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?"