trai's tha' car'y impor'an' documents. Dese are of'en call'd th' "Absolute Numbe' Ones", as dey 'ave priority above any othe' trai'.

W is fo' Windigo Mountains, an' minin' trai's in general.

X is fo' Royal Trai's, Ou'-o'-Gauge loads, o' Gov'nmenta' trai's.

Y is fo' "Why" trai's, trai's with unspecified dest'na'ion an' load, usu'lly foun' stran'ed, an' withou' an eng'ne.

Z is fo' maint'nanc' trai's, rangin' fro' bre'kdown trai's through Wire-repairmen' t' snowploughs."

"And we're taking this to Stalliongrad, so..." Applejack began, but Spamcan interrupted her:

"In ou' case, it's different. While ou' trai' goes t' Stalliongrad, we're no' movin' beyond region borders. We're o'ly goin' t' Manehattan, so se' i' t' 'M'."

"Right." the mare replied, and set the second number, er, letter "What about the last two?"

"Those are usu'lly numbe's tha' specify th' very trai'. Since de'e migh' be dubl'cations problems, li'e t'o similar trai's, say, an e'spress an' a V trai', goin' t' th' same destination, bu' no fro' th' same sta't, o' in th' same time. So, thei' numbe's cou' be d'fined by thei' star'in' poin', 'ome sta'ion, o' th' time dey sta'ed."

"And... In our case?" Applejack asked, now thoroughly confused.

"Meh. Ponyville's radio code is MP-1, as i's a marshalin' yard, indica'in' "M", an' th' fi'st cross-gateway junction in th' region, indica'in' "1", it's called Ponyville, indica'in' "P". Which mea's th' identity code is 31, as i's fro' Canterlot, which has th' t'ird le'er in th' region an' city codin', an' i's th' fi'st big junction in th' region."

He thought for a moment.

"An' since dis trai' had bee' loaded up and arranged 'ere, i' carries th' 'ome code."

"Sooo...?"

"31."

"Right!"

Thankfully, they had been expecting them, so the train, headcode 2M31, trundled on, with ease.

Finally, they arrived at Manehattan Central. Soon enough, the train was shunted to a siding, where the Stalliongradian engine - a robust and large diesel consisting of two units - picked it up, and left without a word, although he did hooted a thankful honk to Spamcan as he passed. The goods engine was offered a wash-down, but he refused, and instead, asked for Vodka-Cranberry-Lime cocktail with a some ice, barely shaken - which he received. Applejack herself had a nice lunch at the employee's gastropub, before returning to her engine. Soon enough, they were ready to leave. Their trip to there was relatively short, only one and half hour, in contrast of the six or seven hours it would of taken to get to the borders. Still, the cowmare was surprised.

"The last time I went to Manehattan, it took a good four hours of trainride."

"Heh." the diesel smirked "Tha' wa' b'fo' th' lines we'e stra'gh'en'd an' sor'ed ou'. I had a chance t' spea' wi'h sum' o' th' drive's. Tha' Alexei guy di' wonde's t' th' lines, dey said. Th' trac's are much mo' stra'gh'fo'ward. Also..." his smirk grew proud "Ye've bee' drivin' a diesel, no' a steamie."

"Ummm... OK?" Applejack replied "What's wrong with "steamies", though?"

"Nothin', nothin'!" Spamcan replied, a bit too quickly "Bu' ya gotta a'mit, I'm faste'!"

"Yah are, sugarcab, yah are." Applejack smiled warmly, and pet the control panel.

"Aah, wha' a l'uv'ly scene..." sad a greasy voice "Too bad I 'av'ta interrupt it..."

Applejack looked up. So did Spamcan, and groaned angrily.

Another diesel engine, almost perfectly identical to Spamcan in shape and size, slipped in next to them, his signal also red. He was painted dark BR Green, with a cream stripe running across footplate-level, with silvery-gray roof, and had shiny stainless steel wheel tires, but, unlike Spamcan, his hub covers weren't yellow. He also had yellow warning panels, but his only reached half of his face in a rectangle shape. His face was also similar to Spamcan's in many ways: same baggy-ish eyes, a slightly more pronounced, but still noticeably angular set of eyebrows. But he was shaved, safe for a downy, barely noticeable stubble-mustache and similarly almost unnoticeable Van Dyke beard-stubble. Odd enough, while his nose wasn't dented, the end of the warning panel's yellow coloring ended in the same level of Spamcan's dent. The British Rail double arrows on him were also crooked, like on the grimy diesel beside him, but his leaned into the other direction.

"Well... I's been quite sum' time... Spamcan..." he hummed, cold and murky.

Spamcan didn't reply. He just looked straight forward, angrily.

