While the train remained parked outside, Ford, Waltz, Tre and another rifleman, Brubaker, cautiously advanced into the stygian blackness of the tunnel. Fallen leaves and gravel crunched beneath their boots. Spare bulbs, screwed into the flashlights on their rifles, restored a degree of visibility. Incandescent beams penetrated the darkness before them. Ford and Tre took point, leading the way.

The men stop short as they suddenly spied two glowing eyes staring back at them. Ford tightened his grip on his rifle and almost fired until the flashlight beams revealed a lone deer, frozen in terror at what lay beyond the tunnel. In a clatter of hooves, the deer dashed past the soldiers, who jumped out of its way.

How about that? Ford thought, gasping in relief. It took a moment for his heart to stop racing. Guess that fella didn’t get the memo to clear out.

The men moved on until they reached other end of the tunnel. Waltz signaled for alert as he warily stepped out into the open. Ford and the others followed after him, guns at the ready. Ford suspected that the deer had had the right idea, running in the opposite direction.

A long trestle bridge stretched before them, high above a deep gorge carved out by a raging mountain river. Rushing water could be heard, but night and mist hid the bottom of the gorge, as well as the far end of the bridge. The fog made it impossible to tell at a glance if the bridge was still intact all the way across. They would have to check that out and inspect the bridge’s supports as well. They needed to know whether the bridge had been damaged by the recent battle and whether it would still support the missile train.

“Master Sergeant,” Ford said, taking the initiative. “Why don’t you and Brubaker check below?” He nodded at Tre. “Sergeant Morales, you’re with me.”

Waltz approved Ford’s plan of action. He and Brubaker hopped a side-rail and began to carefully descend a steep path down to the rapids below. Ford and Tre watched them vanish into the mist before turning to face the fog-shrouded span ahead of them. Ford glanced around warily, but couldn’t detect any sign of a lurking MUTO. He hoped to God that the monster had moved on after crushing that last wave of troops. He’d already two run-ins with the first MUTO. He could live without encountering the second one as well.

The two men advanced through the fog, discovering obvious signs of damage. Wide gaps stretched between the slats beneath their feet, forcing them to step cautiously. Scorched steel and charred timbers testified that the battle had indeed passed this way. Deep gouges in the tracks looked uncomfortably like claw marks.