Arkham Through the Ages, Part III

Gotham City, USA, 1944

"Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and smile, smile, smile. While you've a lucifer to light your fag, smile boys, that's the style. What's the use of worrying? It never was worthwhile, so pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and smile, smile, smile! Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag and smile, smile, smile…"

"Harley, can you please stop singing that song?" demanded Pamela Isley, glaring at her companion working on the neighboring jet engine. "It's just gonna get stuck in my head again."

"Sorry, Red," said Harleen Quinzel, smiling up at her as she paused in cleaning the engine to wipe her brow. "But singing makes the work more fun for me. Helps the time go by faster."

"Hard work is its own reward, Harley," retorted Pamela, tightening the bolts on the engine's propeller. "At least one good thing's come outta this war, and that's that women are finally allowed to actually get a real job and be useful. I've been waiting for this opportunity my whole life. Now that I've got a chance to prove myself, I'm not gonna blow it. It's like Rosie the Riveter says, 'We can do it,' girls," she said, gesturing at the poster hanging above them.

"Sure, it's inspirational and all, Red," said Harleen. "And I'm happy to support our boys overseas, but that doesn't make scrubbing down jet engines and repairing broken planes any more fun."

"It's a war, Harley – it's not supposed to be fun," retorted Pamela.

"I guess not," agreed Harleen. "And I guess we should count ourselves lucky that we ain't men so we don't have to be drafted to go fight overseas somewhere. This is definitely better than that. At least we ain't being shot at."

"You know, if women were in charge of things, we wouldn't have had one world war, let alone two," said Pamela. "We're just so much more rational than men. It should be like this all the time – women in charge of everything. Life would be a lot better."

"I dunno – I'll be kinda glad when the war's over, and I can stop spending eight hours a day in a factory," said Harleen. "I mean, I'm sure you're right, Red, and we'd do a great job in charge of things. But I'll be relieved when our boys are home again anyway."

"Why? You got a fella fighting overseas?" asked Pamela, tightening more bolts.

"No," replied Harleen. "I was too young to really be seeing anyone before the war started, and by the time I was old enough, they had all gone off to fight. So it'll be nice when they're back, and I can actually maybe go out with someone. You got a fella?"

"I have a couple fellas," replied Pamela, shrugging. "I don't feel the need to tie myself down to one – women should have the freedom to look around, same as men."

"Wow, that's really brave of you, Red," said Harleen, smiling at her admiringly. "I never met a woman as strong-willed as you before."

"Well, it's a new generation, Harley," said Pamela. "My dream is for all women to be strong-willed one day, and not depend on men for happiness or validation. And if you ask me, this war's brought us one step closer to it."

"You mean because a lotta men have been killed in the war?" asked Harleen. "So we really kinda have to be independent because there won't be enough men to go around?"

"Well, sorta," agreed Pamela. "I actually mean things like this," she said, gesturing around at the factory of female workers. "Women united together in difficult jobs, proving our mettle. I think it's great. And I think once women have had a taste of this kinda life, they're not gonna go so easily back to being submissive housewives."

Harleen shrugged. "Give me housework over this any day," she said, returning to scrubbing the engine. "At least the dishes don't have fuel burns on 'em."

A whistle sounded throughout the factory. "Lunch break time, ladies!" called the forewoman, Joan Leland.

"Finally!" sighed Harleen in relief, throwing down the rag and racing toward the break room. Pamela finished her work on the engine, and then followed.

Harleen was the first one in the break room, and rushed over to the radio, turning up the music as she grabbed her lunch. "That was The Andrews Sisters and Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," announced the radio. "And now for the news bulletin. Our boys continue to press across The Western Front, striking a blow to Hitler's army in Europe. With the liberation of Paris, troops are now slowly advancing across France toward the Rhine and into Germany, where the lion's den of Berlin awaits. If our boys can take the city, with the help our British allies, it could result in the defeat of Hitler and the end of the war, bringing our troops home at last. I think I speak for all of us when I say, go get 'em, boys!"

