The song at the beginning of the fight –
Glen Gatsby's - Posin
watch?v=IP_0EEZIHac
Peggy hurriedly made her way down the warship's corridor in what she hoped was the direction to its engine room.
As the annoying ship-wide alarm bleated a forlorn warning, Peggy could still hear the commotion from the upper decks as Dmitri engaged multiple enemies. And even though the Russian was a formable fighter, there was no way he could win against such overwhelming reinforcements.
This just made her more determined than ever to achieve their end goal as fast as possible. With two people, they might have had time to also tamper with the armaments. But now alone, sabotaging the engines took precedence. Besides, she was in a mood to smash things.
Through her bare feet on the metal walkway, Peggy felt the vibration of stomping boots nearing her location. She ducked into an alcove just as two mercenaries rounded the corner. With trepidation, she watched as they jogged past to assist their friends in taking care of the trespasser above decks.
Warily, she left her hiding spot. If only she knew how many men were still below deck who would respond to the disorder upstairs.
Luckily, she found a military-style jacket on a nearby peg and as well as a cap. She quickly shrugged into the green jacket, and after zipping it up, she shoved her damp curls under the cap. Though she knew this 'disguise' wouldn't be enough to fool anyone for long, hopefully, she could trick any undiscerning eyes as they rushed by to help their buddies.
She had barely taken two more steps before she heard a man behind her yell, "Hey, you there. Stop! Where are your shoes?"
Well, so much for a disguise, Peggy thought wryly. With a resigned exhale, she pivoted around to face her new problem.
As the large man hurried over to her, she kept her head ducked low to obscure her features. Surreptitiously, she glanced up at his panting form as he neared. She did not recognize him, which was good. That meant he did not know who she was.
When the SSR was still a much-revered espionage agency, she had sat in while the Colonel interviewed new hires. Already she had recognized a few mercenaries on board the warship who were rejected by both her and Phillips due to their questionable behavioral traits. But, regardless of their more dubious qualities, these unscrupulous men would be tough and well-trained. The war had seen to that.
The man now stood in front of her, and his voice held a curious tone, "Why are you dripping water on the floor, buddy? Wait a minute, who are you? I've never seen you before. You're not part of the crew."
"Transfer, darling," Peggy purposely disguised her voice to sound like a breathless American. She only glanced up enough so that the brim of her cap masked the dangerous gleam in her eyes but not the mischievous smirk on her lips.
He relaxed when he recognized her, "Hey, your Howard Stark's bimbo. Whatcha doing here, doll, and why are you dressed as one of us?" Leering down at her, his hand reached out and caressed her cheek, his intent clear. "Are you playing some sort of game?"
She would not feel guilty in the least for what she was about to do to this contemptible man. Her voice became full-on Brit as she sneered, "Yes, but not the kind you'll be conscious for." Then, with one punch, she knocked him out cold.
While dragging his limp body into the shadows, she was sure the Colonel would never have bothered with such a Neanderthal.
Exiting the alcove, she heard a curse from down the corridor. Looking back toward the stairs, she saw a lithe man gaping at her, and this one looked familiar. She vaguely recalled his interview. It was something about the man's excessive love for sharp objects and the pain they inflicted that had gotten him to be so quickly dismissed.
"Carter's down here!" He bellowed over his shoulder, and then he threw something at her. She barely heard the whistling sound over the ship's pitiful wailing alarm. But she could easily make out the unmistakable sheen of the knife that was thrown at her head!
Peggy barely spun away in time. Next to her, the deadly weapon bounced off the metal hull with a reverberating 'twang.'
"Right," she breathed and then ran away in the opposite direction.
Barring his teeth at her retreating form, he threw another dagger. In the middle of her sprint, Peggy suddenly darted to the side, making the projectile strike off target.
Gauging her steady moves, he was about to throw another when she turned the corner. Frustrated, he chased after her, his favorite knife out at the ready.
The corridor in front of Peggy had stairs leading downwards, and she raced toward them. Instead of taking them two at a time, she clamped her arms on either side of the railing. Lifting her legs, she glided down them so fast she nearly flew off at the bottom of the steps.
