We are cruising through the waving wheat fields of Montana. Gliding along making 40 knots in notch-five. The afternoon sun has found its hapless victim. He is across the cab sitting in the conductor's seat, rapidly losing the battle between alert and asleep. The warmth of the sun envelops him, the locomotive rocks him, the drumming of the diesel fades into the background.
For want of a diversion the war will be lost. I twist my cap around backwards like a submarine commander.
"UP SCOPE!", I shout. I place my fists up at the sides of my eyes as if looking through a periscope. Back and forth I search, looking for an enemy combine sailing the amber sea.
"There! Over the starboard grab-irons. "FIRE ONE!", I shout.
I depress and release the independent brake valve. "PSHhhsssssss." it goes.
"One away, sir," I am back at my periscope, watching, "FIRE TWO!"
" PSHhhsssssss," it goes again.
"TWO AWAY SIR," I repeat.
I look at my conductor and smile. I turn my cap forward and resume the business of running the train. He is sitting upright and his eyes are wide. He won't fall asleep this trip, no sir-ree, not with a nut like that for his engineer.
Run Silent, Run Deep. Run Eight, Don't sleep.
Al Krug is a locomotive for BNSF.