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Brave New World

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London, Greater Nazi Reich – England

It was all very hush-hush.

There wasn’t even a funeral to begin with. Peggy just remembered some of the uniformed soldiers dropping off a bag of bloodied belongings down on their doorstep and left them as their home had erupted into madness.

Michael Harrison Carter, the only son of Obergruppenführer Harrison Reginald Carter of the British Waffen-SS, a renowned ace pilot for the Luftwaffe, was killed in pursuit. Her brother, the illustrious Michael Carter, a proud son of the Fatherland, was a member of the underground secret resistance from the remnants of an old war office, the Strategic Scientific Reserve.

“Sorry for your loss, Carter.”

Peggy stood inside the office of a former US Army colonel, Chester Phillip’s office. He had been in London when the H-Bomb was dropped on Washington that killed Roosevelt and the senate in quick succession. After the loss of an integral ally, whose troops were recalled from war as to negotiate the surrender of the country to prevent further bombings, Britain stood alone until Buckingham was bombed.

After that, the Germans proclaimed VE and VA-Day.

Still numb from the pain, Peggy nodded mutely. “I got a message from him, actually. The night he died.” Chester Phillips simply raised a brow at her. Michael had been the higher ranking agent in the resistance.

She had just been initiated. Peggy never imagined that she would have to face this world without him.

“What’d he say?”

Pulling a rolled-up piece of scrap paper, Peggy handed it over to the Colonel, as he was still fondly called. “You’re sure of this?” she nodded.

“With my life, sir.”

Colonel Phillips lit a match and burned the paper. “Follow me,” he said gravely and into the backdoor of his office where the windows were frosted, and the blinds were closed over. “Do you know anything about Camelot?”

“The legend?”

The Colonel shrugged and gestured towards the only vacant seat on the small study desk. “Do you know the mission your brother was on?”


“Good, neither did he the moment he took it on.” He slammed a folder into the table and sighed heavily. “The mission as a black-out ops, only the two of us knew.” Peggy flipped through the pages and gritted her teeth, warily eyeing the slits of the blinds.

“We have a spy.” She answered in a deathly calm, low voice. She had treated these men and women like family, she trained with them, lived with them, trusted them, and yet they were the ones to took her brother away from him. “We have to get the double agent, sir.”

I am going to find that mole and make that son of a bitch that wish he was never a twinkle in his daddy’s eyes.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m going to—”

“Carter.” Phillips stopped her and produced a small notebook. It was a copy of the mission dossier given to every agent out on the field. “Keep your voice down—no one knows that we know.” He hissed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You read the reports?”

Her breath hitched.

Read the reports?

Peggy did more than read the reports. She was there, to identify what was left of her brother, there to identify the strewn-up pieces of fabric that hung around the tinged, blackened skin. She had more than read the report, she had lived it.

“I did.”

“Good.” However gruff the man may be, it wasn’t lost to her to see that he had paled considerably. She wasn’t the only one who lost Michael that day. “Because here’s the real kicker—whoever the mole is, they don’t know the real mission, or at least the entirety of the mission.”

“I’m going to avenge my brother, Colonel. With or without your blessing.”

“I’m not telling you to sit back, Agent Carter.”

“Because I won’t, sir.”

The Colonel slid another folder to her as he stood from his chair. Cautiously, Peggy opened it up and watched Colonel Phillips’ reaction. “Then avenge him the way we do here at the resistance, Carter. By winning the damn war.”

But that was the thing. They didn’t win the war. Germany won that fateful day of 1945. The world had surrendered.

In her hands was a folder containing a full report from one of their own strategically-placed counter spies in the German government. “I’m going to ask you again, Agent Carter: what do you know of Camelot?”

“It’s an open secret, Colonel, among the higher ranking ministers: the isolation of the führer.” Colonel Phillips nodded accordingly and reached his arm across to toggle on the switch of the small television set nestled on top of a stubby bookshelf.

“Can you tell me why exactly, Agent Carter, are the ministers isolating Adolf Hitler in his castle of dreams?”

Peggy recognized the tape being played on the small television screen. It was a recording of the advisory from the evening news yesterday. It showed how happy and perfect life is inside the Greater Nazi Reich if you cooperated.

Featuring in almost every scene was a bright, pastel colored take of the führer, Hitler himself, as he paraded the camera crew around the grounds of his castle. Even the footage looked dated, Peggy remembered seeing the exact same loop of reels from when she was a child back in the 1940’s.

“It’s an old reel, Colonel. From when the war had just been lost. They government’s hiding Hitler.”

“Yes, but do you know why?”

Peggy leaned in and narrowed her eyes at the screen and took note of how, in every scene, Hitler waved around the beautiful palace garden grounds with his right hand, the other remaining firmly inside the pocket of his coat.

“Rumor has it, Hitler has Parkinson’s. His left-hand spasms wildly out of control, that’s why he keeps it hidden back then.” Peggy watched the screen closely and there it was again, the noticeable cut in the looped editing.

There it was again, Peggy thought, his hand remaining firmly inside his pocket.

“I don’t think anyone in the Reich, other than his ministers, have actually seen Hitler in years.”

Colonel Phillips nodded approvingly before tossing her the dossier that Michael had always been given. “Agent Carter, what I’m about to say to you will not go beyond these walls.”


“Recently, our source mentioned that once in a few months—she couldn’t iron the details out how often—Hitler gets all antsy and orders up his personal guards to go through this earth with a fine tooth comb for a special package. She said that she’s heard from the older guards that Hitler’s been searching for these packages ever since the beginning of the war.”

“What does this have to do with Michael?”

“Ever since the war, we had no idea what these putzes have been searching for. It all changed when your brother got close to a contact and got this—” the older man deposited a cold, metal tag into her hands. It was of three fists, hoisted up and formed in a Y with the Liberty statue intersecting it, behind it, however, was something she did understand: a set of coordinates, “—whatever the package is, we know where to find it.”

“This is in the Neutral Zone.”

“Brush up on that American accent there, Agent Carter. ‘Cause you’re going stateside.”