She then heard the clomping of boots behind her as the knife-wielder shouted, "Carter's heading for the engine room!" Well, at least she had confirmation that she was headed in the right direction.
Thankfully, before he could chuck another blade at her, she saw a heavy door ahead. In seconds, the sprinting Peggy leaped over the raised lip of the metal threshold. She had just shut the watertight door behind her when another dagger was thrown. Quickly turning the wheel, she slammed down the lever, locking it. She heard the man's fists pounding ineffectually upon the thick door.
He then ran off, no doubt looking for another way to reach her.
Turning, Peggy saw that she was in a small room with only a ladder leading below. She winced when the noise of more boots thundering toward her echoed from that opening. It would not take them long to climb up and stop her.
Decision made, she had no choice but to confront them if she was going to make it to the engine room. After placing her palms and feet on opposite sides of the ladder, she slid down just as someone reached the rungs below. Her bare foot connected against the mercenary's face when they looked up to see what all the commotion was about.
Jumping over his unconscious body, she found herself confronting four more men. At least the corridor was too cramped for them to fight her all at once. With a determined set to her jaw, she waded into the fray.
She'd always been rather proud of her fighting skills. Her SOE trainer had said that though she was very powerful in her hits, she had no grace to her movements. True, she fought more like a bull in a china shop, but it worked best for her physic. To Peggy, her style was more rugby than balletic.
After her fist had cracked against the nearest man's mouth, she pulled her arms in tight. Mentally she checked him off as he crumpled to the floor.
Suddenly, she crouched low as another swung for her head, just missing her. As Peggy popped up, her clasped hands formed a solid hammer, and she struck him under his chin. Shaking his head, the man staggered to one knee. He then sunk to the floor unconscious when she finished him off by driving her shin into the side of his face. That just left two.
Smirking, she preferred fighting these men. Unlike those tenacious Hydra robots, these mercenaries were easy on her fists. She took glee in being able to fully unload on them and not risk chipping a nail.
Peggy danced back from another punch. She realized that this skirmish also had the advantage that some mercenaries were a bit hesitant to hit a lady. That was until she nearly took off the balls of her next opponent. Satisfied when he went down, Peggy realized that she really needed this cathartic exercise.
Desperate, the last man ducked under her swing and was able to grab the bottom of her camo jacket. He began to tug it over her head and shoulders like a disgruntled hockey player. At first, she allowed him to peel it back. But instead of letting her arms get tangled up, she quickly pulled away so that he removed the jacket entirely.
Now free, she reversed his intentions and wrapped his arms up in the thick cloth he still held. As he struggled to get out, she even tied the fabric into a pretty little bow. Just like Christmas!
"Thanks for holding that, dear," she quipped and then jabbed him in the throat. As he gasped for air, she knocked him out of his misery.
Barely having time to orientate herself, she heard reinforcements clambering from far down the hallway behind her. She sprinted forwards, squashing the fear of what had happened to Dmitri to free up so many. She still had a job to do, and his sacrifice meant that she might actually succeed.
Ahead in the distance, she saw the partially opened door to the engine room.
Making a break for it, she suddenly stopped when another mercenary stepped out from a side room. A smirk quickly replaced his surprised features.
As she went to fight him, she heard another enemy racing up on her six. With hardly any time left before he reached her, she ducked the blow from the man in the doorway. She then pushed him over the threshold's raised lip. Quickly she went to pull that door shut, but he grabbed onto it just before she could do so.
He yanked the heavy squealing door back toward him, snatching it from her grasp. Instead of getting into a tug of war over it, she shoved the heavy door back against him, pinning half of him between it and the wall. As she pressed the door toward the bulkhead, the man's free arm slashed outwards, trying to knock her away.
The one sprinting up from behind finally reached her position, and she began to fight him, too. She kept having to heave the heavy door against the trapped man while she battled the other mercenary.
Finally, she caught a break, and probably also the confined man's chin, when she was slammed violently backward against the door by the one attacking her. The blow had been hard enough to stun the pinned man. When she stepped forward to engage the other mercenary once more, the one trapped crumpled to the floor.
