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?"