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

CHAPTER 2 – TIMELINE

Somewhere in time

Somewhere west of London, England

Both the craft and the Mitsubishi Outlander, with an unconscious Nancy still collapsed

over the steering wheel, reappeared in a small clearing near a two-lane paved road. As soon as the car was deposited softly on the ground, the craft moved slowly sideways to a safe distance, then started to gain altitude. It barely had time to start clearing the top of the surrounding trees before a low flying aircraft overflew the opening, heading directly towards the craft at a speed of 420 kilometers per hour. The pilots of both aircraft were equally surprised by the appearance of the other and were unable to avoid the collision. That impact utterly destroyed both aircraft in a spectacular explosion, leaving no survivors.

The resulting explosion was seen and heard from a distance by a young woman named

Megan Thomas, who was hitchhiking back to R.A.F.1 Northolt, coming from Aylesbury after having attended her grandmother’s funeral. The traffic was still very scarce at this time of the morning and she was wondering if somebody would pick her up after that last ride which had dropped her before turning towards Uxbridge. She was only a few hundred yards away from the fireball she had just seen and alternatively ran and walked towards the now rising column of smoke. Finally arriving at the site, she saw the burning debris of at least one aircraft dispersed over a wide area. She then noticed a red car in a corner of the clearing opposite the debris. It was immobile and silent as Megan cautiously approached it. Something about the car was decidedly weird to Megan. It certainly was not a model she had ever seen before and the paint scheme was definitely not military. While it had a rugged, utilitarian air to it, it was also quite attractive and futuristic in appearance in her opinion.

Megan saw a form, unmoving, in the front passenger seat and circled the car towards it.

She understood her mistake only when she was close enough to touch the door handle: the person was actually sitting in the driver’s seat, which told Megan that it was foreign-made, with the steering wheel on the left side instead of the standard right-side position in England. Suspicion and fear took hold of her for a moment but her natural curiosity finally made her look closer. She then saw that the driver was a woman, tall, with neck-length black hair and wearing

1 R.A.F.: Royal Air Force. The abbreviation for the British Air Force.

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a brown leather coat. That woman was also apparently unconscious. Deciding that she had to do something, Megan opened the driver’s door and checked the woman for a pulse: it was slow but strong and she also heard her breathe softly. Reassured, she dragged the woman out of the car and laid her in a more comfortable position on the grass. The stranger was indeed very tall for a woman and quite heavy, even if she was athletic-looking. It reminded her of ballet dancers, who had strong but svelte bodies. The stranger was certainly pretty, with a well-developed figure further enhanced by skin-tight black pants and short, elegant black leather boots. Her face was smooth, with a small nose and large, still closed eyes.

Those eyelids finally started fluttering, revealing pale green pupils. Megan hovered

above her face so that the woman could see her easily. A soft moan was followed by a few weakly spoken words which sounded like French. Trying to remember her school years French lessons, Megan spoke slowly, hoping that the stranger would understand her. She did.

“How do you feel, miss?”

“My head… hurts. Where am I?”

“I just dragged you out of your car. You were unconscious.”

The stranger hesitated a moment, then switched to English, to Megan’s relief.

“Your… accent. British?”

“That is correct. My name is Megan Thomas. And yours?”

“Nancy… Nancy Laplante. Where am I?”

“Near Uxbridge. I was hitch-hiking towards Northolt when I saw the explosion and came

here to see what had happened.”

Megan was then surprised by the sudden look of alarm on the stranger’s face.

“Uxbridge? Northolt? What explosion? Could you help me sit?”

“Certainly, Nancy.”

Megan had to use most of her strength to help her, as Nancy was still quite groggy. The French woman surveyed her surroundings with apparently increasing dismay and panic.

“My cottage, the lake, where are they?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, miss. You are near Northolt. Where are you

from?”

“Boucherville. I know of no Northolt near Montreal.”

Megan was unable to speak for a few seconds. Was this woman crazy? At least she now knew that this Nancy was Canadian, not French.

“Montreal is in Canada. This is England, miss.”

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“…England? I…”

Nancy rose on her feet slowly and shakily. Megan had to help keep her from losing her balance. She finally steadied Nancy against the car. The Canadian, or so she claimed, looked around with horror.

“My cottage, gone! I was just arriving there for a vacation when that thing showed up

over the lake and somehow knocked me out.”

“What thing?”

“Some sort of flying craft of an impossible kind. I…”

Nancy surveyed the crash site at the end of the field, where two twisted aircraft propellers were visible among the debris, along with a piece of fuselage bearing a black swastika, then turned towards Megan, a sick expression on her face.

“You said earlier that this here is near Northolt, England. Were you serious?”

Megan then started to get irritated by all this nonsense.

“Of course I was! What kind of game are you playing? There is no cottage or lake here

and, as for going on a vacation, you chose a funny place and time for one. We are at war, don`t you know?” Megan nearly screamed her last sentence, which made Nancy flinch. She now looked at Megan’s uniform as if she was seeing it for the first time, scrutinizing in particular the various patches sewn on it. She suddenly looked sick.

“A British Women Auxiliary Air Force uniform, old style. God, no! NO!” she nearly

shouted as she banged her fist furiously on the car’s hood. After a prolonged silence, Nancy turned again to face Megan.

“What is the date today?”

“The date? Well, September the second.”

“And the year?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“THE YEAR!”

It was Nancy’s turn to scream and Megan’s one to flinch.

“But, 1940, of course.”

“Of course… “

Another moment passed in silence as Nancy tried to recover her wits and accept this new reality.

“Megan, you know what was the date when I arrived at my cottage outside of Montreal?”

Megan suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“September second, 1940, I presume.”

“Not even close. Try October the eleventh, 2012.”

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It was Megan’s turn to feel funny. What Nancy just said was impossible, pure nonsense, but why would anybody try to push such a ridiculous story? She suddenly realized that Nancy was walking away, going towards the crash site.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see if I can get some answers. You’re coming?”

Megan had to nearly run to keep up with the resolute pace of the much taller woman. What they came across was a typical aircraft crash site: lots of twisted, charred pieces which bore little resemblance with their previous appearance, mixed in with a few larger, more recognizable pieces. One of the larger pieces was an aircraft propeller. Nancy looked at it for a few seconds, her expression most somber.

“Bomber propeller, probably German.”

Megan was taken aback by the assurance in Nancy’s voice.

“How could you be so sure of that?”

“Look at the propeller hubcap. It is large and semi-spherical. Most fighter propellers in

World War Two had smaller hubcaps, with German ones having an axial opening for a cannon or heavy machinegun barrel. If I remember my historical references, R.A.F. bases in this area belong to Fighter Command, not Bomber Command.”

Megan looked at Nancy with suspicion.

“What do you do actually for a living? You seem to know a lot about military matters.”

That made Nancy smile wryly.

“My main occupation is as a war correspondent. I also happen to be a reserve captain in

the Canadian Forces’ Military Intelligence Branch. Believe me, I have seen quite a few crash sites, although they were of jet aircraft instead of propeller-driven aircraft.” Megan gave her a blank look.

“What is a jet aircraft?”

Nancy started to answer her but reconsidered.

“I will show you later.”

Continuing her inspection, Nancy was led by the sickening smell of burned flesh to what was left of a person. Megan took one look and immediately turned away before throwing up. Nancy had to brace herself mentally before starting to move away debris from the corpse with a twisted metal bar. She suddenly had a good look at a six-fingered hand and became as pale as a sheet.

