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

CHAPTER 17 – KITTING OUT

09:48 (GMT)

Wednesday, October 2, 1940

Canadian Army depot, Camp Aldershot

County of Hampshire, southern coast of England

Nancy parked her 2010 Mitsubishi Outlander between two light army trucks in the

parking lot across the road from the long, low building housing the quartermaster services of the Canadian Army in England, then got out of her car as two Canadian Army drivers looked on, completely overwhelmed. The senior soldier then saw the major’s rank slip-on on her combat uniform and snapped to attention, saluting her crisply.

“Good morning, sir! Er…miss!”

“Good morning, Private.” replied Nancy while saluting back. “At ease!”

Leaving the two excited soldiers to follow her with appreciative eyes, Nancy walked briskly to the QM building and, jumping the three wooden steps at the main entrance, entered it. She found herself in a short hallway with a number of doors bearing signs. Using the door marked ‘clothing’, she entered a long, wide hall with a service counter running along its length and with alleys of storage shelves and clothing racks behind the counter. About twenty young soldiers under the control of a sergeant and of a corporal were already lined up at the counter, with two army store clerks busy issuing them pieces of uniforms and military gear. All eyes immediately went to Nancy as she walked calmly to the service counter. The sergeant present hesitated for a moment before coming to attention and saluting while shouting out loud.

“ROOM!”

All the soldiers froze at attention as Nancy saluted back.

“Good morning, maam!”

“Good morning, Sergeant. Please put your men at ease and carry on with your kitting

out process.”

“Yes maam! SECTION, AT EASE!”

One of the army store clerks quickly came to Nancy as she leaned against the service counter while eyeing the countless rows of multi-story storage shelves.

“May I help you, maam?”

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“You may.” answered Nancy while taking a sheet of paper out of a breast pocket of her

camouflaged shirt and unfolding it before presenting it to the clerk. “I have an appointment for ten O’clock this morning, to be kitted out with both battledress and service uniforms. I already have my own web gear and helmet.”

The corporal looked down at the Glock 17L pistol hanging in the low-slung holster strapped to her right leg before smiling in embarrassment.

“I’m afraid that we are running late in kitting out this batch of soldiers, miss. I can

however have Private Welland take care of you now.”

“Don’t! These soldiers were here first. I will wait my turn.”

The corporal looked scandalized by her words.

“But, maam, you’re an officer. I can’t make you wait.”

“A good officer takes care of his men first, Corporal. I will wait.”

“Er, yes maam!” replied the store clerk, both surprised and delighted, before returning to

serve the waiting soldiers.

Walking away from the counter, Nancy sat on a wooden bench set against the wall, next

to two young soldiers busy trying on new boots. She looked at the shoulder patches and hat badges of the nearest soldier and smiled to the young man, who was no more than twenty years old.

“How long have you been with the Edmonton Regiment, Private?”

“Eight months, maam.” answered timidly the soldier while eyeing her rank slip-ons.

Nancy noticed that and grinned.

“Not accustomed to see female officers I bet, Private?”

“No, maam. May I ask when the army allowed women in, maam?”

“Actually, the Canadian Army normally doesn’t, except for Nursing Sisters and civilian

employees. I’m a special case.”

Nancy could guess by the soldier’s expression then that he probably was imagining the kind of favors or strings he believed that she had pulled to be such a special case. Given the mentality of the period and the very low professional status given to women in 1940, Nancy had to agree that the soldier had good reasons to wonder. The arrival in the clothing store of two young Canadian Army captains and the shouted order by the sergeant present for his men to come to attention then took Nancy out of her thoughts. Seeing the two captains jump the lineup of soldiers and go to the service counter, Nancy got up from her bench and calmly walked to them

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as one of the captains started demanding to be served. Tapping that officer’s right shoulder, she put on a stern expression as both captains turned around and looked at her with surprise.

“I believe that there is a lineup, Captain. You will have to wait your turn.”

The captain directly facing Nancy looked at her rank slip-on and at her low-slung pistol before looking back into her eyes.