Now able to focus on the last man, she used a few swift kicks and hits against his body. Soon he, too, was down for the count.
Then the one with the knives must have found another way to her. He was running full tilt, dagger out to skewer her. She leaped back from his lunge just in time. As they sized up each other, Peggy quickly peeled off her damp blouse.
"Bitch, this will teach you not to hire me," he growled.
Well, she had wondered if any of these degenerates would hold her accountable for not making it into the once prestigious SSR ranks, especially since a mere woman had denied them that opportunity.
Dodging his next swipe, she wound her shirt until the wet, twisted cloth resembled a whip. She grinned deviously at the man who sneered back at her.
As he fell back into a crouch, Peggy flicked a damp end of her shirt at him. He tried to cut the fabric before it could connect, but the whip was faster and made it past his defenses. There was the sound of a satisfying crack as it connected, and the man yelped in pain and surprise. A bright red mark now pulsed on his cheek.
Giving him no chance to retaliate, Peggy continued her merciless attack. Soon most of his exposed skin was red with welts.
The last hit slapped him on the wrist, making him drop the knife. As he automatically went to pick it up, she kneed him in the head, and he went down in a daze.
"And that is why you will never be SSR material," she mocked back at him.
Her triumph was short-lived when she heard multiple thudding boots getting closer. In moments they would be upon her. She recognized Smith's voice when he hollered, "Well, stop her already! It's just one woman!"
Spinning around, she saw that the door to the engine room was still open. She was thankful that no one had bothered to let the engine room personnel know she was coming. But then again, they probably figured they would have stopped her by now.
So with her gaze focused on the prize, she darted down the corridor.
Finally, she reached the engine room door. The warship's mechanic must have finally received a call because he was already shutting the heavy door on her.
She knew the old watertight door would be impenetrable once it was locked shut. So, using the momentum from her mad dash, she leaped and crashed painfully into the almost closed door.
There was a piercing squeal as the door suddenly smashed into the large man. He staggered backward, and before he could center himself, Peggy leveled a series of blows that left him stunned.
As the nearing Smith and the others shouted behind her, she shoved the teetering mechanic out of the room. Just in time, she slammed shut the door on those pursuing her.
After spinning the doors wheel tight, she banged the lever shut, locking the old rusty door firmly. Though eventually, they would get through, it would hold long enough for her to do major damage to the engines.
Exhaling, Peggy did not even bother wondering how she would escape. Instead, she only allowed her dedicated mind to concentrate on the task at hand. Once completed, she would then focus on getting out alive.
Turning, she took in the grimy engine room. The air smelled like leaky metallic gears, and she crinkled her nose in disgust.
Thankfully it wouldn't take much to sabotage the old engine. It looked like the machine had been repeatedly patched up over the years, and the main engine block was already dripping oil.
Peggy wondered what sort of budget this offshoot of the CIA had that it could only afford this bucket of bolts. Well, once this was all finished, she vowed to praise Howard for kindly providing all their comforts on his magnificent yacht.
While she got to work, she heard Agent Smith's muffled voice from behind the thick door, "I don't know what you hope to accomplish, Carter. There is no way out for you. Give up now, and I will let you live. That is, unlike your comrade here," he sneered the moniker mockingly. "I say he is not looking very good right now."
A beaten Dmitri said weakly, "Don't listen to them, Peggy."
There was the sound of a loud thump and a pained cry as Dmitri was brutally bashed onto the grated metal floor.
A smug Hodge taunted, "My, you have a very clumsy friend here, Queen Victoria. You should come out before it gets worse for him."
Guilt made her take a step toward the heavy door. Fists clenched tight to her side, she pivoted and strode back to the engines. She heard more beatings and flinched each time as if she had been on the receiving end instead.
Despite Smith's promises, she knew neither she nor Dmitri would make it off the boat alive if she gave up.
As she neared her target, she snatched a large wrench off the filthy floor. More determined than ever to make their sacrifice worth it, she began to attack the engine with renewed vigor. Every strike from her now held more vehemence, as it represented her impotent frustration.
