There was another Agent of SHIELD aboard the helicopter along with Agent Russell and the jittery one that looked like he was going to toss his cookies. If they weren't headed into a such hairy situation, Carol might delight them all with a tale about how she got her nicked name, that involved some cheeseburgers and a G-force simulator. But as it were, they were headed into a literal war zone.
Despite the impossible odds, Carol was the epitome of calm. Aviators shielded her eyes from exchanging glances with the rest of them, while a toothpick dangled dangerously from her lips. She wasn't dressed like the other SHIELD agents. She refused to wear that ridiculous uniform. If she was going to where anything it was going to be a sturdy pair of BDUs, her dress blues, or how she was dressed now, denim trousers and her bomber jacket, dog tags jingling around her neck. She wasn't Special Agent Carol Danvers of SHIELD - she was Major Danvers, USAF.
Like Jack, Carol occupied herself by unsheathing her hunting knife and picking her nails with it. "What we're suppose to do, is contain the chaos."
She re-sheathed the knife just before disembarking following the lot onto the roof. Carol made her way to the front of the pack, placing her hand on David's shoulder. "I better take point," she suggested. Let the bullet-proof person go first.