“NO! It can’t happen to me! Not this!”

“Nancy, what’s wrong? What did you see?”

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Nancy, shaking like a leaf, sat down away from her discovery. When she looked at Megan again, it was with eyes filled with absolute despair and with tears on her cheeks.

“Whoever brought me here against my will is dead. I am now stuck forever in this rotten

time period, with everything that means anything to me now 72 years away in the future.” She then lowered her head on her knees and started sobbing. Megan could not help to then feel sorry for her, even if her story was completely unbelievable. She knelt beside Nancy and hugged her until she had controlled her tears. That took a long time.

Her lips still trembling, Nancy raised her face toward the WAAF and spoke in a broken

voice.

“What am I going to do now? Nobody knows me. I have nothing left except my car and

what is in it and I will probably be locked up in a mental institution if I tell anybody what happened to me today. Even the money I have on me is probably now worthless. I am a castaway.”

Megan silently thought that Nancy was right about the mental institution. However, she couldn’t help feel bad for her and tried to comfort her.

“Look Nancy, the one thing of importance now is that we are at war and that England

needs everybody’s help. You said that you are an officer in your military intelligence. I am sure that they could use your talents.”

“They?”

“My superiors at R.A.F. Northolt. Believe me, we can use all the help we can get these

days!”

Which was too true unfortunately according to the history Nancy knew. England’s situation was truly desperate as it was facing alone the might of the German war machine and was expecting a German invasion at any time. Nancy seemed to think on that for a minute. When she spoke again, she sounded like she had finally accepted her situation.

“O.K., I will drive you to Northolt and see what happens next.”

She then got on her feet and led Megan back towards the car. The minute Megan stepped in

the car and looked at the interior, she started reconsidering her opinion on Nancy’s story. She had seen before the war pictures of supposedly futuristic concept cars at automobile shows. The interior of those cars now looked downright primitive compared to what was now in front of her. If this was a con job, it was indeed an extremely good one. Nancy, on her part, started the engine, then pushed a button on the central console while looking at a sort of small square screen.

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‘’It was to be expected: my GPS navigational unit is not receiving any signal. Too bad: I

will have to navigate the old way.’’

‘’A GPS? What’s that?’’ asked Megan, confused. Nancy answered while tapping the

small screen on the central console with one finger.

‘’It is a navigation system which uses a network of many radio emitters to triangulate its

position. Since the sources of those radio signals still don’t exist in 1940, my unit is now useless.’’

Megan threw her a cautious look then.

‘’Do you still say that you really come from the future, miss? I have to warn you that I

don’t think that anyone in Northolt will buy your story.’’

Nancy stared at her for long seconds before speaking again.

“Do you want me to show you now what a jet aircraft is?”

“Er, yes, I do.”

Nancy threw her right arm over the space between the two front seats, digging inside a kind of duffel bag and finally handing to Megan a magazine with a large color picture of an impossible aircraft on its cover. Megan’s hands started to shake when she noticed the publishing date on the cover, while Nancy looked gravely at her.

“Do you believe me now, Megan? I assure you that I have enough advanced technology

stored in this car to render obsolete most of your science.” Somehow, the WAAF knew now that she believed Nancy.

08:45 (GMT)

Monday, September 02, 1940

R.A.F. Northolt, England

“There, the base main gate is only 300 yards away. You will have to stop at the barrier

and identify yourself. Let me speak first then.”

“Yeah, just tell them that I am from the year 2012 and that I have no valid papers. That

should do it.”

Megan threw an exasperated look at Nancy.

“Do you have a better idea? We just need to…”

A loud explosion followed by the loud staccato of machineguns suddenly cut off the young WAAF. A shark-like twin-engine propeller aircraft then overflew the main gate just after the

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small shack disappeared in a multitude of puffs of dust. Nancy understood immediately what was going on and shouted a warning.

“GERMAN AIR RAID! THAT WAS A JUNKERS 88 BOMBER.”

“God, what do we do now?”

“Get inside the base. What else?”

That plan immediately changed when Nancy turned into the base main entrance: a soldier was writhing in pain besides the ruined shack, while two other soldiers lay still on top of the sandbags protecting an antiaircraft heavy machinegun position nearby to the left of the gate. Nancy stopped the car abruptly and jumped out.

“Meg, help me get that man in the car. We will drive him to the base infirmary.”

“I’m with you!”

Running to the soldier near the shack, Nancy quickly inspected the large wound on his left leg. Her tours in Afghanistan and the Middle East had given her a wide experience in this kind of matter. She thus decided to put a temporary garrot on the leg, as the femoral artery had been touched and was pumping out blood massively. The young soldier was still fully conscious and watched on as Nancy, helped by Megan, used his belt as a garrot, then put him back on his good leg. With one woman on each side of the wounded man, the trio slowly covered the distance to the car. Nancy then rapidly threw in the back compartment the luggage covering the rear seats. She was helping Megan to sit the man inside when she heard the sound of approaching piston engines. The soldier turned his head and yelled in alarm.

“THEY ARE COMING BACK FOR A SECOND PASS! TAKE COVER WHILE YOU CAN,

LADIES!”

“Like hell we will! Meg, take care of him.”

Nancy then ran towards the machinegun position.

“NANCY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? COME BACK!”

Not bothering to answer, Nancy took hold of the weapon’s firing grips and cocked twice the stiff cocking handle. It was a Browning M2 .50 caliber heavy machinegun, a weapon she was well familiar with and had fired before many times. Planting firmly her feet on each side of the base of the weapon’s antiaircraft pedestal, with feet well separated, she straightened her arms and let her whole body weight fall back, thus using her legs to bodily point the machinegun. She then chose a lead angle in front and slightly above the approaching Junkers 88 and kept her sight on that point as she opened fire. The noise was deafening as she hammered away, letting the bomber cross her line of tracers instead of trying to follow the aircraft. Luckily for Nancy, the bomber was performing a turn and was not coming directly at her, thus giving her a bigger

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target. Her first burst missed by a few feet. The German nose gunner then returned fire with a wild burst of 7.92mm machinegun fire, with a few bullets striking the sandbags around Nancy and two whistling by her ears. Something slapped her left arm but, not feeling any pain from it, she ignored it and fired a second, longer burst. Tracers hit the right wing and engine as the Junkers 88 turned directly towards Nancy, probably to help its nose machine gunner target Nancy but also at the same time facilitating her aim. As the German bomber started trailing smoke from its damaged engine, Nancy fired a series of short aimed bursts, targeting the cockpit and nose of the aircraft and hitting it hard. The medium bomber suddenly entered a steep dive as it was about to overfly Nancy, who was pumping burst after burst in it from nearly point-blank range. Passing a bare fifty feet above the base main gate, the German plane crashed in the open field on the other side of the road, exploding on impact into a huge ball of fire. A concert of delighted screams greeted Nancy as she scanned the sky to watch for another threat. She did not see any other aircraft nearby but she now saw the group of four WAAFs which had been taking shelter in a trench besides a nearby brick building. The four women were now running towards her, cheering.

“THAT WAS FANTASTIC SHOOTING, MISS!”

“YOU REALLY PLUGGED THAT KRAUT HARD, MISS!”

Nancy grinned at the compliments but had to excuse herself and run to her car. A WAAF NCO looked towards the Mitsubishi Outlander and let a surprised yell out.

“LACW Thomas, is that you there?”

