Christmas Day, 1998.
U-505 found there were few better indicators of the passage of time than a yawning American. Years of practice had given him a keen eye for their particular brand of deflection. When his English was not so polished and it was harder to judge by words alone that his presence was no longer welcome, he’d encountered it more often, but his sense for it was still finely honed. The polite hand-over-mouth gesture, combined with some worn-out cliché. ‘Gosh, look at the time!’ or ‘Sorry, it’s been a long day.’ It was the only way they could think to end a conversation. No one here ever seemed to say what they meant. U-505 found it quite tiresome.
He could tell this particular yawn from Silver Pilot was genuine, though. For one, it seemed to have snuck up on him and he’d missed the window for covering his mouth. He grimaced slightly as he stifled the rest of it into the back of his hand. And for two, he clearly didn’t want to leave. Not that U-505 could blame him for that.
Tucked up side-by-side next to Pioneer on the couch across from U-505, the prospect of getting up to walk out of the museum and into the lake-effect Chicago snow must have seemed quite daunting indeed.
“Am I keeping you up?” Pioneer asked, two-parts affection and one-part cheek.
“Mm, only a little,” Pilot replied. “I usually get to sleep in on my day off.”
He tensed his shoulders and raised his arms a bit, trying to stretch without displacing Pioneer, before glancing down at him, grinning. “But this morning I had to catch an early train.”
Pioneer laughed and met Pilot’s gaze evenly. “Not too much trouble, I hope?”
“No! This was great,” Pilot’s expression softened. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
U-505 did them the courtesy of averting his eyes. Being in a room with just the two of them felt like an intrusion. He should have left when the replicas had excused themselves, but he’d been concerned about running into the steam engines. He was beginning to wonder if that wasn’t a preferable fate.
“Speaking of meeting trains, I should really go and round up 2903. It’s getting late and I don’t wanna miss the 12:30 outta Ogilvie.”
“Right. Of course.” There was some shuffling as the two of them negotiated getting up off the couch and making themselves look as though they hadn’t spent the last two and half hours casually leaning into each other. U-505 got to his feet as well, tamping down on the urge to grunt from the effort.
“Any idea where they might be?” Pilot asked, shrugging his jacket on.
“I’ve an inkling,” Pioneer said wryly. U-505 did too. He suspected the steam engines had chased the little planes out of one of their usual dark corners to spend some time ‘leaning into each other’ as well. He’d learned to avoid those particular corners after close.
“I could show Herr Pilot down to the lobby,” U-505 ventured. “That way we can avoid any… unpleasantness.”
It was as though he had appeared from thin air. Pilot’s attention snapped to him immediately and Pioneer looked up from adjusting his cuffs, eyebrow quirked slightly, scrutinizing him. It was the most attention Pioneer had paid him all night, in fact.
“No! That’s– That’d be great, actually.” Pilot turned to Pioneer and smiled. “2903 will be in a better mood on the train if I’m not the one who dragged him out of here.”
“In that case, I’m happy to play the bad guy tonight,” Pioneer replied, but he looked at U-505 as he said it, eyes bright and canny. “I’ll meet you both in the lobby.”
“Not with any luck.” U-505 muttered. Pioneer’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
Pilot appeared at U-505’s shoulder, more enthusiastic than U-505 was quite prepared for. “Lead the way!”
They made their way out of the office space and onto the third floor balcony area. U-505 reflexively checked the spot over the Coal Mine where Texaco would be on a normal night, which hung empty. That she wasn’t there now wasn’t all that surprising. They only had two days off in a year, she was probably off making the most of her last one.
“Thanks for the candy canes earlier,” Pilot said, drawing up alongside. “Of all the engines here, I never would have picked you for the one with the sweet tooth.”
U-505 indulged him with a small chuckle. Pilot’s enthusiasm for even the most mundane oddities had its charm. No wonder Pioneer was always smiling when he was around.
“It is… an old habit. They used to keep me supplied with chocolate. 108 pounds.”
“During the war?” Pilot’s eyes were wide with curiosity. It occurred to U-505 that 108 pounds might seem extravagant to a streamlined little passenger diesel who could only carry so much.
“It was a small burden. When you are at sea for months at a time, the only comforts are the ones you can take with you. Sweets were good for morale.” As an afterthought, he added, “They still are.”
“Oh! Yeah, that makes sense.” A contemplative look crossed Pilot’s face. “Did I look like I needed morale?”
“You looked like you needed a candy cane,” U-505 said simply.
Pilot laughed. “Fair enough.”
