The Silent Soldier's Fugitive

Chapter 2 "Detention Room"

Sahra Aydemir

I forced my eyes open to find myself in a hospital room. "My hair," I muttered, immediately checking myself over. Only the cuffs of my pants were muddy—my hair and clothes were otherwise clean. My left ankle had been bandaged, and the fabric of my pants cut away to accommodate the wrapping. As I sat up on the bed, the door opened and two soldiers entered, both towering close to two meters tall.

"Oh, the runaway hairdresser is awake," said the soldier in front, his voice deep and commanding.

He had close-cropped hair and a clean-shaven face, with stern brown eyes and an imposing, well-built frame. His massive physique was impossible to ignore.

"Who, me? A runaway? No, I'm not a runaway!" I protested.

The large man continued, his voice unwavering. "Sahra Aydemir, twenty-four years old, hairdresser. You're from Afyon, and you were about to enter a minefield as a civilian while we were conducting a land survey at the Kars provincial border. You're not an officer, you haven't been appointed. What's the connection between Afyon and here?" His eyes narrowed. "Be thankful it wasn't an operation. It was just a simple land survey. I'm asking again, what's the connection between Afyon and here?"

"Coincidence," I managed to groan.

He showed no mercy. "Are you a spy?"

"Who, me? Oh, of course not. Being a spy is the last thing I'd do in this life. I'm quite fond of living, thank you very much. I can't endure torture or anything—I'd spill everything in a second." The soldier behind him laughed, but one sharp look from his superior had him standing at attention, silent once more.

"What's your problem, then? Why did you come here from Afyon?" The commanding officer's voice grew harder. "You don't have a single criminal record. You don't even have a traffic ticket. You seem quite innocent, but do you have a logical explanation for why you came to the Far East of Turkey?"

"I don't have a car."

"What car?"

"I don't have a traffic ticket because I don't have a car," I explained, and once again, the soldier behind him failed to suppress a laugh. Another stern look silenced him immediately.

The commander's jaw tightened. "Listen, Afyon delight, this is your first and last warning. Don't let me see you again in this province or within the borders of this country. There's no second chances. Don't let me find you around me. You won't escape next time."

Looking past him to the soldier behind, I suddenly asked, "What is Kars famous for?"

"Cheese," the soldier replied automatically.

"Hush!" the commander barked, causing the soldier to stumble over his words.

"I'm sorry, commander. When the question was directed at me, I thought it was general knowledge."

"Don't worry, my lion. I'll handle this for all of you. Your general knowledge will skyrocket when I'm done with you."

I wanted to address the commander with whatever Kars was famous for, just as he'd called me "Afyon cream," but it would take more courage than I possessed to call this mountain of a man "Kars cheese."

Finally, I couldn't contain myself any longer. "Why are you yelling so much? You've already shot me in the heel, even though I'm innocent. Instead of coming to apologize, you're shouting and carrying on." Our eyes locked again, but his next words were directed at his subordinate.

"Pride!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Put her in the cell for not complying with the stop warning and insulting a Turkish soldier. Let her come to her senses."

My eyes widened in disbelief. "What?!"

"But sir—" Pride began, only to be silenced by the commander's raised hand.

The commander fixed Pride with an unyielding stare. "If she doesn't spend the night in the cell, you'll regret it during training, my boy." Then he took a step closer to me, his presence overwhelming. "If you have any sense, you won't cross my path again, Afyon cream." With that, he strode out of the room.

I locked eyes with Pride, who seemed far more approachable than his superior. "Am I going to jail?"

He laughed, his demeanor softening. "No, Miss Sahra, it's not that serious. You'll be free by morning. But you have to understand—you ran straight into a dangerous area during a land survey, and then expected an apology..." He shook his head. "You might have overreacted a bit."

I had to admit he was right, but how was I supposed to know there was a land survey there? I didn't even know where that place was. Kars certainly hadn't given me the warmest welcome. I should have gone to Antalya instead.

When the nurse cleared me to leave, I stood up gingerly and looked at Pride. "Are you going to handcuff me too?"

He chuckled. "No, nothing like that. But if you can't walk, I can help support you."

"No, I can walk—or rather, hop along. You practically hunted me down like a partridge." I shot him a reproachful look. "Do you make a habit of shooting civilians?"