“Supervisor O’Connors? It’s me alright! We have a wounded man here to take to the

infirmary. I could use some help here.”

“Coming, deary!” replied the matron while running towards the car.

The airman was cautiously installed on the rear seat, with Megan at his side to help steady him, while Nancy signaled the NCO to sit in the front passenger seat.

“Alright, Supervisor, show me the way to the infirmary.”

“Go straight on this road. You will have to turn left in about 300 yards.”

Nancy accelerated smoothly, avoiding potholes as much as possible. The wounded man clenched his teeth but remained silent during the short trip. They finally stopped and parked in front of the infirmary’s main entrance. Nancy and O’Connors then used their arms to form a fireman’s chair for the wounded, while Megan helped support the damaged leg and opened the door. Two nurses and a doctor then quickly took charge of the airman, leaving the three women to await the prognosis in the reception area. O’Connors, grinning, extended a hand, which Nancy shook firmly.

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“That was really good work on your part, miss. I will make sure to commend you to the

base commander when this mess is straightened out.”

“Thanks but that was no big deal, really.”

“No big deal? Shooting down a Junkers 88 with a machinegun? You are way too

modest.”

“No, I assure you. By the way, my name is Nancy Laplante.”

“French?”

“No, Canadian. I was giving a ride to Megan here when we stumbled into the raid. I…”

“NANCY, YOU HAVE BEEN HIT!” suddenly shouted Megan, pointing at Nancy’s left

arm, where a hole was visible in the leather of her jacket. The nurse on duty at the reception desk, on hearing this, immediately came to Nancy and inspected her arm.

“I don’t see any blood. Please take your jacket off, miss.”

To everybody’s relief, it turned out that the hole was only a very near miss, with the skin barely scratched by the passing bullet which had caused only a very light bleeding. The nurse smiled at Nancy, who was looking at the scratch with wide eyes.

“You are one lucky lady, miss: a couple of inches further in and that bullet would have

shattered your arm.”

O’Connors looked at Nancy with renewed respect.

“Miss, you deserve a medal for your act. Where did you learn to fire a machinegun so

well anyway?”

“I’m a Canadian army reserve captain. I’m actually in military intelligence but I saw my

share of action. I… OUCH! That hurt!”

“I’m sorry, captain, but I had to disinfect this scratch before bandaging it.” replied the

nurse apologetically as she applied a small bandage to Nancy’s arm. The R.A.F. doctor who had taken charge of the wounded airman then returned. A greying man wearing the uniform of a squadron leader, he was now suited up in clean surgical garb.

“Leading Airman Johnson is now being prepared for emergency surgery. He has lost a

lot of blood but, thanks to you ladies, he will eventually recover fully in a few weeks. He keeps babbling about you shooting down a Junkers 88. Is this true?”

“Damn right it is, sir!” volunteered O’Connors in a proud tone. “This tall lass here plays

the heavy machinegun like a virtuoso. She even kept firing after a bullet punctured her jacket’s sleeve. Fortunately she was not really hurt.”

The doctor looked down briefly at Nancy’s bandaged arm before smiling at her.

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“Good show! I suppose this will make the base WAAFs insufferable for the next few

weeks, like, no more bit about women being defenseless. Oh, I believe that Flight Lieutenant Harris, the base security officer, is looking for you, miss.” Nancy turned and watched a R.A.F. officer, accompanied by two military policemen, as he approached quickly. She definitely did not like the look on his face. The stocky officer then stopped three feet in front of Nancy and there was no hint of friendliness in his voice when he spoke.

“This is your car parked in front of the infirmary?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Miss, I arrest you for unauthorized entry on this base and for suspicion of espionage.

You will come with me now. Handcuff her!”

A chorus of protests exploded as soon as Harris stopped talking.

“Are you crazy, sir? Nancy just shot down a jerry and helped save one of our lads.”

protested Megan, with O’Connors immediately backing her up.

“That’s true, sir: this lady stood her ground against a Junkers 88 and shot it down near

the main gate.”

“ Flight Lieutenant,” added the doctor, “I can personally vouch that this lady helped bring

in Leading Airman Johnson, who will confirm the story about the Junkers.” Harris looked and acted like a mean bastard, which was probably why he got the job of security officer in the first place. His response to the doctor was barely polite.

“Excuse me, sir, but I have here a complete stranger with a car full of weird-looking

equipment inside a R.A.F. base. We are expecting a German invasion at any time and I have multiple reports of fifth columnists around the area. I have to take her in and check her out. Leading Airman Brannigan, take her away!”

As Nancy was led away, her hands cuffed behind her back, the enraged doctor got nose to nose with the security officer.

“Flight Lieutenant Harris, you have pulled some real boners lately, but this takes the

cake! I will report this outrage to the base commander.”

“You do that, sir! Good day, sir!”

Harris then saluted and walked out. The doctor, livid, shouted at the duty nurse sitting at the reception desk.

“GET ME THE BASE COMMANDER ON THE PHONE AT ONCE! WE WILL SEE

ABOUT THIS!”

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The base security office was adjacent to the infirmary and was housed in the same kind

of low brick building. Nancy was marched into an interrogation room, flanked by the two military policemen, and left standing in the middle of the room. The policemen withdrew to the corners behind her after taking her handcuffs off, while Harris sat at a desk in front of Nancy. She then tried to plea her case, even as she was under the shock of what was now happening to her.

“Look, Flight Lieutenant, I assure you…”

“SILENCE! YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN ASKED TO!”

The man must have been a boxer before: his nose was crooked and his ears deformed. It just made him even more intimidating than what his powerful built and brutal manners made him already. He in fact reminded Nancy of a particularly nasty Serb commander she had met once in Kosovo during her tour with the NATO forces there.

“Empty your pockets on the desk. Quickly!”

She complied reluctantly, taking out her keys, money, wallet and a comb and putting them on the desk.

“Take your watch off too.”

“I…”

“SHUT UP!”

After Nancy had put her watch alongside her wallet, Harris seized it and examined it closely. It was a Seiko sports digital watch with nightglow feature and waterproof casing. At first, the man was confused by the digital display of the watch. Then he made a mean smile.

“AH AH! Made in Japan, it says here. This looks more like some kind of timer for a

bomb than a watch.”

She had to mentally agree that her watch was not the actual run off the mill one now found in 1940 England. She suddenly realized with horror that any of her personal belongings which bore ‘made in Japan’ or ‘made in Germany’ could put her in serious trouble. That must have applied to about half of her equipment. Putting aside her watch, Harris started going through the content of her wallet. First out was her money, with the word ‘Canada’ printed prominently on the dollar bills.

“AH! Trying to pass up as a colonial, I see?”

Nancy could not control her anger at this ignorant remark and started stepping forward as she spoke.

“Listen, you…”

The two policemen immediately stepped forward and seized her, roughly placing her back in the middle of the room. Nancy was now starting to be really scared: there was no way to know at

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what they would stop and spying was, at least here and now, punishable by summary execution. That was exactly what had happened to many German agents captured in England, as she recalled her history of World War II. Harris next looked at her numerous bank and identity cards and various permits. He suddenly started laughing hard, to Nancy’s puzzlement.

“What kind of twit forged those papers? All the dates on them are wrong.”

He then showed her the magnetized strip on the back of her credit card.

“Some kind of microfilm, I suppose?”

“No, it’s just a piece of magnetic tape with my credit authorization number encoded on it.

