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?"