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

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18:25 (GMT)

Fighter Command operations room

Stanmore

“The bombers are on their way back, sir. No Germans in pursuit.”

“Thank you!”

Dowding looked at Nancy with guarded optimism.

“It looks like everything worked pretty well, Captain. Now we wait for the butcher’s bill

and see who comes out the winner.”

“Sir, as a war correspondent, I have seen and documented a lot of conflicts. The one

thing that it taught me is that, in war, there are no real winners, only losers. In this case, we can only hope to be the smallest losers.”

“How true, Captain Laplante.”

Dowding’s shaking hands showed Nancy how much he hated it every time he had to pay the butcher’s bill with the blood of his men and women.

At 19:40 hours, the chief of operations silently handed a sheet of paper to Dowding. The

air chief marshal read it slowly twice, then turned towards Nancy.

“Captain Laplante, you suggested this plan for approval: it is only fair that you see the

results of it.”

She took the paper he was presenting and, with a dry throat, read it. Nancy then looked back at Dowding with haunted eyes.

“I hope that ULTRA will soon tell us it was worth paying such a price, sir.”

She sat slowly on the table supporting her laptop.

“So many young men…”

A total of 73 British fighters and 14 bombers had been lost. 59 fighter pilots and 41

bomber aircrews were dead or missing, with 48 more men wounded. Civilian casualties in the London area were in the hundreds.

Approximately 200 kilometers away to the Southeast, General-Major Osterkamp,

commander of Jagdfliegerfuhrer 2, was closing the door of his office in Wissant. He had just received his own butcher’s bill and had to advise GeneralFeldMarschall Kesselring. He could not finish writing the first sentence of the message to be coded and sent before grief overcame him and he started crying.

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22:35 (GMT)

Fighter Command operations room

Stanmore

Nancy saw the officer in charge of the Special Liaison Unit, the section which handled

the distribution of ULTRA messages, come out of his sound-proof cubicle, where she knew there was a teleprinter with a direct line to Bletchley Park, the British decoding center for German ENIGMA messages. The squadron leader was obviously looking for Dowding, as he walked towards the air chief marshal’s desk, near where she stood with a cup of tea in her hands. Not seeing Dowding, Squadron Leader Reeves looked at her.

“Do you know where the air chief marshal is, Captain?”

“I believe that he is taking a nap on a cot in his office. Is this the latest from the guys in

Hut 3?”

Reeves stared at her for a moment. He knew the story about Nancy and fully realized that she probably knew more about ULTRA than he did himself, but she was still not officially cleared for ULTRA material.

“Er, yes, but you can’t see it. Sorry!”

She rolled her eyes upward.

“One fine day in a million years’ time, common sense will catch up with military

bureaucracy. Can you tell me at least if it is good or bad news?”

“It is very good news, Captain.”

Reeves had a large smile as he went to knock on Dowding’s office door. Three minutes later, Dowding burst out of his office, Reeves in tow, to stop in front of Nancy.

“Read this, Captain!”

He then handed her a teleprinter page. She took it with a sarcastic look at Reeves, who rolled HIS eyes upward.

“HOT DAMN!”

The message was addressed to the commander of Luftflotte 2, Kesselring, from the commander of his fighters, Osterkamp. In extremely terse terms, Osterkamp was basically telling his superior that his command had been destroyed. Out of the original 597 Bf 109 and 56 Bf 110 fighters he had sent on the London raid, a staggering 489 had been lost, many of them being Bf 109s which had run out of fuel over the English Channel. Osterkamp was concluding by

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requesting an all-out rescue effort by the Kriegsmarine to find as many of his pilots as possible before it was too late. Taking out her pocket calculator, Nancy did a quick calculation.

“WOW! Their fighters suffered a 75% loss rate on this raid. This means that German

bombers will have to operate with little or no escorts…”

Her eyes suddenly sparkled with malice,

“… And that our own bombers will have a mostly free hand from now on.”

Dowding suddenly stopped staring at her pocket calculator and snapped his head up, a look of revelation in his eyes.

“By Jove, I didn’t think of that! I’ll get Portal on the telephone right away.”

He then ran back in his office, leaving a bemused Reeves facing Nancy. She then handed him the teleprinter page.

“Here, you can have it back. Thanks!”

Reeves couldn’t decide then if he was supposed to get angry or to laugh at that.

