Traveller Probo
42. Turkey

Osborne and the troops were invited by their military hosts to dine at a packed traditional restaurant on the outskirts of the Turkish mountain town of Bolu. The men were treated to local cuisine, including hamsi; tiny fish, fried and eaten whole. Never the type to refuse a trial, the non-Turkish team members crunched on the fingerlings to find them remarkably palatable.

Hami had finished regaling his latest failure at female conquest, which Osborne found doubtful. The tall, handsome Maori was sure to attract attention from any woman. “It was a disaster,” he shrugged as he smiled broadly. “I so crashed and burned Bro. I didn’t even get close.”

Chuck made it clear that he relished Hami’s fall from grace. “I find that hard to believe my Kiwi mate. You’ve never been knocked back, is what I’ve heard.”

“Which is more than I can say for you, from what I’ve heard!” replied the New Zealander.

Chuck snorted, “Oh, I’ve had my fair share!”

“When?” interjected Osborne. “The only time I can recall was that time in Bangkok.”

The trainer frowned. “Well that’s not fair. I am, after all, a happily married man now!”

“Bloody hell! Here it comes,” replied Hami. “Why? What happened in Bangkok?” he asked, his delight evident.

“Never mind …” started Chuck but Osborne continued. “It turned out it wasn’t a girl.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Shit!” cursed Chuck with a frown. “It didn’t stop you blokes from chasing her, as I recall.”

“Was it a bloke?” continued Hami joyfully, for it obviously was a conversation Chuck preferred not continue. After a rocky beginning, Osborne was gratified to see that the trainers had become the best of friends, though they were an odd pair. The good looking Maori and the grizzled, craggy faced Aussie were always giving each other such a hard time. “You dirty bastard, Chuck!”

Chuck growled, “Nobody’s talking, to be honest. But we weren’t taking about my conquests but were discussing yours!”

Hami just smiled in good humour. “Well that wasn’t the case here. I bloody well tried every trick in the book. Flowers, my usual smooth lines, even an invitation to a romantic dinner and she didn’t even take off her sunglasses. You know what it’s like, she just looked through me and didn’t crack a smile. Talk about rejection.”

There was general hilarity. “Oh, how the mighty fall,” crowed Chuck as he gloried in Hami’s failure. “Didn’t even get to first base. That’ll be a first.”

“Didn’t even get close to the ballpark,” admitted Hami as he laughed along.

“Even Hami gets downed by the immortal Princess Prudence,” smiled Osborne as he shook his head in disbelief. “What hope is there for the rest of us now?”

“Ya gotta give him credit though Chuck, my old mate. He hasn’t let the troops down,” chuckled Osborne. “His ‘Never Say Die’ attitude is a credit to him. Besides, I’m beginning to think that you’re jealous.”

Chuck rolled his eyes as he readied himself for a reply. “Jealous? Well maybe,” Chuck conceded. “I think that it’s all because these Turkish gals are so bloody hot. Especially those in the military. I dunno about our Aussie girls. You know, the ones in the job. They are all right I s’pose but jeeze! The Turkish female military certainly gets you looking. Bloody gorgeous are some of them.”

One of the Turkish Travellers, Sergeant Erol, interjected, “Then you can only wish that your women were Turkish,” he called out and the rest of the Turkish contingent roared in agreement. The Turkish military enjoyed many active female troops, including the more senior ranks. As they had seen with Princess Prudence, many pilots were women. Osborne laughed along, for he could understand their loyalty. The talk was certainly sexist but among male soldiers that was often expected. The young Turkish women he had seen were certainly attractive and not strangers to the latest European fashion trends. As if to emphasise the point, outside of the restaurant a few young women walked past with their heads held high. Fashionably clad in tight jeans and boots, the men paused to gaze at them in appreciation, a fact not lost on the girls who smiled and added a jaunty swagger to their stroll. Their host Major laughed and jested with Osborne, “Did you know Captain Osborne, terrorists fear our women soldiers because they believe if they’re killed by a woman, they will not go to heaven!”

As Osborne went to reply, he looked to see Captain Kartal’s co-pilot, a good-looking young man named Deniz, walk into the restaurant with a stunningly pretty woman with golden-brown hair. Far from being cowed by the men, she greeted many as if she knew them. “Now that’s a typical example of Turkish beauty,” exclaimed Osborne to the Major. “If you have women like that in the military, I’ll concede you the prize. Lucky Deniz is all I can say!”

The Major looked at Osborne oddly. “You don’t know who this is?” he asked in surprise. The woman was hailed by the hard-bitten Hakkari troops and her short, sharp quip brought roars of laughter. Osborne thought he might recognise the voice but could not place it. Suddenly, recognition hit him. She should have known most of the Hakkari troops when engaged in cross-border operations in hot pursuit of militants. The missions involved highly skilled helicopter pilots, where too many had been killed. Obviously such a pilot would become particularly well-known, respected, and liked.

Having never seen her face, or even seen her outside of the cockpit of her precious Eurocopter, the stunned Osborne was caught unawares as Captain Nuray Kartal was formally introduced. Her pretty, round face and bright eyes turned to him and he found himself at a severe disadvantage. Silently he cursed himself as he stammered and clumsily shook her hand while she gave him her usual stare with that distinctive, downturned smile.

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