Shropshire, Late Summer 1781
The first hundred yards of track lay gleaming in the sun, a symbol of victory. Men wiped sweat from their brows, proud of what they had achieved. Phillip stood with Henry at his side, the rails stretching behind them like a promise.
But progress never marched unchallenged.
By autumn, trouble came.
The first letter arrived sealed in wax, the crest of Lord Pembroke stamped deep into the red. Phillip broke it open in his study, eyes narrowing as he read the careful script.
"Mr. Wellington,
Your proposed line between London and Birmingham crosses lands belonging to my family. These acres are not yours to cut, nor Parliament's to gift. If you attempt to trespass, you will face the courts. Consider this your only warning."
Phillip folded the letter slowly. Across the desk, Henry raised an eyebrow. "That makes three this week. He's not the only one, my lord. Farmers, squires, even merchants who fear their canals will run dry of trade. Every man who thinks he'll lose a coin to steel has sent a threat."
Phillip exhaled through his nose. "And every mile of this line runs across such men's fields. We knew this was coming. The Romans faced the same when they laid roads. Progress is never welcome by those who profit from delay."
Henry muttered, "Canal barons most of all."
Aye, the canal owners. They had invested fortunes digging waterways across the kingdom. Now Imperial Dynamics promised to move goods faster and cheaper, and they saw ruin on the horizon.
The next week, Phillip traveled to Birmingham with a team of surveyors. What he found was not merely resistance—it was organized opposition.
On the edge of a village, where the surveyors had begun driving stakes into the soil, a crowd had gathered. Farmers with pitchforks, merchants in fine coats, and even a lawyer with a stack of papers. At their head stood a heavyset man with a velvet waistcoat and a cane, face ruddy with anger.
"You there!" the man barked as Phillip dismounted his horse. "By whose authority do you trespass on this land?"
Phillip answered calmly, "By Parliament's authority. The charter grants right-of-way for the railway, with compensation paid to landowners."
The man spat into the dirt. "Compensation? Pennies for acres worth pounds! This line will cut my fields in two, ruin my tenants, and send soot over my crops. You'll not lay a single rail here."
Behind him, the crowd muttered in agreement.
Phillip met his glare. "Sir, your fields will yield wheat for a generation. But the railway will yield prosperity for a nation. Trade, work, food on more tables than yours."
The man sneered. "Fine words from a duke's son who's never tilled soil. Mark me—if you lay rails here, you'll face more than words."
The crowd cheered at that, and Phillip realized this was no idle threat. Opposition was not only in letters—it was in flesh and anger, standing before him.
That night, back in the inn, Henry slammed a mug on the table. "They'll fight us every mile. Some in courts, some with pitchforks. And the canal barons—they've coin enough to pay lawyers until we're all gray."
Phillip leaned forward, candlelight flickering on his determined face. "Then we fight them where they stand strongest—in law and in Parliament. The charter is clear: right-of-way for the good of the realm. Compensation fair and proper. If we pay, and still they resist, then they defy the Crown itself."
Henry gave a dry laugh. "You make it sound simple."
Phillip's eyes hardened. "Nothing about this is simple. But iron never bends easily. Nor will we."
By October, pamphlets filled the coffeehouses once more. One bore the title "The Iron Tyranny". It accused Imperial Dynamics of stealing farms, of poisoning streams with coal dust, of enslaving laborers to engines. Another, funded by canal interests, warned that "Rails Shall Ruin Honest Trade."
Phillip read them in silence, then tossed them into the fire.
"If they fear us enough to spread lies," he said to Henry, "then we are already winning."
The next battle was in court. Lord Pembroke's lawyers filed an injunction to halt surveys across his estates. Phillip rode to London, charter in hand, and stood before a judge in wig and robe.
"Your lordship," Pembroke's man argued, "the railway trespasses unlawfully. Land is sacred, passed from father to son. No paper from Parliament may strip it away without due consent."
Phillip stepped forward when called. His voice was steady, though every eye in the courtroom weighed him.
"Your lordship, the land is indeed sacred—but so too is the realm. Parliament has chartered roads, canals, and bridges before. This railway is no different. Compensation has been offered. Refusal to accept it is not defense, but obstinacy."
The judge tapped his gavel. "The charter grants authority of right-of-way, provided compensation is fair. Until proven otherwise, the injunction is denied."
Phillip left the court with victory in hand, though he knew it was but the first of many such battles.
By winter, work crews had begun clearing the first true section near London. Axes rang through woods, carts hauled timber, and gangs of laborers cut into the earth for embankments. But even here, resistance simmered. Farmers stood at the edges of fields, watching with sullen faces as their hedgerows were torn up.
One night, fire broke out in a timber yard. Dozens of cut sleepers went up in flames before the men could douse it. Another week, a pile of steel rails was found smashed with hammers, ruined beyond repair.
Henry stormed into Phillip's office, fists clenched. "Sabotage! It's the canal men, I'll swear it. They hire ruffians to break what we build."
Phillip rubbed his temples. He was tired, the weight of Parliament's expectations pressing on him. But he forced his voice calm.
"Then we guard what we build. Hire watchmen. Organize shifts. Every rail, every beam will have eyes on it. If they think fire and hammers will stop us, they've misjudged steel."
The following spring, Parliament itself demanded updates. Phillip rode back to Westminster, reports in hand. He stood before the chamber once more, aware of every eye.
"Gentlemen," he said, "opposition remains. Canal owners spread lies, some landowners resist, and there has been sabotage. But despite all, the work advances. Ten miles cleared, three bridges planned, and steel production doubled. Nothing will stop this railway—because nothing can stop the future."
Some MPs frowned, others applauded. The Speaker nodded gravely.
The Duke of Wellington later clapped his son on the shoulder. "You have enemies now, Phillip. That means you are doing something worth the effort."
Phillip smiled faintly. "Aye, Father. But I mean to have more than enemies. I mean to have a railway."