Soon the engines were disabled, the broken parts strewn throughout the dank room. The small oil leak was now streaming from various sections of the machinery. A large darkened pool underneath it continued to spread across the dirty floor.
During her 'tinkering,' Smith resorted to other means to open the door. Peggy saw the lick of flames from the settling torch arcing through the thick steel door as it cut a hole next to the latch. They would be through in moments.
She had hoped that things would have worked out differently. Her impulsive plans usually worked well, but only to a point when facing insurmountable odds.
That was the problem with being spontaneous, she mused. The unknown contingencies always tended to muck things up. There were too many people to overcome, so she would have to improvise. At times this was even more dangerous than being impulsive.
Then she spied the oil pooling onto the floor and smirked when a desperate plan came to mind.
Without much of a choice, she crouched next to it. Shutting her eyes, she lowered herself into the slippery fluid and began to roll her upper body in it. She did her best to coat just her arms, torso, and head – especially ensuring that her hair got the most of it.
So as not to hinder her balance, she kept her legs and feet as clean as possible. Peggy imagined that it would have been quite the comical sight to see her running in place for all eternity.
Suddenly they finished cutting through, and a hairy hand reached in to unlatch the door. After shoving the bar up, the wheel spun. The heavy door groaned open, and the men gaped at her oil-covered body. She grinned merrily at them through darkened teeth and waited for them to attack.
To Smith's credit, he was only shocked for a moment before he started pushing his men into the room to seize her. Of course, it helped that, like the corridors, there was not much space inside to engage. Only two at the most could fight her at a time.
Naturally, the first two tried grabbing her arms, but the slick coating had their grip easily slipping off. Peggy added to their bewilderment by kicking them into the large oil patch. Quickly they tried to regain their footing, but the lubricant coated most of their bodies. Now they slipped and slid about, but they could not escape the oily trap.
The next man had learned and instead threw a punch that she easily dodged. She answered with a hit to his solar plexus. As he folded over, she quickly raised her thigh, slamming it into his face. With a curt, "oof!" he went down.
She fought and ducked past the next group as she made her way toward freedom. Hopping over the lip of the threshold, she stopped her escape the moment she heard the familiar click of the hammer being cocked back on a revolver.
Raising her hands, she turned and saw that Smith had a gun pointed at Dmitri's head. The Russian agent could barely stand, his body sagging from all the blows that had been inflicted upon him. He looked awful and was bleeding from many places. Peggy grimaced from the pain he must be in.
This distraction afforded what Smith's remaining men needed. Before she could react, Hodge tossed an old musty canvas tarp over her oiled-covered body. Rough hands seized her, preventing her from escaping. They needn't have bothered. She wouldn't have left Dmitri alone with them now anyway.
After vigorously rubbing the dirty tarp against her, Hodge removed it with a flourish. He seemed to purposely yank out some of her hair in doing so. Peggy fought the urge to break free and punch the smug look off his face. As if anticipating her violent desires, the other men tightened their grip on her now grimy arms.
Peggy coughed as the dust settled onto her still slightly greasy shoulders. The oil seemed to attract quite a bit of filth. She wondered if she would ever get her pores utterly free of the oily substance. That was if she survived.
After a quick nod to him from Smith, Hodge lashed her hands together. Now that she was subdued, Smith's calculating gaze looked her over, "So what do we do with you?"
Hodge grinned, "I think her majesty needs a bath."
Smith smiled, "What a splendid idea, Jones." After a nod to his men, they marched Peggy outside and onto the warship's upper decking. A groggy Dmitri was dragged behind them.
Peggy was led over to the warship side, and she looked down at the sea below.
Hodge called out, "Why not get her highnesses bath ready." He nodded to the men, and one approached with a bucket full of something attracting quite a few flies.
Without preamble, bloody pieces of chum were chucked into the water. In moments, sharks appeared and began to swarm as they attacked the meat. There were only a few now, but soon the water would be teeming with them.
