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?"