Chapter Text
“You don't win wars with niceness, Doctor. You win wars, with guts.”
- Colonel Chester Phillips
Phillips had been in London for less than a day when a bit of stray intelligence, gossip really, catches the interest of his superiors. He’d been tasked, on behalf of the General’s orders, to strike up some goodwill with British intelligence in order to start building up a joint task force with the United States. It’s a daunting task to be sure, given that the war’s been raging for over a year and the official American policy remains at neutrality. He can tell it’s only a matter of time, frankly the way things were going jumping in sooner seemed like the best course of action to shorten the potential length of the war. But it’s not his call. In the meantime, he’s more than happy to be looking at setting up a joint force with the sole purpose of taking down Hitler’s deep science division. Men who think themselves godlike have always been a cause for concern in his book. A target to take down a couple of pegs before their fire-fueled ego spread.
In fact, it’s the whispers of a blow to that specific division that brought Phillips to have drinks with a few of his contacts high up in the British military. The rumblings of a takedown and rescue of some secret Nazi asset caught plenty of Allied attention, though most were unclear on actual details. Phillips managed to get a few. British intelligence kept a tight lid on how their POWs, most presumed deceased for almost a year, had managed to break out of what was rumored to be a HYDRA facility, and burn the facility to the ground.
Phillips, with the limited information he received, had a strong sense that the POWs were supplied some help, and that it may not have been official. No, not when no one wanted to test Hitler’s reach, not yet. Not when the United States was still not officially supporting the Allied effort. It didn’t surprise him that the records of the incident barely existed. Phillips was well aware of the many covert teams in place, spies and special ghost units. And with the Brits on board with a novel approach to crippling the Nazi deep science division, he was getting closer and closer to the truth.
His contacts wrangle him a meeting with someone in military intelligence. Apparently they are also desperate to start a new force dedicated to crippling an arm of the Nazi’s forces. By luck he was actually going to have something substantial to offer his superiors.
“We may employ certain… deniable assets,” the new contact, a tall man in a expertly tailored suit and slicked back hair, told him. “A modern usage of a particular type of citizen.”
“And these assets, they were able to accomplish this from the shadows,” Phillips guessed.
“Not quite they… Just one asset.”
Phillips couldn’t deny his surprise at this admission. One operative. That was not only tactically insane, but completely unbelievable. There was no way the British military sanctioned a rescue mission employing one operative alone. He therefore came to the conclusion that the mission was unauthorized. One agent’s desperate vendetta. A personal crusade, most likely.
As unlikely as this all was, a foolish and stupid move, it was undeniably effective. There was even minimal blowback to the Commonwealth. Military sons returned home to their families. It was a rallying call. An event that bolstered morale. And as Hitler was still denying his division’s existence, the crippling attack didn’t cause the retaliation expected. Phillips was impressed. And as far as he could gleam from the situation, whoever took on that reckless mission, survived.
“And this operative, they made it out alive?”
He had to make sure of course. Simple curiosity. Vital interest.
“Oh yes. Hardly scuffed at all.”
Phillips drained the rest of his whiskey in one neat gulp.
“I need you to set up a meeting. I’d like to get to know this daring asset.”
“Might be difficult to arrange. Like I had alluded, these operatives’ merits lie upon their secrecy.”
“Then arrange a meeting with their superior. American Intelligence has a proposition that will be mutually beneficial, and given the current climate of neutrality, secrecy is obviously the upmost of priorities. And now we have a prime candidate for the operation.”
He can’t say he was surprised when he did get a meeting with the head of British Intelligence. He knew full well they wouldn’t be able to resist, nor could they afford to disregard more creative efforts to win the war. First, they have a long political meeting about all the particulars of the growing HYDRA threat. Phillips put the American proposition on the table. The United States, due in part to their long economic relationship with Germany, had had their own leads into HYDRA assets. They know all about the unnaturalness of one Johann Schmidt. And they have a long term goal of neutralizing that threat. It would start with a rescue mission: the extraction of a lead scientist held hostage, Doctor Abraham Erskine.
