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FEMALE FIGHTER PILOT:
INGRID DOWS
AN ALTERNATE STORY
A SCIENCE-FICTION / ALTERNATE HISTORY NOVEL
BY
MICHEL POULIN
© 2024
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WARNING TO POTENTIAL READERS
THIS NOVEL CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF WAR, VIOLENCE AND SEX, AS WELL AS COARSE LANGUAGE AND
CONTROVERSIAL SUBJECTS THAT ARE UNSUITABLE FOR
CHILDREN. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THE ACTIONS AND
WORDS OF THE HISTORICAL CHARACTERS DEPICTED IN THIS
NOVEL DO NOT NECESSARILY REFLECT THE HISTORICAL
REALITY.
ABOUT THIS NOVEL
This novel is meant to be an alternate story of the road that led a young German girl, Ingrid Dows, born Weiss, to become the greatest American fighter ace of World War 2
and to then continue on to eventually become a top American military leader. It should be read as a parallel story to that told in the previously published books listed below, with its end merging with that of the main series after the end of World War 2. The dates in this novel include a ‘C’ following the year, denoting that the story is happening in the second parallel timeline to split from our actual timeline, Timeline ‘A’, following events which modified Humanity’s history. Timeline ‘B’ split from Timeline ‘A’ following the involuntary travel in time by Nancy Laplante as she was transported from the Year 2012
to the Year 1940. Timeline ‘C’ in turn split from Timeline ‘B’ when an adversary of Nancy kil ed her in 1941 ‘B’ but only succeeded in kil ing a timeline avatar, leaving the original Nancy alive, while creating a new timeline.
This novel is also meant to pay homage to the brave American women who voluntarily enrolled in the Women Auxiliary Service Pilots (or WASP) during World War 2, from 1942 to the disbandment of the WASP program in 1944. Most of the names of female aviators and ground personnel mentioned in this novel as part of the fictitious Fifinellas are the names and basic descriptions of women who were actually part of the WASP
program. May their names be remembered with admiration and fondness.
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OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR
(All available free online at Free-Ebooks.net, or can be ordered direct via email to the author at natai@videotron.ca.)
Nancy Laplante Series
CODENAME: ATHENA
ADVENTURES THROUGH TIME
CHILDREN OF TIME
TIMELINES
DESTINIES
TIMELINE TWIN
FROM THE FIELDS OF CRIMEA TO THE SANDS OF MARS
THE ADVENTURES OF NANCY LAPLANTE IN THE 19TH CENTURY
UNITED STATES SPACE CORPS
RAISING NANCY
ANGEL GIRL
AND AN ANGEL SANG
IN THE SERVICE OF FRANCE
THREE PROUD WOMEN
THE GOSPEL OF MIRIAM
A FULL LIFE
FEMALE FIGHTER PILOT: INGRID DOWS – AN ALTERNATE STORY
Kostroma Series
JOVIAN UPRISING -2315
THE ERIS PROTOCOL
LOST AMONG THE STARS
WAR AMONG THE STARS
MIGHTY NOSTROMO
THE FIGHTING NOSTROMO
A NEW ERA
NOSTROMO ON THE PROWL
NOSTROMO LOST IN TIME
4
Sinner Series
SINNER AT WAR
ETERNAL SINNER
AMERICAN SINNER
U-Boote Series
THE LONE WOLF
U-900
Lenoir Series
A MINOR GLITCH
A NEW REALITY
CIA Series
FRIENDS AND FOES
A DEADLY TANGO
Odyssey Series
ODYSSÉE TEMPORELLE (in French)
SPACE-TIME ODYSSEY
ON THE ROAD TO EDEN
Nauca Series
NAUCA – DAUGHTER OF THE STEPPES
CARAVAN TO PATALIPUTRA
Standalone books
THE LOST CLIPPER
A MARS ODYSSEY
THE MAIN BATTLE TANK – STILL RELEVANT OR IN NEED OF EVOLUTION
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TABLE OF CONTENT
CHAPTER 1 – HEROINE’S FAREWELL 7
CHAPTER 2 – ALONE
45
CHAPTER 3 – IN THE PHILIPPINES
61
CHAPTER 4 – THE JAPANESE ARE COMING
85
CHAPTER 5 – FEMALE FIGHTER PILOT
120
CHAPTER 6 – DARWIN
182
CHAPTER 7 – PHILIPPINES BASTION
238
CHAPTER 8 – BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT
280
CHAPTER 9 – REST AND RECUPERATION
293
CHAPTER 10 – THE FIFINELLAS
327
CHAPTER 11 – SOUTHWEST PACIFIC AREA OF OPERATIONS
357
CHAPTER 12 – PAPUA NEW GUINEA
365
CHAPTER 13 – RABAUL
372
CHAPTER 14 – THE CACTUS GIRLS
390
CHAPTER 15 – TURNING AWAY A NEMESIS
428
CHAPTER 16 – MORE GIRLS FOR THE FIFINELLAS
457
CHAPTER 17 – TAKING BACK PAPUA NEW GUINEA
466
CHAPTER 18 – REACTIONS?
