Winter Warriors

“The other side of the ridge is as steep as this one, steeper perhaps. With the weight of the gun, it’s going to pick up momentum very quickly. If we put the locomotives behind the gun, they can act as a brake, they can prevent the gun from picking up speed and running out of control.”

“With respect, Sir, that won’t work.” Jones bit his lip. Before being drafted for the Navy he had handled heavy freight trains all over the United States and twenty years of that experience told him the right way to do this was not the way this officer thought it was. But how to explain it? “Look, Sir, meaning no disrespect Sir, but think on this. If we have the gun in front and the engines behind as you suggest, the weight of the gun will be pulling one way and the pull of the engines in the other. If we have the engines in front pushing back against the gun, the gun will be trying to push down, the trains pushing the other way. The first load is tension, the second is compression. We don’t want a doubled tension load on the drawbar. It’ll distort it at best; at worst it will rip the bar clean off. We could end up with the couplings so damaged we won’t be able to pull the guns at all.”

It made sense. Perdue had to admit it. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the diesel shunter arriving. It was about to make the next trip over, towing the battalion command car and a battery fire control car over the ridge. Up on the long cut that lead up the side of the ridge, he could see the Russian railway engineers walking the tracks, carefully inspecting the rails to make sure they would be secure for the guns.

“Very well Jones. Do it the way you recommend.” And may the Good Lord help you if you ‘re wrong was the unspoken addition.

“Very good Sir. We’ll take Curly straight over, up one side and down the other. Then we’ll leave the gun there and come back for Moe. Save a bit of time as well that will. Major Boldin, Sir, your men, have they got grit they can throw on the rails if we start to slip?”

Boldin started, slightly shocked that the aging railwayman was still alive to speak with him. He wouldn ‘t have been if this was a Russian Army unit. Speaking to an officer like that, it could get a man shot. Or worse.  “Yes, we have that. The men will walk beside you with it ready.”

“Right then. Mr. Perdue, Sir, we’ll get rolling with Curly as soon as the shunter reaches the top.”

“Make it so. And, Jones, I’ll be riding in the cab with you. I want to see how this goes. Lieutenant Tavernor. Are the guns and other cars fully rigged?”

“Yes, Sir. Cars and guns can be blown any time we have to.”

“Good. If the Krauts turn up, don’t hesitate to blow what’s left this side of the ridge.” Perdue paused for a second, a thought occurred to him. “Jones, why don’t we put the diesel behind the guns with the two steam engines in front? The diesel won’t push or pull, it’ll just act as a sort of safety stop, prevent the guns putting too much stress on the couplings.”

“That’ll work, Sir. We’re to wait until it rejoins us this side?”

“Correct. We can use the delay to make sure everything’s secure this end.”

The sun was starting to set by the time the first train started its run up and over the bridge. Jones had started the strange consist moving, taking the slope slowly and steadily. Alongside the two locomotives, Russian ASTAC engineers were walking. Every so often they would sprinkle handfuls of grit under the wheels. Jones could see Perdue watching curiously. “Improves traction Sir. We’ve got wet steel on wet steel here. That’s why we’re taking everything so slowly. If Mike here starts to slip or the gun does, we’re in a world of hurt. Just like driving on ice; take it slow and steady, don’t do anything sharp. Guess our tankers learned that, Sir.”

Perdue chuckled. The tribulations of American tank crews trying to move their Shermans and Grants during their first winter in Russia had been notorious. There had been a joke that one could follow an American unit in those first months by the line of Shermans upside down in a ditch. Still, they’d learned, just as Perdue was learning now. “Is that why the slope is so shallow? When they said it was steep, I was expecting something much worse.”

“Three percent is bad, Sir. For a train like this, and these tracks are six and a half or even seven percent. We’d think long and hard before building track like this in the States. If there was another way around, we’d take it. Situation like this, we’d have drilled a tunnel before taking track over the top like this.” Jones was interrupted as the locomotive lurched suddenly. Perdue saw him go pale and check the load behind.