Look…”

“Encoded information? You are finished, lady.”

Nancy was by now seriously beginning to believe that last statement.

“Which ones are your car keys?”

‘’My car doesn’t use a key to be opened. It uses a personalized proximity detector.’’

‘’A what?’’ said Harris, totally lost by those words. Taking a deep breath, Nancy then

explained herself as simply as she could.

‘’A personalized proximity detector. It is attached to my key ring. It will unlock my car

when you bring it close to it.’’

‘’What kind of crap are you trying to push on me, miss?’’

‘’The truth! If you don’t believe me, just try it.’’

Shrugging, Harris then put aside the set of keys taken from Nancy. Next, he examined carefully Nancy’s Defense department identity card.

“Ìt says here that you are an officer in the Canadian Army reserves.”

“I am a captain in the Canadian military intelligence, yes.”

The R.A.F. officer raised an eyebrow at her reply.

“Clever! That would have been a good cover story for an agent, if whoever made this I.D.

card had not muffed the dates on it like on the rest of your cards. Besides, the Canadians, like

us, have the good sense of not letting women in as officers. I thought that the Abwehr2 was more professional than this.”

“They are professionals! It’s just that my cards show the correct dates.”

Harris looked at her with disdain as he picked up again her military I.D. card.

“It says here born 820613. Explain!”

2 Abwehr: German military intelligence in World War II

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Realizing that the real crunch time had come, Nancy explained in as calm a voice as she could muster.

“It means that I was born on June 13, 1982. I know it sounds incredible, but I came,

quite against my will, from the future, from the year 2012 to be more exact. I can prove it.” Harris’ response was simply to laugh.

“A likely story.”

He then became very serious and loud.

“I HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR LIES! NOW, STRIP!”

“WHAT?”

“I SAID, STRIP! OR DO YOU PREFER THAT MY MEN DO IT FOR YOU?”

One of the policemen laughed in anticipation. The other, a young private, suddenly looked ill at ease.

“Er, sir, we are supposed to use WAAFs to search women and…”

“AIRMAN, IF THIS BOTHERS YOU, THEN MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL AND GO

SEARCH HER CAR.”

Harris then threw Nancy’s set of keys to the rattled policeman, who glanced apologetically at Nancy before leaving the interrogation room. Nancy, on her part, could not move or talk. The shock of realizing that she was stuck in the past, plus this humiliating treatment, was starting to be too much for her.

“WELL, I`M WAITING!”

Throwing a hateful look at Harris, she undid her jacket and took it off. Harris immediately seized it and thoroughly poked through it.

“THE REST OF IT, NOW!”

Nancy then took off her boots, shirt and pants, keeping only her underwear.

‘This cannot be happening to me!’ she thought to herself, mortified. Harris quickly went

through her clothes, then faced her with a sadistic smile.

“ALL OF IT!”

‘’You will pay for this, I swear, you bastard!’’

She slowly undid her bra and left it fall to the floor, then, more quickly, slipped off her panties. She immediately covered her groin and breasts with her arms, feeling totally humiliated. After glancing at the inside of her underwear, Harris pulled up a chair behind her, then pushed her down on it and went in her back, solidly grabbing both of her wrists.

‘’Cuff her to the chair, Brannigan!’’

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Nancy tried to free her hands but, despite her own significant strength, could not break free from Harris’ grip as the other policeman tied her hands to the legs of the chair. Now helpless, Nancy could only glare at Harris as the man positioned himself in front of her, admiring her nudity.

‘’Now, you will start answering seriously my questions. Who are you?’’

‘’I told you! I am Captain Nancy Laplante, of the Canadian Forces. I’m a mil…’’

Harris interrupted her with a savage slap on the face that made her head snap to the right.

‘’THE TRUTH! YOU ARE A SPY FOR THE GERMANS, ADMIT IT!’’

‘’No! I am a Canadian officer and…’’

Harris slapped her again with all his strength.

‘’STOP LYING TO ME, BITCH! HOW DID YOU CROSS INTO ENGLAND? BY

SUBMARINE?’’

‘’I came into my car.’’ said Nancy, actually saying the truth. That earned her a third hard

slap. Another flight lieutenant entered the room just in time to witness that slap. A tall and handsome blond man in his early twenties, he looked at Harris with rage.

“YOU BASTARD! WHY DIDN’T YOU USE A WAAF TO SEARCH HER, AS

REGULATIONS CLEARLY SPECIFY? AND WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, BEATING HER LIKE THIS?”

“That’s my business, Wilson! Now…”

“NOT ANY MORE! The base commander sent me to take charge of the lady here. I

should have come quicker! You will pay for this! Now, you and your goon, free her and then get out!”

As Harris and Brannigan stomped out of the room, Wilson turned halfway towards Nancy, avoiding to look directly at her naked body. His voice was now soft, apologetic.

“Please dress now, Miss Laplante. I will be waiting for you in the hallway. Take your

time.”

He then left and closed the door behind him. Nancy, who had covered her groin and breasts with her hands as soon as she had been untied, wondered then if this Wilson had really come to help her or if he was playing the role of the good guy in the old ‘Mutt and Jeff’ interrogation technique. That technique used a good guy that came in unexpectedly to save the prisoner from a bad guy, thus gaining the prisoner’s trust. Unable then to decide which was correct, Nancy quickly dressed and pocketed back her things. Last on was her watch. Sitting on the desk, she tried to collect her wits back and figure out what to do next. Right now, she saw very few courses of action possible. Either she could prove that she was indeed a time traveler, or she could try to invent some more plausible story about herself. She however rejected nearly

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immediately the second option. Apart from the fact that it would contradict what she had said to Megan, thus hurting her credibility, her car contained too many high technology items to explain them, except if they came from the future. Even the Germans, whose technology the British held in awe, couldn’t obviously produce what she had: her equipment was simply too advanced for that. Another hard question then came to her mind. If she was to claim that she was an involuntary time traveler, then did she have the right to divulge to the British of 1940 information that could very well rewrite history, thus destroying the World as she knew it in 2012? Would it instead create some sort of parallel timeline, as so many science-fiction novels had speculated about? Nancy felt her head spin as she tried to answer those impossible questions. She finally decided to see how the British would treat her from now on before taking firm decisions.

As she was about to walk to the door of the interrogation room, a deluge of mental

images then suddenly struck her, making her vacillate on her legs. She nearly threw up as horrible scenes paraded in her head, showing the atrocities and unspeakable crimes committed in this war. Even closing her eyes didn’t make the pictures stop. The visions of horror went on for nearly a full minute before stopping as suddenly as they had come, leaving a shaking Nancy to wonder what had just happened to her. The one thing she knew was that she didn’t want to see those images, ever again. She then realized that those visions represented what was going to happen in this war if she didn’t do anything to prevent these horrors.

‘’My God!’’ whispered Nancy to herself, shaken by that realization. She was pale and

felt sick to her stomach when she finally walked out of the interrogation room.

Flight Lieutenant Douglas Wilson took two minutes to phone Wing

Commander Denison, the base commander, to inform him of what had just happened. The way Denison told him then to order Harris to report immediately to his office pleased him. Informing Harris on a dry and severe tone of the order from the base commander was another thing that pleased him. He heard later from Denison’s secretary that Harris, apart from having his head ripped off in a memorable dressing down session, was busted back to the rank of flying officer and thrown out of the base, all of which caused considerable joy to Wilson. He, however, was not totally happy with himself: while he had been careful not to look at the poor woman who had been so badly treated by Harris, what his peripheral vision had shown him of the woman’s perfect body had been enough to cause an

27

involuntary erection. Reacting like a matting bull to a naked girl in distress was not his idea of how to be a gentleman.

