It's funny how easy it sounds as a request. Flip that massive vehicle onto its wheels, would you? All however-many tonnes of it. Just, you know, tip it over. There's a good chap. Erik gives Malfoy something of a sideways look as he too exits the cab, the engine now quiet (he can start it again from a distance, if need be). He takes a moment to adjust the fit of his respirator before shutting the door behind him. The sound of it is strangely weak, muted by the ever-present fog.

"Stand back," he advises, treading away from their vehicle and towards the other, tugging his gloves more firmly into place despite the current uselessness of the gesture. He's about to attempt to roll some train carriages in front of a rapt audience in the middle of nowhere. While wearing form-fitting kevlar. This will be either amazing or embarrassing.

One false start necessitates a slight repositioning of his feet, apparently, which he does without looking back to his companions at all. Taking two little steps that make his body sway easily, willowy. He sucks in a deep, filtered breath and pushes it out again. Resets his hands. Glowers at the train like he hates it. (And so he does, if only right now.)

Finally, a long, low sound reverberates through the twisted beast, this time developing past the preliminary old-bones resentment of being forced to move and into a proper moan of shifting bulk. Loose fixtures first rattle and then hold fast, and the train heaves, and while Erik strains against the air as though he were lifting the thing bodily, it rights itself. Wheels down, roof up. One open door bangs shut as the behemoth turns.
Finally, all its weight drops onto the wheels, and as it pushes great ruts into the ground it emits a clamour of metallic bangs and groans and squeals, the carriages rocking as their bulk settles.

Erik drops to his knees at once, palming the earth and breathing hard.