#fighting hydra

A moment later, the men heard Phillips’ raspy, permanently-exasperated voice say, “Not now, Ms. Lewis.”

“Sorry, sir, but I was told this couldn’t wait.”

The Commandos huddled closer to the tent wall, careful not to touch it and give themselves away.

Rogers’ voice broke in, “Is that the intel on Hydra’s munitions supply chain?” He sounded, to the Howlies’ experienced ears, both eager for the lead, and the distraction.

“Uh, no. Sorry, Cap. I mean- Captain. That’s not in my wheelhouse.” Barnes and Dugan exchanged glances; what the hell did Hydra intel have to do with boats?

“What am I looking at?” Colonel Phillips prompted.

“Well, sir, those are the aerial photographs we took from Stark’s plane.”

“You mean the plane that nearly got shot down last week, despite Stark swearing up and down that his plane would be undetectable to the naked eye? The plane that had to set down two miles away from the landing strip, and I had to commandeer a tractor to tow it back to base? The plane that Stark promised would be up and operational within two days, and it has been a whole damn week?”

“Yes, sir, that plane.”

Morita covered his snicker, but only just. Lewis had perfected that innocent, too-dumb-to-live tone that all military personnel tried to emulate.

“These photographs appear to be of some sort of town, Lewis.”

“Yes, sir. They show the town of Svitz. It was overrun by Hydra five weeks ago, and razed to the ground.” The men tensed. An entire town destroyed by Hydra? It wasn’t the first, but they hadn’t heard anything about Svitz, and they’d made it their business to know everything Hydra was doing.

“And these photos are from last week?”

“Yes, sir,” Ms. Lewis said. Her voice hedged into the careful neutrality of SSR agents, “The town appears to be back.”

“Back?” Rogers’ incredulity was plain as the mustache on Dugan’s face. “From where?”

“Yes, back, Captain. We don’t know how- or from where, as you put it. Agent Carter is anxious to get a team out there and see if we can’t figure it out.”

“And I imagine,” the Colonel drawled, “Agent Carter wants to use the commando unit to babysit the boffins?”

“The boffins, sir?”

“The eggheads.”

“Oh. The science division. Yes, sir. As well as Agent Carter and myself.”

Steve’s voice choked out, “You?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers, me,” Ms. Lewis’ voice was chilly. “See, this is my wheelhouse.”

She had roundly dismissed Rogers in two seconds flat. Barnes was impressed; she must have learned that skill from Carter.

She continued as though she’d never been interrupted, “Sir, if this anomaly is what I think it is, we only have a limited time to reach Svitz before it reverts. I’ve brought the documentation from Agent Carter. It’s all in order.”

Colonel Phillips’ tone couldn’t get much drier, “I’ll bet it is.”

Barnes could hear papers being shuffled, and the distinctive scratch of Phillips’ pen on army paper.

“Alright, Lewis,” the Colonel said, all business. “You and the commandos under Captain Rogers will rendezvous with Agent Carter and your science squad, and investigate Svitz. Captain, you’ve got one hour to deploy. I want to know what the hell is going on with that town.”

“Yes, sir,” Rogers barked. A moment later, his boots retreated.

“Y'know, Colonel,” Ms. Lewis said, her voice projecting clear to the men on the other side of the canvas, “if I were going to be deploying in less than an hour, I’d get off my patootie and jump into some dry clothes while I had the chance.”

She was about as subtle as a brick to the face, and the Howling Commandos didn’t need to be told twice.

As they began to trail towards their bunks, and the all-too brief pleasure of getting into fresh, dry clothes, Barnes’ ears caught one last long-suffering line from the good ol’ Colonel:

“Get the hell out of my office, Lewis.”

The term “in (my) wheelhouse” to mean stuff you’re good at wasn’t used until the 50s. http://www.chronicle.com/blogs/linguafranca/2013/09/09/in-ones-wheelhouse-from-boats-to-baseball-to/