“What is this masquerade, miss? There are no women in the Canadian Army, much less

as officers. I could have you arrested for impersonating an officer.”

“First of, Captain, I am a commissioned officer of the Canadian Army. Second, I was

recently promoted by General McNaughton himself to the rank of major. You want to argue that point with him, fine! In the meantime, either wait your turn or leave.” Too stunned to reply at first, the captain hesitated for a second, then started walking away, followed by the other captain. A stern command from Nancy stopped both officers dead in their tracks.

“STOP! Aren’t you forgetting something, Captain?”

Anger visible on his face, the captain she had admonished saluted her, then walked out as soon as Nancy saluted back. The waiting soldiers watched the whole episode with growing expectation, but their sergeant quickly returned their attention to the kitting out process.

Nancy’s turn at the counter came ten minutes later. The corporal store clerk took out a

form and smiled to her.

“Now, maam, what do you exactly need?”

“Four sets of battledress uniforms, with boots, two female service dress uniforms with

four shirts and ties, two pairs of female service shoes and two senior officer’s service caps, along with a winter greatcoat. As I said before, I already have my own web gear and helmet.” The corporal scratched his head as he thought over that.

“Er, you do realize that we do not have battledress uniforms made for women, maam.

As for female dress uniforms, we were told to requisition British models just for you. We brought a rack for you to choose from.”

“They will do just fine. I wasn’t exactly ready to go around dressed as a Nursing Sister.”

“I can believe that, maam. By the way, the tailor shop is just next door, in this building.

You will be able to have adjustments made to your uniforms right away.”

“Excellent! Let’s begin, then.”

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Putting down Nancy’s particulars on his form first, the store clerk then started going through the rows of shelves, picking up selected pieces of uniforms and bringing them to the service counter for Nancy to try them on. Going in and out of a nearby dressing cabin, Nancy finally had the desired number of uniforms with an approximate fit. The store clerk then looked at the patches and insignias on her uniform and beret, taking out from under the counter a number of patches and badges.

“Hmm, major’s rank slip-ons, Canada patch, General Staff cap badge. As for medal

ribbons, if you have medals, the tailor shop can put them on.”

“Please add paratrooper wings to those, Corporal.” Said calmly Nancy, making the

man’s head snap up in surprise.

“Uh, right! Paratrooper wings… I will show you to the tailor shop now.”

The corporal then insisted on carrying both of the kit bags filled with Nancy’s new uniforms but she would have none of it.

“One man, one kit, Corporal. I’ll carry those.”

“As you wish, maam. This way, please.”

A short walk out of the clothing store and into the building’s central hallway led them to the tailor shop, a large room where two civilian women were busy mending or adjusting uniforms. The older of the two, a thin woman in her forties, came to the service counter and looked up and down Nancy with a critical eye.

“Hmm, whatever they gave you here, miss, it must be too short and too narrow at the

shoulders. By the way, what is that uniform you are wearing, miss? I never saw this kind before.”

“That’s understandable, miss: it is unique here. This is a Canadian Forces combat

uniform. Now, can you make these battledress and service uniforms fit better on me? I’d hate to see my shapes not being put to their best values.”

“I’m sure that all those young soldiers would hate that too. I will try to keep everyone

happy… within dress regulations. You may leave now, Corporal.” Waiting for the store clerk to leave, the seamstress then led Nancy behind a screen and asked her to undress to her underwear. Nancy’s competition pistol belt, with its Glock 17 pistol, made her look at Nancy with some misgivings.

“This doesn’t look like army issue gear, Miss.”

“It isn’t! This is professional competition gear.”

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The seamstress kept any further remarks to herself and started measuring Nancy and making her try her new uniforms. It took her over an hour to try and adjust every uniform, with a lot of sewing still left to be done. Seeing that it was close to lunch hour, the seamstress grabbed a form and a pen.

“Alright, Miss. I will note down your medals, if any, then we will break for lunch. How

much in a hurry are you to get all this ready?”