"Oh. Still pissed ove' tha' li'e c'mpetition we 'ad, all those ye'rs ago? Shame..." he muttered with faked empathy, before adding with a whisper "Pissed li'e a stinkin' steamie..."

Spamcan just revved his engine, and kept looking forward, but his face was more and more contorted with fury. The other engine kept on smirking wickedly, his shady windows successfully hiding whoever was driving him. Applejack, who had been watching the whole thing, could practically feel the ire growing in the engine, so, determined, she leaned out from the cab, and called out to the other locomotive.

"Ay! Bother someone else, tin box! What's YAR business with 'im?!"

"Wha's i' to YOU, horse?!" the engine snapped back coarsely.

"I's MY engine ya're talkin' to! That's what!" the mare snapped back.

"YOUR'S? No' li'ely!" the engine replied with a sneer - He's th' prope'ty of th' railway! And YOU'RE just a trainee!

Applejack was taken aback.

"How do you...?!" she muttered.

"Don' think I CA' notice a rookie when I saw one. And NO rookie is goin' to tell ME better!" the engine growled in a low voice, making the cowpony back away more. That was, until she heard a laugh escape from the diesel's cab, an all-too-familiar one, that made her blood boil with anger, even though she wasn't certain about it's owner.

"WHO'S IN THERE?!" she snapped, leaning out from the cab "SHOW YARSELF!" she was looking straight into the other engine's windows, much to the surprise of both locomotives.

"OI! Back off, mare! Thi' is none o' yer business!" the green engine snapped, and rev his engine loudly.

"Why don' ya jus' FU'K OFF, Sulzer?!" Spamcan growled "Ya'r signa's gree', anyway."

'Sulzer' just chuckled.

"Temper, temper, brotha'... No need to hurl up th' licence recor's in fron' of an audience." he jeered, his brakes hissing as he released them. Slowly, he moved forward, still smirking.

"So long, Spamcan. 'ope we'll ge' to talk PROPERLY next time..." and with that, and a blow from his off-key two-tone horn, Sulzer oiled away, his engine rumbling smoothly.

Spamcan and Applejack just glared after him. If looks could kill, their glance would've very probably sent the diesel straight to purgatory, even without combining them.

They didn't talk on the way back. Nor did they talk once they arrived back into the marshaling yard. Both of them was still seething with fury. They simply parked on a siding, out of everyone's side. Applejack climbed out, and stood next to the engine's buffers, leaning against his bogie.

Nobody talked to them. In fact, the many trucks, coaches and workponies avoided even glancing towards them.
Finally, after a long silence, D199 finally spoke up, his glare turning from angry to his usual, nonchalant frown:

"Bastard."

"Eeeyup." Applejack muttered back, the glare leaving her face as well, as she turned to him "Is he your brother?"

"Sum'wha'." Spamcan replied, looking away "He's a Class 45. I'm a Class 46."

"So, he's the older one..."

"Yeah. Hi' name i' Sulzer, as ya may gues'."

"Is he really yar brother?"

"Ya ca' say tha'... We'e basi'lly th' same type o' eng'nes, wi'h sum' minor diff'rences. An' he's th' o'ly "rela'e" I 'no' of. Mos' o' th' othe's 'ave bee' scrapped."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that, sug." Applejack sighed. Scrapping seemed to be a recurring death among the engines, and while they could handle it easily, the mares were strained by the fact that intelligent beings like them were mass executed in such manners. They may have been machines, but this was NO WAY to threat a sentient being.

"Neve'mind..." Spamcan replied "Bu' wha' 'bou' ya? Ya go' all agro ove' 'is driver. Wha's up?"

The mare cringed...

"Nuthin'..." she lied "Just some... Family business..."

"Wha'eve' ya say..." Spamcan replied, still unconvinced.

Doctor Whooves walked up to them.

"Glad you two are back." he smiled "Applejack, your session ends here. You may go home now. As for you, D199, there's a delivery waiting for you at Sweet Apple Acres. You'll destination will be Canterlot."

"Actually, Docter..." Applejack interrupted "Would yah mind if Ah'll deal with this deliv'ry?"

"...Sure." the Doctor replied, after a short pause "He's your engine now. Princesses' orders!"

Soon enough, the cowmare and the goods diesel set off to the orchard. They couldn't approach from it's entrance, naturally, so, they went around it... Behind the orchard, the landscape turned hilly, as it was getting closes to the tall mountains in the distance... Pine forests grew around here, and a double rail line run up the incline. At the rear limits of the orchard, a cutting was made into the suddenly steep slope. The cutting was wide, it's bottom covered with powdered stone and ballast. The two lines went on, and, after a long detour, joined the mainline somewhere further. But where the orchard was closest to the line, a small yard was set up. It wasn't much, three long sidings added to the two lines, one next to the orchard's fencing, the other two, closer to the hill, with a tall pine forest looming over it at one side.