The closing of the door behind told him that Nancy Laplante, or whatever her real name

was, had finished dressing. He turned and had his first good look at her. She appeared understandably pale and shaken as she stood near the door, looking hesitantly at him. She was really tall and broad-shouldered for a woman and appeared in top physical condition. Her black hair fell to her neck and her face had soft features, making her a definite beauty. Her large, intense green eyes captivated Wilson at once, while her very feminine curves and long shapely legs would certainly make her a pole of attraction at any officers’ mess he knew. More importantly, she seemed to have regained most of her composure. This did not surprise him, considering her earlier claimed exploit with the Junkers 88.

“Miss Laplante, I’m Flight Lieutenant Doug Wilson, the base intelligence officer. Please

accept the base commander’s sorriest apologies and mines for the odious treatment you were subjected to. I can tell you that the bastard who did this is going to pay for it, dearly!” Her green eyes then scanned his face while she kept her distances.

“Is this a Mutt and Jeff number?”

“HUH?”

This was the last question he expected from her. While he knew about the Mutt and Jeff interrogation technique, where a mean interrogator gets in first, to be followed by an indignant nice guy who would put you back at ease and milk you out of information, this was not the case today. The simple fact that this young woman knew about that technique was worth noting. But wait! Didn’t LACW Thomas say something about Laplante being a reserve intelligence officer?

“Meaning, are you here to arrest me, interrogate me, shoot me as a spy or all of the

above?”

He could not help smile at her: she was indeed a cool customer.

“Oh, none of that, I assure you! I just need to establish exactly who you are.”

“Didn’t Meg Thomas tell you about me?”

Wilson rolled his eyes upward.

“You bet she did! However, I… ah… have some difficulties believing all of what she told

me!”

“Why does this not surprise me?”

She then looked him straight into his eyes.

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“Do you think that a German agent would try to use such a story to try infiltrating a R.A.F.

base?”

“Never!” Was Wilson’s instant reply.

“I believe there is a way to back up my story, Mister Wilson. Thomas told you about the

crash site and the six-fingered hand corpse?”

His reaction told her that Meg had forgotten to tell him something.

“About the crash site, yes. About the corpse, no. Excuse me for a moment.”

Wilson then picked up a telephone on a nearby wall.

“Hello, this is the I.O., Wilson. Is Supervisor O’Connors there? Put her on please…

Supervisor O’Connors? Flight Lieutenant Wilson here. I need the assistance of LACW Thomas to guide an investigation team to the crash site she told me about… Yes!… Have her report immediately to the maintenance shop and liaise with the chief mechanic there.” He then made another call, to the maintenance shop this time, where he ordered the sending of a crash site technical team, with Thomas as a guide and with specific instructions to bring back any body parts found. He then hung up the telephone and smiled at Nancy.

“That’s taken care of. We should hear something from them by the end of the afternoon.

What’s next?”

“Well, I have a number of items in my car that should convince you that I come from the

future. I…”

Wilson was alarmed by the sudden look of horror on Nancy’s face.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That M.P. that Harris sent to search my car: everything must be in little pieces by now!”

Wilson swore and limped out of the building as fast as he could, an anxious Nancy in his back.

“There! The red car in front of the infirmary!”

“AIRMAN! STOP THIS SEARCH IMMEDIATELY!”

When both of them arrived near the Outlander, Nancy was relieved but also puzzled to find that nothing had actually been disturbed in her car. Only the engine hood had been opened. Wilson was as puzzled as her.

“Weren’t you ordered to search this car, Airman?”

The young policeman was red with embarrassment and stammered a bit at first while standing rigidly at attention in front of Wilson.

“Well, sir, miss… this car itself was so fascinating that I had no time yet to search its

content. You see, sir, before the war I worked in a small racing car shop and I kept pretty well up to date in terms of car engineering and design. But this…”

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He then pointed excitedly at the Outlander.

“… this blows away everything I know about cars.”

A sudden owl made Wilson pivot on his heels, in time to see Nancy collapse from uncontrollable laughter. Wilson and the airman exchanged a puzzled glance and waited for Nancy to put herself back together. She finally leaned on the side of the car, holding her tummy.

“I… I’m sorry about that. I could not resist. Here I was, scared to find my only

belongings left to me scattered to the four winds, only to be saved by a car enthusiast.” Wilson shook his head, a half-smile on his face, then returned his attention to the policeman.

“So, what did you find interesting in this car?”

“Everything, sir! For starters, there is no clutch pedal.”

“What do you mean, no clutch pedal? How are you supposed to change gears then?”

“I believe that this car has a self-changing gear transmission, sir.”

“It’s called an automatic transmission, actually.” cut in Nancy. “Er, right. Next, I could find no carburetor as I know it. Instead, there is something

described as ‘electronic fuel injection’. The brakes look like disks instead of drums and the instrument panel must be seen to be believed.”

“Alright,” replied Wilson, walking toward the driver’s door, “let’s go see it!”

He made the same mistake as Megan, going for the passenger seat and ending up in the driver’s seat. Nancy smiled apologetically to him.

“It’s made for the North American market.”

Wilson scanned with growing confusion and bemusement the multitude of electronic controls and LCD displays on the futuristic, yet elegant dashboard, also duly noting the lack of a clutch pedal, before looking at Nancy.

“I am starting to understand how LACW Thomas could believe you. Uh, what is this

rectangular glass panel on top of the central console?”

“Oh, that’s the display screen for the navigation and entertainment unit.’’ answered

Nancy, purposely using a dismissive tone in order to prepare her effect. ‘’Let me show you what it can do.’’

Going around the car to go sit in the front passenger seat, Nancy then started the engine and switched on the display screen, on which appeared a number of colored symbols and words. Using the touch-screen feature of the display unit as she explained its functioning made Wilson and the young policeman open their eyes wide from wonderment.

‘’This unit is actually controlled by a computer with a thirty gigabyte-capacity hard drive,

which is able to store up to 100 hours of recorded music, or a few dozen movies. It also can

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display navigational maps but the positioning system associated with it won’t work here: the network’s signal transmitters don’t exist in 1940. I can also switch the display to a rear-view camera image, for safer backing up, or use it to tune the radio or select a recorded song or video. If you prefer, you can also control your music by using the buttons on the steering wheel or, if you are really lazy, use the voice recognition system. Computer, play The Corrs, Breathless.’’

Wilson and the policeman nearly freaked out when the song by the Irish pop group started playing after only a very short delay. Nancy then spoke again.

‘’Computer, raise sound volume by two!’’

The volume of the music then increased, even though Nancy had not touched any buttons or controls. Wilson passed a hand on his face, beads of cold sweat on his forehead: what he was seeing and hearing now could nearly be called magic…or sorcery.

‘’This…this is truly incredible.’’

‘’Actually, my car is fairly low-tech stuff. The really interesting equipment is in the back.”

replied matter-of-factly Nancy. There was a near race between the policeman and Wilson to the back door, where Nancy interposed herself with a smile.

“Before you start throwing things around, Mister Wilson, is there a safe and quiet place

around where I could store and display my equipment to you?”

“Sure! How about the base intelligence section?”

“I knew you would say something like this.”