“In a big hurry.” replied Nancy, taking out her PMO’s pass and showing it to the

seamstress. “My time is very precious to the Prime Minister. I hate to push you, but it must be all ready by this evening at the latest.”

The woman couldn’t help step back, somewhat intimidated.

“Miss, who are you, really?”

“Major Nancy Laplante, Special Military Advisor to the Prime Minister. About my medals,

you will need to install ribbons for the VC, CBE and MC. Do you have any VC ribbon here?”

“Er, I will have to check, Major.” said the stunned woman before hurrying to her work

desk and searching for a moment in its drawers.

“You’re lucky, Major: I have some VC ribbon left. Er, do you mind if we go now for

lunch?”

“Not at all. In fact, you could guide me at the same time to the mess. I have a car.”

“Oh, good! We eat with the army nurses at the officers’ mess, which is a good fifteen

minutes’ walk from here.”

“Then, close this place and bring your friend. My car is in the parking lot across the

road.”

The two seamstresses didn’t have to be told twice. The tailor shop, with Nancy’s uniforms put aside in a corner, was locked up in a moment. Leading out the seamstresses, Nancy walked out of the front door, only to stop abruptly.

“Aw, not again!” she said in a disgusted tone at the sight of the mixed crowd of soldiers

and civilian workers milling around her car. The senior seamstress then saw with alarm Nancy’s right hand move to her right hip as she imitated an American western drawl.

“Well, time to scare those critters away!”

Instead of going for her pistol, Nancy’s hand went into her hip pocket, coming out with a key holder. Pointing the key holder towards her car, Nancy then pressed the button of the remote engine starter, making the V-8 engine roar to life. The crowd of onlookers immediately stepped back from the vehicle, taken by surprise.

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“Works every time.” said Nancy, smiling, as she resumed walking towards her car, the

two seamstresses right behind her.

“How did you do that, Major?” asked the younger seamstress. “Remote control device. Nothing fancy, really.”

The soldiers around her car came to attention and saluted as Nancy closed in. Returning their salute but also ignoring the barrage of questions, she unlocked the driver’s door and got in, unlocking the passenger doors for the two seamstresses. The older woman, taking place in the front passenger seat, couldn’t help stare in bewilderment at the electronic equipment and displays cluttering the car’s dashboard.

“My God! What’s all this?”

“6,400 dollars’ worth of options and special equipment.” replied Nancy laconically while

backing out of her parking spot. She inserted a laser disk in her CD player as she drove away from the crowd.

“Would you like some music, girls?”

“Er, why not?” answered the head seamstress, still fascinated by the interior of the car.

“Turn right on this street, Major. The mess is half a mile down the road. Where did you get this car, if I may ask?”

“In Montreal, but it is now a one-of-a-kind car.”

“Like you, Major?” asked the senior seamstress, staring at Nancy, who shrugged her

shoulders.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I am not permitted to talk much about myself. The Germans seem

to know everything about me, yet those dodos at M.I.5 insist that I don’t speak to our own people.”

The music from her CD player then got the attention of both of Nancy’s passengers, with the younger one bending forward to stick her head between the two front seats.

“That’s really nice. Who is singing?”

“An Irish group called ‘The Corrs’.”

“They are really good. By the way, my name is Rachel Sinclair.”

“And mine is Mary Corey.” added the senior seamstress. Nancy shook hands with both

women quickly, driving with one hand.

“Your car seems very easy to drive, Major.” said Corey. “I also did not see you change

gears once.”

“I don’t need to: this car has an automatic transmission.”

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Both British women exchanged a glance: that female major and her car were certainly out of the ordinary.

Guided by Mary Corey, Nancy soon pulled up in the parking lot of the officers’ mess,

which was nearly full with jeeps and staff cars.

‘’Alright, girls: let’s go eat!’’

Carefully locking up her car first, Nancy then let Mary and Rachel lead the way to the mess, saluting the senior officers she met on their way in. While those senior officers returned her salutes, most of the junior officers who should have saluted Nancy either stared blankly at her or ignored her, sneering in disdain at her rank insignias. She stayed apparently oblivious to this, following the seamstresses to the officers’ dining room. The young duty officer selling meal tickets at the entrance of the room pointed at the pistol on Nancy’s right hip.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but weapons are not allowed in the dining lounge: Camp Commandant’s

orders.”