When Applejack and Spamcan arrived, they were surprised to see the little yard set up for them. It was filled with vans, and Diesel and Twilight were busy shunting them. The Class 08 then noticed them.

"Well, you certainly took your time!" he snapped at them, before resuming his indifferent look "We'll soon wrap this up, and shunt your train to the siding near the orchard. You wait there." and with that, he returned to his work.

Applejack climbed out from the cab, switched the points to the siding, then ran back to the the engine. Then, they quickly rolled onto the siding, stopping beside the orchard's gates.

"Ah still don' know what all this fuss is about..." Granny Smith muttered in a shaky voice, as Big Macintosh and Apple Bloom separated the various kinds of apples in to stacks of crates.

"It's simple!" Apple Bloom replied "We gotta organize the diff'rent kind of apples into diff'rent crates. This load IS going to Canterlot!"

"Eeeyup." Big Macintosh added, carefully placing a crate on top of a tall stack. Or at least he would've, if a booming horn wouldn't have scared him half to death.

"Damn, that's loud!" Applejack cursed. Spamcan only smirked.

"I 'no'. I pers'nally asked 'em t' replace my no'mal 'orn wi'h a ferry's, whe' i' bro'e."

"No kiddin'." Applejack muttered, stepping out of the cab.

"Applejack!" her sister cheered, running up to her "Yah came back!" and she gave her a mighty hug. Applejack only smiled, and hugged back, as Wiona and Big Mac run up to her as well, followed by the slowly trotting Granny Smith.

"So, how was work?" the senior work pony asked.

"It was fine. Easy, even..." Applejack replied, before adding with a chuckle "Once you get pass the shed doors...

Spamcan joined her in chuckling. This made the ponies finally notice him.

"Oh my gosh!" Applebloom gasped "Is that your engine, Applejack?"

"Th' one an' o'ly." the diesel replied, smirking. The young Apple just stared. Wiona ran around the engine, sniffing the bogies. She began to lower her rear next to one, but the engine snapped at her.

"Don' even THIN' 'bou' i'!" he barked. Obediently, the herding dog backed away...

"He sure is large." Big Mac muttered, examining the engine.

"Look 'ho's talkin'!" Spamcan replied.

"Owl callin' the sparrow a big-head." the stallion retorted.

"...Fair 'nuf'."

"Ever'pony, sorry, ever'one..." the orange mare spoke up "Ah'd like ya'll to meet D199. He was mah trainer, an' yokemate during mah session, an' Ah've been given the responsibility to be his permanent driver, and help him out with his work, WHEN an' IF Ah can come to the railway."

"Also, dis mea's I ca' com' 'ere, an' 'elp ou' wi'h yer deliv'ries." the diesel added "An' call me Spamcan... All o' my... Eh... Palls do."
"Nice to meet ya!" Apple Bloom greeted him politely "I'm Apple Bloom."

"Li'ewise." Spamcan replied with a smile.

"I'm Big Macintosh." the red stallion spoke "Pleased to meet ya." and he reached out with a hoof, to grab one of the engine's buffers.

"Sorry lad." the diesel smirked "Tha' thin' w'uldn't budge. I's no' s'ppose' to. Anyways, ya mus' be th' all aroun' ladies' stud 'ere." he went on with a smirk. A slight blush appeared on the stallion's face, before he chuckled full heartedly, dismissively shaking his hoof.

"Oh no. Ah'm far to busy for that!" he muttered bashfully.

"Too busy?" Applejack snickered "More like too shy! Not even Fluttershy is as awkward as ya when it comes to speakin' with the opposite gender!"

As Big Macintosh continued to blush deeper, looking away sheepishly, Granny Smith trotted up to the engine.

"Hmmmm... A bit dirty he is..." she muttered, running a hoof over Spamcan's buffer plate, and wiping the grime off from her hoof on the ground "He seems to be in good shape..." she added, examing the diesel's teeth, pulling his lips aside. "Ah say, he'll be a mighty good help in Sweet Apple Acres."

"But Granny Smith!" Apple Bloom explained "Spamcan can't help in the orchard. He's a train, he can't go where the rails don' go!"

"Well said." the engine muttered "But actu'lly, I'm no' a trai'. I'm jus' th' eng'ne, o' loc'motiv'. "

"What? But locomotives can't speak!" the elderly pony exclaimed.

"I' turns ou' dey ca'." Spamcan smirked again.

