FAN FICTION SET IN THE
WW-II ENGLAND OF FOYLE'S WAR
After a quick side trip to the nearest
water closet, Peggy and Sam strolled down the perfectly ordinary
halls of what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary
building. Sam had no idea as to where she might be,
geographically. They might have been any place in England,
or Great Britain, for that matter. She did note that all
the panes of all the windows they passed had received a light
coat of white paint, rendering them translucent, and were
crisscrossed with masking tape as a precaution against
bombing. The faint clattering of typewriters could be
heard, and most of the doors they passed bore signs denoting
whatever went on in the room or rooms beyond. They passed
one door labeled "LOGISTICAL OPERATIONS ANALYSIS." Across
the hall was a door labeled "OPERATIONAL LOGISTICS ANALYSIS,"
and next in line was "ANALYTICAL LOGISTICS ANALYSIS." Sam
surmised they were in a Military Intelligence facility (or
possibly an asylum for bureaucratic lunatics).
They passed and were passed by junior officers and clerks
scurrying to and fro. All were in Army, RAF, and RN
uniforms, with a smattering from the services of Allied
countries, including more than a few Yanks. Here and there
Military Police stood guard at unlabeled doors. Many of
the bustling soldiers, airmen, and sailors carried folders,
loose papers, or cardboard boxes sealed with red tape. Sam
was at once impressed, intimidated, and more than a little
curious. Obviously, she was in the proverbial thick of
They came to a door labeled "CANTEEN," Peggy opened the door,
and they entered. The space beyond was large, with several
sets of tables and chairs. Along the far wall was a
counter-style serving window through which they beheld a small
kitchen and a middle aged woman in a white smock who at the
moment appeared to be brewing tea. About a quarter of the
tables were occupied by officers and enlisted ranks, male and
female. Sam was mildly surprised it wasn't one or the
other, meaning either officers or enlisted.
Apparently, Military Intelligence facilities were more
egalitarian than was typical of Sam's experience.
Oh-by-the-way, at a table by himself, off in one corner and
sipping tea, sat a mature, rather handsome (in Sam's opinion),
gentleman in a civilian suit, and he was...
"Sir!" Sam bleated. Suddenly her heart was hammering, her
breath coming in gasps, her face flushed, and she found herself
to be very nervous. The gentleman in question was
none other than DCS Christopher Foyle! Peggy grinned, took
hold of her arm, and led Sam towards what she was sure was her
Meanwhile, a friendly smile on his handsome (in Sam's opinion)
face, Foyle stood and made a welcoming gesture, indicating the
table. "Sam, Agent Carter."
"Please, call me Peggy," Peggy said as she shook Foyle's hand,
then pulled out a chair and sat.
"Sir!" Sam bleated, again. Her cheeks felt like they were
"Samantha, sit," Peggy chuckled.
Sam dragged back a chair and sat, as suggested.
"Are you well, Sam?" Foyle asked with fatherly concern.
Before Sam could answer, the woman in the white frock from the
kitchen appeared, bearing a tray with two mugs of steaming hot
tea and a small pitcher of milk (probably of the condensed
variety). "There's a sandwich on the way, just for you,"
she said to Sam with a warm smile. "They tell me you're
"I-I am," Sam stammered, still blushing, ignoring her rumbling
stomach. She managed a weak smile. "You're most
"So they tell me," the woman chuckled, then returned to the
Sam turned back to her table companions. Peggy was smiling
a rather infuriating smile, clearly enjoying Sam's
discomfiture. Foyle was waiting patiently for Sam's
"Tickety-boo, Sir," Sam belatedly responded. "I'm
tickety-boo... and hungry."
As if on cue, the woman reappeared, this time with a plate, and
on the plate was a sandwich, but not just any sandwich. It
was thick-sliced, white bread with lettuce, sliced tomato, and
several slices of roast beef!
