The evidence of that determination became clearer as they approached London proper. Anti-aircraft batteries sprouted from hilltops, their barrels pointing skyward. Barrage balloons floated overhead on thick cables, creating an aerial maze designed to discourage enemy aircraft.
"Those silver shapes in the sky," Diana asked, pointing upward, "what are they for?"
"Barrage balloons," Steve explained. "They force enemy bombers to fly higher, which makes them less accurate. The cables can also damage any aircraft that flies too low."
"Ingenious," Diana said admiringly. "Using the air itself as a defense."
"When you're fighting for survival, you learn to use everything," Steve replied.
The first real view of London came as they rounded a bend near Greenwich, and the sight took all three of his companions' breath away. The city sprawled before them like a vast living thing, its ancient heart surrounded by endless urban growth that extended to every horizon. Church spires and office buildings rose together in a mixture of architectural styles that spoke of continuous growth over more than a millennium.
But it was the evidence of recent battle that caught Diana's attention most strongly. Gaps in the skyline marked where German bombs had found their targets, creating spaces like missing teeth in a once-complete smile. Some buildings showed hasty repairs, new brickwork standing out starkly against weathered stone. Others had been reduced to rubble that was still being cleared, debris piled in organized stacks that spoke of London's methodical determination to rebuild even while the war continued.
"By Poseidon's beard," Orion whispered, unconsciously reverting to an Atlantean oath. "How many people live in this place?"
"About eight million," Steve replied, watching their faces as they tried to process the scale. "Though the exact number changes daily with the war."
"Eight million," Diana repeated faintly. "That's more than a hundred times the population of Themyscira. How do they all... how do they coordinate anything?"
Steve laughed at their expressions. "Very messily. Democracy is complicated, and British democracy especially so. But somehow it works."
"The logistics alone..." Orion's mathematical mind was clearly struggling with the implications. "Food, water, waste disposal, transportation... how do you feed eight million people? Where does the waste go? How do they all know what they're supposed to be doing?"
"Carefully planned systems that have been refined over centuries," Steve said. "And a lot of people working very hard to keep it all functioning. Especially during wartime."
"Your city has been wounded," Diana observed quietly, genuine sorrow in her voice as she took in the bomb damage. "Yet it continues to function. There's something magnificent about that resilience."
"The British are stubborn," Steve agreed with obvious fondness. "They don't give up easily."
As they drew closer to the heart of the city, the Thames became increasingly busy. Barges loaded with supplies moved between wharves with urgent efficiency. Military vessels patrolled constantly, their crews alert for submarine attacks. Yet despite the martial atmosphere, London continued its daily life with determined normalcy.
Diana found herself reconsidering everything her mother had taught her about man's world. "It's not at all what I expected," she admitted quietly.
"What did you expect?" Steve asked.
"Chaos. Endless conflict. People thinking only of themselves," Diana replied honestly. "But I see cooperation. Millions of individuals working together, sacrificing for each other, building something larger than themselves."
"People are complicated," Steve said. "Capable of great selfishness and great sacrifice, sometimes in the same day. The trick is building systems that encourage the better parts of human nature."
"And when those systems fail?" Mala asked pointedly.
"Then you get war," Steve admitted. "But you also get people who stand up to fight the failure. Like London. Like everyone who's chosen to resist rather than surrender."
As they passed under London Bridge, Diana gasped at the sight that opened before them. The Pool of London stretched ahead, crowded with vessels of every description. Merchant ships unloaded cargoes at busy wharves while Royal Navy destroyers maintained their patrols.
"It's like a harbor, but in the heart of the city," Diana marveled.
"This is how London became great," Steve explained. "Ships from all over the world could sail right to the heart of Britain. Everything flows through here."
But it was the Tower of London that truly captured their attention. The ancient fortress sat on the north bank like a stone guardian, its walls and towers speaking of nearly a thousand years of English history.
"That structure," Diana said, pointing toward the Tower's White Tower, "it's ancient. I can feel the age in those stones."
"The Tower of London," Steve confirmed. "Built by William the Conqueror in 1078. It's been a royal palace, a fortress, a prison, an execution site... pretty much everything except a hotel."
"Nearly a thousand years," Orion said with wonder. "And it still stands. Still serves a purpose."