"Ya'r pretty odd for an engine, if yah don't mind me sayin'..." Big Mac muttered "And that Diesel fellow as well."

"Tha's b'cuz' we'e DIESEL eng'nes. No' steam eng'nes tha' yer prob'ly use' to. We run on oil, no' coal an' wa'er."

"Wait..." Apple Bloom muttered "So... Diesel is a diesel engine, and he's called..."

"Diesel. Yeah. No' re'lly creati'e, is i'?" Spamcan sneered. Tne others just stared, bemused.

Then, the above named shunter began to move the now organized train onto the same siding. Spamcan looked forward.

"Guess I'll be takin' th' trai' bum fi'st again."

The next second, Diesel slammed the train into his buffers.

"Ow."

After a while, the vans were fully loaded, thanks to the combined work of the Apples, while Diesel arranged the remaining vans onto the two other sidings. The headcode - 4C31 - was set, and the train was ready to depart. Well, almost...

"What do yah mean ya're comin'?" Applejack blurted out, his family members standing in front of her.

"We'll hav' to make sure the apples arrive safely. This IS Canterlot we're talkin' 'bout. We shouldn't upset the Princesses."

"Especially Princess Luna, right, big brother?" Apple Bloom asked, poking the stallion's side with her elbow, making him blush and look away again.

"Yah may be a goods engine..." Granny Smith went on "But that doesn't means ya're a GOOD engine as well. We'll come with yah to see how yah deal with this deliv'ry of crucial importance." then, she modestly added "Well, crucially important for us. We'll have to make an impression!"

"...OK. Soun's fair 'nuf'." Spamcan replied.

"But we can' go yet!" Apple Bloom exclaimed.

"Why not?" the other's asked, surprised. The youngest Apple pointed at the diesel.

"We can' make the deliv'ry with such a dirty engine! We ought'a clean him down first!"

"Wha'?" muttered D199.

"Yar right as rain, Apple Bloom!" Granny Smith smiled "Let's get the cleanin' equipment. Big Mac!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Big Macinthos replied, and the three trotted of quickly.

"...Bu' I don' wan' t' be cle'n'd." Spamcan muttered miserably, before a heavy frown came onto his face.

"Bugge'!" he cursed.

"It's alrigh', sugahcab!" Applejack smiled "We'll get yah spic an' spam quickly as possible, and then we'll set of to Canterlot."

"Bu' I told ya, I don' WANT t' be cle'n'd!" the diesel huffed "Th' las' thin' I wan' t' be is a loo'-a-li'e t' tha' posh twa', Stu'k-Up!"

"Why would yah look like him, sug?" the mare asked.

"Ya'll see i', once ya wash me down!" the engine snapped "I don' 'no' wha' all dis fuss is 'bou', anyways! Th' Princesses the'sel'es alrea'y saw me in my full "glory"! So, wha' th' poin' i' cle'nin' me?"

"That may be, Spamcan, but we can't just show up like this!"

"Applejack." the diesel muttered "We did. ON TH' VERY FI'ST BLOODY DAY!"

"Now, there's no need to be angry!" the cowmare frowned.

"No nee' t' be angry?" Spamcan spluttered "I'm goin' t' be scrubbe' down ag'ins' my will! Tha's at LEAS' se'sual molestation!"

"No, it ain't!" the earth pony retorted with a slight blush.

"Yes, i' is!" the Class 46 sniffed.

"No, it isn't!"

"I' is!"

"It isn't!"

"I' IS!"

"It ISN'T!"

"SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!!!" Diesel shouted from the siding "Or do you want me to slam the rest of these trucks into your SIDE?!"

"...Nope." came the mare and the engine's distraught, meek reply.

There was a long pause afterwards.

"Ya 'no' wha'? Am bo'ed." Spamcan muttered.

"Yeah. Ah should've gone too." Applejack replied. The engine thought hard.

"'ey, I' yer int'rest'd, dere's a radio an' sum' CD's i' my cab."

"Radio? Yah mean, like a music player?"

"Yeah, an' sum' CDs. Che' benea' th' control panel."

And so she did.

To her surprise, she found a patchwork stereo system, with first-class sub-woofers, and several stacks of CDs, all neatly packed on top, in specially made shelves.

That, of course, didn't helped the fact that the mare had never seen a Compact Disc before.

"What are these?" she asked.

"CDs. Th' music's all on 'em." came the reply.

"Oh, so are they like records?"

"Uhhh... Yeah, jus' mor' compact." the goods engine replied. Only now it has occurred to him that the ponies may not know about modern entertainment equipment.

"What are we goin' to listen to?" the mare asked.

"Pi' ou' one tha' ya thin' ya'll li'e, an' pu' i' in."

