ORANGE-CLAD TRAIN-CLIMBER CREW, MOVING  
 ALONG  THE RUSTY  CARGO  CARS LIKE  SOME 
 SPECIES OF  FERROPHAGE  INSECT.  UP  AND 
 DOWN  THE TRAIN,  CHECKING BOLTS, OILING 
     JOINTS, DRINKING COFFEE, SMOKING     
                CIGARETTES.               
                                          
            
                                          
 WE  WERE  GOING SOUTH THROUGH FINLAND AT 
 THE  TIME,   SLEEPING   CLOSE   TO   THE 
  FURNACE, WATCHING THE AURORA BOREALIS.  
  TWENTY-SOMETHING MEMBERS OF THE CREW,   
 MOST   OF   WHICH  WERE  MECHANICS,   OR 
 LOADERS,  WITH  LARGE  AND  HAIRY  HANDS 
 THAT COULD  SWALLOW MY ENTIRE  BODY. AND 
 ME  FEATURING  AS  THE CUTE AND  ASOCIAL 
 RADIO OPERATOR,  STATIONED IN  THE  BACK 
    OF THE KILOMETER-LONG TRAIN, WHICH    
         SERVED ME GOOD AND WELL.         
                                          
 AND  THEN ONE  NIGHT, THERE'S A MISSILE. 
 WE WOULD ROUTINELY  PICK  UP NEW CARS AT 
 THE TAIL, AND DROP SOME  OFF, AS  A  WAY 
 OF  EARNING  SOME  EXTRA  MONEY.  BUT  A 
 MISSILE, AND  APPEARING  SILENTLY IN THE 
 MIDDLE  OF   THE  NIGHT   AT  THAT?  NOT 
         ENTIRELY... COMFORTABLE.         
                                          
 I CALL  IT IN ON THE WALKIE-TALKIE.  NOT 
 MANY  OTHERS  AWAKE,  THEY KNOW  NOTHING 
 ABOUT IT, AND APPEAR CONCERNED  AS WELL. 
                                          
            
                                          
 WHEN I  FALL  AWAKE  IN  THE  AFTERNOON, 
 KARL  IS  THERE,  SMILING  AT  ME.  "HEY 
 BOY," HE SAYS,  "WANNA HELP  ME  MAKE  A 
                  CALL?"                  
                                          
 AFTER HE'S BROUGHT  ME  COFFEE,  I  DIAL 
 THE  FREQUENCY  FROM HIS  NOTEBOOK,  AND 
 AFTER  A  WHILE  THERE'S   A  REPLY   IN 
 PAN-SLAVIC.  KARL  LAUGHS  AND  MAKES  A 
 REPLY IN THE SAME LANGUAGE. EVEN  THOUGH 
 WE BOTH HAVE  HEADPHONES I CAN'T  FOLLOW 
 AT ALL,  BUT I HEAR THE WORD "MISSILE" A 
                FEW TIMES.                
                                          
 I'M ALMOST SNOOZING AGAIN  AT  THE  TIME 
 KARL PUTS DOWN THE HEADPHONES AND  SLAPS 
 ME ON MY  BACK. "ALLRIGHT  BOY.  I  JUST 
 SOLD A  MISSILE."  HE PRACTICALLY  BEAMS 
 AT  ME, TEETH FILED SHARP. "WANNA MAKE A 
                 DETOUR?"