It looked like she would have to rest her hopes on Howard and the others to save them now. Or at least buy her enough time to work her magic in escaping.
Neither option looked good at the moment. Every now and then, she would hear the crack of a rifle going off from one of the men at the bow as they tried to hit Howard's passing speedboat. Still, her friend persevered as he continued to test the boundaries of the range of the bullets. But unfortunately, he could never get close enough to be of any help.
Peggy wondered where the local authorities were. Perhaps this area was not populated enough to deem a strong police presence. But then again, who would want to engage this rabble when heavy gunfire was involved.
As Peggy glared at him, Smith was staring at his crew. Most were hurt in some form or another, and he shook his head in disappointment. Taking in their hunched-over bodies, he saw that some held their ribs in pain while others clamped their smashed noses shut, hoping to stem off the flow of blood.
He then turned his attention back to her, and Peggy looked down her nose at him. She had oil in her hair and darkened smudges on her face, but she still held herself tall.
After appraising her, Smith had the temerity to ask, "You've certainly proven yourself to be quite resourceful, Carter. I don't suppose there is any way I could convince you to work for me?"
She sneered, defiant as always, "I would never work with someone like you. I bet you never even saw battle firsthand during the war. A consummate bureaucrat. So typical."
"Watch your mouth, Carter," Hodge cuffed the back of her head.
Outraged, she nearly pulled free when she lunged at him. The surrounding mercenaries surged closer, their anger palpable.
Smith shoved them back, and then he addressed Peggy, affronted, "It was us bureaucrats who helped keep the war effort going. We were the ones who made sure that the front lines were supplied and that there were enough troops for every campaign. And of course other, more deadly affairs that needed to be taken care of secretly."
Her arrogant leer became even more insufferable, "Hum, yes, I wonder how many death warrants you signed."
He barked out a laugh, "Don't sound so high and mighty, Carter. No one's hands here are spotless. That horrible war saw to that. I know you were with the SOE prior to the SSR, so your hands aren't so clean either."
Peggy did not reply, and her gaze became distant as she thought about his words. True, the SOE, aka the "Baker Street Irregulars," had done some rather nasty work for Churchill during the war. Honestly, that was one of the reasons why she jumped at the chance to transfer over to the SSR.
Visibly calming, Smith tried again to get her to see reason. A smooth car salesman smile flashed across his lips. "I saw how women filled in for the men who went overseas and how all of you were treated after the war. Discarded and sent back to their womanly duties. I bet you hit that barrier when you got back from the war. They treated you like a secretary when you deserved so much better."
"I made due," she countered proudly.
"I am sure." Smith shook his head, "I have to say that you are a testament to your gender, Carter. I should have just hired you from the get-go."
Haughtily she stood up straighter, "Regardless, you lost that privilege after you tried to kill me the first time."
Nodding in respect to her decision, Smith stated, "I am sorry that we could not come to an agreement, Margaret." Then, he glanced over the rail, "Frankly, I doubt you'll enjoy the alternative."
"The sharks would probably choke on her," one man sneered.
Hopeful, a mercenary with a nasty purpling and swelling eye asked, "Then how about a bullet to the head instead, sir?" Half the men cocked their weapons at the ready in anticipation.
Shaking his head, Smith dashed their hopes, "No, too suspicious. Best to let the sharks take care of her. Carter is a 'respected' agent, and I do not want any blowback on the CIA, especially with us being so close to getting all that governmental funding."
Snatching the knife from the man who preferred sharp objects to guns, Smith cut Peggy's arm deep enough to draw a steady flow of blood.
Peggy hissed in pain, flinching from the searing sting it caused. Damn, this excursion was adding to her scar collection. Gritting her teeth, she vowed, "I can't wait to return the favor."
Smirking, Smith crooned, "Not this time, Agent Carter."
Smith stepped back and motioned the group holding Dmitri forward, "Gentlemen, why don't you add some Russian caviar to the lady's bath."
Chuckling, the two men dragged the barely conscious Dmitri past the struggling Peggy. Her protests fell on death's ears, and she watched, horrified as they tossed him over the side of the warship. Instantly, he sank under, leaving a trailing line of blood behind.