"Alrighty then..." Applejack muttered, and picked up a flat box from one of the selves, examining it.

It had an odd label, to be honest.

It was completely red, fading to black around the edges, with a yellow, five-pointed star in the middle, yellow beams extending from it's concave angles. On the star, there was a hammer and sickle, both superimposed and silver gray. It reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite put her hoof on it.

The title was also silver gray and metal-printed, reading: "COMMAND & CONQUER", with the under title being "RED ALERT", painted in ruby red.

There was also another under title, black with white edges, this one looked like it was harshly painted on with a brush, with a weird, Cyrillic-esque font, reading: "from ONE, THROUGH, THREE!"

"Huh... That's weird..." the farmer pony muttered, and carefully pried the box open with her hooves. Inside, she found a small plastic disc, thin as parchment, silver colored, with a transparent inside, the center cut out, leaving perfect, circle-shaped hole...

"Odd..." she muttered, before glancing at the stereo system. She soon found what she was searching for: a slit-like opening with a set of buttons under it. Carefully, holding the disk on the thinner edges with her two hooves, she placed into the opening, then gently pushed it in. She then gazed at the buttons, and soon found one that read "play".

Pressing it, she leaned back, and waited for the music to start.

Out of curiosity, Spamcan asked:

"Wha' disk di' ya choose?"

Then, it started.

"Uh oh..."

Applejack WAS surprised.

For a tune, it started mighty strangely.

She could hear marching. Intense marching, while an deep electric guitar riff lurked around in the background. The music seemed to be building around the rhythm of the march. Soon, percussion and more guitars joined in, making the music more lively... And more violent.

"Die Waffen, legt an!"

The tone went full blast, maximum overdrive. The rhythm remained, but the sound was bestial.

She was pretty sure it was army music, though not any type she had heard before. It was one hell of a march. The woofer banged loudly, so loud, she could feel the entire engine resonate...

It wasn't her kind of music, in fact, she never liked military tunes. But this just took her.

The resonance traveled down the rails, carrying the sound. It reached the yards, and echoed from every empty space located on the rails. Every truck, every coach, even the engines' cab pulsed with the heavy march.

Diesel stopped, and glanced at Spamcan. The big engine was lost for words, eyes closed, mouth shut, as he just listened to the music. Diesel himself said nothing as well, just stopped, taken by the militant beat.

Twilight poked her head out from his cab, mesmerized by the sound, and just kept staring at Spamcan. She wasn't a fan of war music, but the might of this one caught her in a trance-like state. All around Ponyville, the mares and stallions, fillies and colts stopped dead in their tracks, as the tune rocked on, the might of a Superpower on their shoulders, capturing their minds and hearts.

So many hearts, beating at once.

"Die Waffen, legt an!"

The tone changed, speeding up.

"Die Waffen, legt an!"

From heavy metal march... To technological trauma...

"DIE WAFFEN, LEGT AN!"

It still kept it's majestic might, it's force, it's power... The sound poured over the land like a tidal wave.

Going through the orchard, Big Mac heard the sound... Surprised, he stopped. But the sound forced him, so he continued, his trotting becoming more and more like marching. His eyes narrowed, as he pushed his chest out. The peaceful stallion felt ready for battle, ready for war, as he stomped on, hoofs thumping loudly...

The music died down the way it rose up: reduced to marching, with the megaphone voice repeating it's line, again and again:

"Die Waffen, legt an!"

Finally, after some time, it died down completely...

Applejack sat in silence, still comprehending the "music" she had heard. Repetitive and militant as it was, she was still left awestruck by it. She never felt such force coming from a tune, and she had listened to classical music before, which she believed to be the most awe-inspiring so far. THIS just beat everything.

"Can't believe you still kept that stuff!" Diesel snorted, trying to cover his awe.

"What was that?" Twilight blurted out, her trance finally broken.

"Meh. Just a theme for an old computer game." the shunter replied, reluctant.

"A... Game?!" the unicorn was speechless.

"Sug... What was that?" Applejack muttered. Spamcan found it hard to explain.

"Well..." he began "Dere wa' once a gre' superpowe' in ou' wo'l', called th' Soviet Union. I' wa' a gre' force which wa' based on th' ideology of communism an' socialism, na'ura'ly, i' didn' re'lly keep up t' tha', an' I eventu'lly collapsed, bu' i's memory live' on. I' reappeared i' many games, an' one o' 'em was th' game "Command & Conquer: Red Alert". Ya 'no', 'cuz' i's flag was comple'ly red, wi'h a yello' 'amme' an' sic'e on i'. Also, th' Re' Sta' was one i's well-'no'n symbols. Wha' ya 'ear' was a theme son' fo' i's game counterpart.

