Traveller Probo

A cool breeze gathered the dust and leaves gently, as a child gathers flowers. It then revealed a spiteful, hidden face as it cast its gatherings into the eyes of the men who laboured down the steep, dusty slope. Each was dressed in the plain garb that would garner little attention anywhere in the Middle-Eastern world. Each carried a stout staff and wore a leather belt from which hung sticks or clubs from which hands rarely strayed as they scanned the land, vigilant against attack. Not without reason, for they had been attacked on more than one occasion, either by mounted warriors who called and yodelled as they waved poles threateningly or by groups who dashed at the men from any hiding place the treacherous land could offer.

Osborne watched the men carefully, searching for any weakness or lapse of judgement. The men had been engaged in a series of gruelling training exercises for the past three days. Denied food and with access only to water from the harsh land through which they moved, sleep was something they had not enjoyed for more than 48 hours. As the wind buffeted his position, his eyes narrowed and he glanced at the three men who accompanied him. The trainers, Chuck and Baki, also watched and evaluated while Professor Taylor stood aside uncomfortably. Osborne was still unsure as to how hard to push the academic but he knew the older man could not manage a fraction of what the men below endured. As Chuck expressed often, Professor Taylor was still too soft and unfit. There was a general apprehension that, accompanied by the elderly man, the team might be challenged by any attack from bandits suspected to inhabit the land. It was true that the professor still hobbled after twisting his ankle on a climb but Osborne felt that the others were perhaps taking out more than a little of their frustrations on the academic. Chuck could barely restrain his frustration, “Look at him! God’s truth, he’s got a face like a smacked bum! He’s never going to bloody keep up if there’s any need for a run. They’d have to fucking-well carry him.” Not as tactlessly forthright, Baki simply nodded.

Professor Taylor had the cowed look of one who had bitten off more than he could chew. Over the last few days his overconfidence had evaporated and he now walked with his head down as if perpetually ashamed. Osborne knew that beaten-dog look, the look when someone was giving up. While physically demanding, the training was intended to highlight doubts in one’s own mind. All Special Forces were physically and mentally resilient, having overcome enormous physical and psychological obstacles to be permitted to enter the ranks of the military elite. Professor Taylor had never had the aptitude nor the training and, to top it all off, there was his age. Osborne came to the realisation that the other team members would have to support the older man more than originally planned.

But Professor Taylor was a trier. Osborne was determined to boost his confidence again. He called the academic over and pointed, “Check these blokes over there. As you know, we have to push them beyond their limits, because we just don’t know what to expect when you go back a thousand years. Will the road to the city treat you well or will there be bandits? If so, will they be on foot or on horse? Will they use arrows or slings, swords or spears? It’s a difficult call, as you can appreciate, so these lads have to be on the ball.”

“I feel devastated Lieutenant Osborne. I had hoped to be fitter by now,” confessed Professor Taylor with a mixture of frustration and guilt. “I’m afraid I have proved myself to be somewhat pusillanimous, which distresses me.”

Behind the Professor, Chuck looked up and made an expression which Osborne knew was his ‘What the hell is he saying? – Is he speaking English?’ face he often used when around Professor Taylor. Chuck had even taken to carrying a pocket thesaurus to help understand the academic a little better. Stifling a smile, Osborne nodded and then shrugged, “Sorry but I disagree. You’re braver than you think, and fitter. According to Parker, you’ve come a hell of a long way because of your determination and his training. Don’t compare yourself to these blokes,” he gestured to the men who struggled in the wind below. “These are younger men and professional soldiers of the highest calibre. You’ll never be like them physically, just like they’ll never have your knowledge. It’s the way they’ve been trained. They’re all hammers, that’s their job. To them, every problem is a nail. It’s the way they manage their missions. In this mission, you do your job and they’ll do theirs.”

“But I don’t want to be a burden,” Professor Taylor complained.

Osborne took a moment to examine the academic, whose stubborn streak might be making a return, “They’ll only carry you when or if they have to but not before. Don’t worry, they’ll look after you but you have to accept that you’re a lot tougher than you think. I’m absolutely certain the mission will be a resounding success.”