Smith nodded, pleased to see a few sharks dive after the body.
"It's time to let the sharks get a free meal for once. It is the Communist way, after all." Among the laughter of his men, Smith turned to face Peggy.
She seethed, trying to pull free, "You fiend. I knew you were a coward."
Satisfied that the Russian agent was no longer a problem, Smith sneered, "Now your turn, Carter." He focused on Hodge, "Weigh down her legs. Oh, and men, if she comes up for air, shoot to graze. Besides painful, the blood will attract more sharks."
While Hodge did as he was ordered, Smith reminded the mercenaries, "And make sure that Stark's speedboat can't get close enough to rescue her."
Once a small mooring anchor had been lashed to one of her ankles, Peggy saw that the circling sharks had started to fight with one another over the food. She feared that Dmitri was a goner.
When Hodge pulled her to the ship's bow, Peggy counted a lot of fins in the water.
Smug, Gilmore raised her sliced arm and watched her blood drip into the water.
Grinning, Hodge asked, "Any last words, your majesty?"
She nodded to his face, "Yes, you should get that looked at."
"Looked at what?" He asked, confused.
"Your nose," and she head-butted him as hard as she could. Howling in pain from his busted nose, Hodge automatically let go of her so he could try to stem the blood that gushed from it.
Now free from his grasp, Peggy decided to tackle this on her terms and knocked him into the water.
When he had splashed in, most of the men charged toward Peggy. But, before they could throttle her, she jumped into the water, mooring anchor and all.
Smith was yelling to get Hodge out of the water. Already the thrashing man's very bloody nose was attracting the sharks that would have otherwise gone straight at Peggy.
Thanks to the anchor's weight, Peggy sank past the floundering CIA agent. The sharks were now very interested in the blood spouting from Hodge's broken nose.
Peggy's shark distraction only worked momentarily. As Hodge was quickly hauled out of the water, the sharks nipping at his heels no longer had any food. At least it had afforded her enough time to get to work on ropes that bound her wrists. Quickly she used her teeth to tug on the thick cord, and in moments she was free.
Now that just left the anchor weighing her down.
Hurriedly she began to untie it from her ankle but had to stop when a shark came right at her. She shoved it away just at the last minute. Thank God they were so blind that they could only rely on smell and taste! But keeping them at bay and loosening the anchor was taking up her oxygen.
And she continued to sink.
Finally, she freed her foot just in time to narrowly dodge another bite. She held tight to the mooring anchor's rope and swung it at the next shark that tried to make her a snack. Her preventative actions worked, and she quickly looked around to orientate herself.
Spying a limp Dmitri descending further, she dropped the anchor so she could quickly swim to him. Sharks surrounded the bloodied Russian, and she had to punch one in the snout to get it to back off. She then kicked another one away to give it an alternate path.
There was a momentary reprieve from the attacking sharks so that Peggy could focus on her injured friend. Pressing her fingertips to his neck, she felt for a pulse. He had one, but it was thread.
She then felt him move slightly and realized that he was still conscious. At least he had the strength to hold his breath, but that seemed to be about it.
She quickly wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him away from the sharks.
Peggy took a moment to stare up through the clear blue sea and saw the gun barrels aimed at her location. There was no way she had enough oxygen to swim them both far enough away to miss the mercenary's shots. Plus, she could not outswim a shark in its natural habitat, especially with having to tow her scarcely awake ally with her.
Already she felt herself struggling not to breathe. She then felt Dmitri's body slacken, and some air escaped his mouth as his fight to stay conscious waned further.
As the dangerous predators circled her and Dmitri, she saw they were inching closer. Almost as if they knew that their prey was trapped and dying.
Another shark brushed against them, trying to figure out where the food was. As it went to chomp down on Dmitri's arm, Peggy grabbed its fin and steered it away. Agitated, the shark's heavy tail swatted Peggy's wounded arm. More blood was added to the water.
The nearest shark tasted the blood and brushed just by her. Its next sweep would put the creature practically in her lap. She had to act now.
