Chapter Two: Phosphenes

Gunther stopped at the top of the stairs to take the scene in. Scattered around the smoke-filled lounge were the finest set of men this country could ask for, and God help him if the sight of them laughing and drinking didn't put a smile on his face. His dark eyes scanned the sea of uniforms and suits to find the man he was looking for, stopping briefly to make a mental note to talk to the gal performing on stage, and luckily for Gunther it didn't take him long to find that man. He heard him before he saw him really, just laughing a little louder than the rest. When Gunther did spot the loud redhead, he was waving a drink in the air with one hand and shaking some poor sap's shoulder in the other. Making his way down a bit more eagerly than he should have for such an occasion, Gunther entered the buzzing madness.

"Breech!" Ivon roared first, his face almost the color of his hair due to obvious intoxication. Before Gunther could really do much to prevent it, Ivon took his hand with a lion's grip and gave it an even, strong shake. He'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt at least a bit-but he'd never admit it aloud. Army men weren't allowed to cry over handshakes-and much of anything else-unless they wanted to be pestered for the rest of their lives.

"Ivon, you Scottish bastard" Gunther smiled as he shook the redhead's hand with equal enthusiasm. "The party's just started and you're already drunk. Can't say I'm too taken aback."

"Ah ye sly devil, don't go making fun of meh. I may be a bit tipsy, but I'm clear as day" Ivon got uncomfortably close to him, winking as a bit of Ward 8 spilled from his glass.

"Oh geez" Gunther laughed, gently pushing him back "you smell worse than you look."

This seemed to have amused something in Ivon, who roared with laughter and gave Gunther a hard pat on the back. His hands had always been big and brutish, and Gunther could have sworn he heard something inside of his body rattle at the contact.

"Listen, it's great seeing you" Gunther started while trying to look for a drink of his own. It was just his luck that every waiter who had one was as far away from him as possible. "I wanted to talk about a strategy I had in mind, something that'll really come in handy at Aachen. I'm telling you, I spent all night musing this over; those Nazis won't see it coming."

Ivon shook his head with an air of amusement to him. "Ay lad, always the same. Ye've got war on the brain again. Ye ready to go back out on the field, is that it? To bleed and suffer? Cravin' to play with Death's teat?"

"I wouldn't say it like that" Gunther smiled, looking down at the floor then around the building to stop himself from laughing, before finally meeting eye to eye with Ivon. "I just—"

"Listen lad" Ivon said with a relative calmness to him "tomorrow's a new day. I'll be headin' back to meh house one last time, then straight to Greece for an invasion of meh own. I'm sure there'll be plenty of excitement there. But tonight—tonight is for drinking" Gunther didn't know if he meant it on purpose, or if he merely forgot he still had a drink in his hand, but Ivon downed the rest of his Ward 8 in one gulp "and enjoying ourselves. It isn't every day we get a chance like this."

"I suppose so" Gunther acceded, the hesitation still in his voice, before he more confidently corrected "Yes, yes, you're right." Though he didn't really mean it.

"Then enjoy yerself lad" Ivon pressed the empty glass to Gunther's chest before turning his head to look around for another drink, and a mumbling a curse when he realized how far away they all were.

It wasn't that Gunther didn't want to enjoy himself or have others do so either. After all, he loved-loved watching his comrades talk and smile with ease, not seeing those expressions of uncertainty and dread for one night was more than any corporal could ask for. Still...something yearned inside him to go back in action. This was pleasant, but it was like he had an itch he couldn't scratch. It just bothered him on a trivial level.

Was there something wrong about that?

"Speaking of youngsters who don't enjoy themselves" Ivon muttered with a quick nudge.

Gunther turned to see what he was referring to and noticed Jane Turnkey at the top of the steps. Or at least who he thought was Jane Tunkey, because he had certainly never seen her like this before. Her normally unruly hair was done up in a tight do, with some curls hanging freely. The chapped lips which she complained so much with, were painted a crimson red and turned downward in a frown. Her body was hugged by a simple, beaded gown-though by her standards he was sure it was over embellished. The color was a scintillating white, sparkling in the dim lights of the chandelier.