The academic nodded but still appeared uncertain.

After his assignment as team manager, Osborne’s first task was to create the Byzantium Traveller team. Not only were the four original British members of Saxon Traveller to be involved but there were also four Turkish Special Forces participants. They had then been approved by Professor Taylor and Professor Askar, the local academic who specialised on Constantinople and the Byzantine Empire. While Professor Taylor was to visit ancient Constantinople, Professor Askar and his team of academics would receive, sort and disseminate any data collected.

Like any operation, getting organised took a lot of time and patience, patience Osborne found he didn’t possess in abundance. While Osborne and Professors Taylor and Askar finalised the selection, Chuck and Baki developed a training schedule that was largely based on the Saxon Traveller model. Osborne stressed the potential gaps identified in the previous Traveller training, especially in the use of a range of authentic, old-style weapons to kill.

But Osborne had to overcome troubles of a more worrying nature. The Turkish army allocated the team to the historic Selimiye Barracks in Istanbul. He took one look at the high, prison-like walls and told Professor Askar to find another location. Professor Taylor had become somewhat concerned. “Look Lieutenant Osborne, this isn’t our programme now. We have to be sensitive to social norms, you know. One of the top generals insisted that the Byzantium Traveller team would be guests of the army division housed in Istanbul and he will take it as a personal insult if we don’t oblige him.”

Though his tone was cordial, Osborne’s response was barely friendly. “Professor Taylor, Professor Askar, much as I appreciate your kind assistance and input, let me tell you what will happen if we stay at the Selimiye Barracks. First of all, mine is a junior rank, so the General and every little prick from his rank on down will want a say in what we do, where we go, what training we are given and who does what. It will be a waste of my time and I will eventually be compelled to leave. The training will then be sub-standard and while every courtesy will be shown to the Brits and Aussies in the team, they’ll be largely overshadowed by the locals. This will end up as some public relations exercise to promote the egos of every politician and military cock-sucker who can possibly be included, which, believe me, will be all of them. This will become a joke and a fucking waste of time. Is that what you want?” he concluded, eyebrows arched.

“Umm, uh, no Lieutenant,” stammered Professor Taylor as his face blushed furiously. “Do you honestly think that will happen?”

Osborne gave a chuckle, “No offense but remember, we know how these things work if we don’t establish control from the start. To the government here, like every other government, this is less to do with enhancing human knowledge and more about international and national prestige. They have a free gift in that the Traveller programme is something for which they have paid nothing, so they’ll want full control. You, both of you, want knowledge. Now, just think of the extent of the knowledge Hurley and Hunter were able to contribute through their missions. Imagine what you blokes will learn here, in this amazing country of one thousand years ago. In Constantinople, you’ll be in the greatest and wealthiest city in Europe, at the crossroads between the East and West. You’ll be visiting when the Byzantine Empire’s at its peak, when it was the most powerful economic, cultural, and military force in Europe, all ruled by a bloke named Basil the Bulgar Slayer.” He chuckled. “You have to listen to your own lectures, because what we’ll be doing will be more amazing than any other Traveller mission and we can’t afford it to be fucked in the arse by political games. If this doesn’t go right, if we don’t have complete freedom in how to run this, it will be a shit-fight and our goals won’t be achieved, or worse, someone will get killed. None of us wants that, and I’ll tell you right now, I won’t be a part of it.”

Professor Askar looked panicked, “But Lieutenant, the army will take offense. These men are very powerful sir.”

“Okay, well, me and the lads from Saxon Traveller have been talking about this, and we think the powers at Transporter Corp need to pull their finger out, pay a little visit, and launch the Byzantium Traveller project to the global media. They can specify the role each member has to play, including mine. Professor Taylor, you’ll need to meet with the rest of Transporter Corp and get this sorted in a diplomatic way. Now, I don’t think the Turkish government will want to lose this gig, or to upset any of us, so I suggest you make the right calls to your guys. I’ll give you a list of what we need to move this forward. Once that’s all agreed, face will be saved and we can get onto training these blokes like we should.”

