Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flame.

- September 1, 1939, by W.H. Auden

media:

"Liza" by George Gershwin

London, England; July 22, 1941

The lieutenant commander had been prepared to kiss Tony's ruined leather shoes when he emerged from the engine room oil-streaked but triumphant. The destroyer's bungling engines had been whipped into shape with minimal effort on Tony's part. The ship's machinists could only watch in awe as Tony danced around the gyrating metal, blasting the latest swing hits over the churning of the engines.

What he had expected to be drudgery had turned out to be much more appealing than he had expected, and soon the Reuben James was steaming along at a jaunty thirty knots, paced just slower than its British counterparts.

His work had some reward – they would be reaching London sooner than expected. As much as Tony had enjoyed his short stint on the ship, he yearned to have earth under his feet and something other than rock-hard toast to sustain him. Steve's new squad of companions made the journey somewhat tolerable, hosting basketball games in the empty storage holds and belting out the lyrics of "God Bless America" in different accents with every line. Dan Sabin had a particularly convincing German one, which he abused endlessly, and Tony had perfected his southern cowboy drawl. Steve was hopeless with anything besides English, and his attempts at Italian came off as a Bronx taxi driver.

Another enjoyable night came about when Tony rigged up a radio from some spare parts and hailed the British merchants on the ships the Reuben James was escorting. A fair amount of slights towards each other's mothers were thrown about in the exchange, but the merchants willingly talked politics and music with the sailors. Every Sunday Steve and a host of other sailors went to the chapel to write letters home to family and listen to the small supply of records onboard.

Tony received a telegram a day after the crash from his mother – how she knew what ship he had boarded was beyond him. She reported that Howard had returned home unharmed and that they missed Tony dearly. Mother had always been a good liar, even over telegram.

The white cliffs of Dover hung below the deck of the Reuben James like curtains, jutting upward from the blue water with their brilliance and sweeping height. Sailors cleaning the deck or performing their various duties hesitated as they neared the railing as England drew ever nearer. Deep blue dress uniforms filled the deck in a flurry of activity; Tony saw Clint descending from the ropes and waved.

"So, what are your plans for shore leave?" the sailor raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Have any girls on call in England?"

"Are you kidding? I've got twenty. I could fix this whole boat up with the finest dames London has to offer," Tony shrugged, only half-joking. He had been debating which of his past flings to ring up once he reached the shore. Clint whistled with admiration and pulled Sabin over.

"This guy's got some girls for us in London!"

Sabin's eyes narrowed and he eyed Tony suspiciously. "But are these quality dames? I mean the real deal? The trick with ladies," he swept his hands broadly, assuming the posture of a lecturer, "is that they're fickle creatures. Can she dance? Has she got a good smile?" Sabin wolf-whistled and Tony rolled his eyes.

"What's this I hear?" Owen and Farley trotted up behind Sabin, the former eyeing Tony with renewed interest. "Word's getting around you've got a dame in the city. Care to share?"

"Yeah, word gets around these parts fast," Tony groused, and the sailors groaned their complaints.

"Aw, c'mon, we didn't mean it that way... Go on, tell us about her, will ya?"

Now Tony took the stage as the sailors fanned out, giving him space to express the merit of the girl to his heart's content. A thousand faces blurred in Tony's mind, and he picked on out of the lot and ran with it.

"Liza's not your ordinary girl. She's the sort of dame who says she doesn't like to be hustled off by a man, but she has the best pair of dancing boots I've seen. Tears up the dance floor – she'd stay there all night if you let her."

"But is she beautiful?" Owen pried, and Tony placed a hand on his chest.

"Oh, be still, my beating heart!" Leaning against the rail and placing a hand to his brow, Tony feigned the look of lovesickness. "Her eyes are like the starlight, her hair is brighter than gold. But don't get the wrong impression – she's not afraid to play rough."

His grin was mirrored in the awed expressions of Owen and Farley. "A real London dame. How'd you get such a catch?" Owen narrowed his eyes at Tony as if sizing him up.

"Are you kidding me? Look at this charm! I could pick us up dates for the entirety of shore leave if you'd like." He put on his most winsome smile and Owen mimed swooning, falling back into Sabin's open arms. Rooting around in his pocket and dropping Owen unceremoniously to the deck in the process, Sabin pulled out a five-dollar bill and placed it in Tony's palm.

"I'll take you up on that. The second we hit the streets, I want to see you find a girl to take for a spin around town."

Tony shook his head, letting an easy grin slip across his face. "As soon as I get a suit you're on. You think I can pick up a dame in dress blues?" he gestured down to his ill-fitting Navy uniform – the only size available had been far too large and hung loosely around the armpits and ankles.

"What's all this about?" a voice called from the crowd, and Tony waved Clint over.