“It’s OK, Sir. The bedding must have been loosened by the ice. It shifted a bit.” He looked behind again. “Thought so. The ASTAC guys are already there, packing it back in.”

“This is dangerous isn’t it?”

“That it is, Sir. Going down will be worse just the way you said. Still, it’s something to tell my grandchildren about. We won’t be stopping on the crest if that’s all right with you, Sir. Going straight down, it’ll put less strain on the drawbar.”

Perdue nodded. The train eased up onto the ridge and he took the opportunity to look out. The view was beautiful; the reddening sun reflecting off the snow fields below. Ahead, he could see the wide sweep as the track made its 180 degree curve before heading down the other side of the ridge. All too soon he was looking down at the track dropping away in front of him.

The train crew were working hard, stopping the great gun they were pulling from starting to build up momentum. Perdue had no idea what they were doing and he was beginning to realize just how presumptuous his ‘planning’ had been. He really had no idea what was going on. Trying to keep out of the way, he looked out of the cab again. This time he watched the Russian engineers try to get the right amount of grit under the wheels of the locomotives. Without any warning, one of them took some steps alongside the tracks and slipped. It might have been a patch of ice, it might have been a sleeper that was broken and jagged. Whatever it was, he lost his footing and fell against the locomotive. In a second, he had fallen under the wheels. Perdue heard the scream ending abruptly as the train ran him down.

The sound was still making him shake when the two Mikados got Curly down to the sidings at the other end of the ridge. Perdue jumped off the train. He’d already decided to stay here with Curly while the engines went back and got Moe. After that, it was just a matter of resorting the trains again and getting back under way. There was a cloud of steam around him. He heard the train’s whistle sounding before the two Mikes set off on the long haul up the slope. As their sound died away, Perdue suddenly felt very lonely.

It seemed like an age had passed before the two engines reappeared with Moe behind them and the little shunter making up the rear. It was far into dusk; in the fading light, Perdue could see the constant stream of gravel and ice being dislodged by the weight. Moe was visibly swaying as the gun’s weight compacted the railbed and crushed the gravel weakened by years of ice-bound neglect. Once, Perdue thought they’d lost her. The gun started swaying and then appeared to lurch downwards. The dusk dimness highlighted a shower of sparks that shot out from the lead Mikado’s wheels, then Jones, or the other engineer on the locomotives caught her, or perhaps the little diesel had added just a bit of stability and they brought it back under control. Or had it just been a trick of the light? Eventually, Moe joined Curly on the sidings that had once served the northern mine. Perdue looked thankfully at the two guns and reboarded the first Mikado.

“Jones, we’ll keep the diesel here to move the carriages around. The two Mikes can get the rest of the trains. Take as many trips as you feel easy with, the hard part’s done now. There’s coal here as well. We’d better stock up before we pull out.”

They were all suggestions, not orders. Jones nodded in agreement. “Good plan Sir. Although the coal here is pretty foul stuff.” He paused for a second. “That last trip was rough, Sir. We nearly lost Moe when the bed gave way. Still, it all worked out at the end.”

Williwaw H-AC, over Third Infantry Division Hedgehogs, Kola Peninsula

It was called a Cab Rank. Six Williwaws circled the area, high enough to be safe from flak and Spirals. Their engines were throttled right back and the mixture leaned out so they could stay for as long as possible. They were waiting for a call from one of the hedgehogs down below; Canadian infantry units cut off by the Finns. Only, the Canadians weren’t trying to get out. They had dug in and were staying put. They were fighting the Finns with artillery and airstrikes. That was why the Cab Rank was here. A forward observer on the ground would call them directly and put them on the target. Or he’d coach in one of the little Australian Boomerangs. They would mark the targets with white phosphorus smoke rockets for the bigger, faster, Williwaws.