"Keep your ration book, love," the woman said as she set the
plate and a cloth napkin before Sam. "It's on His
"Oh, thank you!" Sam gushed. It was a near thing,
but she managed to offer her thanks before wolfing her first
bite of the sandwich. It was beef, real beef, and
it was heavenly! Sam was halfway through the first
half of the sandwich before she remembered her manners.
Her blush returned, she gulped a little tea, then
swallowed. "Sorry," she said in a small voice.
"Quite all right, Sam," Foyle said with a smile.
Peggy watched as Sam resumed eating. She was also smiling
(in a manner Sam would have found most annoying if, in the last
few hours or days, she hadn't come to love Peggy like the big
sister she'd never had).
"She's been released?" Foyle asked Peggy as Sam ate.
"Certified fit for duty," Peggy confirmed with a nod.
"I've been informed you have some degree of responsibility for
our rescue, DCS Foyle."
Sam's eyes widened in interest as she continued eating.
Foyle shrugged. "Hardly. I made a few inquiries,
"You stuck your neck out and demanded to know why your superiors
ordered Samantha to serve as my driver, by name," Peggy
Foyle's smiled and gave a self-depreciating shrug. "I have
something of a reputation for asking impertinent questions."
"Impertinent and insightful," Peggy responded. "Your
inquiry led to the discovery of a Hydra mole in Whitehall and
lit a fire under the entire operation. My colleagues were
already moving to the rescue before we actually required
Foyle shrugged, again. "I'm just glad to have my driver
back," he said, smiling at Sam.
Mesmerized, Sam continued watching the exchange as she popped
the last bite of the sandwich into her mouth and chewed.
"I want you to know we are very grateful," Peggy said
Still chewing, Sam nodded earnestly, then swallowed, picked up
her mug, and gulped more tea.
"Don't worry about the most hidebound of your superiors," Peggy
said. "Know that you have friends at the highest levels of
Combined Operations and the SSR... thanks to your asking
'impertinent questions' and worrying about your driver."
Sam blushed, again. And if it wasn't her imagination, so
did DCS Foyle.
Peggy stood, Foyle did as well, and Sam quickly followed.
Peggy shook Foyle's hand. "I'm afraid I have urgent
business elsewhere," she said, nodding towards Sam. "Take
care of her," she said with a smile.
"Of course," Foyle nodded.
Still blushing, Sam extended her hand to Peggy.
"No you don't," Peggy chuckled as she pulled Sam into a warm
embrace. "You've also got friends in high places,
and although personally I'm somewhat junior, that includes
"Thank you," Sam whispered. "Me too, and... thanks."
She watched as Peggy turned and left the canteen. (Several
of the men sitting at other tables and sipping tea also
"Come, Sam," Doyle said as he shrugged into his coat.
"Back to Hastings."
"Yes, sir," Sam sighed, then emptied her tea mug.
Hat and cap in hand Foyle and Sam exited the canteen and then
the building, passing a guard station at the front door and more
guards behind sandbag barricades just beyond. The Wolseley
was waiting on the edge of a car park with several other
civilian cars, as well as some jeeps, military staff cars, small
lorries, and a Staghound armored car.
The keys were in the ignition. "I need to check the boot,
sir," Sam explained, then did so, confirming that her new coat
and valise had been delivered, but before she could open the
driver's door and climb behind the wheel, Foyle asked a question
that stopped her cold.
"When were you planning on telling me the truth about what
happened during our trip to the conference in London, Sam?" he
An ice cold lump formed in Sam's stomach. He knows
about Wonder Woman, that horrid Chinese Spider Lady, and
everything that happen in London?? "You know about
"Agent Carter gave me a full briefing on a dossier they
recovered at the farm. It documented, among other things,
your 'London Operation'," Foyle explained. "Apparently it
was quite detailed. Your abduction, Wonder Woman, the
Chinese tong... all of it. When, Sam?
Sam swallowed before answering. She felt like a little
girl being dressed down by a loving but disappointed father
after some childish mischief, exactly like a little girl
being dressed down by a loving but disappointed father after
some childish mischief. "Uh, never, sir," she admitted
"I see," Foyle answered. "And why is that, Sam? Have
I been that terrible a boss?"