As they approached the edge of the balcony overlooking the main hall, U-505 chanced a glance into the Transportation Gallery. The war planes were not at their posts– which was enough to set his teeth on edge on principle– but 727 was situated in her usual spot along the walkway. Awake or asleep, he couldn’t tell at this distance, and he wasn’t actually all that keen on finding out, but her presence there was interesting on its own. Turning in early on Christmas Day wasn’t exactly her style, from what he knew about her. Then again, with little planes buzzing about and no 999 for company, maybe becoming inanimate for the rest of the evening was a wise decision. He’d have done the same if not for…
“Sorry, should we– Did you wanna take the elevator?” Pilot asked, looking between U-505 and the stairs.
“No.” The elevator was on the far side of the balcony and in the Transportation Gallery besides. “The stairs are fine.”
He cut rather gracelessly in front of Pilot and down the stairway, brooking no further discussion on the matter.
“Oh good,” Pilot chirped, oblivious. “I wanted to have another look at the Christmas trees.”
It wasn’t a difficult request to honor. The entire rotunda and both wings on either side were brimming with trees, Christmas and otherwise. Now that they were out of 727’s line of sight, U-505 slowed his pace to encourage Pilot to linger around the ones he wanted to look at, as long as they didn’t stray towards her side of the hall.
Without 2903, there wasn’t much point in rushing down to the lobby, so they meandered in companionable silence around the displays. The museum staff kept the tree lights on to save the strain on the little bulbs, but it had the added bonus of illuminating the circular hall in a soft white glow. It was quite festive.
U-505 picked out the German tree, decorated with glass-blown ornaments and battery-operated tea lights to approximate candles, and started surreptitiously looking between the boughs for something. When Pilot noticed what he was doing, he made a beeline toward him.
“What’cha lookin’ for?” He asked, voice low, as though a conversation at regular volume might disrupt the sanctity of the space.
“A pickle.” U-505 replied, just as quietly.
Pilot snorted. “A– a pickle?” Then, more cautiously, “…A real one?”
“No!” U-505 scolded, but when he looked up at Pilot’s guileless expression, he couldn’t help but smirk, giving the game away.
“It is a decoration. The docents say it is a German tradition to hide it on the tree. Finding it first on Christmas Day brings good fortune in the year to come.” He leaned forward to check the underside of the boughs, arms locked resolutely behind his back. “I never had a Christmas in Germany so I knew little of the traditions. Or of trees.”
Pilot snorted again. “Yeah, I can imagine.”
Then, mirroring U-505’s posture, arms behind his back, he started looking too. They stood like that for a minute, circling the display. Every so often, U-505 would look askance at Pilot’s face where a determined grin had settled as he set about assisting with the search. U-505 let out an amused huff. Pioneer never stood a chance.
“Oh!”
U-505 glanced up to see Pilot pointing at a spot on the back of the tree. There, high up near the top hung a small glass pickle.
“Ah. Well done.”
“Well it– It’s not like it was really hidden,” Pilot laughed, suddenly sheepish. “It’s a fun tradition, though. I bet your visitors get a kick out of it.”
“No visitors today,” U-505 pointed out, straightening up and moving to stand next to him. “You were the first to find it.”
He fixed Pilot with a look so serious as to border on a warning. “Enjoy your good fortune.”
Pilot giggled nervously at U-505’s proximity and delivery both. “I will!” he promised.
Then, after a moment, he said to change the subject, “You know, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk, in all the times I’ve visited.”
U-505 raised an eyebrow. “I speak when it is necessary.”
“Oh– I didn’t mean anything by it,” Pilot backpedaled. “Pioneer mentioned you mostly keep to yourself, is all. I was just surprised.”
He waited, giving U-505 the space to answer if he liked. U-505 kept his eyes forward, still looking at the pickle. When the moment passed without a word from either of them, Pilot made to move on towards the next tree.
“Herr Zephyr taught me English.”
Even without being able to see him, U-505 could tell he had Pilot’s full attention.
“Before he arrived, I had no need to learn,” he continued. “It is a submarine’s duty to be quiet. To listen. Schweigen ist Gold. It is better to let the docents speak to the guests about me.”
He turned back to Pilot, who stood rapt. A crease had furrowed his brow, something U-505 only noticed now because Pioneer had once pointed it out to him. It had been just after one of Pilot’s first visits, and Pioneer had remarked upon it with such fondness that U-505 sometimes still thought back to it.
“But Herr Zephyr was very persistent.” U-505 chuckled. “Locomotives are social machines.”
The crease in Pilot’s brow softened as he smiled.
