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?"