Peggy was about to risk surfacing and taking her chances against gunfire when her periphery caught movement bearing down on them. Something much larger than a shark was nearly on top of her.
Her attention diverted, Peggy did not see the shark that was coming for her head. It was about to chomp down on her when a large cigar shaped object rammed into the shark, knocking it away.
Peggy nearly spat out her remaining oxygen in surprise when she realized that it was the Hydra submersible from Howard's lab.
She smiled gratefully at Jarvis who was at the controls. He in turn gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign.
Obviously, he could not open the subs canopy but motioned her to look at the back of the vessel. There was a tank of air secured to the hull. Grinning at the thought that once again Howard had thought of everything, she pulled Dmitri along with her to their salvation. They had almost cut it too close this time.
Spinning the nozzle on the tank, she took a deep pull of delicious air from the scuba's regulator. She then pushed it into the slack Russian's mouth. Peggy feared that Dmitri had inhaled some water but prayed that was not the case. After making sure that she had a firm grip on him, her other hand grabbed onto the tail end of the submersible.
Knowing that time was of the essence, Jarvis sped away. In fear that his friend would be unable to hang on, he made sure not to push the vessel to its top speed. Thankfully, they left the frenzied sharks and warship full of trouble in their wake.
Howard's yacht was moored at the opposite end of the bay, and Jarvis easily guided the submersible under the main hatch at the bottom of the vessel. In moments the door slid open for them.
Once Peggy tiredly swam her and Dmitri to the portal's surface, Zdenka helped pull her wounded compatriot up out of the water.
An exhausted Peggy flopped next to them and watched worriedly as Zdenka turned Dmitri on his stomach. Ignoring her still injured arm, the Russian woman grabbed both of his and used the scissor method to literally pump the sea out of his lungs.
Peggy staggered to her knees and assisted Zdenka as best she could. Dmitri finally coughed, and more water was purged from his lungs. As they carefully flipped him over, the Russian male groaned. After nearly drowning and in pain from his wounds, he lay quietly as they started accessing his injuries.
Weakly he smiled up at Zdenka, who was overjoyed he was still alive. He cupped her cheek, and she kissed his fingers. Peggy heard the "Lyubov moya" and "lyubimaya" exchange between them.
"вы двое - милая пара [You two make a cute couple]," Peggy said with a smile.
They both looked at her in surprise, and Dmitri croaked, "You speak Russian, Peggy?"
She grinned, "And rather well, too."
Looking at their tender exchanges, Peggy wondered how long they had kept their love hidden from one another. Knowing from her own experience, it usually took a life-threatening situation to draw it out.
As the submersible bobbed in the flooded opening, Peggy heard a clang as Jarvis popped open the canopy. After hooking it up to the hoist mechanism, he toggled the small lever, and the sub was lifted out of the water. Once the yacht's interior hatch closed shut, Jarvis leaped off and joined them.
A frantic Howard rushed down the stairs but stopped when he saw that everyone was alright. Relieved, he headed to the sub and punched a few buttons on the winches apparatus. The mechanism whirled and moved the sub where it was safely secured to the wall.
When Howard and Jarvis looked at Peggy, she nodded her appreciation to her two friends, "Thank you, gentlemen, your timing was impeccable as always."
"Happy to help, Peg," Howard said as he tossed an emergency first aid kit to Jarvis, who began to treat Dmitri's wounds.
While the butler began to wrap the Russian agent's various injuries, Howard worked on Peggy's sliced arm. He cursed, trying to clean it, but some oil still coated her skin. Thankfully most of that gooey mess had washed away when she had sunk. Smirking, Peggy figured she still had enough to have sleek hair for a week.
As Howard dabbed some disinfectant on her arm, she hissed from the sting. To take her mind off the burning sensation, she nodded to the submersible, "You are a man of many talents, Mr. Jarvis."
He smiled, "Actually, it is a lot like piloting an aircraft." He spied her cut arm and stated, "That is going to need stitches."
Nodding, she then added, "How is Dmitri?"