"Ah, Seaman Barton! Glad you stopped by."

"Yeah, I'm positively thrilled. What are you all conspiring about? I want in." He leaned against the rail and crossed his ankles, the image of nonchalance.

Dropping his voice as if they really had something to hide, Farley jerked his head towards Tony. "He said he's going to get us all dates for shore leave. Bona fide London girls! Sab bet him a fiver he couldn't pick a girl up off the streets, but he says he needs to get a suit first."

"First impressions are important," Tony shrugged, and Clint grinned.

"Now I'm intrigued. What kinda dames are we talking about?"

Sabin gripped Clint's shoulders, shaking them as if he were trying to rattle some sense into his friend. "Who cares? I'd be glad to take a horse out at this rate. We're hitting the town, boys!" His cry was met with the cheers of many other sailors clustered on the deck as they eyed the shadow of the city rising above the horizon.

Sabin stepped forward and waved his arms, pulling the group's attention back to the deck. "Wait a minute, hold up! We're forgetting a very important friend of ours! What about that fella we dragged up with you, Stark? He'll need a date, too, or he'll be the only guy one the Reuben James spending the night alone..."

Sabin wolf-whistled again and Tony waved him off. "Nah, Steve's not that kind of guy. Doesn't even drink!"

"Never pegged him as a square," Sabin stroked his chin in the impression of deep thought.

"Stop trying to act smart, you haven't got two brain cells to rub together," Clint called back to him, and the group of soldiers erupted with laughter.

"You gonna take that lying down, Sab?" Farley gasped between chuckles, slapping Sabin's shoulder with the palm of his hand. Sabin rubbed the back of his neck and blushed a brilliant crimson, but chose not to respond as Clint grinned at him.

"All's fair in love and war, my friend."

"But we haven't even gotten to war yet!" Sabin protested, but his voice was drowned out by the hollers and yells that filled the deck. The spires of London's buildings finally swooped into view, and Tony was shoved against the railing as the soldiers pressed closer to the edge to make out the distinctive skyline of their destination city. All thoughts of London dames vanished in an instant as the Reuben James angled its nose toward London. Hats waved over the sides of the ship and boots stomped against the deck while the Reuben James pulled over the suburbs of the great city.

Tony had been to London before on many occasions, but the changes to the city were evident even from a distance as they neared their dock. Barrage balloons dappled the gray rooftops with bursts of white, presumably to deter dive-bombers from getting too close to the city streets. Every window was covered in a sheath of black paint or fabric, giving the buildings the impression of missing teeth in their windows. It would all be rather amusing we the times not so dire.

Farley's boyish face split into a grin as he looked down over the railing, his hat swinging from his fingers. "I've never been to London before! Where d'you reckon we'll stay? Will we be able to see the castles and all? What's there to see in London, Clint?"

"Oh, loads of stuff. Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, that sort of thing."

"You're kidding me! We're gonna see a real queen?"

Owen snorted and rolled his eyes. "We're not actually going to see her, idiot. She's probably in the countryside by now."

His smile drooping with disappointment, Farley turned his gaze back to the city below him. "Why'd she go and do something like that?"

"The English think the Krauts are going to go after them next. They're the only ones who can stand against old Adolph in Europe. Makes you kinda nervous, huh?" Sabin shuddered as he looked down at the city with new eyes. Farley gasped and Clint patted his shoulder in an almost paternal gesture.

"Don't worry about it, kid. We're here to have fun, right? Especially if these London dames are real," he waggled an eyebrow and Owen whistled again.

Farley nodded, although his expression remained solemn. "I guess you're right. Still... I never imagined coming to London like this."

In an attempt to dispel the depression that had settled over his little band, Tony pointed down to the city streets with excitement. "Just think about it! Real food, a bed to sleep on that isn't a canvas hammock, no one to order us around, and the pining girls of London looking to ease their sorrow for their Limey sweethearts. What more could you ask for?"

"The man does have a point," Clint nodded, peering over Owen's shoulder and down into the darkened streets of the city. "What's not to love?"

Turning to the side, Tony looked to see the British merchant ship nearest to the Reuben James. The sailors there had crammed onto the deck like the American ones, and their cheers were audible even from Tony's vantage point.

"It must be strange to come home and find it like this. Blacked-out windows, blimps everywhere." Farley waved his hat in the direction of the British sailors. "Glad I'm not a Limey."

"I guess that's life to them, then," Clint jutted his chin towards the merchant ship. "They don't know any different."

"That's a real shame." Resting his chin on the rail, Farley's hat drooped from one finger as he waved it lazily over the London skyline. "Why'd you have to go ruin the mood, Barton?"

"Who, me?" Clint placed a hand on his chest, affronted. "It was Owen who was going on about not seein' the queen and all!"

"Was not!" Owen hollered back. "I was just stating the facts, I was!"