Osborne heard no more. After a few sleepless nights, where he feared he might have overestimated his importance a little too much, he was suddenly calling the shots. To his immense relief, the Traveller team was allocated a deserted barracks and training ground at a sleepy farming village of Ilidag near the Mediterranean coast. The mere collection of houses and mosques were perfectly located adjacent to an isolated, mountainous region where the men could safely conduct their fitness and combat training. There had been some initial concern that the men might go crazy in such isolation but they were only a short drive from the resort town of Kusadasi on the Aegean coast, the perfect place for R&R.

As their quarters were renovated, experts in unarmed combat were selected to refine their training. The squad spent the first half of each day in combat training and fitness and the second in ancient Byzantine language and history. Unarmed combat soon advanced to skills with knife, staff, and sword. The men trained on how to use a shield as a weapon as well as means of defence, something each of the Saxon Travellers welcomed. McAlister’s broken nose and Osborne’s arm were a mute testament of the usefulness of the skill. Masters in the Chinese art of Wushu arrived to ingrain the almost magical ability to use and dodge a spear; the weapon that had given many of the original Travellers so much grief. The trainees grunted and sweated, nursing daily bruises to both bodies and egos as they honed their abilities. Osborne was a ruthless physical trainer and purposely wore a tank-top to show off his livid scars and in doing became even more respect from the men involved. His message was clear – If you want an arm like this – then slacken off! But remember – I was lucky, I survived!

All was carefully documented and observed by members of the Turkish military as well as representatives from the American and Ukrainian Traveller projects who aimed to integrate best practice for their own projects. While all Traveller teams ostensibly worked in cooperation, a competitive edge was apparent, as each strived to eclipse the other projects. Byzantium Traveller would be a tough act to follow. The lessons from New Zealand Traveller were all too apparent. If primitive, stone-age warriors could be a threat to modern, elite military training, what threat could the infinitely more complex skills of the professional military of conflict-ridden Byzantine Empire offer? Despite the initial struggle for control by senior Turkish military, there appeared to be no hard feelings and Turkish officers were welcome additions to the daily training routine. Eventually, a small group of uniformed observers were always on hand with cameras and binoculars to monitor and document as best they could.

As they watched, from the dust previously hidden Turkish Special Forces troops dressed as traditional tribesmen rushed out and skirmished with the struggling men. All were armed with wooden swords and staffs but there was still considerable risk of injury, even though all wore reinforced gloves. The attackers also donned helmets to protect them from the response of the Travellers who struggled under the Turkish sun. And with good cause. The team members counterattacked with a gusto that had the attackers routed. Having established a crescent defence, the men, who moments before had struggled in the dust, fought back with a deadly efficiency. Though the attackers had been trained in ancient combat tactics, the response took some of them by surprise. Despite his body armour, one of the assailants was left unconscious as his fellows fought a deadly rear-guard action.

Baki swore and Chuck rolled his eyes. Osborne muttered a curse while Professor Taylor just stood, shocked at the violence.

Osborne looked to the group of military observers and shook his head in annoyance. He knew his role and performance were constantly under assessment. This put him under pressure, especially if anyone was injured. When their training began, a couple of the veterans from Saxon Traveller were criticised as not being as fit as the Turks and there was even a suggestion by one of the Turkish commanders that they should not be included. After all, their own troops had to show impressive levels of fitness, language skills and the controversial appearance standards, yet the ‘Old Travellers’, as they had been labelled, had not all been so exemplary.

The criticism was justified though Osborne defended the inclusion of his old comrades. McAlister seemed to be the one at risk as he had developed a susceptibility to migraines thanks to a compressed cheekbone from a Viking shield-bash. More than a touch of Post-Traumatic Stress had taken a toll on his awesome physique but he had been impressive in his determination since the beginning. He had lost weight and was now lean and earnest, for it seemed it was his blow that floored the assailant.