Jarvis finished wrapping a bandage around Dmitri's head, "He will live, but both of you should be checked over in the infirmary. I need to pick up my sewing kit on the way there."
Peggy snorted. Of course, a boat this size has an infirmary.
As Jarvis helped Dmitri to his feet, Howard pulled Peggy up to stand. Zdenka patted Peggy on her non-injured arm, "Thank you for saving him."
Peggy replied, "I am sorry he got so badly hurt."
Zdenka gritted her teeth, "Yes, you should think things through better next time, comrade."
Howard smirked, "Well, that's our Peggy, Miss Impulsive of 1946. Word is she is a shoo-in for 1948." He got on the horn to the bridge, "We're back safe. Any word on the warship?"
Captain Jasper sounded smug, "Seems to be dead in the water, sir."
After exchanging a grin with his smiling friends, Howard purred, "Perfect. Then off to Malta, full speed."
"I, I sir," the Captain replied cheerfully.
All sighed, relieved when they felt the yacht lurch forward.
Howard grinned over his shoulder at Peggy. They just might win this yet.
Agent Smith and the others stared over the rail of the warship as more and more sharks arrived.
Craning his neck, Smith studied the water with a keen gaze, "Do you see a body? We should at least see body parts or more blood by now."
Still dripping wet, Hodge shook his head in dismay, "No, sir, I got nothing." His busted nose made his voice sound nasal, and Smith snorted at his man's squeaky-sounding reply.
After Hodge had painfully readjusted his broken nose, he had shoved some toilet paper up into it to stop the bleeding. Smith figured that at the rate his team was getting beaten up, they would have to restock soon.
Just then, the warship's mechanic skidded to a stop beside them.
"Well?" Smith asked the large nervous man.
Shakily, he replied through his bruised mouth, "Sorry, sir. It'll take at least two days to fix the engines."
"What!?" The mechanic shrank from the vehemence of the word. "Try harder," Smith snapped.
And the man scuttled away before Hodge could kick him.
Smith shook his head in wonder, "That woman was a menace."
Hodge frowned, "She wasn't much better at Camp Lehigh."
Smith grinned, "That's right, you knew her."
The ex-military man nodded as he rubbed his chin in memory. "Yeah, she cracked two of my teeth."
Smith almost sounded wistful when he breathed out, "What a dame." A quick glare at those still milling around had them all suddenly scurrying out of his eyesight.
With a tired sigh, Smith strode toward the bridge, with Hodge following close behind. "Once we get the engines going, we can go to Malta. Hopefully, that museum curator didn't lie about where he sent Stark and the others."
"I think he knew better than to do so." Hodge smiled as he rubbed his bruised knuckles.
Smith chuckled, "Yes, you are rather good at that."
Upon arriving at the command deck, Smith ignored the agitated Professor Spencer and focused on the warship's Captain instead. He was as grizzled as his vessel and also had a limp. Smith wondered if the man would have looked more apropos using a peg leg instead of the old prosthetic one that never quite fit right. "Well, Captain, it seems that we are in for a wait—"
"Smith," one of the crew interrupted, and the lead CIA Agent squinted at the man for the rudeness. "Sorry, sir," the crewman gulped loudly before he continued, "Um, Stark's yacht has been spotted leaving the bay at top speed toward the west."
Smith glowered, "You'd have thought he'd be in mourning after the loss of his friend and had given up by now. But, not —" He stopped thinking aloud, "Wait, the last time we had thought that… you don't think she's still alive, do you?"
Hodge paled at the thought.
Smith asked the Captain quickly, "Torpedoes, can we fire them?"
Nodding, the man said, "Yes, sir."
Smith practically yelled, "Good, launch some at that boat!"
The Captain's second chirped in worriedly, "But sir, the authorities—"
"We are in international waters, so we'll be fine," Smith growled his answer and was pleased when the man slunk away to do as he was ordered. "Hurry before they are out of our weapons range!"
In moments, the console's light indicated that the armed projectiles had been loaded, "Ready, sir."
Sneering, Smith yelled determinedly, "Fire!"
