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?"