It looked stunning…on anyone but Jane.

The white was far too close to her pale skin, and made her appear almost ghostly; certainly, it was not her color. Even the red of her lips was a bad choice. What redhead wears red lipstick? She looked something like a mime to him, and he chuckled at the mental image. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that he had imagined what she would've looked like in something other than the grimy, pickle-colored pants and combat boots she always wore. Though now that he saw her in something more delicate, he couldn't help but feel—well—disappointed. It wasn't quite the transformation he was expecting.

He turned back to Ivon and shrugged, a sour expression on his face. "I'm surprised she even showed up at all, though I could care either way."

"Well then you wouldn't mind meh waving her over here then, would ye lad? She looks like she's in need of some company." As soon as Ivon began to raise his hand, Gunther grabbed it firmly and shot him a tense smile.

"My dearest companion, please reconsider that action or it might just be the last one you ever make."

That made Ivon roar with laughter again, and Gunther peaked nervously behind him to see if Jane had noticed. She hadn't, that somewhat anxious expression as she discreetly looked for a familiar face in the crowd was still present. Gunther huffed a short sigh of relief. Ivon would be the death of him.

Jane wasn't someone he liked to deal with much-or at all really. For now, she was the only American soldier in his platoon, initially brought over by the US to help the British forces during aerial strikes. She was deemed one of the best pilots in her country, and despite much backlash from the Americans and the British, she somehow managed to join the Air Force. He had to give her some form of credit he supposed, because the command there seemed to love her now. As it turns out, the girl flew a Grumman F6F Hellcat as if she was born in one. The reports showed that she had one of the highest success rates in dogfighting, and a ridiculous twenty-three victory score in her short time as a pilot. They even gave her ownership of her own Hellcat aircraft.

Dragon she called it. He scoffed.

The army practically had to yank her away from them when the time to transfer came. She was also considered a great soldier, training under Sergeant Boarmaster herself—but Gunther could've cared less. Women didn't belong in the war, breaking bones and watching men die. It was far too much for their frail emotions to handle. No, Gunther was not in agreement whatsoever of this new madness the Axis decided to partake in. Young, civilized women belonged in the kitchen, aiding the men by raising their children, and being a comforting support to come home to, not whatever Jane was. Or whatever she thought she was, because she certainly did believe she was something with the way she spoke back to him.

Heaven help the father who raised her, because the girl had a mouth and she liked to use it. He couldn't count the numerous times they had exchanged heated words, or when she tested his commands. If the army wasn't so hellbent on keeping her, he would've kicked her out of his platoon months ago, helpful or not!

And she was…helpful, more than that actually, and it was that realization that made him loathe her all the more. She was like a needle in his spine that he couldn't ignore or take out.

Well, he was determined to ignore her for tonight. He wouldn't look once more at Jane Turnkey even if it killed him.

"Sir Breech" a voice rang from behind, and Gunther turned to see Boarmaster there in a tux of his own and a cigarette in his hand. The man offered his free hand and Gunther shook it in earnest. Finally, a sophisticated head in the room. Theodore cleared his throat "Sir Mackay" he continued, turning his attention to Ivon who was distracted by the lounge singer on stage. Bat bladders, he'd noticed her too. Not that Ivon was much of a competition for him, but he wouldn't make it easy to approach her now that he had his eyes on her; he was as territorial as a dog.

"Oh! Erm-no need for the formalities Theodore" Ivon replied with a twitch of his moustache "It's great seein' ye! 'Specially in something so fancy" he chuckled.

"Yes well…it isn't every day that we're invited to such a display of elegancy. We should do our best to look the part of gentlemen."

