Chapter 8

0014 1/9 - 0319 1/9: Plow Extra Two
Lordston Northern Extra 9608

"Goddamn it, no," Ralph McPhee swore. "I haven't got enough power to pull half of Camden up there with me."

"But think of all those poor people taken from their homes," the Red Cross woman simpered. She'd pestered McPhee from the minute that she had heard of the attempt to make it to Spearfish Lake and Warsaw. "They need food, they need blankets, they need clothing..."

Ralph McPhee was no executive. Part of the talent of an executive is to say no, make it stick, and not hurt feelings at the same time. McPhee did not have this talent.

"Those people you're crying about are all safe and sound in Spearfish Lake. If you'd had a lick of sense, you'd know that by now. What they need is to have their homes saved, and I can't help with that with you bothering me all the time. Now go tend to your fundraising and let people who work do some good."

The Red Cross worker hung the phone up in disgust. In the ramshackle little cubbyhole at one end of the abandoned loading dock in the Camden engine shed, McPhee swore again. He had to be everywhere at once, trying to get things going for the relief train that Ellsberg needed, and every crazy bastard in Camden seemed to think that they had to talk to him, when all he needed to do was to railroad. He even needed someone here in the shop to answer the phone while he and his old-time buddy, Harold Stevens, were out in the yard trying to get things set up.

McPhee and Stevens had been friends for more than half a century. McPhee had never gotten beyond the eighth grade; his family was too poor. He had been able to get a job as a section hand on the Decatur and Camden back before it absorbed several other lines and became the Decatur and Overland in the years before the depression. After a few years he had become a fireman, running engines that were a whole lot like the former Gulf, Mobile and Ohio 9608 that stood in the back of the engine shed. He'd stayed with the D&O all that time, even during the depression when his low seniority on the fireman's list kept him from working for weeks at a time. He'd put in over fifty years with the D&O when he finally retired.

This short, grey-haired man with the still-sparkling eyes found retirement to be even more boring that he ever could have imagined. When Bud Ellsberg had come looking for someone to switch cars a few hours a week, Ralph and his widower friend Harold had jumped at the chance. Ten or fifteen hours a week proved to be enough to keep two men in their seventies happy; if that wasn't enough, they had often driven over to Lordston to help Bill Lee take care of the 9608, and occasionally run it. When a windstorm had flattened Lee's old engine shed the summer before, McPhee, knowing of the extra space in the C&SL building, was able to make the connection.

"Maybe we'd better wait for the people to get here from Putnam before we try to do any switching," Harold said. "Besides, we've got to get started on the 9608, too."

"Can't fire her up till we tow her ourside."

"We got lots to do to her before we get a fire in her. Tell you what. I'll go get started, and you stay with the phone."

"I ain't looking forward to that," McPhee replied. "Every idiot in Camden thinks that they've got to go with us. First Channel 3 has been bugging us all evening, then when Ellsberg said, 'OK, let them go, ' then Channel 8 thinks they've got to send a bunch of people, too. Can't really say no to one and not say no to t'other. Then the newspaper thinks they've got to send someone. And every time I turn around they call us from Spearfish Lake again, and it's 'Bring this, don't bring that.'

The door of the ramshackle building opened and a line of men came in. McPhee recognized one of them: Gene Ballard, a youngster who'd broken in as a diesel fireman with him, back in the early sixties sometime. The rest of the people he didn't know, but this had to be the bunch that was coming from Putnam Yard.

"Hi, Ralph!" Ballard called. "Long time, no see."

"Good to see you again, Gene. We ain't nowhere ready to go yet, but the coffee's hot."

"What have you got to do yet?"

"Damn near everything," McPhee admitted. "If you want to help, then there's a lot to do."

"Sure thing. That's what we came for."

"Any of you guys know anything about steam?" McPhee asked.

"Hell no," the younger man replied. "I'm the oldtimer here, and I never worked steam. What in hell do you want anyone who knows anything about steam for, anyway? I thought we were just going to take your engine and ours and plow up there."

"More than that, now. There's a bunch of people and a bunch of stuff to go up to Spearfish Lake with us, so now we're taking the old 9608 there to haul a second section."

Ballard snorted. "Whoever dreamed that up is crazy as hell. That old teakettle probably can't pull weeds. What's so important that they want to try to use it?"

McPhee was a bit insulted by Ballard's remark. After all, it had been about as much his idea as Bill Lee's to use the old 2-6-0. "Well, mostly the Camden Fire Department is sending over a couple of their big trucks and a bunch of people to help them out up there. Then, there's a boxcar load of other fire equipment that they're sending, and about half a boxcar load of odds and ends. None of that stuff has got here yet."