"History matters here," Steve agreed. "Sometimes too much. But there's something to be said for having roots that deep."
Their escort guided them toward a discrete military pier near the Tower, where British officials waited to process their arrival. As they prepared to disembark, Steve felt the weight of responsibility settling back onto his shoulders. The journey up the Thames had been revelatory, seeing his world through the eyes of beings experiencing the surface for the first time. But now they were back to the reality of forms to fill out, superiors to brief, and impossible truths to somehow make believable.
"Stay close," he reminded them as they walked up the gangway toward the waiting officials. "Remember what we discussed. We're just getting started. The real challenge begins now."
Diana took one last look back at the Thames, watching the British patrol boats that had escorted them as they prepared to resume their duties. Despite everything she had learned about the necessity of deception in this world, she felt compelled to acknowledge the young lieutenant's courtesy.
"Thank you," she called to the young officer who had boarded their vessel hours earlier.
"Safe travels, miss," he replied, touching his cap in salute. "God save the King."
"God save the King," Diana repeated solemnly, understanding instinctively that she was participating in something sacred to these people, even if she didn't fully comprehend its significance.
The weight of her armor beneath the heavy blue cloak felt reassuring as they made their way onto the dock. The traditional bronze plates and leather had been crafted by the finest artisans on Themyscira, each piece inscribed with protective symbols that had guarded Amazon warriors for millennia. The red bodice with its distinctive eagle design, the golden belt that held her sword, the gleaming bracers on her wrists, the dark blue skirt that fell to her knees over bronze greaves and boots. All of it was hidden beneath the enveloping cloak that Mala had insisted she wear to avoid drawing immediate attention, but Diana could feel the power and purpose woven into every piece.
Steve glanced at her as they approached the officials waiting at the dock. Even concealed as she was, there was something about Diana's bearing that marked her as different from ordinary refugees or travelers. The way she moved, the natural authority in her posture, the alertness in her dark eyes as she took in every detail of this new world. He found himself remembering that first moment when he'd awakened on Themyscira's beach, looking up to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever encountered. The memory of her face, framed by dark hair and lit by concern for a stranger, had stayed with him throughout their journey.
"Stay close," he reminded them again as they walked up the gangway. "And remember..."
He was interrupted by Diana's sudden intake of breath. She had stopped dead in her tracks, staring at a sight that had apparently struck her with wonder. Following her gaze, Steve saw what had captured her attention: a young woman pushing a baby carriage along the pier, the infant just visible beneath a soft pink blanket.
"Oh," Diana breathed, her entire face lighting up with delight. "Oh, it's a baby!"
Steve felt his heart do something strange in his chest at the pure joy in her voice. She sounded like a child who had just discovered something magical, which in a way, she had.
"You've never seen one before?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Never," Diana said, her eyes never leaving the carriage as it moved past them. She took an involuntary step forward, drawn by pure curiosity. "I've read about human development in the scrolls, but to actually see one so small..."
Steve watched her face, struck by the wonder there. Despite her centuries of life and warrior training, there was something almost childlike in her fascination with this most basic aspect of human existence.
"They're incredibly fragile," he said softly. "Completely dependent on their parents for everything."
The young mother, noticing Diana's intense attention and perhaps feeling uncomfortable under such scrutiny from a group of strangers, quickened her pace. Diana watched her go with obvious disappointment.
"She seemed so... protective," Diana observed quietly. "So devoted to something so small and helpless."
"That's what parents do," Steve said, touched by the wonder in her voice. "They protect their children, help them grow, teach them about the world."
Diana was quiet for a moment, something wistful crossing her features. "It must be remarkable, to watch someone grow from something so tiny into a full person. To be there for every first word, every first step."
"There will be other babies," Steve assured her, understanding that this was more than scientific curiosity for her. "London is full of families. But right now, we need to focus on getting you all proper clothing and then delivering this intelligence before anyone starts asking too many questions."
Mala moved closer to Diana as they walked. "Princess, perhaps it would be wise to draw the cloak more securely. Your armor, while practical, will attract unwanted attention in this setting."