“Could I come, sir?”

The eager request from the MP got him a severe look from Wilson.

“Airman, I think it’s time that you return to your duties. Another thing: not a word to

anybody about what you saw or heard today, understood?”

“Yes sir!”

He was about to walk away when Nancy cut in front of him, looking a Wilson at the same time.

“If you may let me, Mister Wilson, this young man nearly got his head ripped off by Harris

for trying to save me from the strip search. I would like to leave him a little something as a thank.”

“Hum… alright! But nothing compromising.”

Nancy then opened the left rear door of her car and searched inside a duffel bag for a few seconds before handing over a magazine to the airman, whose eyes immediately bulged.

“Please keep this strictly to yourself, eh!”

“Yes maam!”

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The young man then walked away with his head in the magazine. Wilson could not resist asking.

“What the hell did you give him?”

“Oh, just a magazine on cars…from the year 2012. Hop in, I’ll drive you to your office.”

10:36 (GMT)

Base intelligence section, Sector Headquarters

R.A.F. Northolt, England

The base intelligence section was actually collocated with the sector operations room in

the same low brick building, not far from the airfield’s control tower. Nancy was surprised to see that the operations room, which coordinated the actions of all the fighters in the sector, was not underground or inside some bunker. Instead, it occupied a large ground level room of the building, with a few sandbags as a token for protection: the whole thing was thus hideously vulnerable to any kind of bomb. Yet, the young WAAFs manning the big situation map table worked as if it was perfectly safe. Nancy admired their courage, since they certainly knew better. To Nancy, Wilson’s intelligence section had the familiar setup that all intelligence units seemed to share: a collation desk near the entrance, where an airman was sending and receiving documents, answered the phone, made the coffee (tea in this case) and generally was run to the ground trying to serve everybody; then there were some work desks and tables for the ‘experts’, where the information was treated, including air photos; the officer’s or supervisor’s desk, watching the others and coordinating the intelligence effort; and last but not least one or more maps on walls or boards, covered with either pins or ink symbols on transparent plastic. The main differences between Nancy’s unit in Montreal in 2012 and Wilson’s 1940 Northolt section was the total lack of computer equipment and (horror!) no photocopier. The Northolt building was actually of the same vintage as the building that had housed her own 4th Intelligence Company until 2006.

Enlisting the help of three of his men, including of course the collator, Wilson had the

content of the Mitsubishi Outlander unloaded and put inside a locked storeroom which was part of his section. Nancy looked sadly at the bags of groceries she had bought to stock her cottage as they were brought in.

“Do you have a refrigerator around here? It would be a sad waste to let rot all this.”

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The way heads snapped up at the mention of food reminded her that the whole of England was being rationed because of the losses in merchant ships bringing in supplies. With Wilson’s approval, Nancy started sorting her groceries between perishable and non-perishable items, the first ones going to the refrigerator in the small kitchen adjacent to the sector operations room. Hungry eyes followed the steaks, pork cutlets, chicken legs and fresh eggs on their way out. As for the non-perishable items, Nancy simply lined them on the table supporting the tea kettle and cups of the section. She however put aside a loaf of whole wheat bread and a jar of hazelnut chocolate spread for the WAAFs working in the operations room. By this time, her stomach was growling.

“Mister Wilson, would you mind if we put the display of my equipment after lunch? I’m

famished!”

‘’No problem, miss. The mess will open for lunch in about twenty minutes, in fact.’’ “Should I wear a uniform to go to the mess?”

“If you have one, it would be indeed better: as a civilian, you will keep being bounced by

security patrols around this base. In fact, this reminds me that I should procure you an access pass. Please don’t take it badly but, until further notice, I want you to be escorted at all times while on base.”

“An armed escort?”

“No, no! Just someone vetted by me or by the base commander. You will probably

bunk in the WAAFs barrack tonight.”

“Could you arrange for LACW Thomas to be my escort at night? She already knows

everything about me.”

“A good idea. I will see to that. Now, you can change in the storeroom, where your

luggage was brought.”

“Thanks, I won’t be long.”

Going inside the long, narrow room, she made sure that the storeroom’s door was well closed before starting to change.

Flight Sergeant Bernie Sanders, Wilson’s most senior N.C.O., approached his boss as

soon as Nancy was out of sight, keeping his voice low.

“How much can we trust her, sir?”

“I don’t fully know yet, but my distinct and profound feeling is that she is no threat to us.

She may know in fact a lot more on either the Germans or us than we would believe possible. Anyway, we will hold a meeting of the section after I talk to her following lunch.”

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“Understood, sir.”

The sudden surprise on the face of Leading Airman Sutcliffe, who was sitting facing the

storeroom’s door, made Wilson turn around a few minutes later. Himself, along with the rest of his personnel, then stared at Nancy, who was now wearing a military uniform. It certainly was no uniform Wilson had ever seen before. It consisted of a camouflage pattern, loose fitting two-piece field uniform with numerous baggy pockets. The camouflage pattern itself was most strange, consisting of thousands of black, brown and light green squarish dots on a dark green background. The badge on her dark green beret consisted of a silver star on a red and green field divided by an oblique silver band. She wore a rank slip-on with two light green bars on the front of her shirt, a nametag on her right chest and paratrooper wings over her left chest pocket. That last one took the cake for Wilson: a jump-qualified female officer. Some senior officers at the mess this noon hour were going to choke on their false teeth.

Leaving Nancy’s car in the sandbag-revetted parking lot behind the operations building

where they had driven it from the infirmary, Wilson walked with her to the officers’ mess, situated a mere 200 yards away. She didn’t make a remark then on seeing him limp slightly from one leg, something Wilson was grateful for. He didn’t even try to keep count of the number of stares Nancy attracted during that short walk. The first problem showed up when the duty officer sitting at the entrance of the dining room insisted that Nancy buy a meal ticket, since she didn’t have a ration card. Since her Canadian money was worthless here, Wilson had to buy the ticket, to her profound embarrassment. She felt even worse when she saw him hesitate before digging in his pocket: he was probably nearly broke himself and she was making him pay for her meal.

The reason Wilson hesitated before paying her ticket had actually nothing to do with lack

of money or stinginess. As a matter of fact, he was quite well off, his family being the holder of a large and successful brewery. It was simply that Nancy just had given him about the best proof that she was no German spy: all the captured agents he had heard about until now had invariably large sums of British money on them. Furthermore, spies needed money so they could travel, buy new clothes to change disguises and so on. Nancy’s story of being a time traveler was already too unbelievable in his mind to have been thought of by a typical German professional intelligence officer. Sending an agent out with no money on top of that was

34

downright implausible. Nancy never understood afterwards why Wilson became even more polite and charming after buying her meal ticket.

The second problem was the stares that followed her around the dining room. At least,

Nancy had expected it and was able to psyche it out after a while. The third problem was the food itself. After the steward had put a bowl of clear cabbage soup and a small plate of cold mutton sandwiches in front of her, she revised her opinion of British military rations in her time: the British had made great strides in seventy years.

A raucous group of pilots entered the dining room soon afterwards and started arguing

with the duty officer, who didn’t like the state of their uniforms and refused to let them eat until they washed up. Nancy followed the exchange with amusement from her table: the young men obviously had just returned from a flying mission and were in a hurry, probably because they knew they could be called to take off again at any time. A senior officer finally intervened and told the duty officer to take it all in context, but also warned the pilots to behave. The group of pilots stared at Nancy as they passed near her table, but she stared herself even more: these were Canadian pilots! One of the men, intrigued by her interest in them, saw the ‘CANADA’ patch sewn on her rank slip-on and stopped dead in his track, with the result that the pilot following him bumped into him and swore.