“I’m equally sorry, Lieutenant, but I have to be armed at all times: Prime Minister’s

orders.”

She showed her PMO’s pass as she spoke. The duty officer hesitated but finally relented and sold her a meal ticket. By that time, Mary and Rachel were already sitting at a round table between two tables occupied by Canadian Army Medical Corps Nursing Sisters. The latter, like all the other officers in the dining lounge, had fallen silent and were staring at Nancy as she sat beside Mary Corey. Nancy flashed her best smile at the Nursing Sisters sitting at the nearest table.

“Hi, girls! How is life treating you?”

“Unfairly of course, Major. Isn’t this a man’s world?” replied a young, baby-faced blonde

with neck-length hair.

“Aaah, a fellow feminist. Do not despair, Nurse: those men will one day see the light and

understand who is on top. By the way, I’m Nancy Laplante, from the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“And I’m Patricia Wilson, Nurse at the First Canadian Field Hospital. My two friends are

Sylvie Comeau and Diane Crandell.”

“Pleased to meet you.” said Nancy while shaking hands with the three nurses. One of

them pointed a finger at her.

“Hey! Aren’t you the one who shot four German spies in London’s St James’ Park a

week ago?”

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“First, they were assassins, not spies. Yes, I shot them when they

tried to kill me. One of them was an Irishman, actually.”

“How did you manage that, Major?” asked with poor tact Diane

Crandell. Patricia Wilson glanced unhappily at her as Nancy answered calmly.

“Easy, Nurse: I’m a better pistol shooter than they were.”

“Why would the Germans send a hit team to London to kill you, Major?” Asked Patricia

as politely as she could. Nancy pointed at her temple.

“I have knowledge that the Germans don’t want the British to be able to use. I’m sorry

but I can’t say more on this.”

A mess steward showed up then to take Nancy’s order and those of the two seamstresses. Sylvie Comeau waited until the steward was gone before pointing at Nancy’s Glock 17L pistol.

“Was this the pistol you used, Major?”

“No! I had a more powerful weapon then.”

A British Army colonel stopped at that moment in front of Nancy and put forward his hand.

“Give me your pistol! Weapons are not authorized in my mess.”

The short, overweight colonel then saw Nancy’s rank slip-on.

“What’s this? What the hell are you trying to prove, miss?”

Nancy got up from her chair and stood at attention before answering the irate colonel.

“Sir, I have strict orders from the Prime Minister to be armed at all times.”

“What’s this baloney? Don’t you lie to me, miss! And what is this phony uniform

anyway?”

Nancy managed with difficulty to keep her voice respectful as she took out her PMO’s pass and showed it to the colonel.

“I am not lying, sir, and I am a major in the Canadian Army. You can vet my story with

Lieutenant General Ismay, sir. I have his telephone number.” Nancy’s resolve only made the colonel angrier.

“Miss, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your story! No female will ever be accepted in any

decent army as an officer. You’re a fraud!”

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Nancy became livid with rage as the male officers present stared at her, many obviously enjoying her dressing down. Taking a small box from a pocket of her camouflaged shirt, she opened it and showed the medal inside to the colonel, whose eyes popped open at its sight.

“Sir! His Majesty King George VI pinned this Victoria Cross on me in St-Thomas

Hospital three weeks ago. If you persist in demeaning me in front of subalterns, I will put a redress of grievance against you in General Ismay’s hands, sir. May I have lunch now, sir?”

“Like hell you are!” shouted the colonel, too stubborn to back down. “Get out of my mess,

now!”

Seeing that the colonel was beyond logic, Nancy turned away and started walking out of the dining lounge. A Canadian infantry major with a sarcastic smile on his face turned in his chair to watch Nancy leave.

“Better luck next time… Majorette!”

As the male officers around burst out in laughter, Nancy stopped abruptly next to him and stared down into his eyes, pointing an index at him.