"Oh, sir! No sir!" Sam blurted, "exactly the
opposite! It's just... I promised Wonder Woman I'd keep
everything quiet...and I was afraid. I still am."
"Yes, sir," Sam said, miserably. "I'm afraid you won't let
me drive for you, sir, that you'll send me away, and... I just
couldn't take that, sir. I love driving for you, doing
something that's really worth doing and..." Her lips were
trembling, her eyes welling, and Sam was very much afraid she
was going to cry.
"Sam, please control yourself," Foyle said in a firm but not
"Yes, sir," Sam sniffed, then wiped her eyes.
"I have no intention of sending you away, Sam," Foyle continued,
"but we're going to have to be more careful about the situations
I send you into from now on. You seem to have a talent for
attracting, shall we say, unusual trouble."
Sam managed a weak smile. "It only happens when you have
me drive for someone else, sir."
"Or send you on holiday in London," Foyle said dryly.
Sam wiped her eyes, again, and shrugged. "I prefer visits
home, anyway... sir."
Foyle smiled and climbed into the passenger's seat and Sam
climbed behind the wheel. "Back to Hastings, Sam," he
"Yes, sir," Sam answered as she turned the key, then
paused. "Uh, exactly where are we, sir?"
"I'll give you directions as we go," Foyle said.
Sam's smile widened, she put the Wolseley in gear, and they
pulled away. "Jolly good, sir."
| KEEP CALM AND RESCUE SAM—5
BETWEEN FULKING & EDBURTON, WEST SUSSEX
Mary was feeding the pigs when she heard the sound of
motors. She made her way to the main yard and watched as
an expensive sedan and a lorry towing a large trailer pulled
up. Something large was lashed down on the trailer under a
The vehicles rolled to a stop as Mary's mother emerged from the
house, wiping her hands with her apron. Her father was
striding purposefully from a nearby field.
The doors of the car opened and a driver in chauffeur's livery
and Howard Stark emerged. At the same time a pair of men
in working garb emerged from the lorry's cab, strolled back to
the trailer, and began releasing the ropes securing its bulky,
Dressed in one of his stylish, expensive suits and with a fedora
atop his head at a jaunty angle, Howard strode forward, took
Mary's hand, and planted a gentile kiss. "Mary," he said
with a mustachioed smile.
"Mr. Stark," Mary answered (and blushed).
"Mary?" her mother asked as she arrived at her daughter's side
Howard's smile widened and he took Mary's mother's hand.
"And you would be Mary's sister," he said as he kissed her hand.
Mary smiled and rolled her eyes as her mother blushed and
"She's me mum," Mary explained.
"It can't be!" Howard responded in mock surprise.
Meanwhile, Mary's dad had finally arrived. "Enough of
that, you," he barked, then nodded at the lorry and
trailer. "What's all this, then?"
"Howard Stark," Howard said, pumping Mary's dad's hand.
"The one what helped my Mary," Mary's dad responded, managing
what may have been a smile. "Thom Tuppen."
The workers had finished removing the ropes and were pulling
back the tarp... revealing a brand new, bright green and canary
yellow farm tractor with "JOHN DEERE" painted on the side.
"I put in fer one of them with the Board," Thom said, frowning
at the tractor, "and was turned down."
"I pulled a few strings," Howard said, then shifted his smile to
Mary, "in gratitude for your daughter's gallant assistance to
the war effort."
"She ain't no good to me unless she runs on water," Thom huffed,
still frowning at the tractor.
The chauffeur handed Howard a large portfolio/envelope tied with
string, which Howard handed to Thom. "The paperwork,
including ration allotments for petrol and lubricating
oil. A truck with the attachments should be right behind
"Truck?" Thom asked, gazing at the tractor with a skeptical eye.
"Lorry, Dad," Mary whispered.
"Oh," Thom huffed. "What... 'attachments'?"