Applejack turned it's box around, the back decorated in a similar fashion as the front, the songs listed up, not with numbers, but with the letters of the Cyrillic (for her, Stalliongradian) alphabet.

Number... 'A' was titled "Hell March 1".

"No kiddin'..." she muttered.

Just then, track Б, "Hell March 2" began, sounding even more alien than the first one.

Voices came from the orchard.

"Qui'! Turn th' bl'udy thin' off!" Spamcan muttered hastily. Hurrying, the mare did so, turning the stereo off, just as Apple Bloom ran out from the orchard.

"Applejack!" she cried "Applejack, did ya heard that?!"

"Heard what?" the orange pony asked, as her sister jumped into the cab.

"Ther' was some strange music playing all over town! I bet they heard it in the train yard as well!"

Applejack gulped.

"Re-really?" she muttered, starting to sweat. Spamcan winced.

"Yeah! It was very odd!"

"Sorta' like military music!" Big Macintosh added, putting the equipment down, a large hose snaking behind him, disappearing into the orchard.

The goods engine and the mare glanced at their companions. Twilight just stared into the air, still looking bemused. Diesel, on the other hand, was smirking deviously, his eyes half closed with a content frown - but said nothing, he just reversed, going back to his work.

"Well, the tools are here." Granny Smith huffed, finally arriving at the scene "Let's git that engine cleaned!"

"Oooh nooo, oh no ya don't!" Spamcan protested, but couldn't move. His motor had been turned off, and his brakes were hard on. He couldn't escape.

"Don' ya dare!" he hissed, as Applejack raised the hose.

"Don' worry, sugahcab." Applejack smiled, before her face took up a nefarious look, her smile turning into a mordant smirk "Nopony will hear yer screams..."

That didn't stop the diesel from trying...

"HAAAAAALP! RAPE! RAAPE!" he shouted, as the first sponge touched him.

"Oh, be quiet, yah!" Granny Smith muttered, scrubbing the sooty roof of the engine "Celestia almighty! I've nevah seen so much dirt! When was your last wash-down?"

Spamcan stopped shouting, and thought back.

"Now? Exac'ly thir'y ye'rs, t'ree months, t'o wee's, fiv' days, se'en 'ours, fi'ty minutes an' twelve se'onds ago."

The ponies stopped, partly because they were surprised by the engine's precision, and partly because they were horrified about the amount of dirt that must have accumulated on him.

"If ya don' coun' th' rai'falls." the diesel added.

"This calls for heavy artillery!" Big Mac declared. One by one, the members of the family whipped out rough sponges, loofahs, and dressed up in Haz-Mat suit, complete with helms, while the stallion pulled out a water cannon from the bushes.

The goods engine's eyes went super wide.

"Ms. Sparkle, could yah lend a hoof?" Granny Smith asked, clad in cleaning armor.

"Of course!" Twilight replied smoothly, the same devious look spreading over her face, matching that of Diesel's...

In half an hour, Spamcan was completely scrubbed clean, even shaved - leaving only a "soul spot" above his chin.

His dark Rail Blue color shone, his yellow hazard panels never been so bright, along with his hub covers and the white, crooked BR symbol on his middle, dark gray roof bright as a pin, his buffer plates bright red again, round buffers painted dull black, looking good as new. The only thing left was the middle window of his cab, still cracked. In a flash, Twilight fixed it, the engine now complete, even waxed, with some gel on his eyebrows, the bags no longer present under his eyes, but a heavy frown remained persistent.

"There." the lavender unicorn sighed, tired after such vast use of magic. Finally, what seemed like an eternity, Spamcan was done, spic and... Spam...

"Thi' is embarrasin'..." he muttered darkly.

"Nonsense!" Twilight smiled "You look spot on!"

"E'zac'ly my poin'!" the engine barked back.

"Well, I'm glad it's done..." Applejack muttered, and looked over the engine "Gee-wizz, Spamcan! You look... Top-notch! Just... Dand-!"

"DON' SAY I'!" the engine growled, making the Apples take aback.

"He sure is a grump, isn't he?" Granny Smith muttered.

"Eeyup." Big Macinthos replied.

"Ca' we' ge' a mov' on?!" D199 grumbled "I wanna be don' wi'h dis an' ou' o' sigh' as soo' as possible!"

"Right, right!" Applejack replied, helping the elderly Apple up into the cab. Soon, all them were in. The cab wasn't very roomy, but they fit in quite easily.

"Alright! All aboard, ever'pony!" Applejack cheered "Next stop: Canterlot Central, Freight Yards!"

"Oh, can Ah pull the horn?" Apple Bloom asked, enthusiastically.

