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?"