“Aye, regarde ou tu vas, concombre3!”

Nancy shot up from her chair when she heard the French words spoken with an unmistakable accent.

“You’re from Québec?”

The pilot who had swore was speechless for an instant, then extended a hand that Nancy shook vigorously.

“Jean Daigle, from Trois-Rivières. These clowns here are other pilots from the First

Fighter Squadron, R.C.A.F.4. What is a nice-looking Quebecer like you doing in this hole?”

“Oh, I’m just passing for a few days. I’m Nancy Laplante, from Boucherville.”

 

3 Aye, regarde ou tu vas, concombre: Quebec French expression meaning ‘look where you are going, idiot!’

4 R.C.A.F.: Royal Canadian Air Force

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Jean and Nancy then started chatting in quick French. As a group, the other Canadian pilots decided to join them at the table and sat for lunch. Wilson kept eating in silence, since Nancy was obviously their center of attention. To her credit, she kept the story of her arrival to a fictitious but believable scenario.

As they were finishing lunch, Wilson saw Wing Commander Denison and his aide, Flight

Lieutenant Smythe, heading towards their table. Calling the group to attention, Wilson stood up, imitated by the others. Denison stopped in front of Nancy and smiled to her.

``Captain Laplante, I wish first to apologize for what happened this morning. Second, I

am happy to announce that your shooting down of a Junkers 88 with a machinegun has been confirmed by multiple witnesses. You may not have an aircraft to paint it on but you are authorized to paint on your car a German aircraft kill. Congratulations!” Denison then left after shaking Nancy’s hand, leaving the Canadian pilots to stare at Nancy in admiration. Then, as a chorus, they pressed around her and congratulated her. At that moment, the head steward emerged from the kitchen and shouted loudly around the dining room.

“ALL PILOTS TO THEIR AIRCRAFT! INCOMING BANDITS5!”

“Damn! Our Hurricanes are parked nearly one thousand yards from here. We’ll never

make it in time.” said Daigle.

“I’ll give you a lift in my car. Follow me!” answered Nancy. The pilots and her then ran

out of the dining hall, leaving Wilson to limp back to the intelligence section.

Nancy beat the pilots to her car by a good margin and threw open all the doors, including

the rear gate. All six pilots piled in, out of breath.

“Christ, miss,” said one of them to Nancy, “how come you’re in such good shape?”

Nancy couldn’t help shooting a barb at them.

“Easy! I’m army and you’re air force.’’

The roar of the V-8 engine then covered the grumbles and teeth grinding. Playing the horn to clear a path in the men running in all directions, she sped towards a group of planes that Daigle was pointing to her.

“Want another one, guys? What’s the ultimate in air superiority?”

 

5 Bandit: Air Force designation for enemy aircraft

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The speed indicator was closing on ninety kilometers per hour by now. Burned by her first joke, the pilots didn’t know what to answer. Daigle looked at her with a guarded expression.

“What is it?”

“A tank in the middle of the runway.”

They choked collectively on that one. The Outlander then slid to a stop on the grass, thirty yards from the nearest Hurricane. Before jumping out with the others, Daigle patted Nancy’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the ride anyway, Pongo6!”

She returned to the intelligence section at a more reasonable speed and arrived there as

Wilson, limping badly from the effort, was getting there too.

“You’re already back? Christ, the control tower will get your ass for speeding like this

across the airfield.”

“Oh, in view of the circumstances, I doubt that they will complain. I think that I have

something in my gear that could be useful right now. I will show you.” She then headed inside to the intelligence section’s storeroom, where she took what looked like a handheld radio out of a duffel bag. However, it had a large window-like display on its face and too many buttons for Wilson to understand what it was. Nancy turned it on and a broken line underlined with what looked like frequency settings appeared on the display.

“What is this?” asked Wilson, mystified.

“A radio frequency scanner. Something very useful for war correspondents like me. It

can scan the various frequency bands and show which frequencies are in use. You can also select a particular frequency so that you could listen to the radio traffic on it. This model can receive all aviation bands, apart from many others. I only have to go outside to get a good reception and, with luck, we will be able to listen in on the incoming German planes.” Wilson’s jaw dropped wide open on hearing that. What Nancy held in her hand could supposedly do what took the R.A.F. a large room full of radio equipment and numerous operators to do. If the rest of her equipment was like this, his head would spin before the end of the day. Since he had to direct his section during the incoming action, Wilson told Leading Airman Sutcliffe to go outside and stay with Nancy.

 

6 Pongo: Derogatory term used by aviators to designate ground soldiers.

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The two of them took position besides the sandbag wall protecting the entrance to the

building. Selecting in turn the different frequencies that were now being pinpointed by the scanner, Nancy let Sutcliffe identify the British users.

“O.K., this is the radar controller vectoring our fighters. This one sounds like the Biggin

Hill boys. Wait…”

Nancy had just stumbled on a transmission in German and raised the volume.

“Can you understand German, miss?”

“It’s one of the eight languages which I speak fluently.”

That was said without boasting, while she was intently listening to the German words.

“OOPS! I think that the German raid leader just told his bombers to split into two

groups.”

“I will advise Mister Wilson of that immediately.” said Sutcliffe, running inside. Once told

of this, Wilson picked up his phone and called the sector commander sitting in the operations room nearby to advise him of the German move. The air commodore told him to hold for an instant, as he was receiving another report. When Wilson told him about the German split there was a moment of stunned silence on the telephone.

“How the hell did you know that? Radar informed me only now about this.”

“Er, I have someone monitoring the Jerries’ transmissions, sir.”

“You do? Good show! Tell me immediately of anything else you hear.”

“Will do, sir!”

Wilson then pointed at his specialist on the Luftwaffe7, Sergeant Latham.

“Sergeant, how’s your German?”

“I’m still fair at it, sir.”

“Good! Go outside, where Miss Laplante is, and relay immediately to me any

intercepted German transmission you deem significant.”

Latham then nodded his head and left on the run.

From what Nancy could hear from the Germans, the raiders were having a hard time

against the R.A.F. What worried her was that she could identify only one group of Germans being engaged. The other one was silent, as if they had disappeared. Inside the operations

 

7 Luftwaffe: German air force

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room, a duty officer advised the sector commander that one group of German planes was no longer visible on radar.

“They must have dropped under our radar coverage, sir.”

While the commander agreed with that, this didn’t help him figure out where the Germans were heading.

Nancy suddenly saw another spike appear on the scanner’s display. Switching to the

new frequency, the German words she heard then made her blood freeze. Latham, beside her, also paled before running back to the intelligence section.

“Sir, one group of Germans just reported coming into visual range of this base.”

“Christ!”

Wilson picked up the phone again and passed the word to the sector commander, who started shouting orders to his staff.

“Sound the air raid alert! Recall our first squadron and tell them to get back here

immediately.”

Nancy, now scanning visually the low horizon to the East, saw a group of about twelve

little dots growing steadily. When she faced Latham, it was with cold sweat appearing on her smooth skin.

“Sergeant, this is going to become interesting.”

They then both retreated behind the sandbags and crouched down.

