Wonder Woman: The Official Movie Novelization

by Nancy Holder

  “Already done,” Sammy proclaimed.

  Diana wondered how he had accomplished that, but Steve was obviously relieved.

  “There’s nothing we can do until tomorrow,” Sammy went on. “You said it yourself, Steve.” Giving him a pointed look, Sammy strolled off.

  Steve raised the tankard to his lips and sipped. Diana did too, but was caught off guard by the burst of flavor on her tongue. There was no honey in this mead. She had been surrounded by this drink at the pub back in London, but this was her first actual taste.

  “It has hints of different flavors, if you look for them,” he said.

  Indeed, she thought, and mentally replayed the day. Hopelessness, death, and destruction, and then battle, and life, and hope. The mandate of the Amazons on its way to fulfillment.

  I will free this world, she thought.

  “You did this,” Steve murmured, indicating the celebration, the smiles, the freedom.

  Diana corrected him. “We did.” The piano song lilted softly in her ear.

  “You have dancing on ‘Paradise Island?’” he asked her.

  She reflected a moment, then said, “There is. These people are just… swaying.”

  Steve said, “Okay, if you’re going to be fighting the God of War, I may as well teach you how to dance.” A beat, and then he added, “Probably without the gun.”

  He removed his holster and gun and set them down and said, “Madame, if you would?” He extended his hand and she took it.

  She said, “Well, if I’m going to a gala, I’ll need to know how to—”

  “You’re not going to the gala,” he cut in.

  She cocked her head. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you don’t know how to dance, for one thing,” he said.

  She indicated the other dancers. “I would argue that they don’t know how to dance,” she countered.

  “All right. Give me your hand like so and I’m going to put my arm around you like so and we just, what did you call it? Sway.”

  Skin on skin, warm. He put his arm around her waist and tingles played in the small of her back. When she had bent over him the day that she had saved his life—and he, hers—she had been intrigued by him, yet unafraid. She was still unafraid, but subtle emotions entwined with untried sensations. The palette of life at home had not contained such light as that which danced in his eyes.

  Things have shifted between us, she realized. There’s been a change, somehow.

  Around her, lights and joy sparkled, the heady nimbus that came with victory. Fighting side-by-side had been a different sort of dance.

  “You’re awfully close.”

  “That’s what it’s all about,” he drawled.

  “I see.”

  Then the music changed. A male voice rose sweetly over the melody, soaring with emotion. It was lyrical, transporting, and it was Charlie, the troubled assassin of men. He had taken over the piano, and it was he who was singing. These men, with their strains and threads of goodness. Ares did not command them fully; some, she supposed, had escaped his influence entirely. Was the man who faced her, who held her, one of them?

  Sammy and Chief joined the people crowding around Charlie, smiling, laughing, grateful for life and good company, for a moment of pure pleasure. The song rose in pitch, plucking at her heartstrings. Steve’s hand at her back grazed her like a brazier. They swayed, embracing each other.

  Charlie sang:

  “I’ll walk beside you through the world today

  While dreams and songs and flowers bless your way.

  I’ll look into your eyes and hold you hand

  I’ll walk beside you through the golden land.”

  “I haven’t heard him sing in years,” Steve said.

  What appeared to be a white flower petal fluttered down from the dark sky. Another, and another; they sprinkled Steve’s hair. She held out her palm, catching a few, and sniffed. Not flower petals at all. They transformed into water drops in her hand.

  “It’s a snowfall,” Steve explained. “Touch it.”

  She knew the word. But to experience snow? She laughed. “It’s magical.”

  He blinked, then looked up, and nodded. “It is, isn’t it.”

  They danced. The snow drifted down. Children, songs, hope.

  “Is this what people do when there are no wars to fight?” she murmured.

  He spoke against her ear. “This and other things.”

  “What things?” she urged.

  He paused. “I don’t know. They… make breakfast.”

  They make their morning meal, she translated. “What else?” she asked.

  “Read the newspaper. Go to work.” He paused again. “They… get married. Maybe have babies, grow old together. I guess.” He sounded wistful, a bit out of his depth.

  “What is it like?” She watched the falling snow as it melted on the shoulder of his coat. The warmth of him surrounded her.

  “No idea,” he confessed.

  He pulled her in closer. She looked deep into his eyes and her chest hitched. They were dancing in more than one way, that much was clear.

  Glistening snow swirled down.

  * * *

  Beneath the gentle snowfall they walked back to the inn. Then up the well-worn stairs, which creaked like the wood of a ship. Almost floating, Steve opened the door and Diana walked into the room. A fire flickered in the grate. He followed in, then reached for the doorknob to leave. Paused.

  She was looking at him intently. Expectantly. She was inviting him.

  He shut the door behind himself and faced her. The firelight played over the hollows of her face, her hair, her eyes. So beautiful.

  She reached up with both hands to run her fingers through his damp hair. She pulled him to her, mouth to mouth, in the most perfect, gentle kiss. Amazon princess, soldier. Champions. This was not about that. This was about love, and goodness. They would not wait for this evil war to be over. This was their time.

  Their pact was made.

  14

  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 ho
nor 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.