Pride's laugh was genuine this time. "The captain shot to stop you, not to kill you. You were running toward a minefield. Yes, there was a barbed wire fence, but you looked ready to jump that too. Besides," his voice lowered, "there was a group of arms smugglers in that area."

We made our way down the corridor, me limping alongside him. "Arms smugglers?"

"Yes, they were planning to cross the border and sell weapons to terrorists. We were going to stop them. We noticed them by chance during the land survey, but..."

"But I came along," I finished for him.

"Exactly. If you'd arrived half an hour later, we would have been hunting them like partridges instead of you."

"I'm sorry about that. It wasn't intentional." I bit my lip. "Did they manage to sell the weapons?"

"No, in all the chaos, they fled without meeting their contacts." He gave me a meaningful look. "But you don't know any of this, okay? I'm only telling you because it's clear you were just scared and confused."

"Oh, my first state secret. What a lovely feeling," I quipped, earning another laugh from him. At least this soldier knew how to smile, unlike his perpetually shouting superior.

We arrived at the Sarıkamış District Gendarmerie Command building in a military vehicle. True to the commander's word, they put me in a detention cell. When I asked the time, it was midnight. Now it was 3:30 AM. I settled onto the cell's bench, leaning my head against the wall to wait out the morning.

A military medic came by at one point to check my ankle and ask about pain levels. "My commander asked me to check," he explained. I assumed Pride had sent him—or maybe it was the commander himself. I barely understood these military ranks. Commander, captain—I'd probably heard these terms all of three times in my life.

Another soldier brought tea, and I asked hopefully, "Can you let me go now?"

"You'll be free at 8 AM," he replied matter-of-factly. "Besides, if you have nowhere to go at this hour, you're in the safest and warmest place possible. Try to relax." With that, he left.

He had a point. I couldn't exactly find a hotel or hostel at this hour. This was probably the safest place for now. I sipped the tea and curled up on the bench, pulling my hood over my head. With nothing else to do, I drifted off to sleep.

The sound of the door opening woke me the next morning. It was Pride, and when our eyes met, I managed a sleepy smile.

"Good morning. I'm free to go, right?"

"Yes, you're leaving. Congratulations." His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Hopefully, you won't end up here again."

"Is he here?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Who?"

"The person who first shot me in the heel and then had me detained."

"Commander Ortaç?"

"I don't know his name—just the guy who yelled at me yesterday."

"Ah, Senior Captain Ortaç Suskun, the pride of the Turkish Armed Forces, also known as the Silent Soldier." Pride's lips twitched. "He rarely speaks, if at all. Yesterday with you, he set a record. He left early this morning."

"Probably to avoid running into me again," I said with a laugh. I grabbed my backpack, then noticed my suitcases. "Oh, my luggage!"

"When you fainted yesterday, we brought them along to check for evidence—in case you were guilty of something," Pride explained.

"I don't even know what's in them yet. My aunt packed them." I hesitated. "Did anything... interesting turn up?"

"The commander checked them himself. If there had been anything suspicious, you wouldn't be leaving now."

I cringed inwardly, wondering if my aunt had packed what I suspected. How mortifying to be embarrassed in front of that grumpy gorilla of a man.

"Pride—I mean, commander..."

"Just Pride is fine. No need for formality."

"Thank you. Is there a clean, reliable hostel or hotel where I can stay?"

"Of course. Let me write down an address for you." He pulled out a notepad. "I'd give you a lift if I wasn't busy with work."

"No, no, that's fine. I think I'd rather avoid anyone in uniform for a while," I said with a small laugh. He joined in and handed me the paper with the address. After calling a taxi for me, he saw me to the station's main gate.

At the hostel Pride recommended, I paid for a week's stay and settled into a decent, clean room. It would do for now. I picked up my phone and called my aunt, making sure to hide my number. She answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

Disguising my voice, I said, "Hello, I'm calling from the survey company. Is this a good time?"

It was our special code.

"Sahra, dear, I'm alone. They went to the station asking about you. Are you in the hospital, or did you run off with someone? That creep is looking into it."

"So he came."

"Yes, around noon. Where are you, sweetie?"

"Kars Sarıkamış."

"Goodness, when I said run away, I didn't mean quite that far! You might as well have gone to the moon."