Diana nodded, pulling the heavy fabric tighter around her shoulders. The cloak had been dyed a deep blue that complemented her coloring, but its cut and weave were clearly not of English origin. Still, in a city that had seen refugees from across Europe, it was less likely to draw immediate suspicion.
Their first stop was a bombed out department store that had been hastily rebuilt, its windows covered with boards painted to look like glass displays. The building bore the scars of the Blitz, with newer brickwork patching gaps where German bombs had found their mark. Yet the shop remained defiantly open, a testament to London's determination to maintain normal life despite the war.
The proprietor, a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair and the no-nonsense attitude that the Blitz had bred into London shopkeepers, looked up as they entered. Her experienced eye immediately cataloged the unusual group: a uniformed American officer, two women in clearly foreign dress, and a well-built man in clothing that seemed expensive but oddly cut.
"Good morning," she said briskly, her tone professional but wary. "How may I help you?"
"We need clothing for three people," Steve explained, gesturing to his companions. "Contemporary styles, nothing too expensive."
The woman's experienced eye swept over his companions, taking in Diana's concealing cloak, Mala's practical leather garments, and Orion's otherworldly attire with the practiced assessment of someone who had dealt with refugees from across war-torn Europe. She'd learned not to ask too many questions about people's origins these days, especially when they were accompanied by Allied military personnel.
"Foreign nationals?" she asked tactfully.
"Something like that," Steve confirmed.
"Very well. Ladies first, I think. This way, please."
Diana hesitated as the shopkeeper gestured toward the women's section. The idea of abandoning her armor, even temporarily, felt like shedding her very identity. These bronze plates and leather strips weren't just clothing; they were her connection to Themyscira, to her training with Antiope, to everything she had ever known about herself.
"It's necessary," Steve said quietly, reading her reluctance. "Just for a while. Until we can figure out our next move."
Diana looked around the shop, taking in the racks of civilian clothing, the mundane domestic implements, the carefully preserved normalcy of British life. This was what they were fighting to protect, she realized. Not just the grand ideals of freedom and justice, but the simple right of people to buy dresses and go about their daily lives without fear.
"Very well," she said finally. "I understand the necessity."
Diana and Mala followed the shopkeeper toward the women's section, leaving Steve to deal with Orion, who was examining a display of men's hats with the fascination of an anthropologist studying alien artifacts.
"Why do people cover their heads with these?" Orion asked, picking up a bowler hat and turning it over in his hands as though it were a scientific specimen.
"Fashion, protection from weather, social convention," Steve explained, watching as Orion placed the hat on his head at an angle that somehow managed to look both rakish and dignified. "It's complicated."
"Everything about this culture seems unnecessarily complicated," Orion observed, adjusting the hat's position with an unconscious grace that made even the mundane gesture look aristocratic. "Back home, our clothing serves clear purposes: protection, identification of rank, enhancement of natural abilities."
From the women's section came the sound of animated conversation, growing more intense by the minute.
"Now, dear, this is how proper ladies dress in London," the shopkeeper was saying patiently.
"But how does one move in this?" Diana's voice carried clearly across the shop, filled with genuine bewilderment. "How does one run? Or climb? Or defend oneself?"
"Well, most ladies don't find themselves in situations requiring... climbing," the shopkeeper replied, clearly out of her depth.
"That seems shortsighted," Mala's voice chimed in, amused. "What if there's an emergency? What if one needs to escape quickly?"
"I... well... there are protocols for emergencies," the shopkeeper stammered.
"What if the protocols fail?" Diana pressed. "What if one must take action independently?"
Steve winced, recognizing the tone of someone encountering a corset for the first time. "Maybe we should help them," he suggested to Orion.
"The custom of gender-segregated shopping," Orion replied thoughtfully, "suggests that would be inappropriate. Besides, Amazon warriors can surely handle English undergarments."
The conversation from the women's section grew more animated.
"This contraption," Diana's voice was rising, "how does one breathe while wearing it? The compression seems designed to restrict movement and lung capacity."
"It's called a corset, dear, and it creates a lovely silhouette," the shopkeeper explained with strained patience.
"A silhouette?" Mala sounded genuinely puzzled. "For what purpose? Intimidation? Camouflage?"
"For... for attracting suitable husbands," the shopkeeper said weakly.