-o0o-

The airfields of London were bustling with traffic when the Reuben James pulled in, its merchant crafts all docking safely by sea or air. The docks formed a strange, hybrid space between the two forms of travel, with a large port for sea-based carriers and rows of hangars for the airships. Massive tanks of helium stood against the canvas walls of the structures, and ground crews bustled about like ants across the tarmac to bring ships in and escort them out. The frenzy of activity was enough to make the sailors antsy, and they were shifting from foot to foot with anticipation as Edwards summoned them to the aft deck for a meeting before they were released on leave.

"Your passes are valid for a full weekend, soldiers. Don't void them by going out and doing something stupid. I so much as hear a peep from a pub owner or the ladyfolk of London say you gave them a mean look and I'll bust you all the way back to Chicago." Snickers rolled from the crowd. Tony saw Clint elbow Sabin sharply and receive an elbow to his own ribs in return.

"At ease, boys. Have at it!" he raised his hand in a gesture of dismissal and the sailors dispersed immediately, their crisp lines dissolving into chaos as they banded together and ran for the ramps. Standing to the side, Tony watched with amusement as Clint and Sabin snagged their friends and waved him over, dragging Farley by his collar to the nearest exit ramp. Tony jogged over to meet them, hiking up the loose waistband of his sailor's uniform as he did so, as was practically thrown down the length of the ramp by eager sailors pushing to get off of the confines of the Reuben James.

"Land ho!" Owen proclaimed, and Sabin clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to send him staggering a few steps forward.

"Really clever. Let's get the nearest taxi we can to the city!"

"What d'ya want to see first? Big Ben? Notre Dame?"

"That's in Paris, asshole!"

"Yeah? I signed up for the Navy, not art history. Sue me!"

Throngs of soldiers filled the airfield, all swarming towards the exit in the direction of central London. Rays of sunlight peered between dappled clouds, he had solid ground beneath his feet, and he was about to enter London – Tony took a deep breath and absorbed it all. Yes, this would do quite nicely. If only he could change out of his ridiculous Navy uniform, then all would be right with the world.

Sabin snagged a taxi lingering by the entrance of the airfield and the sailors packed into the cramped space, with Owen and Farley stuck together in the center seat. Tony took the front seat after a brief stare-down with Clint, who was forced against the window when Steve showed up out of the crowd and took the far right seat. Sabin elbowed Farley to make more room in the back, and the taxi driver was already irked by the time the overstuffed cab pulled out of parking and onto the dirt roads stretching from the airfield into the city streets.

Tony kept his nose to the greasy window for the entirety of the trip into the city. Planes zoomed above his head, and he made a game of trying to identify their makes before they flew beyond the borders of his glass pane. Soldiers paced alongside the taxi, which rumbled along across the stones and jolted with the slightest bump. Lines of traffic stretched onward into London as far as the eye could see, but an equal number of cars were pulling out.

Children crammed their faces against the windows of station wagons, their belongings strapped to their backs and their eyes looking back where they had come from. Tony noticed the plush animals clenched in their fists, the woeful looked angled towards some far-off home. Many were crying, but some looked stern as they guided their siblings along down the road. The exodus of the children was staggering, like some sort of ancient crusade.

With an unintelligible swear, the taxi driver leaned his horn and pounded his fist against the steering wheel. For an exhilarating trip into London, Tony's introduction to the city had been drawn out and depressing. He turned back to the backseat crammed with the sailors and Steve, who were chatting animatedly behind the glass partition.

"Well, it wouldn't be a trip to London without finding one of those telephone booths. Anyone got a camera?" Steve 's muscular form was wedged rather tightly into the corner of the cabin, with Farley half-sitting on his lap as he tried to avoid Owen's sharp elbows.

"Nah, just get a postcard. I haven't got any money, though. How're we going to pick up some girls if we can't even buy them a soda?"

"We'll figure something out. If she's the right girl she won't care if you've got one buck or a million!" Sabin retorted, bracing his elbows on his knees as the taxi rattled over a particularly large pothole.

Owen looked suspicious of Sabin's claim. "I don't care so much if she's the right girl. I'll take any of them at this point!"

"If we can even get into the city in the first place. We've moved about an inch in the past five minutes." Clint turned and jabbed a finger in the direction of the roads leading out of London. "Wonder if we can grab a bed in one of these fellas' places. They won't be needing 'em."

As Tony looked back to the crowd of straggling children stretching further behind the lumbering taxi, a sense of foreboding fell over him. This wasn't a business trip with Howard. This was war.

How had he managed to get caught in the middle of this mess?

Happy Memorial Day weekend, everybody! Given the nature of this story, I just wanted to send a shout-out to the veterans who have served our country - may they always be remembered. Also, thanks so much for your feedback on this story! :)