Tre and the other heavily armed soldiers were on high alert. As the train rolled toward a lonely mountain pass, the nerve-jangling din of battle could be heard up ahead, just beyond the next ridge. Tracer fire lit up the night sky. Ford glimpsed brilliant laser dazzlers and felt the thrum of high-tech sonic weapons. Judging from the distant lights and racket, the train was approaching the “front line” of the conflict, which was still going strong. Even with everything the armed forces were dishing out, the MUTO was obviously not down for the count.

What was it going to take to stop these things?

A loud whoosh startled Ford as a fiery red explosion flared above the pass. Air brakes squealed and the train came to a halt right before the entrance to a narrow railway tunnel bored into the granite face of the mountain. The sudden stop threw Ford and other soldiers off-balance, and even the multi-ton missiles shifted unnervingly, if only for a moment.

A little warning would have been nice, Ford thought, although he couldn’t blame the locomotive engineer for hitting the brakes. That explosion had looked way too big, too close. Who knew what was waiting for the train on the other side of that tunnel? Were there even any tracks left?

Master Sergeant Waltz hopped down from the locomotive onto the gravel beside the train. He called out to Tre, who was stationed on the missile car directly behind the locomotive.

“Sergeant, I need you down here… now.”

Tre gulped and looked to Ford for sympathy. Aw, shit was written all over his face.

The soldier did his duty, however, and quickly joined Waltz down on the ground. A light fog blanketed the earth. Thick groves of pines and sequoias hemmed in the tracks on both sides, while the tunnel entrance ahead was as black as outer space. Ford looked on as Tre donned a large backpack-mounted radio, which Waltz attempted to employ.

“Snake Eyes, this is Bravo,” the master sergeant said into the radio. He fiddled impatiently with the knobs. “What’s the status at phase line red? Are the tracks clear, over?”

Static growled from the other end of the transmission, along with background noise from a heated battle. Nonstop explosions and shouting crackled from the radio.

“Say again?” a voice answered, barely audible through the interference. “You’re breaking up.”

More soldiers disembarked from the train. They gathered around the radio, frowning. This was not sounding good, for themselves or their mission. Had they reached the end of the line?

Ford was feeling an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Hopping down from the missile car, he found himself drawn to the pitch-black tunnel entrance ahead. A flashlight was attached to the barrel of his M4 automatic rifle. For a second, he felt as though he was back on that monorail train in Honolulu, with the original MUTO waiting just around the bend.