“The base gymnasium, this evening at seven. We will have a demonstration on

unarmed combat. Be there or be called a coward!”

The major was too surprised to reply before Nancy walked out of the dining lounge.

Still full of rage, Nancy nearly charged headlong into a Canadian brigadier general as he

and two other senior officers were about to enter the dining lounge. Stepping aside while excusing herself, she saluted the general and was ready to leave when the general stopped her with a gesture of the hand.

“Major Laplante? I was hoping to meet you one day. We have a lot to talk about.”

“You know me, sir?”

“General McNaughton briefed me and the higher division staff about you, Major. I am

Brigadier Salmon, Deputy Commander of the First Canadian Infantry Division. Could we talk over lunch?”

“I would love to, sir, but the base commander just threw me out of the dining lounge.”

“Why?” asked Salmon, frowning.

“He called me a fraud, sir.”

That made Salmon shake his head in frustration.

“Major, this may be a good time to set things right. Follow me!”

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Sandwiched between the Brigadier General and his two staff officers, Nancy went back the way she had come, reentering the dining lounge behind Salmon. The base commander, now sitting at a table, turned deep red at their sight and got up, hurrying to the Brigadier.

“Sir! That woman can’t come here: she doesn’t belong in this mess!”

Salmon stared severely at the British colonel and replied in a voice loud enough for all present to be able to hear him.

“Colonel, Major Laplante was recently promoted by order of General McNaughton. She

is a commissioned senior officer of the Canadian Army and has every right to be in this mess. She is also a highly decorated officer worthy of respect. Anyone who will dispute her rank would also be disputing General McNaughton’s authority. Am I clear, Colonel?”

“But… she brought weapons in this mess, in contravention of base regulations, sir.”

“Colonel, in case you never read newspapers, Major Laplante was recently the target of

an assassination attempt by German agents in London and has to be armed for her own protection. It seems actually that the Germans saw her real value better than anyone here in this mess. Now, go back to your lunch and leave Major Laplante alone from now on!”

“Er, yes sir!”

Feeling deeply humiliated, the colonel returned to his table as the other officers in the mess looked down at their plates, smarting from the Brigadier’s not too subtle collective reprimand. On their part, the seamstresses and the Nursing Sisters smiled gleefully as Nancy was invited to sit at the table reserved for general officers. Salmon let Nancy time to order her lunch before bending forward and lowering his voice to a near whisper.

“Major, very few people in Aldershot know even part of the story about you. I was given

the short version of it and I have to say that I found it quite fantastic.”

“Sir, how I got here is pretty much irrelevant. I am now here and will do my best to

shorten this war. There are plans in motion now to produce a number of new weapons and equipment based on the technological knowledge I brought with me from the future. These weapons will eventually have to be tested in combat, most likely during a commando raid in occupied France. I already suggested to Prime Minister Churchill that, as the only fully equipped army formation now deployed on British soil, your division should be involved in that raid, in conjunction with British commandos.”

“Super!” exclaimed Salmon, obviously pleased. “Do you have any more details about

that future raid?”

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“I do, sir. You must however understand that it will take weeks and months before we

are ready for it. I believe that it should involve a night surprise attack on a German submarine base along the French coast. Those submarines are hurting us badly and must be taken out. Your division will probably provide mechanized support to commando troops in the form of Bren Carriers. These machines are small, fast and light enough to be loaded in quantity on amphibious transport vessels.”

“A good idea. Such a force would indeed be highly mobile. Major, may I ask you a

personal question?”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“I was told that you came from the future, but not from which year. Could you…”

The two colonels dining with Nancy and Salmon bent forward to hear better, intense curiosity on their faces.

“Sir, the Germans know it already. There is no point in hiding it from you. I come from

the year 2012. I am not even born yet.”

“Good God!” could only whisper the shaken general.

18:36 (GMT)

Camp gymnasium, Aldershot

Patricia Wilson couldn’t help stare in wonderment at Nancy when the Mitsubishi

Outlander came to a halt in the parking lot of the camp gymnasium: Nancy, wearing her night vision goggles, had just driven at night in blackout conditions at full speed, as if it was daylight, scaring to death Patricia and the three other Canadian Army nursing sisters in the car.