From somewhere in the room he'd heard it, Jane's laughter. It rang like an alarm in the air, and it took him a great deal of willpower to not turn to the sound. He looked at both men near him, but neither seemed to notice. His skin tingled with displeasure.

"Even if we're as far from that as could be?" Ivon nudged Gunther and he smiled in turn, brought back into the conversation. Theodore merely shook his head, but it wasn't with his usual air of contempt.

"Sergeant" Gunther waited until Ivon turned his attention elsewhere, and spoke in a more hushed tone just in case "I have a plan pertaining to the invasion of Aachen, and perhaps if I could run it by you—"

But Theodore did exactly what he was dreading he'd do, he shook his head. "My boy, a day of planning is a day of working, but every man needs his day of resting. Even you, Gunther Breech."

He hated it when he spoke in that poetic way of his. How many proverbs could one man know in a lifetime?

"You've been working hard Gunther, harder than any youngster I've seen" Gunther's mind immediately flashed to Jane, and he smirked knowing that it was him who had gotten such a compliment. He had worked hard, beyond that. He'd pushed himself to his breaking point repeatedly and come back a stronger, albeit more fragmented version of himself. He needed to prove himself after what his father had done. He needed to show that he was nothing like him, not now, not anymore. The thought pained him, and either way he shouldn't have been thinking about his father or Jane at all. Thinking of her always led him to darker places, so she was better off ignored for the night. "However, take this night to find some rest both physically and mentally. The time for strategies and battle will come again."

"Yes Sergeant" he nearly sighed. "Do you mind then?" the young man asked, pointing to the cigarette in the older man's hand. Without saying much else, Theodore took out another cigarette, helped him light it, and entered some conversation Ivon had pulled him into. Gunther took the longest inhale of his life, only letting the smoke out when he felt the pang of his headache leave him.

"I'm going for a drink" he said to no one in particular, though Ivon was quick answer him.

"Get meh one too lad!"

From the flush creeping on his neck, Gunther thought it best to "forget" he'd asked him that. The last thing he needed was to help carry Ivon out of the gala all the way to his home. There were still many regrets that haunted him from the last time he did that. Plus, if he was lucky he would be leaving with a piece of arm candy for the night instead. The thought alone was a perk in his spirit, but he was very rusty when it came to dating. Hell, he couldn't even think of the last time he went on a date. Was it high school maybe? No, there was that gal he met in Liverpool shortly before his deployment. A cute, young waitress who was worth the overpriced scones and tea. Maybe after the war was over he should go back and check to see if she's still there. He honestly couldn't even remember her name, just that she was short, dark eyed, and a natural…redhead.

He grimaced. Perhaps he wouldn't visit her after all.

Gunther made his way through the crowd. He deserved a drink. The cigarette helped, but a little extra kick would be good for him. He disliked knowing that Ivon and Theodore had a point. It didn't seem like anyone had any plans to talk about strategy tonight; apart from the occasional gasconade and crude jokes he caught as he passed by soldiers, war was far from everyone's chatter. Occasionally he stopped by to acknowledge one of his men with a small salute, or to meet their sweethearts ("Careful now Nancy, this one'll steal you away before you even know it. He's a crafty bogweevil, Breech" they'd tease). Hell, after a while Gunther even found himself tapping his foot to the beat of the trumpets, letting the rhythm sway him. He stopped only when the bright flash of a camera went off beside him. A sweet couple had posed for a picture, but Gunther denied taking one himself.

Jackpot!

It wasn't the bar, but Gunther spotted a server holding one last Sidecar a few feet away from him. He quickened his step to not miss this one because damn it all if this drink escaped his grasp! Luckily for him, the server hadn't been faster than Gunther, unluckily for him, someone else had been. Gunther witnessed as a slender hand plucked the drink off the tray and brought it towards her. Even more unluckily, that hand belonged to Jane Turnkey.

He watched in almost sheer agony as Jane took a sip of the Sidecar without much regard to him or anyone around her. It was only after a couple seconds of staring that she seemed to notice him with a small startle.

