On Wings Of Eagles (1990)

"There are no planes for charter here."

"Can we buy a car?"

"Cars are very scarce in this part of the country."

"Are there no car dealers in town?"

"If there are, they won't have any cars to sell."

"Is there any way to get to Van from here?"

"No."

It was like the joke about the tourist who asks a farmer for directions to London, and the farmer replies: "If I was going to London, I wouldn't start from here."

They wandered out of the terminal and stood beside the dusty road. There was no sidewalk: this was really the sticks. Boulware was frustrated. So far he had had it easier than most of the rescue team--he had not even been to Tehran. Now that it was his turn to achieve something, it looked as though he would fail. Boulware hated to fail.

He saw a car approaching with some kind of markings in Turkish on its side. "Hey," he said, "is that a cab?"

"Yes," said Charlie.

"Hell, let's get a cab!"

Charlie hailed the cab and they got in. Boulware said: "Tell him we want to go to Van."

Charlie translated.

The driver pulled away.

After a few seconds the driver asked a question. Charlie translated. "Van, where?"

"Tell him Van, Turkey."

The driver stopped the car.

Charlie said: "He says: 'Do you know how far it is?' "

Boulware was not sure, but he knew it was halfway across Turkey. "Tell him yes."

After another exchange Charlie said: "He won't take us."

"Does he know anyone who will?"

The driver shrugged elaborately as he replied. Charlie said: "He's going to take us to the cabstand so we can ask around."

"Good."

They drove into the town. The cabstand was just another dusty piece of road with a few cars parked, none of them new. Ilsman started talking to the drivers. Boulware and Charlie found a little shop and bought a bag of hard-boiled eggs.

When they came out, Ilsman had found a driver and negotiated a price. The driver proudly pointed out his car. Boulware looked at it in dismay. It was a Chevrolet, around fifteen years old, and it looked as if it still had the original tires.

"He says we'll need some food," Charlie said.

"I got some eggs."

"Maybe we'll need more."

Boulware went back into the shop and bought three dozen oranges.

They got into the Chevrolet and drove to a filling station. The driver bought a spare tank of fuel and put it in the trunk. "Where we're going, there are no gas stations," Charlie explained.

Boulware was looking at a map. Their journey was about five hundred miles through mountain country. "Listen," he said. "There is no way this car is going to get us to the border by two o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"You don't understand," Charlie said. "This man is a Turkish driver."

"Oh, boy," said Boulware; and he sat back in the seat and closed his eyes.

They drove out of town and headed up into the mountains of central Turkey.

The road was of dirt and gravel, with enormous potholes, and in places it was not much wider than the car. It snaked over the mountainsides, with a breathtaking sheer drop at one edge. There was no guardrail to stop an incautious driver shooting over the precipice into the abyss. But the scenery was spectacular, with stunning views across the sunlit valleys, and Boulware made up his mind to go back one day, with Mary and Stacy and Kecia, and do the trip again, at leisure.

Up ahead, a truck was approaching them. The cabby braked to a halt. Two men in uniform got out of the truck. "Army patrol," said Charlie Brown.

The driver wound down his window. Ilsman talked to the soldiers. Boulware did not understand what was said, but it seemed to satisfy the patrol. The cabby drove on.

An hour or so later they were stopped by another patrol, and the same thing happened.

At nightfall they spotted a roadside restaurant and pulled in. The place was primitive and filthy dirty. "All they have is beans and rice," said Charlie apologetically as they sat down.

Boulware smiled. "I been eating beans and rice all my life."

He studied the cabdriver. The man was about sixty years old, and looked tired. "I guess I'll drive for a while," said Boulware.

Charlie translated, and the cabby protested vehemently.

"He says you won't be able to drive that car," Charlie said. "It's an American car with a very peculiar gearshift."

"Look, I am American," Boulware said. "Tell him that lots of Americans are black. And I know how to drive a 'sixty-four Chevy with a standard shift, for Pete's sake!"

The three Turks argued about it while they ate. Finally Charlie said: "You can drive, so long as you promise to pay for the damage if you wreck the car."

"I promise," said Boulware, thinking: Big deal.

He paid the bill, and they walked out to the car. It was beginning to rain.

Boulware found it impossible to make any speed, but the big car was stable, and its powerful engine took the gradients without difficulty. They were stopped a third time by an army patrol. Boulware showed his American passport, and once again Ilsman made them happy somehow. This time, Boulware noted, the soldiers were unshaven and wore somewhat ragged uniforms.