Every named, elite operative had taken a turn — and not a single one could lift the hammer.
Nick Fury exhaled quietly in relief. The last thing he needed was a force slipping beyond his control. This outcome suited him just fine.
The original plan had been simple: demolish the base, take the prisoners back to headquarters, and collect their due praise. Now this hammer had thrown a wrench in everything. Taking it with them was out of the question — that much was certain. Leaving it in place meant Fury would never sleep soundly again.
He called his inner circle together to hash out next steps. After this operation, Daisy had officially earned her seat at that table.
"Establish a secondary base in Antarctica and lock this location down tight." Former Director Pierce spoke first, his tone carrying the weight of righteous authority — though Daisy suspected his real motive was to hold this card as leverage in future negotiations with HYDRA's top brass.
As the newest voice in the room, directly contradicting a former director would have been a poor move. She chose to listen.
Sure enough, the proposal didn't win unanimous support. Phil Coulson — Fury's most trusted lieutenant — offered a different solution.
Tear down the Antarctic base. Then flood the site with molten metal, burying both the hammer and the ground beneath it. Anyone who wanted the hammer after that would need heavy excavation equipment and a small army of laborers just to get eyes on it.
The plan drew support from a portion of the agents — the ones Daisy had identified as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s core loyalists.
HYDRA's people immediately raised concerns: wouldn't pouring molten metal over the hammer risk some kind of adverse reaction? Explosions? Magnetic field disruption? The reasoning felt like a stretch, but it wasn't entirely without merit.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s side pushed back, arguing that maintaining a sub-base down here would be a colossal drain of resources. Neither faction was willing to budge.
In the end, Fury made the call: both the base and the hammer stay.
The moment he asked who would command the garrison, the room went dead silent.
Pierce wanted to control the base — that didn't mean he had any interest in actually living in Antarctica. Being stationed here was nothing short of exile.
The assembled agents unleashed an impressive display of creative excuse-making. One claimed advancing age and failing health. Another swore an old injury had never quite healed. Even Daisy manufactured a convincing pallor and muttered something about a rough time of the month.
In the end, Fury had no choice. He handed the thankless assignment to the most reliably honest man in the room: Phil Coulson.
With the garrison duty settled, the main force loaded up their prisoners and headed home, practically singing as they went.
Nearly fifteen hundred Nazis had been killed — a testament to the operatives' marksmanship, since few had been wounded rather than eliminated outright. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own casualties totaled fewer than twenty. By any measure, it was a decisive victory.
The remaining prisoners — over a thousand in total — were a mixed lot. A small number were scientists from the original era. The bulk were members of the Thule Society, zealots of Aryan purity theory who had served as the ideological forerunner to the German Workers' Party. Many had once counted themselves among Hitler's closest associates.
Any single one of these men could ignite a firestorm. Bringing back several hundred at once had Fury so elated he practically forgot his own name.
Over the following days, S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters erupted into barely controlled chaos. Heads of state, legislators, and generals cycled through in a steady parade to lay eyes on these "living pieces of history."
Even Peggy Carter — long retired to quiet life in England, removed from world affairs — made the trip to Washington with Sharon at her side.
When she spoke of those years, the old woman's expression turned distant. Daisy guessed she was thinking about Captain America.
But what was gone was gone. Peggy had once held S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reins for a time; Daisy suspected she had entertained the idea of reclaiming her youth. In the end, she had walked away from it.
Steve Rogers might still be Steve Rogers. But would she still be herself?
Seventy-odd years had passed. The woman she once was no longer existed. What she mourned wasn't really Steve — it was her own youth, the life she had lived in that era.
In the events of House of M, when Scarlet Witch rewrote reality, Steve Rogers had never been frozen. He survived the war, married Peggy — and for a while, it seemed perfect. But the marriage hadn't lasted. Their convictions had pulled them in opposite directions.
Steve Rogers made an excellent symbol, a worthy legend to be celebrated from a distance. But when he was standing right in front of you — in your life, every day — he became a disaster for anyone close to him. His principles were ironclad. His stubbornness was legendary.
Peggy was no shrinking violet either. As Sharon had once quoted at a funeral, in her aunt's own words: "Give ground when you can. When you can't — hold the line, absolutely."
Two people that strong-willed, striking sparks off each other — better to let the memory stay in 1945, keep the story frozen at the beginning. That was kinder to everyone.
Daisy sat nearby, listening as Peggy told Sharon stories from the old days. No wonder Sharon's idea of romance had been shaped from childhood. In her heart, Steve Rogers had been elevated to something almost mythological. If she never crossed paths with him in person, maybe she could have found a normal, grounded love — but fate had a sense of humor.
Should I try to steer my pseudo-best-friend away from that particular disaster? Daisy considered it, then let it go. Maybe Sharon would actually want it. Daisy might think that kind of devotion was unhealthy — but for all she knew, Sharon would take one look at Daisy's situation with Hill and think the same thing.
The political tremors from the Nazi capture began rippling through the upper echelons of power. Executing them outright would be inhumane, but interrogations were unavoidable.
Unfortunately, the Nazis had been cut off from the world so long they had nothing truly explosive to share. They were scientists and sociologists at their core, with no ties to HYDRA — so they had nothing to offer on that front. The reason Yashida had been supplying them all these years turned out to be simple wartime loyalty.
Daisy had a hard time believing it — Yashida had shown zero compunction about stabbing Wolverine in the back — but every interrogation specialist reached the same conclusion.
She had to accept it.
With the Adamantium alloy now in hand, Daisy threw herself into building her new equipment.
The metal was in a class of its own — its hardness and density eclipsed every terrestrial alloy by a wide margin, making it the ideal material for weapons and armor.
True Adamantium remained stable at temperatures exceeding 900,000°F (500,000°C) — but that was the original compound. The diluted secondary-grade alloys that had proliferated in the modern era could be smelted with conventional methods.
The trade-off was reduced strength.
Daisy spent a month in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s logistics workshop. Yashida's alloy blades turned out to be the finest-grade material in the haul — she had no idea how he had developed them, but their melting point was manageable while their density and hardness approached true Adamantium's standards. With considerable effort, she forged a longsword and a shield.
Factoring in portability, she also produced two short staves and a pair of daggers.
The remaining secondary-grade Adamantium alloy became a suit of soft armor.
As for the sword — bladed weapons were the highest-damage option. She spent a week training with Colleen Wing, though describing her progress as impressive would be generous. Competent beginner was closer to the truth.
The blade — grip and guard included — measured 31 inches (80 cm) long. Given the density of Adamantium alloy, it weighed over 33 lbs (15 kg). The delicate, slender profiles of Eastern swordcraft were simply impossible to achieve with this material. The result was something closer to a Western classical heavy sword: broad, solid, and built for impact.