"Gee, wouldn't that be great, Red?" exclaimed Harleen, smiling at her. "They could be home in time for Christmas if all goes well!"

"Hopefully," agreed Pamela. "But I wouldn't get your hopes up too much, Harley. I think they probably still got a long and difficult road ahead. And Hitler isn't exactly the type to surrender – he'll probably fight to the last man. Crazy people never know when to quit, you know."

"Well, that guy's definitely crazy," said Harleen. "If he tried to make me wear any kinda star, I'd beat the crap outta him."

"You're Jewish?" asked Pamela.

"Yeah," said Harleen, nodding. "Not that he'd be able to tell that – I look Aryan enough. He probably knows he's just spouting a buncha crap, but it's amazing how many people bought it."

"Yeah, there are a lotta idiots out there," agreed Pamela.

"I'm just glad we finally realized he's gotta be stopped," said Harleen. "The Brits realized it ages ago, but we had to wait for Japan to attack us before we did anything about Hitler."

"Well, the Brits live closer to him," said Ivy, shrugging. "Probably easier to keep an eye on your neighbors and realize they're power-crazed megalomaniacs who'll stop at nothing short of world domination when you just got a little channel between you."

The music paused again on the radio for another announcement. "Have you ever dreamed of performing in front of an audience? Can you sing like Ol' Blue Eyes and dance like Fred Astaire? Well, your country needs you! The United Service Organization, the USO, are looking for volunteer entertainment acts to lift the spirits of our troops overseas. You'll be playing a vital role in morale boosting, and giving our boys something worth fighting for. To apply, get down to your local recruitment office and speak to a representative."

Harleen's eyes lit up. "Red!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" asked Pamela, who hadn't been paying attention.

"The commercial! They're looking for volunteers to entertain the troops overseas! That's more my idea of aiding the war effort, not scrubbing away at jet engines!" cried Harleen. "I'm gonna go down there and sign up for it!"

"Are you nuts?" demanded Pamela. "Why would anyone volunteer to leave the safety of the US and go over to that mess in Europe? Maybe factory work isn't pleasant, but at least you're not gonna be shot when you do it!"

"Aw, I'm sure they'll keep the performers safe," said Harleen, shrugging. "And at least I can see the smiles on the guys' faces so I know I'm making a difference, rather than just dealing with cold machinery here. Plus I might get to see Paris. I've always wanted to see Paris."

"Why don't you wait and see it when it's not been war-ravaged?" demanded Pamela. "You can't volunteer for this, Harley. You're my best friend. It's not safe, and I won't let you."

"You…could always come with me, Red," said Harleen, pleadingly.

"Hey, I like factory work just fine!" snapped Pamela. "Anyway, I don't sing and dance."

"I can teach you," said Harleen. "We can learn a whole song and dance routine together, just the thing to cheer up the boys. And we can have stage names and everything – I'll be Harley Quinn, like the clown, and I'll get a pretty costume with sequins…"

"Harley, I think you've built this up in your head to be some kinda Hollywood-lite experience," interrupted Pamela. "But you'll be going to a warzone. It's gonna be dangerous, and unpleasant, and you might not leave it alive. I really don't think getting to wear a sequinned costume is worth that."

"But it could be my big break, Red!" exclaimed Harleen. "If the boys like me, it might get me a Hollywood gig! I might be famous! Leave this dump of a town and see my name in lights! It's all I've ever dreamed of, and if I can make my dream come true, and help cheer up our boys overseas at the same time, then that's what I'm gonna do! And nothing you can say or do is gonna talk me outta it!"

Pamela sighed heavily. "Fine," she muttered. "Then I guess I'm going with you. But if we're both killed, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Nah, we ain't gonna be killed, Red," said Harleen. "We're gonna knock 'em dead! And then they're gonna knock the Nazis dead, and it'll all be thanks to us! Maybe they'll let me punch Hitler in the face, and put the picture of it on the cover of Time Magazine! Or at least on the cover of a comic book or something…"

"You keep your fantasies, Harley," sighed Pamela. "But I think you're going to be really disappointed by the reality of life overseas."