"That's not me to decide." her sister replied calmly "Spamcan?"

"Please, Mr. Spamcan, can I?" the filly went on, making the most adorable puppy-eyes. Sadly, all that effort went completely to waste, as she was trying to manipulate the control panel.

Still, the diesel chuckled.

"Sur', kid. I dare ya!" he snickered.

Gleefully, Apple Bloom pulled the horn's crank with all her might...

A thundering blare swept across the yard!

The smallest Apple tumbled back, dazed and surprised.

"That's loud..." she muttered.

"Too loud..." Big Mac grunted.

"Sounds like a ferry to me." Granny Smith put in, massaging her ears.

"Tha's e'zac'ly th' poin'." the diesel smirked, and revved his engine, as Applejack started him off, pulling the many vans with ease, rolling down the slope.

Once they arrived to yards, the diesel was disconnected from the train, and went around, the family inside him going over to the other cab. Canterlot was in the other direction, so Spamcan was able to look forward, and see what's in front of him.

He was then reconnected, and was ready to go, but had to wait for another train to arrive.

"What could that be?" Apple Bloom asked, impatiently "What can be more important, than the Princesses' delivery of apples?"

"Celestia's deliv'ry o' bananas?" the engine asked mordantly, making everyone in the cab - pass Apple Bloom, who remained puzzled - blush heavily, and avert their eyes from each other.

Just then, a sonorous, nasal-sounding horn blasted through the air.

"Oh BUGGE'!" Spamcan cursed, as the other train rolled into the station, stopping beside the passenger platform. It was Old Stuck-Up, the arrogant, the posh, the Chief Express engine of the Other Railway, his Azure Rail Blue color shining in the setting sun, his lamps, re-positioned lower because of his face, shining brightly, his pallid silver gray roof soaking up the disappearing rays of the sun. He stopped with a gentle hiss of his air brakes, his Double Arrow symbol with elongated horizontal lines in bright white for everyone to see... He glanced around, his bright, hazard yellow face expressing superiority and conceit.

That was, until he saw Spamcan, the latter's re-positioned lamps turned on as well, as he glared forward, purposely not looking in his loathed college's direction.

"Why... Spamcan..." the express engine muttered on his posh voice, looking rather amused "I've... I didn't expect you to, eheh, dress out like that..."

"Well... I wasn' MY idea..." the goods engine grunted in reply "Bu' ya 'no'... Ya go'a lo' nice fo' th' royalty..."

"Oh, so you're visiting the Princesses?" Stuck-Up was suddenly interested.

"Dis load o' apple's goin' t' 'em." the other diesel grumbled back "I still don' ge' wha' all th' fuss is 'bou'. I's no' li'e dey're gonna visi' th' freigh' ya'ds RIGH' DIS NIGH' t' inspect wor', ya 'no'."

"Well, you never know..." the snooty engine replied, smirking "But I'll have to admit, you look spot-on! Not like ME, of course, you're definitely different, but... It's not like we're the same, Spamcan..." he muttered soothingly, after the goods engine shot him a death glare "You SHOULD clean yourself more often, laddie..." the express engine smiled nobly, before he added with ha wink "I bet the ladies will be climbing over you, once you roll down that line!"

That finally broke the ice, as Spamcan glanced over to his snooty comrade, giving a thankful look and a content smirk...

A few minutes earlier, back in the small yard behind Sweet Apple Acres:

"MOVE, DAMN YOU!" Diesel cursed, as he bashed into the line of old vans in front of him again, to no avail, as the aging trucks' brakes were jammed hard on, blocking the siding.

"Bastards!" the shunter yelled, and reared back for another go "I'll give you ONE. LAST. CHANCE! You either move, or you're firewood!"

Wiona, who remained at the farm to guard it, barked furiously.

"OH SHUT UP, YOU TYKE! I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!" he shouted across the yard, his engine roaring furiously, as the trucks continued to jeer and laugh at him.

"CALM THE HAY DOWN, DIESEL!" Twilight snapped at him "Violence would get us nowhere! Remember what Reinstein said..."

"REINSTEIN?!" a truck burst out, the others guffawing on his lead "WHA'S THA'?! EINSTEIN COMBINED WITH GERMAN INDUSTRIAL METAL?! WHAT A KNOCK-OFF!!!" and they all burst out in snickers, cackles and giggles, shouting their variations for the name of the father of Theory of Relativity (and his pony counterpart).

THAT was a big mistake.

With an expression that looked like her face froze before she could complete a glare, Twilight spoke very punctually to the shunter.

"Diesel. I'm going to release your brakes now. You'll give those mudslinging detractors the hardest shove you ever done, and I'LL set them on fire. Got that?"