"How many people are we taking?"

"Don't know for sure yet," McPhee said. "Maybe forty."

Ballard was amazed. "You aren't planning on putting forty people in the crumb wagon, are you?"

"Naw, no way. When Miz Ellsberg called earlier, she told us that they'd taken the people out of that little town up there in school buses loaded on flatcars. I guess what they can do, we can do. They're gonna send us over a school bus."

Ballard shook his head again and replied, "What a lashup. I suppose we'd better get started. What first?"

"Suppose we'd better get the engines going. When we get the diesels out we'll want to drag the 9608 outside so we can get a fire on her grates. Couple of you guys can help Harold with that."

"Any of you guys want to play with the smoke wagon?" Ballard asked. With a "what-the-hell" attitude, a couple of brakemen went to join Stevens.

A bit miffed at Ballard's latest disparagement of the highly polished excursion engine, McPhee went on. "Gene, I suppose you know the yard here. Once the diesels are going, hook onto the plow outside and plow out up to the loading ramp. Then yank two empty boxes and three flats offen Track 3, and shove the flats up to the loading ramp. While you're messing with that, there's a gon load of coal back on Track 1 somewhere. Couple that onto the back of the 9608." The phone rang again. "That'll keep you busy for a while," the old man said as he headed for the hated device. "Get back with me when you've done that."

As the Decatur and Overland people began starting the two engines, they heard McPhee's voice echoing through the cavernous old building. "Hell, no! I ain't got power enough to drag half of Camden up there with me. They need gas masks up there, yeah, but there ain't no way we can take that many people or that much stuff. You National Guard people want to help, though, you can send us over a bunch of field rations and sleeping bags and stuff for us in case we get stuck somewhere on the way."

The Spearfish Lake Hospital was a small one, and not usually very busy. Even with the slug of patients brought down from Warsaw on the train, things were quiet in the early morning hours. Duty nurse Ann Hartmann was quietly making the rounds, just checking on the people. She took a look into the nursery, where the new little baby boy was sleeping. Even though the parents had named him "James", everyone on the staff was calling him "Stormy," even his mother, and it looked like a name he'd be stuck with for a lifetime.

Most of the other patients were asleep, and the nurse moved lightly down the hall, so as not to wake them. From several doors away, though, she could hear the coughing coming from one of the rooms, and she thought she'd better investigate.

The patient turned out to be one of the firemen brought down from Warsaw. He had a nasal cannula up his nose to supply him oxygen, and even from a distance, the nurse could see he was having trouble breathing. As a first measure, she thought she'd better increase his oxygen supply. She checked the flow meter on the wall: it read "zero".

"He must have turned it off," she thought, but when she checked the valve, she found it on. "Must be a blockage in the system," she thought, but the tube seemed all right. Disconnecting the hose, she cracked the valve on the wall -- but nothing came from it.

She checked the other oxygen outlet in the room. Nothing. Somewhat more alarmed, she went across the hall to a room that was unoccupied, and checked the oxygen valve there. Still nothing.

Thoroughly alarmed now, she rushed back to the nurse's station to make a call to Hjalmer Lindhalsen.

The hospital's maintenance man had been asleep at his home not far away when Nurse Hartmann's call woke him. In but a few minutes, he was on his snowmobile, racing over to the hospital. He knew from what she had told her that there was no oxygen pressure. It had been all right that evening, when he had left, and since they'd put in the new liquid oxygen system the previous summer, they just hadn't had any problems. There hadn't been any need for the last few days to use much oxygen, and although Hjalmer made the routine checks daily, he hadn't noticed anything wrong.

He pulled his snowmobile to a stop outside the big red and white liquid oxygen tank. The winter shouldn't make any difference, he knew. Considering the extremely cold temperature of the oxygen, a frigid winter would make no difference over a torrid summertime, and while the blowing snow was very uncomfortable, and the wind chill was off the scale, the actual temperature wasn't that bad.

The gauge on the tank read 80%, just like it was supposed to, but the flow meter, he could see in his flashlight, was zero. Suspicious, he went back to the quantity gauge, and tapped it with his flashlight; instantly, it fell off to zero, and Lindhalsen's heart rate almost did the same. The gauge had been stuck, and there had to have been a leak for some time, somewhere. Whatever it was, it was beyond his capability to fix; they'd have to get a serviceman up here after the storm.

Fortunately, there was a backup: there were twelve bottles of pressurized oxygen, sitting in a storage shed. The Hospital Board had insisted, over Lindahlsen's protest, that he hang on to them, just in case. Now, he was glad they'd fought him on it, and he'd lost. It only involved the turn of a couple valves to isolate the liquid system and get gas flowing from one of the green bottles.

