CODENAME: ATHENA (2025 Edition) by Michel Poulin - HTML preview

CHAPTER 32 – CAPTURED

09:41 (GMT)

Monday, June 23, 1941 ‘B’

RAF Northolt, England

The Lockheed A-29 HUDSON twin-engine aircraft was barely off the ground

when Nancy took her laptop computer out of its carrying case and started working on it.

The flight from RAF Northolt to the naval base of Scapa Flow was going to take at least

three hours and she wanted to be fully ready on arrival to discuss with the senior naval

commanders there the future naval use of helicopters. She was the only passenger

aboard the small Coastal Command reconnaissance aircraft, with three crewmen to

keep her company during the flight. Airman Jack Wallace, the dorsal gunner, came to

her with a thermos bottle in one hand.

“Coffee, Maam?”

“Oh yes! You’re a darling.”

She gratefully took a steaming cup from the smiling young man.

“There is already cream and sugar in it, maam.” added Wallace, obviously

pleased to take care of such a famous (and pretty) passenger. Nancy temporarily put

away her laptop computer, worried that she could spill coffee on it while drinking. The

HUDSON was not renowned for its bump-free ride, however good it was in its numerous

roles. The coffee did help clear a bit her tired mind. Since the success of its first combat

mission, the Avro VULTURE helicopter had become very popular with the higher staffs,

with many useless concepts about its eventual use being pushed around constantly by

overenthusiastic officers who understood nothing about helicopters. Nancy had her

hands full with bringing some common sense to the whole business.

Halfway through the flight she had to store away her computer, the bumpy ride

making any work on it nearly impossible. Looking through her window, Nancy noticed

that they were not flying over land anymore. The pilot, Flight Lieutenant Biddle, came to

see her shortly afterwards, an apologetic smile on his face.

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“Brigadier Crawford, I’m afraid that a bad storm front will delay a bit our arrival.

We are going to go around it but it could be a rough ride. You should keep your seatbelt

on until further notice.”

“We are going to pass to the East of that storm, right?”

“Correct, maam! It should add half an hour to our flight, no more.”

“Thank you for the info, Mister Biddle: I’ll keep quietly to my seat.”

An hour later the situation worsened noticeably, with the aircraft jumping up and

down in the midst of dense black clouds. Nancy was now starting to be seriously

concerned. A blinding flash of light accompanied by a loud detonation suddenly made

her cringe. The pilot’s yell from the cockpit didn’t do anything to reassure her.

“WE HAVE BEEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING! ALL OUR INSTRUMENTS ARE

DEAD! I WILL TRY TO FIND A PLACE TO LAND. HANG ON, MAAM!”

The next fifteen minutes were terrifying, with the plane thrown around by the storm like a

simple toy, surrounded by frequent lightning bolts. Flying Officer Tom Carpenter, the

copilot, came to her with a parachute in his hands and concern on his face.

“Brigadier, I’m afraid that we are totally lost now. We can’t even judge our

altitude correctly. You better put this on.”

“What about the three of you?”

“We have our own parachutes, maam. Mister Biddle will go down now to try to

find a hole in the cloud cover. Please hurry!”

Swearing quietly about their bad luck, Nancy quickly put on her parachute: at least it was

one of the new models which could be steered. Carpenter also gave her an inflatable

vest and helped her strap it on. Looking at her computer carrying case, she understood

that she would not survive a jump into the stormy sea if she tried to hang on to it. Its

loss would be incalculable for her but she had no choice. Her heart heavy, she buckled

herself in her seat, hoping that they could find some piece of land. By now, they were

flying barely a few hundred feet above a sea covered with furious waves. Carpenter

came out of the cockpit again and took a large rubber bundle out of a storage locker,

then walked to the passenger side door. He signaled Nancy to come near him and then

jettisoned the door. He had to yell above the owl of rushing winds.

“We are nearly out of fuel, maam. I will throw out this rubber boat, then Mister

Biddle will turn around to overfly it. You will jump at that time.”

“I am not going to abandon you. If I jump, we all jump, right?”

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“That’s the idea, maam. Now, be ready for my signal.”

Pulling the inflation chord as he threw out the rubber raft, Carpenter watched it fall in the

sea, then used signals relayed by Airman Wallace to direct Biddle’s turn back towards

the yellow raft. He patted Nancy’s shoulder as they flew over it.

