The plough girl - part eleven
By Diana the Valkyrie
The railway girl

Olga

After cleaning the blood and brains of the Russian officers from my
black dress (blood is really difficult to clean off, but fortunately
it doesn't show up on black), I started to make detailed plans of
my next attack - logistics. The Russians were using our Ukrainian
railway system to move supplies to their storage depots and to the
front line. Without those supplies, the Russian army wouldn't be
able to fight.

The most efficient way to move freight (and people), is the railway -
steel wheels on steel rails.

During WW2, the Resistance blew up railways. I didn't have explosives
(and wouldn't know how to use them if I did). But I didn't need
to blow anything up. I needed to derail the train, and to do that,
I needed to sabotage the track. And I could see a way to do that.

I went to the local town of Bakhivka; I needed to buy a large
adjustable wrench. Very large. The shopkeeper asked me why I wanted
it, and I told him, "It's my boyfriend, he's got a thing about
girls with spanners." He gave me a funny look. "I also want a big
sledgehammer," I continued, "and a can of penetrating oil." Again,
he asked why.  So I pretended to blush, and mumbled "It's a sex
thing ..."

He put the tools in a bag for me, and I strode out of town.

At 3am, I started my attack. It was a length of railway, a long
way from anywhere. A long, straight track, so the locomotive could
work up a good speed. I used the penetrating oil on the nuts that
held the rail to the track bed, then used the wrench to take the
nuts off.  The rail was still straight and level, but I had a plan
for that, too.

I stood to one side of the rail, and swung my 32 pound sledgehammer.
It bounced off the rail without having any effect. I swung a couple
more times, but the rail was just too tough to be affected.

Time for plan B.

I lay across the track, my shoulders braced against one of the rails.
The other rail was four feet eight and a half inches away. That's
called "Standard gauge", first used by George Stephenson, and then
used by almost every other railway since. My feet were pressed
against the other rail; my knees were slightly bent, because I'm six
foot three, and that was the only way I could get into position. But
it was exactly the position that I wanted, because now I only had
to straighten my legs.

I closed my eyes and pushed. I could feel the rail moving a fraction
of a centimetre, but that wasn't enough.

My legs were accustomed to pulling a 280 kilogram plough; that's a
quarter of a ton. I pulled that plough six days each week, twelve
hours each day. I pulled it through fields of grass, I pulled it
through heavy sticky mud. My legs are immensely powerful.
 I should be able to bend this rail.

I thought of Poitr, and all my dead village friends, grunted, and
pushed as hard as I could. The rail moved another centimetre. I
rested for a minute, and then pushed again. And again.

The stiffness of the rail was no match for a plough girl's thigh
muscles.  The rail track slowly gave way, until it was a full four
inches wider than it should have been. I reckoned that would be
enough to cause a derailment.  I replaced the nuts so that it would
all look normal.

I should probably have immediately vacated the area, but I was
keen to see what effect this would have. I hid up a tree where I
could get a good view, and waited. About an hour later, a train
came barrelling along the track.

There was nothing that the driver could see - the few inches of rail
displacement wasn't apparent. But the effect was spectacular. The
locomotive derailed where I'd bent the rail, hit the track bed and
decelerated rapidly, because it was no longer a steel wheel on a
steel rail. But the wagons behind had their own momentum, and carried
on at full speed - until they hit the stationary locomotive. Wagon
after wagon piled into the mess. Some were carrying tanks, some
artillery, many were carrying ammo, and some were carrying fuel.

Of course, the fuel wagons burst and sparks from the wheels set fire
to the fuel. The fire spread as the fuel spread, and then it reached
the ammo wagons. The ammo started to cook off in individual bangs,
but then there was an almighty explosion as the whole lot went up.

And this whole disaster had been caused by one plough girl and her
powerful legs. I climbed out of the tree, and headed east.

They never did discover the cause of the derailment. Probably, they
would blame it on poor maintenance of the Ukrainian railway system.





Read the full story at http://www.amysconquest.com