"Breech."

He should've ran when he had the chance, blasted be the drink and all, he should've turned around and snuck into the crowd. Now he had no choice but to face her.

"Turnkey" he returned, trying to not shoot poison through his gaze. She hadn't done the act on purpose, but even her ignorance was annoying. He took another inhale of smoke to cool the edge off, and maybe Jane took it as a sign to continue because she took a couple steps toward him.

"Have you seen Sergeant Boarmaster? I've been looking for his company."

"He's with Ivon near the west side of the building."

"Oh."

He cleared his throat, looking for some small talk that would fill the awkward silence between them. "I wasn't…expecting you to come. You look" he paused, trying—actually trying—to think of something nice to say "nice." The lack of earnestness was apparent from the glare Jane gave him. He noticed the way her free hand clenched into a fist and wondered how often she'd thought of punching him.

"Thanks" she curtly managed to say instead. She didn't return the compliment. Instead her fist went through a slow series of clenching and unclenching before she spoke again. "I'd heard there was a victory in Paris. Its liberation has brought a lot of joy to the Europeans."

"Why wouldn't it?" Gunther shrugged "It's the city of love after all. We're just lucky that General von Choltitz didn't burn the city to the ground before surrendering like he did."

"Luck?" Jane scoffed "We didn't win Paris back by luck. It was all skill. The tactics employed by the Allies are all coming into effect."

"Yes, but we also faced a great deal of casualties from our battle in Normandy. Face it Turnkey, if the Germans weren't getting so sloppy we would've lost far more that day. Not to mention that not all the French will be glad to see us. There was a great estimated amount of…civilian casualties that I'm sure won't be easily overlooked."

"Despite what you might think, I'm not naïve Gunther" Jane already looked exasperated from their conversation. "All I'm saying is that the war is turning to our favor. I'm sure the French are more than grateful for this change. Soon enough things will go back to being the way they were. Our men in arms will see to that."

"That's the problem with you Yankees" he spat dismissively with a shake of his head, taking a drag of his cigarette "you always think you can just change the world through will power and balls alone."

Jane shook her head, smiling bitterly. In one swift movement she took the cigarette from his hands and took a drag of her own. The action surprised Gunther, but he didn't say anything of it.

"I have no balls Breech, that's the problem."

He detested that she always had something clever to say. Whether it was a quick quip or a comeback that flew right over his head, Jane always finished the conversation. He'd never once seen her speechless-but he was willing to try.

"Care for a dance?"

The expression on her face was priceless. Where was that cameraman when he needed him? This was a momentous occasion. He could read it in the papers now: "The Day Jane Turnkey Was Silenced." It practically made him a national hero.

"Close your mouth Jane or you'll catch flies" her mouth snapped shut while her eyes shot him the foulest of looks. "So? Come now, don't tell me you can loop through the skies with that Dragon of yours, but you can't dance?"

"I can dance" Jane crossed her arms in front of her chest childishly "It's just…been a while, that's all."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine" he insisted, putting out his cigarette on an abandoned drink nearby. It was partially a lie, because there was nothing more Gunther would've loved to see than Jane and her two left feet on the dancefloor. The brunette stuck his arm out for her, and tentatively or maybe crossly, Jane took it.

"That's the spirit."

She finished the drink, placing it back on an empty tray a waiter carried off as he hurried passed them. It was done with ease, and he held back from smacking his forehead. A short-lived win was still a win, after all.

An upbeat jazz piece began to play, lifting several people out of their chairs and onto the dancefloor. There was some relief in knowing that they wouldn't be the only ones on the floor. He'd hate it if his men were to witness this exhibition. The teasing would be endless. "Well, I'll give you Americans the benefit of knowing that you did right by inventing jazz. I must say it's probably one of the few good things that originated in your country."

"Thank you" Jane said with a sly smile, placing her hand on top of his as they began to walk towards the dancefloor. "I'm still trying to find one good thing about Britain. No luck thus far."