“GO!”

Keeping her eyes on the yellow spot dancing on top of the waves, Nancy jumped out

and waited a little before opening her parachute, then let her laptop computer drop and

fall into the sea. The winds were fierce and it took all her experience to be able to direct

her glide and splash in the water fifty feet from the raft. The contact with the icy water

was a shock to her. Quickly undoing her parachute harness, she then swam frantically

towards the raft, finally pulling herself in it, both exhausted and freezing. Scanning the

horizon and the sea around her, Nancy felt her heart sink: nobody else was in sight.

Praying that the aircrew of the Hudson would make it somehow, she inventoried the

content of the rubber raft’s storage pouch: it was limited to a flare pistol with a few spare

cartridges, a water canteen and two chocolate bars. Loading the flare pistol, she pointed

it skyward and fired, sending a red flare high above her in order to guide the airmen

towards the raft, if they were still alive. She fired another flare five minutes later, then

reloaded the pistol and waited, shivering. Tossed around and sprayed constantly by the

still stormy sea, Nancy waited and hoped for hours, firing periodically signal flares,

before going to sleep both from fatigue and from the onset of hypothermia. She was in a

near coma when the sound of approaching diesel engines became audible. Barely

managing to move her right arm, she pointed her flare pistol skywards and fired a flare,

then passed out.

17:51 (GMT)

German Type VII submarine U-47

North Sea

“Captain, I confirm one person on board that raft.” yelled the lookout atop the

conning tower of the submarine.

“Very well!” replied Kapitanleutnant Gunther Prien. “Steer hard port! Engines

one quarter ahead! Rescue team on the forward deck!”

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Six sailors scrambled out of the forward hatch with ropes and gaffes. Skillfully steered

by Prien, the submarine soon bumped into the yellow raft, which was promptly grabbed

and pulled aboard by the sailors. One of them examined the inert body inside the raft

and raised its head towards the conning tower.

“IT’S A WOMAN! SHE’S STILL ALIVE!”

“A WOMAN? GET HER INSIDE, QUICKLY!”

Giving back the con to the watch officer, Prien went down the ladder leading to the

control room, then walked into the forward torpedo room, where the sailors were gently

laying the limp woman on the deck gratings. The men respectfully stepped back, letting

their captain have a good look at her. Prien took her left wrist and found a slow but

strong pulse. Her body was frigid.

“Get some warm blankets for her. You two, strip off her wet clothes but be

respectful about it. The others, get out!”

Prien examined closely the woman’s clothes as the two sailors undressed her. He

straightened up in surprise at seeing the rank insignias and the patches on the woman’s

vest, along with the impressive row of medal ribbons on the left chest.

“A Canadian female brigadier general from Army Intelligence?”

Prien’s exclamation made the senior sailor’s eyes bulge.

“Sir, you’re not saying that we got our hands on THE Nancy Laplante?”

“There is one way to know.”

Searching the pockets of the jacket and finding a soaked wallet, Prien emptied its

content on a nearby bunk bed. He soon took out of the soggy pile a personalized calling

card that was still readable.

“Brigadier Nancy Crawford-Laplante, VC and Bar, DSO and Bar, DFC, MC,

Special Military Advisor to the Prime Minister.”

Petty Officer Klaus Hummel looked at the still unconscious woman, now wrapped in

blankets and with a pillow under her head.

“Mein Got! Talk about catching a big fish.”

22:37 (GMT)

Submarine U-47, North Sea

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The first thing that Nancy saw clearly when she regained consciousness was the

bearded faces of several men looking down at her with curiosity. Her heart sank when

one of them spoke in German.

“She’s got green eyes alright. Beautiful ones too.”

“Thank you!” she replied weakly in German. The men smiled at her, with one

turning his head and shouting at someone else.

“Tell the captain that Brigadier Laplante is awake.”

The man then looked back at her.

“Welcome aboard the U-47, Brigadier. Don’t worry about your uniform: it is being

dried out now.”

Looking under the blankets covering her, Nancy saw that she was effectively stripped

down to her underwear. She sat up cautiously, still feeling weak from her exposure to

cold seawater. The dried salt on her skin made her itch like crazy. She looked at the

older sailor, the one who had spoken to her.

“I suppose that you don’t have showers on board this submarine.”