There was a moment of silence, then Diana's voice again, carefully controlled: "You're suggesting that women intentionally handicap themselves physically in order to appeal to men?"
"It's... it's fashion, dear. Tradition."
"Where I come from," Mala said conversationally, "tradition means training with weapons until your hands bleed. This seems considerably less practical."
Steve found himself pacing slightly, torn between respecting the customs Diana was trying to navigate and wanting to rescue her from what was clearly becoming a cultural battlefield.
"Perhaps," came Diana's voice, now diplomatically measured, "we could find garments that serve both aesthetic and practical purposes? Something that would allow for full range of motion while still appearing... fashionable?"
"Oh!" The shopkeeper sounded relieved. "Yes, well, we do have some more... modern styles. Influenced by the war effort, you understand. Women working in factories and such."
"That sounds much more sensible," Mala agreed.
A few minutes later, the shopkeeper emerged looking somewhat frazzled, her carefully arranged hair showing signs of the struggle. "Your companions have very strong opinions about women's fashion," she informed Steve diplomatically, though there was a hint of admiration in her voice. "Particularly regarding the practical applications of certain garments."
"They're from a very... traditional culture," Steve offered weakly, aware of how inadequate the explanation sounded.
"Traditional in a rather progressive way, it seems," the woman said, smoothing her skirt with practiced efficiency. "The tall one makes excellent points about mobility and function. Very ahead of her time. We've managed to find suitable alternatives that meet her rather specific requirements."
"Specific requirements?" Steve asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
"Must allow for running, climbing, and what she called 'defensive maneuvers,'" the shopkeeper listed off. "Also mentioned something about sword work, though I'm sure she was speaking metaphorically."
Steve and Orion exchanged glances.
"Oh, I'm certain she was," Steve said weakly.
Eventually, after much discussion, negotiation, and what sounded like Diana's firm but polite rejection of anything she deemed "impractical for combat scenarios," they had assembled acceptable outfits.
When Diana emerged from the changing area, Steve felt his breath catch in his throat. He'd thought her beautiful from the moment he'd first seen her on Themyscira's beach, had been struck by her grace and strength throughout their journey, but seeing her now in simple civilian clothes somehow highlighted her beauty in an entirely new way.
The dress was nothing fancy: a simple navy blue garment with clean lines and sensible sleeves, cut to allow for easy movement. Her hair had been pinned up in a style that managed to look both contemporary and timeless, revealing the elegant line of her neck. Sensible brown shoes completed the ensemble, chosen for comfort rather than fashion.
But it wasn't the clothes that took Steve's breath away. It was the way Diana wore them. Even in this simple dress, she carried herself with the unconscious dignity of a princess and the fluid grace of a warrior. The ordinary fabric seemed to gain distinction simply by being worn by someone so extraordinary. Her dark eyes held the same intelligence and compassion he'd come to admire, but now he could see them without the distraction of armor or the exoticism of Amazonian dress.
"Will this suffice?" Diana asked, seeming unaware of the effect she was having on him.
Steve realized he'd been staring and cleared his throat. "Yes," he managed, his voice coming out slightly rougher than intended. "You look... you look perfect. Completely normal. Which is exactly what we need."
Diana smiled at what she took as praise for successful camouflage, missing entirely the way Steve's eyes lingered on her face or the slight flush that colored his cheeks.
Mala had chosen more practical clothing: dark trousers and a white blouse that allowed for easy movement, despite the shopkeeper's shocked assertions that "ladies simply don't wear trousers in public." The Amazon warrior had listened to this protest with polite incomprehension, as though the concept of gendered clothing restrictions was too absurd to merit serious consideration.
"In wartime," Mala had apparently explained to the shopkeeper, "practicality must supersede convention. How can one defend one's home while hampered by excessive fabric?"
The shopkeeper then turned her attention to Orion, her professional eye taking in his impressive physique with obvious appreciation. "Now then, sir, let's get you properly fitted, shall we? You have excellent proportions for tailoring."
Orion looked somewhat uncomfortable with the attention but followed her to the men's section. Steve could hear her commenting as she worked: "My goodness, what wonderful shoulders! And such good posture. You must have excellent breeding, sir. Foreign aristocracy, I'd wager?"
"Something like that," came Orion's slightly strained reply.