“Before I allow you access to our operative,” the head of British intelligence started, “I’d like to forewarn you against your expectations. You Americans have not been in this fight and may not respect or understand some of our decisions regarding personnel.”
“Nothing is set in stone,” Phillips admitted, “but when it comes to assets with guts, I keep an open mind.”
The man took a long look at Phillips before responding.
“I think we can come to some agreement. Oh-eight-hundred tomorrow Colonel. Agent Carter will be waiting for you.”
The next morning, Colonel Phillips was escorted down many floors, through mazes of hallways. Finally, he’s led into one the cavernous strategy rooms.
Inside, among the chestnut tables, chairs and bookcases linings three of the four walls, stood a woman. A young woman. Instead of resting politely in one of the many plush upholstered chairs, she stood looking at the various maps pinned around the room. She was studying them, he ventured. She was dressed sharply, though not in any military gear. Phillips had his suspicions, but what surprised him the most was the penetrating look in her eyes when they met his from across the room. She was so young and yet it was clear she had seen enough of the war to be beyond her years.
“You must be Agent Carter,” Phillips said as she continued to eye him warily. “Colonel Chester Phillips, United States Army,” he introduced himself when she didn’t reply.
The brown-haired woman marched right up to him. “Agent Margaret Carter,” she said sticking her hand out. “I’m afraid that’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
Phillips fought the sudden amusement that bubbled up as he shook her hand. He gestured to two chairs across from each other.
“I’ve heard you’ve had a personal encounter with a special division of Hitler’s regime. A dangerous one.”
Agent Carter didn’t respond. In fact, she hardly reacted. She’s good. No wonder she’s still on the payroll after her rogue mission.
“Relax, Agent. This meeting has been set with the blessing of your superiors. Although I admire your loyalty. In fact, you’ve caught my attention.”
“Is this a recruitment?” she asked.
“Let’s call it an evaluation.”
“An evaluation? I don’t work for you,” she retorted.
“No. But you could.”
Agent Carter looked on in interest and Phillips took his opening.
“From my understanding, you single-handedly managed to bring back sixty of your countrymen, all presumed to be dead. You, Agent Carter, walked straight into the mouth of hell and came out with a victory that months of tactical planning could not have guaranteed.”
Phillips paused. Her reaction to his assessment was just as vital here. He’d been disappointed before. She didn’t say anything. There was no proud smirk on her face, and not a hint of bashfulness.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself Agent?”
“What is it you want me to say? I saw an opening, a chance, and I took it,” she replied in an even tone.
He’s interested. Intrigued. There is no glorification of her actions. And yet it seems she is due some. She is more than due the credit and honor. And he’s still not clear about how she did what she did. But more importantly the why. Why would a young woman be so intentionally reckless in the face of certain failure? He’s curious but also certain about his next decision.
“Agent Carter, I am representing a joint Allied, United States backed taskforce with the sole purpose of destroying Johann Schmidt. He is the head of HYDRA. I believe you are familiar with that name.”
Her gaze alone, flashes of something dark in her eyes, told him she was.
“We have an operation in motion that will change the course of this war, and has the potential to neutralize all future threats. And the first step involves a covert mission. I intend to drop an operative straight into HYDRA headquarters. I want you for this mission.”
He watched as she straightened her back and squared her shoulders. He’d seen hundreds of operatives that didn’t have an ounce of the control she radiates.
“I think you could be perfect for this position. You would be assuring a major breakthrough for the Allied efforts.”
He knew he’s hooked her.
“What must I do?” she asked, no sign of wavering.
Phillips waved his hand. “We can get to the details at a later time. First, I want one thing in return.”
“And what’s that?”
“I want you to tell me the whole story, beginning to end, every detail.”
Agent Carter stared at him for a long moment and then she began to speak.