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?"