“Submarines… are not, but Herr Zephyr had decided we were to be friendly. He would have been better off if he had waited until the steam engines came. His friendliness towards me costs him in that way. They are… loyal to their country. They are not wrong to be, but it is easier for Herr Zephyr, with certain engines gone. Nr. 999 judges him more kindly on her own. He has you now, too.”
Pilot blinked, startled, and looked as though he wanted to say something. Uninterested in litigating the statement, U-505 concluded, “It is better then to keep to myself. Engines I like stay in good standing with each other that way.”
Pilot cocked his head, a curious expression on his face. He opened his mouth to reply when they both heard it. The unmistakable sound of something in the distance, shifting.
It was nearly unnoticeable against the general ambiance of the museum. He’d almost think he’d imagined it if Pilot hadn’t noticed it too, turning to look around for the source. Maybe an automatic timer going off, or the sound of a bulb burning out. Nevertheless, it made U-505 uneasy. He thought about 727 in the next room, of little planes running about the place unchecked. They shouldn’t be having this conversation here. He started towards the main staircase in long, purposeful strides, leaving Pilot loping to catch up.
“This place isn’t haunted, is it?” Pilot asked, too seriously for U-505’s liking as they descended the main staircase.
“Only if you think mischievous little planes are a kind of Poltergeist ,” U-505 said, accenting the word on purpose just to watch Pilot’s face light up. Then, louder just in case any of the aforementioned were listening: “Which I do!”
The first floor was dark, darker than the rotunda had been, but the sightlines were better here. If any engines were trying to listen in, they’d have a harder time doing it unseen and U-505 relaxed as they walked past the Jolly Ball. Pilot paused to see if it was working, but unlike the trees, it was better that the Jolly Ball not be on after-hours.
“This is going to sound silly…” Pilot started, glancing up and then back to the silent flipper machine when he noticed U-505 was looking at him. “But I was so nervous to meet you at first.”
It did sound silly, but U-505 was courteous enough not to point out the obvious.
“I was worried that you wouldn’t like me, but–” he turned toward U-505 again, “You’re really nice, Mr. U-505. I’m glad we’re able to talk like this.”
It was a lot at once. U-505 wasn’t sure where to begin.
“I am unused to locomotives caring about my opinion of them,” he said slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was reprimand Pilot over what was clearly supposed to be a compliment. “Only Herr Zephyr ever has.”
Pilot averted his eyes. “When Pioneer talked about you in his letters I just had this idea in my mind of what you’d be like. This huge submarine– who Pioneer thinks so highly of! I guess I wanted to make a good impression on my penpal’s good friend.”
The last two words were what caught U-505’s attention. Pilot’s wistful little smile, the way he bowed his head and spoke it to the guard railing. That soft fondness in his voice… ‘Good friend.’ Damn these Americans.
“Do not misunderstand,” U-505 cautioned. “Just because it is better now, that does not mean–”
He grasped for the sentiment he was trying to express but nothing came, words failing him right when he needed them the most.
Finally, he settled on: “We are not so close as that,” which not only didn’t cover what he was trying to say at all, it sounded like a protestation. Like he was the one with the unresolved affections. Damn them, and damn them again.
Pilot looked up, all furrowed brows again, though it was tempered with the smallest of smiles. “You should read the way he writes about you. He’s very complimentary. Loves to brag on your English and how clever you are.”
“I have heard some of it,” U-505 grumbled. “You must know that is just how he talks.”
“He’s right, though,” Pilot pointed out, and U-505 should have known Burlington’s last soldier would hold the line until the very end. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Herr Zephyr is many things,” U-505 started. “A relentless flatterer among them.”
Before Pilot could get a word in to argue, U-505 continued, “But he is also well-spoken, gracious, observant. Kind.” After a beat, he added, “…And yes, a friend.”
Pilot nodded, soft-eyed and thoughtful.
“When he decided to write to you, and then when you wrote him back, I was glad. He would not say so, but his friendship with me has always been a burden. One he carries unnecessarily, because that is how he was drawn. It is not his fault; he was simply unlucky to end up in a Yard with me first.”
The crease in Pilot’s brow deepened. U-505 pressed on, “He deserves someone like you. An engine who shares his experiences and his values.”
Pilot seemed unconvinced. In lieu of sighing in frustration, U-505 opted to rest his elbows on the Jolly Ball guard rail.
“It sounds like… Like you don’t want to be friends with Pioneer anymore,” Pilot said finally, brows drawn.
“Hah. No.” U-505 smiled despite himself. “They moved him underground, but it does nothing to stop him. He will consider us friends for as long as I am around to watch silent films with him or get ice cream whenever he wants.” Here he paused, turning to see Pilot studying him cautiously.