Four more ULTRA messages arrived at Stanmore that night, all being casualty reports

from units of Luftflotte 2 and 3. The grand total at 03:05 hours for Luftwaffe units in Western Europe was by then of 524 fighters and 181 bombers destroyed, plus another 46 fighters and 106 bombers seriously damaged. While the majority of fighter losses had been due to fuel starvation over the Channel, the bombers had suffered most on landing, when they had been caught on the ground by British bombers. What was going to hurt the Germans the most by far however was the loss of the large majority of their experienced fighter pilots. The Luftwaffe would never be the same after this, the same way that the Japanese navy never recovered from the battle of Midway in 1942. The atmosphere at Stanmore was one of jubilation by the morning of September 8, a Sunday.

Nancy was just finished packing away her computer equipment, so she could return to

Northolt for a well-deserved rest, when Squadron Leader Reeves walked out of his office with another teleprinter page in his hand. He handed it to Dowding with a shaking hand. The air chief marshal’s face paled as he read the ULTRA intercept.

“My god, the poor bastards…”

He then handed the message to Nancy and turned away, trying to hide his tears. Her heart sank as she read the dispatch. It was a message from the head of the Luftwaffe, Herman Goering, to Kesselring. It directed him to hand over all RAF aircrews captured over France on Saturday to the Gestapo for detailed interrogation. They were to be transported to a small local

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prison near Gravelines by no later than 24:00 hours on Sunday, September 8. Goering further stated that everything had to be done to find the source of the leaks, which, in his mind, had doomed the London raid. She looked at Reeves, sobs breaking her voice.

“The bastards are going to torture our pilots to death to try to find out that source and I’m

the one who started all this. Oh my god, what have I done?” The three of them were silent for a moment, horrified by the turn of events. Reeves saw Nancy’s jaw suddenly tighten as the tears cleared from her eyes. Dowding noticed that as well. Her voice came out firm, resolute.

“Sir, we have to get those men out of there.”

“Agreed! I will contact Sir Newall right away.”

“And, sir…”

“Yes?”

“I want to be part of it! I’m responsible for what is happening to them.”

Dowding stared at her for a long moment. No woman would normally be allowed to go as a combatant on a mission. He was however starting to wonder how wise that rule was in view of Laplante’s overall performance. She had earned his full respect for her gutsiness and intelligence and he could see that she fully understood what she was getting into. Besides, she may well be the key to the success of any rescue operation, as Air Commodore Nicholls had told him about her incredible precision jump. He finally grinned and gently tapped her shoulder.

“Captain, you want to help? Then you plan the rescue operation on my behalf.”

06:05 (local time)

Downtown Berlin hotel

The telephone woke up Klaus Manheim in his hotel room. Admiral Canaris was on the

line, his voice sounding shaky.

“Manheim? I’m afraid that you will have to delay a bit your departure for England.

Something very big happened yesterday and I need your brains in France.”

“In France? Where and for what?”

“I will explain the what in my office. The where is near Gravelines, on the Pas de Calais.

Our Canadian friend from Northolt may just have played a very nasty trick on the Luftwaffe. Come as quickly as possible.”

“I’m on my way!”

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16:05 (GMT)

Sunday, September 8, 1940

Fighter Command operations center

Stanmore, England

Captain George Townsend, of the Royal Commandos, was led to a

small conference room of the underground bunker, where a Royal Navy lieutenant-commander was already sitting at a long table. The navy officer shook his hand warmly.

“Peter Stilwell, commander of His Majesty’s patrol boat SEA

DRAGON.”

“George Townsend, Royal Commandos. I gather that you have

also been loaned to help the RAF on short notice?”

“You could say that, by Jove! Everybody seems to be in an awful

hurry on this, whatever it is. Oops, there’s the Air Chief Marshal.” Both stood rigidly at attention and saluted as Dowding, followed by a tall, foreign female officer wearing a camouflaged combat uniform, entered the room. Townsend couldn’t help stare at the nasty looking pistol of unknown design slung low on the female officer’s right hip. Dowding’s voice then returned him to reality.

“At ease, gentlemen! Please take a seat.”

Once they were in place around the table, Dowding addressed both newcomers.

“As you may know already, the RAF stopped a German bombing raid on London

yesterday, causing very heavy losses to the Luftwaffe. The Germans now seem to think that we have a secret source giving away their plans and are trying to find that source. Unfortunately, this has led them to order that our pilots captured after jumping over France yesterday be handed over to the Gestapo for questioning.”

“My god, the poor bastards won’t survive it!” exclaimed Townsend. “Exactly the point, Captain. We have to get these men out of France as quickly as

possible, thus we will have no time for practice runs or complicated planning. Time waisted will mean more pain for our men. Captain Laplante, to my right, is in charge of planning and preparing this rescue operation. She will also participate in it.”

