A new day. Pines silvered with frost; a wash of crimson across the heavens. The holes left by grief and longing, filled with fresh happiness.
The team was milling near a copse of trees—skittish Charlie in his Scots cap; Sammy, debonair in his fez; the Chief in his Native American garb, patient and at ease. Diana smiled in greeting as she approached. Steve was dressed in a German uniform that fit him well. Her blood stirred. Then she took note of five horses, one for each of them. They were good animals, although perhaps not as muscular as the ones back on the island. Farmers’ horses, not warriors’ mounts.
“The villagers gave them to us,” Sammy said.
“A gracious gift,” the Chief added.
“They called us heroes.” Sammy was abashed.
She knew they hadn’t come with Steve to be heroes. They had come for money, maybe adventure. But she had seen them in the field. They had risked everything in battle.
“You are,” she said.
All three of them looked startled, and she realized that the power of her conviction had forged errant wish into solid truth. Even Charlie forced a smile at her, struggling to agree.
“Hey, folks,” Steve said tentatively, “I’m fully aware that I said this job was two days and a deal is a deal—”
He was giving them permission to walk away. The Chief scoffed and said, “You would get lost without us.”
“Yeah,” Sammy put in, “we know Diana’s capable of looking after herself, but I’m worried you wouldn’t make it.”
Steve grimaced at the affectionate jibes. “There’s no more money.”
Sammy patted his horse. “We’ve been paid enough.”
The Chief nodded, but Charlie hesitated. He was shaky, like the young men in the mire of the trenches in No Man’s Land. It was not lack of courage that dogged him, but lack of belief in himself. The world had shaken him off his feet. This war was not like the ancient Greek wars she had studied, which had been filled with honor and a clear code of conduct. They had fought that way until the Peloponnesian War, when, under the patronage of Ares, the Spartans had broken those barriers. This war was like that one, with terrifying new weapons and shifting alliances, its cruelty to civilians and utter destruction of the land. This war did not bring valor to its warriors; it brought nightmares to all.
“You’d be better off without me,” Charlie said.
Diana gave him a kind smile, willing his spirit to find some peace in the chaos. “No Charlie, but who will sing for us?” Reminding him of days gone by when he did sing.
He brightened as Sammy groaned and said, “Ah! Don’t encourage him!”
* * *
But Charlie was encouraged, and he did sing as the team mounted up and left the grateful village. He sang loudly, fiercely, like a proud bacchante. Their band moved on through the dappled sunshine. Moved forward toward their shared destiny: to end this.
And as Diana put her heels gently to her nickering horse, she was touched by the surprising depths of goodness that she continued to discover within these battle-hardened men.
* * *
Steve lost the thread of his conversation when Diana came back into view on her horse. She was trailing slightly behind, gazing around herself at the enormous oak trees. His breath caught. This war must end; they must survive it. He wanted to show her the good world he was fighting for—a world he had barely remembered until she had come along.
“You must think I was born yesterday,” Charlie exclaimed, and it took Steve a moment to catch back up to the reference: Charlie was reacting to the story Steve had just told about his commandeered Fokker going down just inside the protective barrier around Themyscira, and how Diana had come to his rescue. And about why she had left her home behind to come with him.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Steve replied, “but it’s true.”
“Wait,” Sammy said eagerly, “there’s a whole island of women like her? And not a single man among them?” He was practically drooling. “How do we get there?”
Steve just smiled.
Sammy cocked a brow. “And she thinks Ludendorff is Ares? The God of War?”
“And only by killing him the war will end?” Charlie added.
Sammy peered over his shoulder at Diana, then shrugged his shoulders. “You saw what she did out there. The way she charged that machine gun nest. The way she took out that tower. Maybe it’s true.”
The Chief nodded thoughtfully, but Charlie shook his head and narrowed his eyes at Steve.
“You don’t really believe all this rubbish, do you?”
Yes, he had seen her fighting, whirling like a tornado, doing things not humanly possible; he had been forced to answer questions when that lasso had tightened around his chest. Yes, he had been to the Land of the Amazons. But he had also seen poison gas dissolve leather and metal. In his world there were machines that flew, and electricity. You could receive inoculations that made you invincible to rabies and smallpox. Those things would appear magical to someone like Diana. They were not the work of a God, but science: the work of man. Maybe there was something in the water on Themyscira that gave the women extra strength. The Lasso of Hestia could be made from a fiber that contained a native truth serum…
Yes…
He was being ridiculous. Diana possessed something far greater than “extra strength.” Yet now, looking at the disbelief on the faces of his friends, certainty faded. They were talking about the Ancient Greek God of War. As far as Steve was concerned, Ludendorff was the Devil incarnate. He and Dr. Maru, a sadistic, heartless scientist who had marred her own beauty to advance the cause. But a God?
