The thing Reno taught her about being a Turk was this: it wasn't that they never lost, it was that they never gave up. If you were a real Turk, you picked yourself up, got your partner to pop your shoulder back in its socket, retrieved your teeth, and went right back to mix it up again. And again. And again. AVALANCHE put him in traction over and over, and he kept going back for more—with a grin that said, "Try me this time. Fuckers." Because the real winner was the one who came back fighting just one more time than the other guy.
The thing Rude taught her about being a Turk was this: a lot of the really important work happened where you couldn't see it. Everyone saw Reno, everybody remembered Reno, but that just meant that Rude could get things done when nobody was looking at him. It was remarkable how often somebody would be keeping a sharp weather-eye on Reno and his damn cattle prod only to have Rude nail them in the back of the head without warning. Literally or metaphorically.
The thing Tseng taught her about being a Turk was this: the best thing was to know everything pertinent about a situation, but the next-best thing was to think on your feet, quickly and fluently. Intelligence was important. Planning was important. But being where they didn't expect you, exactly when you needed to be there, to do exactly what needed to be done—without prior instruction, on wit and instinct, because you knew how to read a situation—was what made a Turk worth the title.
The thing her sister Katherine taught her about being a Turk was this: it could get you killed.