***

Lieutenant Osborne was obviously the best qualified to prepare them for the worst that could happen in their journey to ancient Byzantium. Professor Taylor had discussed his initial concerns regarding Osborne with Parker, who had trained the original Saxon Traveller team. The good-natured soldier helped him understand Osborne’s nature and motivations. “Look here Professor, being a manager for these lads is not an easy task. We’re all mates but not only is it Osborne’s job to get these lads into shape, he has to prepare us for experiences we can barely imagine. When we went into battle at Giolgrave, I knew I’d done the best that I could to train the lads but there were injuries and, to be honest, we were bloody lucky no-one was killed. Ozzie suffered the most and his experiences in Saxon England have scarred him deeply. But I want you to spare a thought for McFee; he beheaded a man in single combat, and think of how we all feel after blooding our swords like we did.” With a blink, he was back to the present and gave a small smile of apology. “We’re trying to train the Turks so they won’t have to suffer the same as us and Ozzie knows that pain better than anyone. God, the man lost an arm and had it refixed, though it’ll never work like it used to. He’s no longer Special Forces capable and he struggles with that. We all struggle with what happened to us, you know.”

“Believe me Professor, Ozzie’s the best trainer we could ask for.”

The academic privately wondered how any of them had survived. Like Osborne, he watched the observers as the remainder of the attackers were forced to flee. The stunned soldier was helped to his feet and laughter was heard as they reassembled into their formation before they were called together for a briefing. In order to hear what was said, the observers moved forward and Osborne nodded to invite Professor Taylor to join them. Osborne knew that he had received a few critical comments. Taylor suspected that a couple of judgemental Turkish officers whose decisions he had overturned were behind some of the negative feedback. Politics never changed, especially as the Traveller projects gained profile and profitability. Any project manager had to be alert to from where the treacherous knives were likely to strike.

Professor Taylor knew what those long, sharp knives were like.

***

As Osborne and Professor Taylor approached the group of observers, three faces were immediately familiar. Michael Hurley, the world’s first Traveller and Project Manager for Kiev Traveller was one friendly face, while two more of his old Saxon Traveller comrades, Canadian Steve Morris and American Sean Leishman, also nodded in friendly greeting. Three other men in uniform were present, two Turks and another Osborne did not immediately recognise.

The old comrades shook hands and then embraced. To Osborne, Hurley looked well, though he had additional bags under his eyes, while Morris and Leishman looked dangerously fit and healthy. The most obvious change was that both men sported military haircuts and cleanly shaved faces. Osborne wiped his hand over Leishman’s smooth face as they laughed. “Jeeze Stork, you look like a soldier again with your baby-bum smooth skin!” he quipped. Leishman smiled and shrugged. From what Osborne had heard, Leishman had suffered the least post-traumatic stress of any who had endured the battle for Giolgrave. He had been at the thick of the fighting but was fortunate to have avoided serious injury. Which could not be said for Morris, who had grave internal injuries from a spear thrust that had been blocked by the light Kevlar armour they had all worn. Of all of the Travellers, Morris had been the one who had come closest to dying that day. As Osborne underwent his own serious medical procedures, Morris had undergone major surgery on his liver that had been split by the deadly blow. That he had survived at all was considered a miracle of emergency surgical procedure. Though he had largely recovered, like Osborne he too had been retired from the Special Forces. Osborne knew exactly how that felt.

There was so much he wanted to share in relation to their own Traveller projects. Swapping notes allowed him to not only reveal the latest training techniques but to also find out what was happening in the rapidly developing Traveller world.

He swapped cordial handshakes with the Turkish military observers who were plainly happy to share in the occasion. Osborne was then introduced to the final visitor. His darker skin and impressive musculature reminded him of a face he had seen in the latest reports from New Zealand. When introduced by Hurley as Sergeant Hami Wharemate, from New Zealand Traveller, Osborne nodded in greeting and respect.

He then turned to the others and shrugged, “Well, you give me no choice,” he exclaimed lightly. “Give me a few moments to debrief this lot and we’ll get together. Looks like I owe you blokes some tea.”