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?"