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?"