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?"