The first German bombs bracketed the control tower, blowing in the glass panes and

cutting to ribbons the air traffic controllers. The maintenance hangars were hit next, hard. Luckily, the operations building, being similar in appearance to other base buildings, was not targeted and suffered only some broken windows. Two precious Hurricanes were destroyed on the ground, while one squadron dispersal hut was blown away. The air defense gunners did their best under murderous German fire but were not enough to stop the attack. What decided the Germans to retreat was the return of the First Squadron R.C.A.F.’s Hurricanes. The Junkers 88 bombers immediately dispersed and fled, but it was too late already for one of them. With one engine on fire, it started to climb, pursued by a Hurricane. A frantic German transmission on the scanner made Nancy smile.

“He is going to bail out. Sergeant, are you game for prisoners?”

“You bet I am, miss!”

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“Then hold this, I will be back in a second.”

Handing over her scanner to Latham, Nancy ran inside and to the intelligence section’s storeroom, where she unlocked a solid-looking case under the curious stare of Wilson. She then took out two handguns, inserted full magazines into them and pocketed spare ones before running back out while ignoring his pleas not to take risks.

Nancy collected Latham outside before they ran together to her Mitsubishi Outlander,

still parked behind sandbags. Latham’s eyes bulged when he saw the monstruous pistol she inserted between her legs after sitting behind the steering wheel. She then handed him a much smaller pistol as she raced out of the sandbag revetment.

“This one is loaded and ready to fire. You just need to pull the trigger. You have ten

rounds. Questions?”

“Uh, yes. Why the elephant gun you have there?”

She smiled in amusement at his question.

“An old trick in a gunfight: scare them and you may not have to kill them.”

For the second time of the day she raced across the airfield, heading towards a plowed field where the two visible German parachutes were likely to land.

“Damn!” swore Latham. “It looks like the local farmers have their own ideas about

prisoners.”

Nancy also saw the three civilians armed with pitchforks and axes who were running towards the parachute landing points. The two German pilots then landed within a hundred yards of the farmers.

“Hold on, it’s going to be bumpy.” warned Nancy to Sutcliffe.

Barely slowing down, Nancy drove through the plowed field as the farmers reached the Germans. Latham, holding on to dear life in the car now bucking like a mustang, suddenly yelled.

“WHAT IS THIS IDIOT DOING?”

One of the Germans was being kicked by one of the farmers armed with a pitchfork, while the two other civilians were approaching the second German, who lay still on the ground. Nancy slipped to a halt between the two groups and jumped out, followed by Latham. She then raised her big pistol towards the sky.

BOOM

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Latham nearly fell on his ass when Nancy’s big pistol erupted: that shot had sounded to him like an aircraft bomb. Everybody stopped moving then, except Nancy, who walked quickly towards the farmer who had been kicking one of the Germans.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM! HE IS A PRISONER OF WAR AND UNDER MY

PROTECTION.”

The civilian did not argue with her and backed away at once. Nancy stood beside the German until she was sure that the farmers were not coming back, then addressed the aviator in German.

“Are you hurt?”

The man hesitated, surprised by her good German and intimidated by the huge pistol pointed at him.

“Nein, my leather jacket prevented the worst. I may have a few bruises, that’s all. Thank

you for saving me, miss.”

“It was my duty to protect you as a prisoner. Can you walk?”

As an answer, the German slowly rose to his feet and unclipped his parachute harness. Without taking her eyes from him, Nancy yelled at Latham.

“How is the other one, Sergeant?”

“In a bad way, I’m afraid! He is badly burned and in shock.”

“O.K., we will drive them both to the infirmary. Make sure first that your German has no

weapons.”

She next spoke in German to the aviator facing her. He had finished taking off his harness and had raised his hands of his own accord.

“Good: you are being reasonable. Continue like this and I promise you that you will be

well treated. We will now drive you and your comrade to the base infirmary. First, you throw me that pistol you’re wearing on your belt, slowly.”

The German pulled out his Luger with two fingers and threw it at her feet. She bent her knees to pick it up, keeping her eyes and her weapon on him. She decided to delay a full search of him until after the other German had been taken in for treatment, as that man was obviously in great pain.

“You will help my sergeant put your friend in the back of my car. Go!”

Nancy then jumped back in the Outlander and moved it close to the burned German, then opened the rear gate and put down the rear seats to the horizontal, thus giving a relatively comfortable flat surface for the wounded to lay on. The second German then sat beside his comrade. Letting Latham, still armed with her Glock 26 9mm compact pistol, keep an eye on

41

both Germans, she drove back to the base at a slow pace, to avoid unnecessary pain to the burned man. By then she could see Hurricanes starting to land back carefully on the crater-strewn airfield.

Ten minutes later the wounded was admitted at the infirmary, freeing her and Latham to

search the other German, who had been quickly checked over by the doctor and declared fit. She found only a few personal papers, a small picture showing a young woman and a baby and some German and French money. She handed them all back to him.

“Your baby is cute. How old is he?”

“My son is now nine months old. I’m afraid I will miss him and Frida very much while in

captivity.”

He was now obviously relaxing after seeing that his captors would treat him correctly. Nancy knew from talking with qualified interrogators at her Montreal militia unit that this was about the best time for a few cautious questions.

“I am sure you will be able to write to them in France.”

“They’re in Germany,” corrected the German, enjoying a cigarette given to him by

Latham. “They do not permit families to come to Rosieres-En-Santerre.” Repressing a smile of triumph, Nancy quickly changed the subject before the German could realize that he had just given away his home base.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“I would appreciate a cup of coffee. God, I’m tired!”

“I can believe that: your squadron has kept us busy here. You must be flying non-stop

all day.”

He made a weak smile at her remark.

“It’s funny, but one good thing about being a prisoner of war is that I will finally be able to

get some rest. Those three missions a day were putting us on our knees.”

“You should let Goering8 fly some of those missions for you.”

The German aviator broke out in laughter.

“That effeminate pig? He would never be good enough to fly with KG1. Well, maybe

with those idiots of JG51 in Wissant.”

“My sergeant will get you a coffee now. How do you want it?”

8 Goering: Commander of the Luftwaffe

42

“Black, with one lump of sugar, please.”

“Sergeant Latham, could you bring one coffee, black, with one sugar?”

What the German didn’t see was Nancy’s mouth telling Latham silently to call Wilson to pass the information on. Latham left the small lounge where they had searched the German and went directly to the infirmary’s reception desk, cornering the head nurse with an urgent plea.

“Can you have somebody quickly get a cup of coffee, black, with one sugar? That

German is singing like a bird and we may be able to get more out of him yet. I need also to make an urgent phone call.”

“The phone is right here, deary. I will personally take care of the coffee. Good luck!”

Flight lieutenant Wilson picked up the phone at the other end after two rings.

“Jesus, Sergeant, where have you been?”

“Me and Miss Laplante are at the infirmary, with two German prisoners. One of them is

being treated for deep burns but Laplante is milking the other one out! You have some paper and a pencil, sir?”

There were some shuffling noises before Wilson answered back.

“Go ahead!”

“O.K., first of, the squadron that attacked us is KG1, based at Rosieres-En-Santerre.

Also, JG51 is at Wissant. The German says that they have been flying three missions a day and are dead tired. We may get more as it goes.”

“Christ, Sergeant, if I’m not careful about it, she’s liable to steal my job by the end of this

day. Good work anyway, both of you!”

Latham put down the telephone with a chuckle: him, having to work under a smart and attractive woman? Anytime!