"Well, you're certainly blessed with fine features. The ladies must absolutely adore you."
There was a pause, then Orion's voice, clearly awkward: "I... thank you for the kind observation."
When Orion emerged from the changing area, he looked uncertain, adjusting his tie with careful precision. The perfectly tailored three-piece suit in charcoal gray transformed him completely. Where before he had seemed otherworldly, he now looked like European nobility. The suit emphasized his natural bearing and athleticism while successfully disguising his true nature. He had insisted on keeping his disguised trident, which now looked like an elegant walking stick with a silver handle.
"How do I look?" he asked, somewhat self-consciously tugging at the jacket.
Steve nodded approvingly. "Like you belong in any embassy in Europe. Perfect."
The shopkeeper beamed with pride at her work. "Absolutely magnificent! I've dressed diplomats who didn't look half so distinguished."
Diana smiled. "You look very handsome, Orion. Very... proper."
Orion's smile was polite but clearly relieved to be done with the fitting process. "These clothes feel strange. So many layers."
"You'll get used to it," Steve assured him, then turned to the shopkeeper. "What do we owe you for everything?"
The shopkeeper tallied up the purchases on a small pad. "Let's see... three complete outfits, alterations included... that'll be twelve pounds, six shillings."
Steve reached into his jacket for his wallet, counting out the bills. "Here you are. Thank you for your patience with us."
"Not at all, Captain. They were a pleasure to work with. Very... refreshing perspectives on fashion."
As they prepared to leave, the shopkeeper handed each of them small paper parcels. "Your original clothes, cleaned and wrapped. Thought you might want them."
"Now," Steve said as they left the shop, "we need to get to Whitehall. That's where the War Office is located, and where I need to deliver this intelligence."
The shopkeeper watched them go with evident curiosity, though she said nothing more about the unusual nature of her customers. In wartime London, people had learned to ask fewer questions and accept more mysteries as the price of survival.
But navigating London with his companions proved more challenging than Steve had anticipated. Where he saw familiar streets and buildings, they saw wonders that demanded investigation.
Diana stopped at a red telephone box, walking around it like she was examining some fascinating artifact. "This red box... what's it for?"
"Making phone calls," Steve explained. "You go inside and you can talk to people who are far away."
"Talk to people far away?" Diana's eyebrows rose. "How?"
"Your voice gets carried through wires. Like... like sending your voice through a very long tube, except it's electrical."
Diana peered through the glass, clearly trying to understand the mechanism. "That's incredible. So someone could be in this box talking to someone in... where? Another city?"
"Another country, even," Steve confirmed.
"Amazing," she breathed, genuinely impressed.
Orion had wandered over to a newspaper stand, staring at the printed pages with fascination. "All of these... they're the same?"
"Same newspaper, yeah," Steve said, joining him. "They print thousands of copies and distribute them all over the city every day."
"Every day?" Orion picked up a paper, examining it closely. "The same information, reaching thousands of people simultaneously?"
"That's right. News, weather, war updates, sports scores..."
"Efficient," Mala commented approvingly. "Much better than sending messengers to every household."
Their progress toward Whitehall kept getting interrupted by Diana's fascination with absolutely everything. She stopped to watch cars navigate the busy streets, shaking her head in amazement.
"They all just... know where to go?" she asked, watching traffic flow around a busy intersection. "Without running into each other?"
"Well, mostly," Steve said. "There are rules. And occasionally they do crash."
"But look at them," Diana insisted, pointing at the orderly flow of vehicles. "It's like some kind of choreographed dance. How do they all agree on the patterns?"
A group of children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk caught her attention next. The children looked up at the unusual group with curiosity, and one little girl approached them with the fearless confidence that children possessed even in wartime.
"You talk funny," she said to Diana with typical childhood directness. "Are you from somewhere else?"
"I am from a very distant island," Diana replied seriously, as though discussing matters of state with a foreign dignitary.
"Oh, like Australia?" the child asked brightly.
"Something like that," Diana agreed, smiling warmly at the girl's assumption.
"Would you like to try hopscotch?" the girl offered generously. "It's quite fun once you get the hang of it."
Steve was about to politely decline on Diana's behalf when the Amazon princess nodded eagerly. "I would love to learn!"