“But, sir,” protested Townsend, “this is going to be a delicate, most dangerous

commando operation. I’m not going to put my men at risk by letting a woman plan this mission, let alone having her come with us to second-guess my orders while in enemy territory.”

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Dowding nodded in understanding at Townsend’s protest: the commando officer’s reaction would have been considered a sensible one by any British commander in normal times, as women were widely considered unfit to command men in combat in Great Britain, or in most other countries as a matter of fact. Laplante was however no normal woman and the present situation could not suffer delays caused by bruised egos. Prime Minister Churchill himself had agreed that time was of the essence and that Nancy had unique special talents which would be vital for this rescue operation.

“Captain, your objections are duly noted. However, Captain Laplante is still in charge of

this operation. She has the full support of both myself and of the Prime Minister on this and will have the final say on everything. I will now leave you with her, as there is a lot to do and little time to do it. Good luck, all of you.”

When the door closed behind Dowding, an uneasy silence filled the room. The female

captain looked at both of them calmly, appearing supremely confident.

“Look, we are here to help men facing the imminent threat of torture and execution.

Let’s work together to help them, instead of fighting each other.’’

‘’Why did you push Air Marshall Dowding to put you in charge of this operation,

Captain?’’ replied Townsend, his tone clearly hostile and with the word ‘Captain’ pronounced derisively. ‘’Do you have the least idea of what to expect in France, or of the dangers we will face? What the hell are you trying to prove?’’

Nancy stared back at the commando officer and answered in a firm but calm voice.

‘’Captain Townsend, I don’t give a shit about what you think of women in uniform. I can

tell you without hesitation that I can shoot a pistol better than you, have made more parachute jumps than you and that, in terms of combined special operations, know more about them than you or any other officer in Great-Britain presently do. I can also demonstrate to you on the spot that you don’t measure up to me in unarmed combat.’’

Townsend gave her a contemptuous look.

‘’You dumb bitch! You really believe what you say? And I should let my men be killed

because a delusional opportunist like you wants to show off to the big brass?’’ Nancy’s reaction surprised both Townsend and Stilwell. Jumping out of her chair, she went around the table and grabbed Townsend’s chair, making it pivot brutally to make him face her.

‘’You want to show your male superiority to me, Captain Townsend? Then, here is your

chance. This room is sound-proofed and nobody will hear us. Get up and strike me if you can.’’

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As Townsend hesitated, not really ready to strike a woman, Nancy suddenly swung a leg up, kicking him in the chest with her combat boot and sending him violently on his back. Now furious and with his chest hurting, Townsend jumped back on his feet and faced Nancy while taking a combat stance.

‘’You bitch! You asked for it!’’

He then took a step forward and swung his right fist in a hook, targeting her ribs. Nancy reacted with a speed that left Stilwell, who was watching the fight, wide-eyed. Sidestepping at the same time she deflected Townsend’s fist with her forearm, she punched him in the ribs, then swept her left leg around, making Townsend fall hard on the concrete floor, his lungs searching for air. The commando officer, grimacing with pain, got back on his feet more slowly this time.

‘’You got me once, but you won’t get me twice. You…’’

He didn’t have the time to complete his sentence, Nancy then delivering a lightning-quick punch to the forehead accompanied by an ear-piercing shriek. Stilwell, despite the fact that he was following closely the fight, barely saw the punch before it connected. Nearly struck unconscious by the hit, Townsend staggered on his legs and would have fallen on his knees if Nancy had not grabbed him firmly.

‘’Mister Stilwell, put back up Captain Townsend’s chair, please.’’

Stilwell hurried to obey her, allowing Nancy to sit Townsend back in his chair before returning to her own chair and sitting down.

‘’Well, where were we already? Ah yes: the mission in France.’’

If the situation would not have been so serious and if he would not have been so stunned by Nancy’s performance, Stilwell would have probably laughed then. Townsend, still half knocked out, looked with incredulity at Nancy.

‘’Where did you learn to fight like this?’’

Nancy gave him her best smile.

‘’Sorry, Captain Townsend, but you don’t have the necessary security clearance to know

that now. Know that, apart from being an experienced parachutist and being an expert in pistol shooting and unarmed combat, I also speak German fluently. I intend to jump at night above the objective, neutralize the German sentries while wearing the uniform of a German female auxiliary and then unlock an entrance door for your commandos. Mister Stilwell’s job will be to embark us on his boat at the end of the mission and bring us back to England. I have here in my suitcase air photos of the objective taken recently, which we will study together now…’’

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