"Cultivator, spreader, everything my people tell me you'll need
to put the tractor to use," Howard explained.
Thom continued gazing at the tractor with a skeptical eye.
"Me neighbors'll give me all manner of grief for lording it over
them with a fancy new American tractor," he muttered.
Howard smiled. "The petrol ration is by the acreage under
cultivation, regardless of the owner. Coordinate its use
with your neighbors and I'm sure they'll sing a different tune."
"Thom Tuppen," Mary's mother scolded her husband, "stop looking
for an excuse to turn down such a kind gift and thank the nice
Mary managed not to laugh, but it was a near thing.
Thom turned to Howard, smiling somewhat sheepishly, and shook
his hand, again. "Don't mean to be rude. Thank you."
"You're most welcome," Howard replied with a smile of his own.
"Come into the kitchen for a cuppa," Mary's mom offered (meaning
ordered), then took Howard by the arm and led him towards the
Thom put an arm over his daughter's shoulders and they
followed. He leaned close and whispered in her ear.
"Keep away from that one," he warned. "He has the look of
a Reynard about 'im."
"Oh, Dad!" Mary complained (and blushed).
|KEEP CALM AND RESCUE SAM—5
A MILITARY INTELLIGENCE
SOMEWHERE IN SOUTHERN ENGLAND
A rolled canvas bundle tucked under her left arm,
Peggy strolled down the hallway. She passed clerks
scurrying about carrying message flimsies, rolled charts, or
file folders. Most were female, Peggy's age or younger,
and dressed in various Allied uniforms. She approached an
MP guarding a door, returned his smile as he opened the door,
and entered the small laboratory beyond.
Dr. Saskia Vogel, wearing a starched white lab coat over a
simple dress, looked up from a work table occupied by a lattice
of steel rods and clamps supporting a complex array of retorts,
glass tubes, distillation coils, flasks, and test-tubes.
"Agent Carter," the redhead said with a tired smile, "I'm afraid
I am still haffing very limited success. I cannot
synthesize zhe required antidote vith zhis equipment, und as I
told you earlier..."
Peggy sighed. "You're not at all sure you can
synthesize a suitable antidote in less than six months, even in
a fully equipped lab. And by then it won't be
needed." She smiled. "You look terrible, Saskia."
Vogel managed a weak smile in return. "I am not sleeping
vell. Zhe drugs von Spitze gave me are still leaving my
body. I vill be better soon." Her smile turned
slightly coy. "Und thank you for zhe kind remark."
"My pleasure," Peggy chuckled, then dropped the canvas bundle on
an empty side table.
"Zhat is zhe Zwangsjacke?" Vogel asked, nodding at the
Peggy lifted the bundle, let it fall open, and was holding a
straitjacket for Vogel's inspection. It was unbleached
canvas with tan leather straps and steel buckles. "This is
a high security model, with a collar, upper-arm, forearm, and
thigh straps, as you suggested." Peggy turned the
jacket. "I don't think Harry Houdini, himself, could have
escaped from this thing. We had to send to Bedlam for one
in her size.
"It is important that zhe jacket be tight und inescapable,"
Vogel said. "Vhen she has an attack, she vill be like one
of zhe berserkers of old."
"And you're sure she will have attacks?" Peggy
asked. "So far she hasn't."
"I am sure of nothing," Vogel responded. "Every individual
is different. I know she appears to be somewhat calm at
zhe moment, but she could erupt in a self-destructive frenzy at
"Well..." Peggy placed the jacket back on the table.
"This thing will be ready when it's needed. Come.
Let's check in on the prisoner."
"You haff taken all zhe other precautions I suggested?" Vogel
asked as Peggy led her from the lab.
"We have," Peggy confirmed as they made their way down the hall
to a downward leading staircase.
They descended to the basement... then on to a sub-basement.