He studied Diana, who was riding up to meet them. He believed in her. In the big picture, their interests coincided. Ludendorff and Maru must be stopped. It wouldn’t end war on Earth; it wouldn’t end this war. But the world would be better for it, and they would be one step closer to peace. This time. And that would be enough for him. But for her?
I would do anything to give her what she wanted, he thought, as the sunlight played on her dark hair. His horse chuffed as she drew near, tall and straight on her mount.
Through the dappled sun and shadow, deeper into the woods.
* * *
Hours of riding drifted by, the inexorable clip clop, clip clop of the horses, oaks and larks, a breeze: the calm before the storm. Steve’s men grew quiet—even Charlie—and he knew they were mentally preparing for the next step in their plan.
Then they reached the field of play: the location of tonight’s gala. It was all coming down to this.
Through the trunks of the ancient trees he made out the walls of a stone castle that vaguely resembled the fortress-like headquarters of German High Command back in Berlin. Berlin had been a city frozen in ice, the people frightened off the streets. An ominous portent of what life would be like if the Germans won this war. Steve had blended in like a chameleon, infiltrated the highest circles, and stolen military secrets. His German was excellent; he had passed easily. Other spies had not been as fortunate…
Signaling a halt, he scrutinized the imposing building through his field glasses. A long line of chauffeured limousines paraded across along a road past a guard. Men in uniforms and civilians in party clothes were arriving for the celebration of the Armistice. Would Ludendorff and Dr. Poison intervene? Steve plotted out a dozen possible scenarios as he continued his recon. He needed to stay focused and calm. When he had gone down in the waters of Themyscira, his only thought was that he had unfinished business—getting Maru’s notebook to London. But now, aware of Diana’s nearness, he had an unfinished life. And he wanted to share it with her.
Don’t think about that now, he told himself sternly.
This stopping point would serve as their base of operations; as with all other missions, it would be their rendezvous point if they were separated. That was, if they could figure out how to conduct their mission…
The men dismounted and crouched low, surveying the facility through the trees. Diana stood in plain view until Steve said gently, “Diana. Diana. Hiding. Hiding.”
She moved into the shadows.
“How the hell are we going to get in to that?” he asked the others.
“The way in is through the gate,” the Chief replied.
Charlie scoffed. “‘The way in is through the gate.’ Is that supposed to be some ancient tribal wisdom? Gee, thanks, Chief.”
Without another word, Chief disappeared into the dark forest. Off to assess the situation. Good. Charlie raised a telescope, and through his field glasses Steve saw what so interested the Scot: several guards stood at the entry gate, but only one guarded the building’s entrance.
“If you could get through the gate,” Charlie ventured, “I see only a couple of guards at the door to distract.”
Steve frowned. “It won’t look at all suspicious when I come sauntering out of the woods on foot.”
There was a beat of silence and then Diana said, “I could get in.”
Steve furrowed his brow. She looked at him steadily. “You’re not going in. It’s too—dangerous.”
“Too dangerous?” she echoed, as if he were joking.
“Yes. Too dangerous,” he said emphatically. “And you’re too distracting.” That was probably the truer of the two reasons. She could probably tear down the entire castle without breaking a sweat. “I’ll go in there and follow them to where they’re working on the gas, or better yet, find out where it is.”
“I am coming with you,” she announced.
Man, is she stubborn.
He gestured to her Amazonian clothing, her headband, her bracelets, her cleated boots. “No, you’re not. What you’re wearing doesn’t exactly qualify as ‘undercover.’”
“I don’t know, I’d say she was pretty under cover,” Sammy quipped, but Charlie was the only one who laughed.
Steve had to make sure she understood. That she believed him. That she wouldn’t do something rash. “There’s no way to get you in. Let me scout it and report back.”
She flared. “But as long as he’s still alive—”
“You can’t go into German High Command and kill anyone! You have to trust me, Diana.” He was practically begging—and he wasn’t used to that. But her line of reasoning was suicidal: Kill Ares—Ludendorff—and everyone would immediately embrace each other as brothers. What would be more likely to happen would be death by firing squad for the entire team. Amazons died too if they took a bullet. He had witnessed that firsthand on the beach.
As she opened her mouth to argue, an open-air Rolls Royce limousine purred through the trees towards them. It was a gleaming black beauty, and although the Chief looked very much at home in the driver’s seat, his outfit—domed hat, bead choker, fringed leather vest— didn’t exactly shout “Chauffeur.” He braked to a stop and gazed placidly at Steve.
“Where did that come from?” Steve asked in astonishment.
“Field over there is full of them,” the Chief deadpanned.