"Har-har" he muttered in a monotone, placing his right hand on her hip while keeping the left hand entangled in her own.

Jane cleared her throat, and it took him a second to notice what she wanted. With a roll of his eyes he raised his hand to her mid-back, and soon the two found their rhythm in the music. They stepped to the tune well enough, the few of Jane's curls that stuck out were bouncing lively with each small step. She had much better coordination than he ever imagined, in other words, he knew she had good coordination out on the field; her movements always swift and purposeful, but he never figured she would also bring that into dancing. Jane, a good dancer of all people? He never would've imagined. But there she was in front of him, looking him dead in the eyes as her feet worked with his, her turns executed tastefully and her hips swinging with—wait no—do not think about her hips. This is Jane for Christ's sake.

As if she somehow noticed she entered his mind, Jane spoke up.

"I heard you're joining us on our invasion in Aachen." Jane had jumped at the chance to help the Americans, never one to really let go of her country.

"Yes actually. I'll be helping to oversee some of its preparation" he tried to repress a gloating smile "in fact, I have a strategy I devised yesterday that I plan to share with Sergeant Major Kippernook first thing tomorrow."

"Is that so?" This time Gunther couldn't help but smile at the look of surprise Jane let peak out of her usual seriousness. Was she genuinely curious, impressed even?

"Yes. It has to do with our timing during the infiltration. If all goes according to plan, then the Germans will be running for the hills."

"Go on then."

Of course, she'd want to speak strategy with him when no one else did. Jane was like him in that regard, always eager to stay in the circle of battle, never one to stay still. Normally he would've enjoyed that quality in any other person, but because she was Jane, he was suddenly feeling like he didn't want to share any of his plans. In fact, the desire to chat about it had left him completely.

"Sorry Jane, top secret information. I wouldn't dare compromise the mission by gossiping now of all places."

She scoffed with an unattractive expression, backing away from him enough so that he could again see the material of her dress glisten in the light of the chandeliers. Jane was far from the most attractive woman here, but maybe he did have to admit that the dress did hug her shape in a flattering manner—even if it still wasn't her color.

"You're impossible" she muttered as they were brought back together, much closer than before so that he couldn't quite see her face when she said it over his shoulder, but he could well enough hear the irritation in her voice. "You know fine and well that the Germans won't make it easy."

"It's never easy" he admitted with a bit more seriousness than intended, turning with her for a moment in silence. They'd lose men, probably thousands more of them. Infiltrations as big as this one didn't occur without its causalities. Every success needed its sacrifice. If they succeeded at all.

"It helps knowing that you're out there doesn't it? Fighting alongside them" there's something gentle and distant about her voice, and she places a hand tenderly on the back of his neck as the music slows. Surprisingly it produces a shiver from him, and he hopes she won't notice it. "War it's so heart-wrenching, but when you're out there giving it your all—giving your comrades your all, it makes it worth it somehow. I couldn't live with myself if I stayed waiting in the comfort of my own home, waiting around while the world bled for me." She recited the words as if she'd thought them a million times.

He held her more tightly now, too embarrassed to let her see the dumbfounded expression on his face. She had plucked the words right out of his brain and said them far more eloquently than he ever could've. Gunther couldn't stand the men—the cowards—that barked orders and left others to die. From the comfort of their manors and mistresses they played with military men as if they were chess pieces. Gunther would've rather died a thousand times than know he sat back and didn't fight, didn't lay himself bare, and give his humanity for his country. For his people.

"What do you fight for Turnkey?" he asked when he was better able to compose himself, pulling her back to watch her much more intently. There was a certain atmosphere between them now that he'd never sensed before.

Never? Why did that feel like a lie?

"I fight for my right to be able to fight."

"That's noble enough" he chimed with a perk of his lips. "I fight for the fame and fortune."

Her eyes rolled for what seemed like the millionth time that night, but now there was a small smile peeking through the disdain. It was rather charming, in a strange sort of way.