Peggy paused to sign the log book at a guard station, a guard
unlocked and opened a gate of iron bars, then they continued
down a hallway lined with steel doors, each with a covered
viewing port. By every appearance they had entered a
A guard unlocked a door and they entered a cell with a
steel-framed bed, and on that bed lay Baroness Frieda von
Spitze. She was naked, on her back with her arms at her
sides and her feet a few inches apart. Her wrists and
ankles were strapped down in padded medical cuffs and her mouth
and lower face shrouded under a leather muzzle.
"We cut her hair short, as you suggested," Peggy. It was
true. The Baroness' magnificent golden curls were gone,
and in there place was a boyish blond crop.
A sympathetic (meaning sinister) smile curled Vogel's
lips. "She vill be more comfortable vithout all zhat
tangle of hair in her face."
Her skin glistening with sweat, the Baroness moaned and tugged
on her bonds, her desperate, blue-eyed gaze darting from Peggy
to Dr. Vogel and back. "Mrrrrf!"
"There's a rubber bite-protector under the muzzle," Peggy
explained, "and the matrons alternate her sleeping
positions. Arms at her sides, as now, or in a full
spread-eagle. One day they place her on her back, the next
on her stomach. And since a top sheet and blanket would
irritate her skin, they keep the heat turned up." It was
true. The air in the cell was somewhat stifling.
"Another of your suggestions, I believe."
Vogel nodded. "Zhat is vhy she is sweating like a peasant
toiling in zhe fields," she purred. "How are zhe
interrogations progressing, if I am allowed to ask?"
Peggy's smile widened. "We're learning a great deal.
She actually likes getting out of that bed and being strapped to
a chair. I suppose it's a welcome change."
The Baroness glared at Peggy and tugged on her wrist cuffs,
Vogel was gazing at the Baroness' bare breasts. They were
beaded with sweat and the nipples flushed, erect, and
hypersensitive, a side-effect of the drugs slowly being purged
from her system. "Vhat is zhe rest uff her routine?
Obviously, you cannot leave her in bed day after day."
Peggy smiled. "There's a treadmill down the hall for
"Und she participates villingly?" Vogel inquired.
Peggy shrugged. "A matron provides encouragement. I
understand she started with a cane, but found a feather was all
that was required to make her run. von Spitze's skin is
just as hypersensitive to stimulation as you said it would be."
"Und zhe daily ice baths?" Vogel asked, "as I suggested?"
Peggy shrugged, again. "I don't know if they help her feel
any better, but they keep her clean. Frankly, I don't
care, either way. If half of what I've read in her file
and the interrogation transcripts is true, I'd just as soon they
hang her and be done with it."
"I haff vitnessed her cruelty first hand," Vogel muttered.
"I haff suffered her cruelty. I am a scientist,
not a physician. I am not bound by zhe Hippocratic Oath,
but I haff a soul. I am not sure zhe same can be said of
Baroness von Spitze."
Peggy smiled at Vogel. "That said, I wouldn't think less
of you if you were feeling some measure of Schadenfreude
at the Baroness' expense."
Vogel gazed at the Baroness for several seconds without
comment. The Baroness gazed back.
"She should be restrained at all times," Vogel said finally,
"night und day, so she doesn't hurt herself. Und that
includes either zhe muzzle or a tongue-suppressing..." She
turned to Peggy. "Zaumzeug?"
Peggy smiled. "Bridle. For how long? And how
long for the rest of the routine—the exercise, ice baths, and
Vogel turned back and locked eyes with the Baroness,
again. "At zhe very least, six months," she finally said,
"but I suggest a full year, just to be safe. It will take
zhat long for zhe residual drugs in her fatty tissues to
metabolize und her Neurochemie to stabilize."
The Baroness shivered and tugged on her bonds, again.
"Tea?" Peggy inquired.
"Zhat vould be nice," Vogel responded. "You are most
"MMMMF!" the Baroness screamed through the rubber block filling
her mouth and the muzzle cupping her chin and strapped across
her lips as Peggy and Vogel turned and left the cell.
The door slammed, the key turned in the lock, and the Baroness
|KEEP CALM AND