“Those goggles are incredible, Major. When will the army get more of them?”

“Decades, Nurse! Let’s go kick some male ass.”

Nancy took off the night goggles and their head harness and carefully stored them back in their protective case before leaving her car and following the four nurses inside the gymnasium. She was not overly surprised to find over 200 men, officers as well as junior ranks, waiting inside and obviously not being there to practice sports or to get fit. Patricia Wilson looked at the crowd, which was now staring at Nancy, and whispered to her.

“I don’t like this, Major. It seems that your opponent wants to have as many witnesses

as possible for this fight. He obviously hopes to humiliate you publicly. Are you sure that you want to do this, Major?”

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“Nurse Wilson, if I back down now, I might as well turn in my commission. Besides, I

intend to win. Let’s get close to those floor mats in that far corner.” As they made their way to the mats, Nancy saw her opponent, in T-shirt and boxer shorts, practicing with a punching bag and making a show of it. She kept from smiling at the sight: the man was too confident for his own good. His boxing technique, while fair, was not very impressive to a master-level black belt karateka like her.

The crowd of spectators quickly formed around the surface covered by the floor mats as

Nancy put down her small carrying bag on a bench and took off her gun belt, handing it to Patricia. She next took off her combat shirt, revealing a khaki muscle shirt underneath. Whispers went around the spectators as her wide shoulders and muscular arms became plainly evident. More whispers followed as she started stretching and warming her muscles, showing the suppleness of an accomplished gymnast. Patricia, who was watching Nancy’s opponent, was pleased to see doubt appear on his face for an instant. She then saw two more persons enter the gymnasium and tensed up: they were Brigadier General Salmon and the divisional chief of staff, Colonel Murray. Someone yelled an order and everybody in the gymnasium came to attention. Making his way to the front rank of the crowd, the brigadier looked at both Nancy and her opponent.

“What is going on here, Major?”

“I was going to give a demonstration on unarmed combat, sir.” answered Nancy while

standing rigidly at attention. Salmon nodded his head.

“Then proceed, Major. Do as if I was not here.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Stepping on the mats, Nancy faced her adversary from ten feet away and addressed the crowd of soldiers and officers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is only one rule which applies to unarmed combat in time

of war: that there are no rules. Your only concern is to win and survive. Forget about cricket and gentlemanly rules. If you think that this is not right, then you might as well go home, because your German or Japanese opponent won’t bother about rules and will eat you for breakfast. There are however a few important points about unarmed combat. One of them is to not underestimate your adversary.”

Nancy then adopted a combat stance, both fists up and legs apart, with the left leg forward.

“Come on, Major! Show me what you got.”

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The infantry officer, who was slightly shorter than Nancy, came forward in a boxer’s stance, visibly hesitant to strike a woman. Nancy decided to make him shed his inhibitions and struck first. A side kick to his plexus sent the man reeling backward while holding his chest and gasping for air. A low sweeping kick then made him fall flat on his back. As he painfully got back on his feet, Nancy addressed the crowd again.

“As you can see, unarmed combat is much more than simply using your fists to pound

your opponent. If you have to bite your adversary to get out of a tight corner, then go for it. Remember that hits are better concentrated on the sensitive parts of your opponent or opponents. Apart from the good old balls, those parts include the articulations.” As the infantry major swung a fist at her face, Nancy easily deflected his blow, then his follow-up uppercut, before kicking his left kneecap. The man screamed with pain as Nancy calmly took a step back.

“An immobile opponent is as good as dead if unarmed. Kneecaps are always good

targets to strive for. Other good targets are the plexus and the throat, to cut his airflow.” As the now enraged infantry officer advanced on her and swung at her with a powerful right hook, Nancy ducked under his swing and hit the man’s throat hard with the palm of her right hand. The major reeled backward, gasping for air, as Nancy spoke again to the crowd.