“Correct, Colonel. If you want to wash, I can provide you with a basin, soap and

a towel.”

“And a captivated audience?”

The sailors laughed at her joke and became noticeably friendlier.

“I can have this compartment evacuated for a few minutes if you need to wash.”

“That would be much appreciated, mister.”

An officer wearing the rank of Kapitanleutnant entered at that moment, stopping two

paces from her. Nancy got to her feet and faced him, holding a blanket around her. She

was actually taller than the officer.

“Brigadier Nancy Crawford-Laplante, Canadian Army, requesting permission to

come aboard, Kapitanleutnant Prien.”

Prien’s jaw dropped from the surprise.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know you from history books, Kapitanleutnant. By the way, thank you for

picking me up. You wouldn’t have seen anybody else floating around, I presume?”

Prien shook his head.

“There was nobody else around, sorry.”

She looked down at the deck, her jaws tight.

“There were three aviators with me. What are their chances of being still alive?”

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“Nil! When we picked you up, you were already close to death by hypothermia.

If nobody picked these men up soon after you were rescued, then they are long dead by

now.”

Prien was silent for a moment, respecting her obvious grief.

“Brigadier Laplante, I have to inform you that my orders are to return to port and

to deliver you to the Abwehr as a prisoner of war. We should be in Wilhelmshaven in

about half a day. In the meantime, do you have any needs or wishes?”

“Yes, Kapitanleutnant! I would like to wash, then eat something, if it’s possible.”

“It certainly is, Brigadier. Klaus!”

“Yes sir?” replied the petty officer, coming to attention.

“You will make sure that Brigadier Laplante gets what she wishes for. Until we

are in port, she is to be considered as a guest, not a prisoner.”

Nancy smiled to him, relief in her eyes.

“Thanks, Kapitanleutnant. Once I’m finished eating, I will be more than happy to

chat with you and your men about life in the future, if you are interested, of course.”

The wide grin on Prien’s face was enough to tell her that she was going to have a

captive audience.

13:10 (Berlin Time)

Submarine U-47, Wilhelmshaven harbor

Germany

“Where is Brigadier Laplante, Klaus?” asked Gunther Prien, just back from the

open bridge of the conning tower. The petty officer turned away from the ballast valves

he was checking inside the crowded submarine control room.

“She is in the forward torpedo room, sir, doing some sort of relaxation exercise.”

Prien’s eyebrows went up in curiosity. Nancy Laplante had been a most charming, albeit

unusual guest, during their trip back to Germany.

“Have eight armed men ready on the forward deck, just in case the Gestapo

shows up. Have also the 20mm cannon discreetly manned and ready to fire.”

Klaus Hummel nodded in understanding and started assembling his armed party. The

consensus on board, decided during a general crew meeting earlier on, was that they

would fight if the Gestapo tried to pick up Laplante. The fact that a Fuhrer’s directive

specifically protected her from the Gestapo had made things a lot easier in that matter.

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Walking to the forward torpedo room, Prien bent and entered it through the large, round

hatch. He immediately froze in surprise when he saw Nancy. She was sitting cross-

legged near the torpedo tubes, her back straight and eyes closed. Her hands were

resting palm upwards on her knees and her face was the image of tranquility itself.

Shaking his head in amusement, Prien walked to her and gently tapped her shoulder.

“Brigadier, it’s time to go on deck.”

She took a slow, deep breath, then opened her eyes and smiled to him.

“I am ready.”

Getting up, she put on and adjusted her green beret before walking to the forward hatch

ladder and climbing it behind Prien. They emerged to a gray, cloud-covered sky.

Surrounded by armed sailors, Nancy looked around the devastated port of

Wilhelmshaven. Only 400 yards away, two giant floating cranes were still trying to

upright the sunken hull of the pocket battleship LUTZOW. Prien swept his arms around.

“As you can see, Brigadier, your British friends did quite a proper job on their visit

in May. I understand that you were yourself quite busy in Hamburg at that time.”

“You could say that. In fact, I nearly left my skin there.”

Prien nodded his head, then looked towards the quay, where a big black sedan car and

four men in civilian clothes were waiting.

“I am afraid that the vultures are here to pick your bones, Brigadier. I sincerely

wish that I didn’t have to give you up.”

“That’s alright, Kapitanleutnant. The Abwehr has always been correct in their

handling of prisoners of war. Besides, another day on board this nest of sex-starved

perverts and I would have been forced to start raping your sailors, starting with that cute

young one over there.”