Diesel made a serious face, as he revved his engine.

"Gotcha!"

The next second, he shot out, giving an ALMIGHTY biff to the trucks, while the lavender unicorn's horn flared with her purple aura, the roof of the punk, old trucks catching on fire...

Unfortunately, the biff wasn't enough to smash them to pieces, or derail them, but it was strong enough to send them flying down the line, screaming in pain and terror, disappearing towards the yards...

Both mare and diesel could only utter with a petrified look frozen on their faces:

"Crap..."

The trucks rocketed down the line, slipping into the yards, careering through many switches and sidings, before they ended up on Spamcan's line.

Neither the engine, nor the Apples could believe what they were seeing. All they saw was burning van coming straight towards them, then everything went dark.

The first van hit Spamcan in the face, buffers breaking off, it's side collapsing. The crash was strong enough to put out the fire on that one truck, but the others were still ablaze.

"Dear Lord!" Stuck-Up exclaimed.

"AAAAARGH!" Spamcan screamed, as burned planks hit his face. Inside, the Apple family had ducked clear, just as large plank hit the middle window, cracking it again. As Applejack jumped off the seat, she accidentally knocked the brakes loose. The reverser was already set forward, and, subconsciously, she had set the throttle on full charge, when he saw the vans.
With a hiss of his brakes, and a roar of his engine, D199, stuck between his own train and a line of burning vans, slowly began to move forward, gaining speed, and disappearing out of the yard before anyone could do anything...

"Well... This isn't good..." Stuck-Up muttered, as Diesel and Twilight charged in.

"WHERE ARE THE VANS?!" they both shouted.

"Oh. Those. Spamcan just took them." the express engine replied simply, while thinking: "To the face."

"WHAT?! Where?!" Twilight exclaimed.

"I don't know..." came the reply "They just smashed into him, all on fire, and he shot off." and, after a short pause, he added "He was heading to Canterlot!"

"SHIT!!!"

Spamcan sped down the line at full speed. He lost the burning trucks in one bend, where they all derailed and were smashed into pieces in a ditch near the line, but the last van was still stuck on his face. He was going so fast, he sped past every control point before any action could be taken to stop him. He was steadily on his way to Canterlot.

The Princesses HAVE chosen that exact night to visit the freight yards, no sooner than sunset. They were in the main shed, when suddenly, the alarm went off. The two alicorns exchanged surprised glances, as the workponies rushed around them in a hurry. But all stopped when a thunderous crash echoed around the yard.

Smashing to the iron door of the large cargo shed, came a small freight train, with a diesel pulling several vans, and... Pushing... A burnt one...

The cavalcade sped past the two celestial sisters - it was only then that Applejack had realized what she had to do. Jumping back into the seat, she pulled the throttle back, put the reverser in neutral, and set the brakes on.

Screeching loudly, the train skidded down the tracks, getting closer and closer to the concrete-supported buffers.

The old truck BURST in to smithereens as it collided with the buffer stop, it's parts flying everywhere, as Spamcan finally came to a stop, the disappearing momentum making him jolt back, as he gently reached the buffers with a dainty clank.

As he finally stopped, he let out an exasperated sigh, his engine revving up, and blowing out pillars of smoke through his exhaust.

The vans behind him also sighed in relief.

As the workponies ran up to the train to check for any damage, the dizzy and disoriented Apple family climbed out the cab, with Big Macintosh vigorously kissing the concrete platform with infatuation not different from a desperate kind of love, before collapsing out of exhaustion, just as Princess Luna arrived in front of him.

"My dear ponies!" she gasped, leaning down, her muzzle awfully close to Big Mac's "Are you alright?"

Instantly, the stallion shot back up, trying to put on his placid face again, nervously chewing on his now broken thread of grass.

"Princess... An honor to meet ya again..." Apple Bloom muttered, staggering around "Could you make the world stop spinning?"

"Ehehee!" Granny Smith cheered "That was SOME ride, my dear Princess!" she talked to Celestia "It was mighty clever of ya to employ these new-fangled deisel engines!"

The white alicorn could only blink, before she turned her head to the nearest "deisel" present.

"199!" she snapped "What is the meaning of this?!"

Even after a near-death experiment, Spamcan STILL had the ball bearings to talk back:

"Wha'? YOU orde'd th" damn apples, no' me!"

The princess was about to reply, when an odd sound hit her ears...

It sounded like marching, with some musical background, electric guitar riffs, to be specific.

It came straight from Spamcan's cab.

The goods engine and orange cowmare exchanged desperate looks, and cursed out, as the music kicked into full swing.

"AW FBU--!!!"

"DIE WAFFEN, LEGT AN!"