Sammy was agog. “Can I drive it? Lemme drive it. I’ll be your chauffeur!”
Steve smiled. The first domino—the limousine—had just been placed on the board. Sammy was the second domino. The Chief got out and Sammy climbed behind the steering wheel. He was a perfect choice, completely believable. With his swarthy complexion and command of languages, he could easily pass as a Turk or Arab— German allies in the Kaiser’s war.
He gave Diana a look, mentally exhorting her to really, really listen to him. Then he slipped into the backseat of the Rolls and Sammy put the pedal to the metal, weaving his way through the forest. It was a smooth ride; Steve cast his mind back to the flood of innocent people fleeing the war on foot. He was here for them.
After they reached the road, Sammy glided to the long drive flanked by trees and pulled to the back of the line of other limousines waiting for admittance to the grounds. The guard at the gates was taking his time checking the papers of the people in the car at the head of the queue.
Steve’s adrenaline began to pump.
* * *
Charlie stood beside the Chief, watching as Sammy’s Rolls pulled in behind a parade of idling luxury cars. Motorized vehicles of any sort were far out of the economic range of the likes of him, particularly in wartime. A good used bicycle was more his speed. Although his dear old dad didn’t think much of them: “Wear out your legs giving your arse a ride,” he liked to say.
He was grateful to Diana for encouraging him to stick around. Drink and nightmares had been taking their toll. But last night, he had slept better than he had in years. It was good to be back with the fellows, counting on teamwork, making a difference for a worthy cause. There was none worthier than freedom.
“We should scout the area in case we need to beat a hasty retreat,” Charlie said.
The Chief nodded. “What do you think, Diana?”
There was no answer. They both turned to look behind them. “Uh-oh,” Charlie muttered, his stomach dropping to his knobby knees.
So much for teamwork.
The bloody Amazon was nowhere in sight.
* * *
Curtain rising, Steve thought, chewing anxiously on the end of a pipe he had stashed among his things in his messenger bag, still with him despite all the craziness. He used the pipe on occasion for disguises. Seated in the back of the limousine, he stared at the back of Sammy’s head, which was wrapped up in a tea towel, also from the bag, in a good approximation of a turban. Making do with the resources at hand was part and parcel of the espionage game. Sammy’s lifelong ambition to be an actor had come in handy on more than one occasion in the past. The way Steve figured it, he himself had the simpler role, but not the easier task—he had to sit in the back and stay alert while feigning nonchalance. He well understood Diana’s impulse to do something.
They inched along, creeping closer and closer to the gate. Steve breathed deeply and surveyed his surroundings. The old trees lining the drive reminded him of Washington, D.C. The castle itself was distinctly Old World, a paean to fairytales adorned with gabled roofs and tall towers. The stylishly dressed women walking up the grand entry staircase could have stepped out of Parisian fashion magazines. The German elite appeared to be as hungry for peace as the peasants of Veld—though for different motives, he assumed. The poor wanted to survive; the wealthy, to profit.
The limousine managed another inch forward. Then another. They were within a car’s length of the checkpoint. He fought the impulse to drum his fingers on his knee.
Then Sammy cleared his throat and said anxiously, “Steve, they have invitations.”
Sure enough, as the car in front of them pulled up to the gate, a gloved hand extended from the driver’s side dangling a piece of paper. The guard took it and pored over it as if he were studying for an exam. He actually held it up to the light to check the watermark. Then he handed it back.
Steve’s spy brain began to consider solution. If we could find a piece of paper, scribble on it, get it wet… maybe they wouldn’t look at it that closely? A few things were missing: paper, water, a pen, and time. Could they pull out of line? No. There was no room, and it would look suspicious.
Well, so much for stealth. Time to move on to bluster.
“Don’t worry. Play it cool. You got this,” Steve assured Sammy.
They had no choice but to approach the gate. One of the guards held out his hand. Sammy clasped it with both of his and shook it, hard.
“Dhanyavaad, sahib,” he chirruped. “The colonel and I wish many blessings and all manner of other things to fall upon your head—”
Steve took his cue. “And your head’s empty!” he growled. “He wants my invitation, you idiot!”
Sammy dipped and bowed, groveling as one did before their German overlords, and kissed the German’s hand. Astonished and repulsed, the guard attempted to pull it away. Sammy held on for dear life.
“I must apologize a thousand thousand times, my masters, for I made the most horrible, the most unforgiveable mistake. I lost the colonel’s invitation.”
Steve made a show of checking his watch and then he let Sammy have it. In perfect German, he shouted, “What! Are you saying we drove all the way through the mud and rain only for you to lose my invitation!”
“I am a snail!” Sammy wailed. “No, a bug. No, the dung of a bug!”