What followed was perhaps the most surreal five minutes of Steve's life, as he watched an immortal warrior princess learn to play hopscotch from a group of London schoolchildren. But what struck him most was Diana's pure delight. She wasn't analyzing it like a training exercise; she was simply having fun.
"Like this?" Diana asked, hopping on one foot with perfect balance, her face lit up with genuine joy.
"That's it! Now toss the stone!" the little girl called out encouragingly.
Diana's first throw landed perfectly in the target square, and she clapped her hands together in delight. "This is wonderful! What happens next?"
The children giggled and cheered, completely charmed by this beautiful woman who was so excited about their simple game. Diana played several rounds, laughing when she wobbled slightly on one particularly challenging hop, and beaming with pride when she completed a perfect run.
"You're really good at this!" one of the boys exclaimed. "Better than most grown-ups!"
"It's such a clever game," Diana said, her eyes sparkling with genuine pleasure. "And so much fun! Who invented it?"
The children looked at each other and shrugged. "Don't know," the first girl said. "Kids have always played it, I think."
Steve found himself smiling despite their schedule. There was something deeply moving about watching Diana discover the simple joys of play, her laughter ringing out as she enjoyed this most basic human pleasure.
"Can we play again?" Diana asked hopefully, already reaching for the stone.
"Diana," Steve said gently, aware that they were drawing curious glances from passersby, "we really do need to keep moving."
Her face fell slightly, but she nodded with understanding. "Of course." She turned back to the children with genuine warmth. "Thank you for teaching me. That was truly delightful."
"Will you come back and play with us again?" the little girl asked.
"I hope so," Diana said sincerely, waving as they walked away.
As they resumed their journey, Diana was practically glowing with happiness. "That was amazing! Do all children have such wonderful games?"
"Most of them," Steve said, charmed by her enthusiasm. "They call it playing. It's just for fun."
"Just for fun," Diana repeated, the concept clearly fascinating her. "On Themyscira, even our recreational activities have purpose and structure. But this... this was pure joy. No objective beyond the pleasure of the activity itself."
Their conversation was interrupted when they turned a corner and the massive clock tower of Big Ben came into view. All three of his companions stopped dead in their tracks.
"What is that enormous structure?" Diana breathed, staring up at the tower.
"That's Big Ben," Steve explained. "It's a clock tower. The largest clock in London."
"Clock?" Orion asked, his brow furrowed. "What is a clock?"
Steve blinked, realizing he'd taken something so basic for granted. "It measures time. See those hands moving around the circular face? They tell you what time of day it is."
"But why?" Mala asked, genuinely puzzled. "The sun tells you when it's day, the moon tells you when it's night. Why do you need a machine for this?"
"Well, it's more precise than that," Steve explained. "It divides the day into hours and minutes, so everyone can coordinate their activities. Like, if I say 'meet me at three o'clock,' you know exactly when that is."
Orion was studying the clock face intently. "In Atlantis, we measure time by the tides, the migrations of sea creatures, the phases of the moon. This seems... very rigid."
"That's fascinating," Diana said, still craning her neck to look up at Big Ben. "But how does everyone agree on what time it is? How do they synchronize all these clocks?"
"That's... actually a really good question," Steve admitted. "I think Big Ben sets the standard time for all of London, and other clocks are set to match it."
Just then, the great clock began to chime the hour, its deep, resonant bongs echoing across the city. All three of his companions jumped slightly at the sound, then watched in amazement as people on the street automatically checked their own pocket watches and wristwatches.
"The entire city stops to acknowledge the machine's declaration of time," Orion observed with wonder. "It's like a temporal ritual that everyone participates in."
"But why such precise measurement?" he continued, genuine puzzlement in his voice. "We measure time by the tides, the migrations of sea creatures, the phases of the moon. These divisions into 'hours' and 'minutes' seem so rigid."
"Modern life requires coordination," Steve explained. "When millions of people need to work together, everyone has to agree on when things happen. If someone says 'meet me at three o'clock,' everyone knows exactly when that is."
"Your entire civilization operates on shared agreements about time," Orion mused thoughtfully. "Fascinating."
Steve had never thought of timekeeping in quite those terms, but he supposed Orion wasn't wrong.