On 9th April, 1921, Margaret 'Peggy' Carter was born to Harrison and Amanda Carter. She was their third child. Two years later, Peggy's younger brother, Edward, was born. Two months later, Amanda died from a terrible bout of sickness. Peggy had no memories of her mother to hold onto, for she was too young when Amanda passed away. It was confusion, not sadness, she felt when she stood beside her two older brothers, donned in black, as her mother's coffin was lowered into the ground.
Her father was a busy man. He was an army general, and despite how the war was over, there were still no shortage of tasks for him to complete. And so Nana took over the job of taking care of the four children. Papa would fuss at times, tell Nana that he really should get a caretaker for the children instead of having her care after them as doing so much be terribly strenuous. And every time, her response would be the same. 'Harrison Carter, I brought you up on my own while working three jobs. I fought in the goddamn war. I will be able to take care of my own grandchildren easily enough, thank you very much.'
Despite his busy schedule, it did not mean that Papa played no part in her childhood. He would always be home by seven in the evening and the entire family would have dinner together. Then they would sit by the fireplace, the children would play, Papa would read his newspaper, and Nana would do whatever she'd want to do, be it whittling another wooden knife or reading through one of her many thick tomes of books filled with all kinds of odd symbols.
It was during one of those many peaceful family nights that Peggy got bored of watching Anthony and Henry play chess, and so she climbed onto Papa's lap and asked him, 'Papa, how did you meet Mother?' She could feel Nana's attention shift towards them, despite how her eyes were still trained on the book before her. Edward looked up, interested. Henry threw a know- it- all glare at her behind his thick- rimmed glasses. 'Peggy, you shouldn't have!' he chastised. You're gonna make Papa upset.'
'No, Anthony. Its fine,' Papa responded calmly, setting his newspapers aside. Peggy stuck her tongue out at her brother defiantly as her father began his story.
'I met your mother during the First World War. She was the head nurse of her unit. One day, the German troops came. Our troops there got scared, and they ran. She and fourteen other nurses stayed behind. There was a hospital filled with injured men incapable of defending themselves, and Amanda and the others didn't have the heart to abandon them. So they decided to stay and fight. Your mother knew that there was no chance that a small group of untrained women would be able to face a legion of seasoned soldiers. So she decided to devise a trap. They buried a bomb under every single campsite. Then they put radios within those particular campsites so it sounded like there were actual people in there. But your mother knew that that wouldn't be enough. That some of them would be able to survive the bombs. So they scavenged all the guns they could find in the camp and learnt how to shoot within the thirty minutes it took for the Germans to get there. They managed to hold out until the backup troops arrived. I was the general for those troops, and when I first arrived, I was shocked by what I saw. Everything had been blown up, and there were dead soldiers everywhere. It was then that we realised that those dead soldiers were German. An entire troop of over hundreds of men, taken out by fifteen nurses. There were a couple left, huddled up in the middle of the camp, waving their guns at the woods where the women were hiding. We split up our troops and I led some of my men into the woods. Your mother was the first one I saw, crouching in the bushes. I approached her from behind and nearly got my head blown off. After clarifying who I was, I proceeded to tell her that help has arrived, that she could step back now. You know what she said? She said, "I appreciate your help, sir, but I would prefer it if you would let me finish this fight." It was that precise moment that I knew that I had fallen in love with her. At the very end, there was only one German left. A scrawny twelve years old, begging for mercy. God knows how he even got into the army in the first place. One of my men was about to gun him down. But she stepped in. Requested for the German to be spared. 'He is just a child,' those were her exact words. Her bravery, her wit, her kindness... She was the most amazing woman I had ever met. So sons, don't you ever dare look down on women or think that they are any less capable than you. Because as those German soldiers found out the hard way, underestimating any woman is the most fatal mistake you can ever make.'