I watched in shock as Diana, in a moment of sheer, beautiful madness, took off her coat, revealing the glint of her Amazonian armor beneath. She didn't hesitate.
She climbed out of our hiding spot, a tiny human crack in the earth, and began to walk. Not run, not crawl, but walk across the battlefield.
She carried only her shield, her sword, and her glowing rope. The air, thick with the scent of death and the roar of machine guns, seemed to part for her.
The enemy, confused by her sudden appearance, focused their fire on her, and she took the full attention of the German line.
She faced a hail of bullets as if it were a light rain, and she marched on, undaunted and unhurt.
The bullets, the very instruments of our despair, bounced harmlessly off her shield and her armguards. The enemy, confused and terrified, began to run, their terror replaced by the sight of this otherworldly being.
Fine. If you're going to be crazy, I'll be crazy with you. In that moment, something inside me broke. It was a release of all the rules, all the caution, all the fear that had defined my life.
I climbed out and followed her, my own weapon feeling small and inadequate in my hands.
We marched across no man's land, a territory no one had ever dared to cross. We took out all the enemies, though I was little more than a witness. Diana did more than ninety percent of the work, her movements a blur of effortless grace and power.
She did save the people. We reached the besieged town, and the sight of their tearful faces, the relieved expressions of the trapped women and children, was a reward greater than any medal.
And it was there, in that small, liberated town, that I fully realized Diana was mare than a human. She was something greater, a force of nature, something beyond human walking the Earth.
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After the town was freed from the German soldiers, a tide of humanity poured out of the buildings and cellars, their faces streaked with dirt and tears of relief.
They swarmed around Diana, their gratitude a tangible, overwhelming force. She was a beacon of hope in a world plunged into darkness.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in a blaze of orange and purple, we decided to stay the night, the town's liberation a rare moment of peace in the constant churn of war.
The townsfolk were welcoming and enthusiastic, their faces alight with a joy I hadn't seen in years. They treated us like saviors. They even took a photograph of us, a testament to a moment of grace in a world of brutality.
As much as I tried to deny it, a profound sense of satisfaction settled in my chest. I was happy, finally being able to make a difference, however small my contribution might have been.
I wanted the end of this war, but I wasn't fixated on being the hero who did it. If someone more capable was there, someone like Diana who could do better than me, I was happy to be the assistant.
I wanted to be the hero, but not for the glory, not for self-gratification. If I had to give a reason, it was so that I would not see the corpses of children lying in the open, with us, the so-called adults, being the cause of it.
I remembered the orphanage I once lived in, razed to the ground, and the dead children I saw when I got there. I don't want to stand aside and watch that happen ever again. I will be the hero, the spy, the assassin, the liar, or the traitor. Whatever it takes.
As I watched the townsfolk celebrate, I accompanied Diana to dance, or as she called it, "sway." We moved together, surrounded by the jubilant crowd.
In her arms, I looked at her and thought of all the good things in life—the warmth of the sun, the laughter of children, and a world at peace.
I realized I may have developed feelings for her, or it could be the suspension bridge effect, the rush of adrenaline from our recent battle being mistaken for affection. Who cares? I was likely going to die tomorrow, so whatever was happening, I decided to let it happen. I let myself go and just enjoy this moment of peace.
After our victory, I had managed to get through to Etta on a salvaged telephone line. The news was grim.
I learned that Ludendorff was hosting a gala a few miles away, a celebration of his recent victory and, more ominously, a place where he planned to unveil Doctor Poison's new weapon.
We decided to check on him, and Sir Patrick, warned us against such an act, but I, of course, ignored him.
Diana somehow concluded that Ludendorff was Ares, the God of War, a being she believed was the source of all conflict. But I had seen the man, and I was sure no God looked like that.
He was a bloated, grotesque caricature of a military general, not a figure of myth and power. Or maybe they just had weird aesthetics. I didn't know what she was on about, but I knew that if he was the key to this poison gas, then he was our target.
After resting for the night in the liberated town, we departed the next morning. The mood was grim but determined. We reached the vicinity of the German High Command, ready for our next move, ready to face whatever lay ahead.