Lindahlsen went inside, and told the duty nurse that she had gas again. "The liquid system's busted," he told her. "There's twelve bottles in reserve, but some of them have been used out of. But, that ought to hold us for a while."

"Not if they bring many more toxic smoke poisioning cases down from Warsaw," she said.

"Yeah, I didn't think of that," Lindahlsen said. I'd better call Rod and see if he's got any ideas."

The 9608 had a cab that was open in the rear, and the rear was pointed to the east. Snow was already drifting underfoot when McPhee climbed up to have a word with Stevens. "You about ready to get steam up?" he asked.

"Got a fire in her," Stevens said, "But it's gonna be a while yet. Everything else loaded and ready?"

"Not by a long shot," McPhee admitted. "The bus is here, but we haven't got it loaded onto the flat, yet. The fire department hasn't gotten here, yet, not to mention all the stuff they're bringing." He changed the subject. "Let's make sure we take some spare batteries for the radio. "Since the LN used their Alco for switching with the D&O or the NCRR when there was a freight car to go over to Haleyville, there were occasionally two engines operating on the line at the same time; thus, the battery radio.

"Thought of that already," Stevens replied. "I sent one of the D&O guys to get some."

"How long before you think you'll have this ready to go?"

"An hour, maybe a little more."

"Gives me something to work with," McPhee said, switching on the radio. When it had warmed up, he called Ballard, who was in the cab of the 1478. "You 'bout done with the switching?"

"Been done a long time," Ballard replied. "We even got that gon load of coal onto the back of the parlor stove."

"Noticed that," McPhee said. "We've still got a lot to do before we're ready to go. Why don't you guys plow out to the north a ways? That'll give us a running start when we do get this section ready to leave."

"Sounds good," Ballard said. "But I thought you wanted us to stay together."

"I do," McPhee replied. "But we'll catch up. You won't be going that fast. Before you go, stop off by the tank car over behind the engine shed and top off with fuel. I'm pretty sure the switches are all lined your way once you're past the wye, but you'd better check and be sure."

"Good enough," the radio squawked.

"One more thing," the old man said into the microphone. "You'd better stay in radio contact in case you have trouble and we have to come pick you up."

Ballard laughed. "More than likely we'll have to be the ones to come and pick you and that old trash fire up."

Stevens looked up from the 9608's boiler. "He keeps badmouthing this old girl," he said to McPhee. "I don't want to wish him ill, but I'd sure like to see this old girl yank his ass out of trouble."

When McPhee walked back into the engine shed, the phone was ringing again. He was prepared to say "no" again, but this time it proved to be Kate Ellsberg, calling from Spearfish Lake. "We just had a call from the sheriff," she said. "They've got a shortage of medical oxygen at the hospital here. The supply is down to next to nothing. I gather that they want you got gather up all the medical oxygen you can get your hands on and bring it with you. Upton says do it, even if you have to leave some firefighting equipment behind."

"How much does he think they need?" McPhee asked.

"He didn't say. I didn't talk to the hospital directly, but the sheriff said to bring all you can get your hands on."

"Miz Ellsberg," Ralph sighed. "I hate to say this, but I don't have any idea where I'd round up something like that at this hour."

"I don't either, Ralph. But, for a start, I'd call up the Red Cross and see what they can do."

McPhee spent a few minutes working up his courage once he was off the phone with Spearfish Lake. The way he had told off that woman earlier, she probably wasn't ready to give him the time of day. Might as well get it over with, he thought, dialing the phone for Sally Keller, the woman he had talked to earlier. "This is Ralph McPhee from the Camden and Spearfish Lake Railroad. You still want to do something for those people up in Warsaw?" he asked.

"Are you finally going to let us take food and relief supplies after all?" she sniffed haughtily.

"That's not what I'm calling about," he said as gently as he could manage. "I've just had a call from the office in Spearfish Lake. They need medical oxygen up there, and from what I gathered, they need a he ... an awful lot. The woman in the office said they were almost out of it."

"How much do you need?"

"They didn't say," McPhee told her. "They just said, 'Bring all you can get your hands on.' I've got about half a box car left, and I could find more space if I had to."

"How much is half a box car?"

"It's a space, oh, eight by eight by twenty feet."

"That's an awful lot of oxygen. There may not be that much in all of Camden."

"Tell you what," McPhee said. "We're going to be ready to go in about an hour. If you can fill a third of that space with oxygen, you can have the rest of it for relief supplies."