it's 1915. a housewife in çanakkale spoons a meagre serving of pilaf into the mouth of her son. the war has seen few supplies make it to the cupboards of the ottoman peasants. suddenly, an the sounds of a great explosion eminates from the water. looking out the window, she sees a french ship, trying to force the dardanelles, has been hit by a mine. "damn," she says, watching the boat list slowly to the side. "the straits are at it again"