"Oh, aunt, I just decided on impulse. It wasn't planned. What did you do? Was Uncle angry?"

"No, dear. We had a few drinks and passed out. When I said I couldn't remember anything, he stayed quiet since he couldn't remember either."

"Aren't you being a bit too casual about this?"

"That crazy Ismail is acting strange. If it weren't for your uncle, he wouldn't have even thought to ask about you or care that you ran away. I think he's in some kind of trouble. At the station, he told his father, 'I won't go in—you ask.'"

"I almost wish they hadn't asked at all. Now they might find out I'm here because..." I took a deep breath. "Stay calm, aunt, but I spent last night in the hospital and then at the station."

"Hospital? Sahra, are you alright? What happened?"

"Just a minor accident. Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine."

"Your uncle has a friend at the station. It's not an official missing person report—he's just fishing for information about any incidents last night. Just in Afyon, not nationwide."

"Good to know. Listen, aunt, I've settled into a hostel. I need to shower and get cleaned up. We'll talk again soon."

After exchanging protective blessings, we hung up. I placed the suitcases on the bed and opened both. Someone had searched through them—they were a mess. As I'd feared, my aunt had packed all my underwear, colorful and varied. I had this quirk: my underwear had to match my outerwear, and with pants, I always wore a thong. Had that stern captain seen all of them?

"He could have at least taken my statement before rummaging through my things," I muttered, pulling out fresh clothes. My hand caught on a small bag, and inside I found bandage materials and waterproof tape. My aunt wouldn't have packed these. Had the commander left them? If so, then it must have been the grumpy gorilla, not Pride, who sent the medic to check my wound. Perhaps he wasn't quite as harsh as he seemed.

After applying the waterproof tape over my stitches, I showered. The bullet had only grazed me—the captain had aimed to stop, not harm. Five stitches would leave a scar, but at least it was just a graze.

I dressed in the warmest clothes I could find. November in Kars was bitter cold, the wind sharp and biting. I, who had thought Afyon chilly, had no idea how I'd adapt to Kars' winter.

While carefully drying and straightening my hair—another obsession of mine—I remembered the woman who had visited my aunt after my parents died. "She looks just like her mother," she had said. "Meltem's face was beautiful like this, her skin radiant." Those words stayed with me, and because my skin resembled my mother's, I took meticulous care of it.

My mother, father, and little brother Kaya—I lost them all in one night. I woke up in intensive care, but Kaya didn't make it. Before I could process anything, I found myself at the cemetery, standing before three graves in a row. "They're here now," my aunt had said. They were there, and we were here—just the two of us left.

My aunt never left my side after that. Though my uncle suggested I help with housework, she never made me do anything. Still, fearing he might send me away, I always did chores before being asked.

Then came the harassment from Ismail as I grew older. He would corner me alone, touching my developing body, saying vile things. At night, he'd sneak into my room, wrap himself around me, caressing me everywhere while whispering threats about making me his own. He forced me to touch him, threatening to send me to an orphanage if I refused. He said no one would believe me if I told.

But when his demands grew more disgusting, I couldn't take it anymore and told my aunt. Thank God, she believed me. She never left us alone after that, even managing to sleep next to me at night without my uncle knowing. She said even if my uncle believed me, he would take his son's side. Together, my aunt and I handled Ismail our way.

After high school, I started working full-time at Derya's salon, where I'd spent my summer breaks. My aunt spoke separately with my uncle and Ismail, arranging for Ismail to be sent to America through a construction company. He was an electrical technician, and while they usually sent workers to European countries, my aunt somehow convinced them to send him across the ocean instead.

My aunt, my only true family, had always protected me.

My growling stomach interrupted these memories. After rebandaging my ankle, I ventured outside. The cold air cleared my head. I asked for directions to a breakfast place, ate my fill, and then set out to find work. First, I needed a pharmacy for more bandages, then I bought a new phone—one model better than my old one. This would be my only luxury, as savings don't last forever. I'd been putting money aside for years to open my salon, with my aunt's help.

Leaving the phone store, I noticed a "Help Wanted" sign in a small local restaurant across the street. If Ismail searched for me in Kars, he'd check the hair salons first.

Perhaps it was time for a career change—from hairdresser to waitress. That is if I got the job.