The young seaman pointed by Nancy turned red as the other sailors and Prien exploded

in laughter.

As soon as the walkway between the quay and the submarine was in place, the

four civilian men walked on board and stopped in front of Prien, who was shielding

Nancy from them. The apparent leader of the group, a tall, slim man with a prominent

nose, produced an identification card which Prien examined closely.

“Field agent Paul Steiner, Abwehr. We have been sent by Admiral Canaris to

pick up Brigadier Laplante and bring her to the Abwehr headquarters in Berlin.”

Sadness in his eyes, Prien turned to face Nancy, saluting her.

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“It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Brigadier. I wish that the rest of this war will

not be too rough on you.”

Nancy returned his salute while smiling maliciously.

“Don’t fear for me, Kapitanleutnant. Pity rather the stalag guards who will be

stuck with me.”

Prien grinned in turn and shook her hand.

“Good luck, Brigadier.”

He then reluctantly let an Abwehr man handcuff Nancy, then handed to Steiner Nancy’s

gun belt, with the Glock 26 pistol and spare magazines hanging from it.

“This was on her when we picked her up in the North Sea.”

“Thanks!” was the curt answer of the man before he turned away and walked off

the submarine, following his men and Nancy towards the black car. They piled in quickly,

two burly men sitting with Nancy in the back seat, sandwiching her, then drove off.

Gunther Prien looked a last time at the receding car before turning towards him men and

shouting orders: he had a sea patrol to resume. He didn’t know yet that it would be his

last one.

18:16 (Berlin Time)

Downtown Berlin, Germany

The five-hour drive to Berlin was spent in silence between Nancy and her guards,

with only one short stop at a small roadside restaurant for a visit to the washrooms and a

snack. While the Abwehr men ate, they didn’t give her any food or water or let her take

any. By the time their car finally stopped in front of a large stone and brick building in

the Kreuzberg District of Berlin, Nancy was dying for a glass of water. Craning her neck

past the guard seated to her right, she saw with a sinking feeling that the guards in front

of the building were soldiers of the Waffen-SS.

“Hey! This can’t be Abwehr head…”

The butt of a pistol then struck her hard on the back of her head, knocking her

unconscious.

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18:21 (GMT)

24 St James’ Place

London, England

Mike Crawford looked tearfully at George Townsend, who was still standing in the

doorway of his apartment.

“She… she is alive? Is she alright?”

Townsend, worn out mentally from worrying about Nancy, shook his head slowly.

“We don’t know, Mike. The only thing we know is that she was picked up in the

North Sea, alive, by a German submarine. That submarine was then ordered back to

port to deliver her to the Abwehr. Luckily for her, the Abwehr is known to play clean with

prisoners of war. Maybe we could ask later on the International Red Cross or a neutral

embassy in Berlin to check on her well-being.”

Mike Crawford suddenly looked at Townsend as if he was the Messiah.

“That’s it! A neutral embassy! I could ask the American embassy in Berlin to

check on her tomorrow.”

“Not so fast, Mike! We can’t let the Germans know that we learned so quickly

about her capture: it would tip them off on our radio intercept capabilities.”

“Do you expect me to sit on my ass and do nothing while Nancy could be

mistreated?” raged Mike.

“Mike, calm down! Why don’t we go see together my boss tomorrow and

propose to him your idea?”

“Alright, I’ll wait until tomorrow. But, if your boss says no, I will go ahead with my

plan anyway.”

“I know! In your place I would do the same.”

19:03 (Berlin Time)

Abwehr headquarters, Berlin

Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was growing more impatient by the minute: his team

should have been back with Nancy Laplante by now. He literally jumped on the receiver

when his telephone rang. It was his regional director from Wilhelmshaven. What the

man told him did not help Canaris’ state of mind.

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“What do mean, they were ambushed? … Are they all dead? … Listen, I want a

round-the-clock vigil on that agent at the hospital. Anything he says can help us find

who grabbed Laplante and to where she was taken…. Of course it must be the Gestapo!

Who else could it be? … Keep me informed!”

Putting down the receiver, Canaris thought for a moment, then picked up the telephone

again and dialed a number.

“Hello, this is Admiral Canaris. I need to speak with the Fuhrer urgently.”