"Not afraid of death then Turnkey?"

To his surprise she laughed, a sharp snort escaping her lips quicker than she could repress it. She clamped her mouth into a tight line after that, but the mirth was still present.

"And just what's so bloody funny about that?"

"Oh, simply thinking about how good at conversation you are Breech. Do you usually ask women these pleasant questions? They must think you a charmer."

He couldn't help but smile himself, somehow embarrassed that she'd brought it up. Great, even Jane thinks I've lost it.

"Of course, why do you think all these men are afraid of leaving their wives alone with me? Nothing turns a woman on more than thinking about the undeniable truth that we'll all one day cease to exist."

Jane smiled more brightly, her teeth showing under the red of her lips. He found it appealing...in a weird sort of way. The fact that he could make her smile to begin with was surprising; every time he had encountered Jane it was all stone and gunpowder between them.

"I did hear that pessimism is a character trait for most Brits. Though I'd agree that there's nothing more pleasing than the sound of a Devil's piano—at least compared to whatever's playing now."

"I'll give you that one—but here I thought you were having fun?" he asked with a raise of a brow. Something he most definitely didn't practice often as a child to be able to use it effectively as an adult.

"I…am" she said hesitantly, spinning elegantly under his arm "despite my unfortunate, current circumstance of dancing with a beef-brain. A erm…very nimble beef-brain."

"You're far too kind."

He dipped her far lower than he meant, her hands clinging to him for support, but her face was still calm as if she trusted him. The closeness between them was tangible, and there was a certain static in the air that left him a bit in need of breath. There was something in her eyes that was different tonight too. Was it a trick of the light? The angle allowed the light from above to shine on her frame, and like earlier, she was almost glowing. Her eyes a brilliant green he hadn't noticed before. Or was it the way she was looking at him? An expression that read vulnerability and...and something else he couldn't quite understand.

Gunther brought his face in closer, as if closing the distance between him would give him all the answers. He felt neither disgusted nor disdained, but almost entranced, like a gravity within Jane was pulling him inward. He wasn't fighting it, that is until-

"Uhm, Gunther?"

And it was over. He was snapped awake.

"Oh urm...yes…" he lifted her a bit clumsily, managing to make her ankles wobble unsteadily. What in the bloody blazes was that? Was I about to…? He looked at Jane bewilderedly, though luckily for him she was too busy trying to put her shoe on correctly to notice it. Gunther felt a wave of mortification wash over him and prayed to any god listening that his face hadn't reddened.

"My apologizes, it must be…" frantically, his brain searched for an answer but nothing seemed to stick.

"The alcohol?" Jane chimed. There was a feigned casualness in her voice. Was she just as flustered as he felt?

"Yes, that's it" he lied quickly. He hadn't drank at all. Still, he was willing to say just about anything in that moment.

"Well" Jane straightened out un-existing wrinkles in her dress, or was she wiping off sweat from her hands? "I'm excited to hear of your plans for Aachen. They have to cave in someday right? It won't be long till the Germans bite the dust."

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he placed them in his pockets. "Perhaps that zealousness isn't always annoying Turnkey. I'd like to see it in the battlefield next week. That is, if you can fight as well as you talk."

She flashed him a sly smile, before turning her back to him. "You very well know I can, Breech. I'll see you on the field."

"It's a date" he teased, watching her figure retreat out of the dancefloor, and up the stairs without looking back once.

Gunther stood there longer than he should've before he turned away too, walking hurriedly from the dance floor towards the bar, and trying not to notice how some people had stopped to stare. He could really use that drink now. His vision was dizzy. To keep his head from spinning any longer, he shut his eyes...but he could still see her there.

Jane in her white dress, shining like the sun.

A/N: I meant this to be 2K at max LOL. This is for the Day 7 quote:

"He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."

― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Originally I wasn't planning on doing a WWII era piece, but I like that I did. It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it.