The train from Munich to Zurich only ran once a day since the fighting had escalated. Armored rail cars scouted first, removing bodies from the tracks or stopping the train to disarm explosives. The five-hour trip was now three times that long. Still, it was safer from rebel attack than driving or flying.

Angela remembered a beautiful journey through forests and valleys and meadows full of golden wildflowers. The windows of the car had been removed and replaced with bulletproof siding, so the only light came from halogen lamps bolted to the ceiling. She shifted her plasma rifle to one hand and used the other to stifle a yawn.

A blast tore through the shielding, knocking the car sideways off the track.

“Plasma grenade!” someone shouted.

Angela’s dropped rifle flew, but she was strapped to her seat as the vehicle tumbled down a hill. Through the gaping hole made by the explosion, she watched sky turn to ground and back again.

Her last thought was, The flowers are gone, and then so was everything else.