“Once your adversary is out of air, you then can do many nasty things to him.”

That was when Nancy really started hitting in earnest, spending on her opponent her pent-up frustration and anger at constantly being put down by misogynistic and overrated snobs. Pummeling his face systematically with all her strength, she then finished him off with a high-flying kick to the forehead accompanied by a piercing kiay scream. His face bloody, the man fell heavily on the floor mats, out for the count. Two of the nursing sisters present hurried to him as the crowd of men looked on in stunned disbelief, to finally break out in applauses. Brigadier General Salmon looked as impressed as everyone else when he stepped forward to shake Nancy’s hand.

“Good show, Major! That was quite a demonstration. I wish I could have you as an

unarmed combat instructor for my troops.”

“I unfortunately am already extremely busy, sir: Prime Minister Churchill is counting on

me for many things. In fact, now that my new uniforms are ready and in my car, I will have to drive back to London tonight. I have a meeting with the minister of war production, Lord Beaverbrook, tomorrow morning.”

“Then I wish you a safe trip back, Major.”

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“Thank you, sir.”

Waiting first for the general to be gone, Nancy then went to examine her opponent, still unconscious, as two nurses cared for him.

“How is he, girls?”

One of the nurses looked up at Nancy briefly.

“Don’t worry, Major. He will be alright, if you discount the two black eyes, split lips and

the bruises he will be sporting tomorrow. Where did you learn to fight like this?”

“In a martial arts club near Montreal. I have been practicing for over nineteen years

now.”

“Nineteen years!” exclaimed Patricia Wilson as she handed back the gun belt to Nancy.

“No wonder you are so good at it. Maybe I should find myself a similar club in Toronto after this war.”

“You won’t find any, Patricia.” replied calmly Nancy.

“Oh, why? What do you have in Montreal that we don’t have in Toronto?”

“Real smoked meat sandwiches, for starters.” said Nancy, grinning. Patricia pulled out

her tongue at her.

“You French Canadians think only about food.’’

“Not true! We also think a lot about sex.”

That remark made the men around them smile, attracting a retort from Patricia.

“Did you really have to say the S-word, Major? We nurses will now have to deal with

these men’s false hopes.”

“Not my problem. I have my own horde of men to keep at bay in London, including a

lovely hunk of an American major. Do you need a ride back to your barrack, girls?”

“Please, Major. That man is coming about now and I will ask his friends to keep an eye

on him for the next few hours. Right, sirs?”

“We will.” agreed a captain bent over the battered major. He then looked with newfound

respect at Nancy.

“Sorry for the disrespect we showed at lunch, Major. You were just so… unusual.”

“I know. In time, you may find that I’m far from unique, Captain. I am sure that those

nurses could handle themselves just fine on a battlefield, caring under fire for our soldiers.” That made Patricia snap her head up, hope on her face.

“Do you really think that they would let us serve in the frontlines, Major?”

Nancy stared gravely at Patricia.

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“Do you want to serve in battle, Nurse Wilson?”

“Of course, Major! That is where we will be most needed.”

“Then I will see what can be done. We will talk further about this in my car.”

Letting Nancy’s opponent in the care of three other infantry officers, Patricia and her

comrades waited for Nancy to put her shirt and gun belt back on and to grab her carrying bag before following her to her car. As Nancy was unlocking the front passenger door, Patricia couldn’t help ask a question that was burning her.

“Major, I know that you have secrets to keep, but could I ask how you managed to

become an army officer when Canadian women are not even allowed in the army yet?” Nancy slowly faced Patricia and the other nurses as she mentally debated her answer.

“Ladies, you will have to promise me not to repeat what I’m going to tell you to anybody.

Do I have your word?”

All four nurses eagerly agreed.

“Good! Patricia, the army I belong to employs women in all the military trades. I am a

reserve officer of the Canadian Forces and I come from the year 2012. Someone dumped me back in time against my will and I am now stranded in this time period.”

“You… you’re a time traveler?”

“An involuntary one without the means to go back. Now, how about a ride in my

Mitsubishi Outlander 2010?”