Bluster won the day; the bewildered and uncomfortable guards shooed them on, eager not to make a scene when it was obvious that these two had been master and servant for quite some time and it would cause far less havoc to be rid of them.
Sammy grinned at Steve and drawled, “Blessings be upon us.”
Steve smiled back, but as they drove on, his smile faded when he spotted a squad of German soldiers setting rows of seats a distance from the palatial building, as if for a viewing or a parade. What is this? Unease prickled the back of his neck.
By then they had reached the front of the chateau. Sammy played the chauffeur, leaping out to open Steve’s door, giving him a deep, servile bow.
Steve raised a brow at him. Sammy smirked, pressed his palms together, and bowed deeply again. Soon he was bowing and blessing the seemingly endless line of arriving Germans, who turned away from him with apparent distaste. “Prince Cashmere” finally had a part that was made to be overplayed. Steve found that both ironic and amusing. He flashed a grin. Then he put on his game face and joined the party.
* * *
From the protection of the trees, Diana contemplated her options to get inside the castle. Then she noticed a female party guest striding toward the entrance in a striking blue gown. Diana moved along the bank of shadow below the building’s windows and melted into the trees as the woman approached. When she was ten feet away, Diana stepped out of concealment and into her path. The woman froze, shocked by the sudden approach. Then her eyes widened and her brows lifted as she took in Diana in her long cloak, greaves, and armored shoes.
“What are you supposed to be?” she demanded haughtily.
Ignoring the woman’s ire, Diana moved even closer, sizing her up. Close in height, she confirmed. She kept one eye on her target, the other on possibility of witnesses. As the woman tried to move past her, Diana backed up and maintained the close interval.
“What are you doing?” the woman snarled, stopping again.
Her indignation was cut short by Diana’s quick, powerful hand chop to her neck, a blow that landed in the tight space where her neck met her throat. The woman made a soft oooof sound—an involuntary expulsion of breath—and her eyes rolled back in her head.
In the shadows Diana laid her down on her back and quickly undressed her, deftly unzipping and unfastening. No longer was she bewildered by the complex clothing of the women of this world. She recalled her visit to Selfridges, and the kindness and stretched patience of Etta Candy, and smiled to herself. If, one day, tales were told about her adventures in the world of men, they must include Etta, who was brave in a very unique way.
The deep blue, floor-length sheath fit perfectly over Diana’s armor. Having now seen that the women wore their hair up especially when attired for special occasions, she removed the jeweled hairpins from the woman’s hair, and plaited and twisted her own locks. She had spent hours playing with her mother’s hair when she was a little girl, braiding and unbraiding it while Hippolyta sang lullabies or retold the old story about how she had made Diana from clay and begged Zeus to breathe life into her. It took her very little time to achieve an appropriate hairstyle. The long dress hid her boots; she hid her bracelets inside the folds.
After taking the woman’s invitation, Diana wrapped the woman in her cloak. The Godkiller she kept, hesitating for only a moment before she slid it down the back of her dress, assuming correctly that the ornamental hilt would look like part of the gown—at least for as long as it took her to get inside and find her quarry.
She practiced yanking it out and thrusting it in a single, blindingly fast move—dealing an unexpected and instantly fatal blow. Her blood sang. The Godkiller came to life in her hand. She had been born to wield it, of that she was certain.
Replacing it between her shoulder blades and down the length of her spine, she walked around the front of the chateau. Her chin raised high, she regally strode up the stone stairs to the entrance. Her heart skipped beats as she handed over the invitation and swept inside. Heads turned her way, following her. Her vibrant blue dress stood out in the sea of gowns. She relaxed her facial muscles, then smiled with her eyes, projecting calm, ease. But inside her breast a warrior’s heart thumped, and her every gliding step was the supple, precise movement of a lioness advancing on her prey.
* * *
It doesn’t matter if they stare at me, Dr. Maru told herself. It was perhaps the twentieth time she had reminded herself that night as perfectly coifed women swirled around their male companions like so many pampered Persian cats. Her purpose in life was not to dazzle with something as shallow and fleeting as physical beauty. It was to win glory for the Fatherland through scientific inquiry, and tonight would be the culmination of her life’s work, and the reward for all her suffering. She had lost what looks she had once had in a lab experiment. Beneath the scars the memory of the searing pain still lingered. Her drive to succeed in a field dominated by men had given her the strength to move past it, and to excel. Let them glitter in the jewels and silks they acquired through their men. She had medals and commendations from High Command.
Tonight she and General Ludendorff would prove to the Kaiser that, contrary to the wishes of von Hindenburg, he must not negotiate an armistice with any foreign power. Peace must come off the German table. Tonight her weapon would change the course of history. For that achievement, she would have paid any price.