“I mean only to say that you did not have to worry yourself with impressing me. Herr Zephyr already thinks the world of you, and I think you are good for him. That is all.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Pilot’s breath hitched and his grip on the railing tightened. “Did he… really say that? About me?”
Pioneer hadn’t put it in those terms exactly, but Zephyrs did not have a monopoly on stretching the truth to suit their needs. U-505 had learned most of his English from a Burlington engine, after all.
“For all the good things Herr Zephyr has told you about me,” U-505 leaned in, more for emphasis than any fear that they would be overheard. “He has told me as many about you. Probably more.”
This was technically hypocrisy of the highest order, given how U-505 had scolded certain unnamed war planes for this exact sort of meddlesome behavior, but he knew now that Pilot could keep a secret. Without a credible witness, no jury would convict.
The results would have been worth it regardless. A flush that U-505 could have clocked from the lobby had daubed Pilot’s cheeks and the bridge of that nose Pioneer was so taken with. Yes, he rather liked leaving little locomotives speechless. It wasn’t often he got to do it anymore.
He could have left it there. Pilot clearly had gotten the intended message. But U-505’s worse nature won out when he decided to add one more tidbit.
“And there is no one else sitting in that spot on the couch with him when you are not here…”
As if on cue, the unmistakable sound of 2903’s voice echoed down from the rotunda, bellowing something about ‘tactical advantages’.
“Will you be here for New Year’s?” U-505 asked as he stood to leave.
Pilot looked shellshocked. “Y-yeah.”
“Then I will see you very soon. Goodnight, Herr Pilot.”
He could only assume Pilot returned the farewell, as he rounded the corner into the Farm Tech exhibit. If he was lucky, the volunteer office would be unlocked and he could stay in there until he was sure there were no more little planes awake to bother him.
“‘Night,” Pilot echoed as he watched U-505 slip off into the dark. His ears were ringing and he felt a little faint. Had Pioneer really said that? He turned to face the stairs and was greeted by the sight of 2903 on the landing, a giggling war plane clinging to each arm.
“Off’a me you gremlins. Jeez!” 2903 managed to scruff Spitfire despite Stuka’s best efforts and tossed him to the ground. Pilot winced, but Spitfire sat up smiling. With one arm free, Stuka was just as easily dispatched, and 2903 deposited him with ease on top of where Spitfire had landed. It must have been a decisive enough victory, since they pulled each other to their feet and instead raced over to where Pilot was still leaning on the Jolly Ball railing for support. Pilot braced for impact, but they stopped just short of bowling him over, all smiles and bright eyes.
“Sorry you have to go so soon, Mr. Pilot!” Spitfire chirped up at him. Stuka said something into Spitfire’s ear that made him snort, and he elbowed Stuka hard in the ribcage with a muttered admonishment.
“Soon? I’ve been here since you guys opened.” Pilot laughed, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked between the planes, then to the top of the main stairs, then to 2903.
“Where’s, um– Where’s 999? Pioneer was looking for her.”
2903 strode over, keeping just out of grabbing reach of Stuka who shot him a toothy smirk in exchange.
“Eh, she wandered off. Went back to the Transportation Gallery, I think. C’mon–” 2903 clapped Pilot roughly on the shoulder and started steering him toward the lobby. “Let’s get outta here before these planes jump me again.”
Pilot hesitated, eyes flitting back to the staircase behind them. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye.
“Hey,” 2903’s said, gentler this time as if sensing his apprehension. “We’ll be back in less than a week.” It might as well have been an eternity.
“…Right.” Pilot finally managed, shrugging 2903 off.
He turned to Stuka and Spitfire who were watching them with the kind of curiosity Pilot had only ever encountered in aircraft. Intense, but entirely silent. Spitfire’s head was cocked to one side, as if taking them both in at an angle would make their sudden change in demeanor make sense.
“‘Night, guys,” Pilot managed. If his smile was thin, the planes were generous enough not to comment.
“Goodnight gentlemen!” Spitfire piped up, immediately righting his posture and standing at attention. Stuka offered up only a half-cocked grin and a very heavily accented, “See ya,” which was the most English Pilot had heard him attempt all day.
“Stay outta trouble you two,” 2903 said in a way that reminded Pilot of U-505, and that was enough to have him smiling genuinely as they headed towards the door.
“You just want to leave so you can sleep on the ride home,” Pilot said once they were well out of earshot.
“No! No, that’d be unfair. I’ll– I’m gonna stay awake.”
They both knew that he wouldn’t.