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?"