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?"