477
CHAPTER 19 – SURPRISE!
485
CHAPTER 20 – SHINY NEW TOYS
510
CHAPTER 21 – THOR’S HAMMER
517
CHAPTER 22 – NOW WHAT?
534
CHAPTER 23 – A HALF-BAKED IDEA
539
CHAPTER 24 – OPERATIONAL SWITCH
551
CHAPTER 25 – A BRAND NEW BITCH
571
CHAPTER 26 – MILITARY COUP
575
CHAPTER 27 – RUNNING OUT OF TARGETS
588
CHAPTER 28 – EUROPEAN THEATER OF OPERATION
596
CHAPTER 29 – COUNTERMEASURES
619
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CHAPTER 30 – OPERATION GUILLOTINE
626
CHAPTER 31 – CHAOS IN BERLIN
642
CHAPTER 32 – POLITICAL RESET
651
CHAPTER 33 – PLENIPOTENTIARY ENVOY
658
CHAPTER 34 – ARMISTICE IN EUROPE
672
ANNEX ‘A’ – WASP GALLERY
676
BIBLIOGRAPHY
677
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CHAPTER 1 – HEROINE’S FAREWELL
14:03 (GMT)
Friday, June 27, 1941 ‘C’
R.A.F. Air Station Northolt, southwest of London England, United Kingdom
Commander Peter Stilwell patted Mike Crawford’s shoulder as they and other officers watched the Spanish Air Force transport aircraft roll towards the hangar where they were waiting in front of its opened doors.
“Be strong, Mike. We’re with you.”
The big American clenched his jaws, his face pale, but didn’t answer. Peter could see from the corner of his eye that Douglas Wilson was crying, while the normally unflappable George Townsend was barely holding his own tears in. He himself was close to breaking down as the transport aircraft, wide Red Cross signs painted on its fuselage, stopped in front of them. Air Commodore Nicholls was first to talk with the Spanish aviator who opened the side door of the plane, exchanging salutes with him before signaling to Peter and Mike to come forward. The British and the American were then invited inside, where a civilian standing beside a casket shook their hands.
“I’m Jean Rudolpho, of the International Committee of the Red Cross. I escorted the body from Berlin, on the demand of the American embassy there. I assume that you can formally identify Brigadier Laplante?”
Peter Stilwell had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could answer.
“You are correct, sir. I am Commander Stilwell, one of her assistants, while this is Major Mike Crawford, her husband.”
“My sincere condolences, Major.” replied the Swiss while looking at Mike Crawford. “I must however ask you to identify her formally now, so that I can have you sign for her body.”
On a nod from Crawford, the Red Cross man opened the casket, then unzipped open the plastic body bag lying on a bed of dry ice inside.
“My God!” whispered Peter, tears coming out of his eyes: it was too obvious that Nancy had been tortured severely before being shot in the head. Mike passed a shaking hand on Nancy’s bruised, lifeless face, then collapsed to his knees, crying shamelessly.
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“The bastards! Nancy…”
Without a word, the Red Cross man presented a clipboard with a form on it and a pen to Peter, who signed the form before returning it to Rudolpho. Peter then went to the door of the plane and waved at six airmen waiting outside, who quickly but respectfully took the casket out of the plane. A small honor guard presented arms as they brought it to a waiting ambulance. Peter turned towards Rudolpho as he left the plane, dragging the distraught Mike with him.
“Thank you for escorting her body to England, Mister Rudolpho. We won’t forget your kindness.”
“It was the least we could do for her, Commander. Goodbye!” replied the Swiss, obviously moved, before closing the door of the plane, which then started rolling to position itself for a takeoff.
Both Stilwell and Townsend had to help Mike to their car, so distraught the big American was. With Doug Wilson driving, they then headed back towards London.
Peter waited for Mike to get back some control on himself before speaking.
“Mike, I’m sorry if I have to ask this now, but a lot of highly classified things depended on Nancy: did she give you a will?”
“Yes!” answered back the American. “In fact, she gave me an extra copy, to be given to the British government along with an attachment in the event of her death. She told me that there was a part concerning her job as the Prime Minister’s Special Military Advisor. Here is that copy.”
Peter took the envelope handed by Mike, then opened it after a short hesitation.
Reading twice through the will and the letter attached to it, Peter felt discouragement overtake him: what was in there would make his job much harder tomorrow at the special war cabinet meeting called by Winston Churchil . Nancy’s uncommon kindness and open mindedness could well hurt her own reputation in this case. Peter knew that there was only one thing for him to do, and quickly.
“Mike, do you mind if I go see Ingrid Weiss at the Tower of London today?”
Mike looked sadly at him and tried to smile.
“I expected that, Peter: I already read my own copy of Nancy’s wil . I want to be present when you see Ingrid, though.”
“Understood, Mike. We wil go see her at seven, tonight. I will pick you up at your apartment at a quarter to seven.”
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“I will be ready.” replied Mike weakly.
The rest of the trip was spent in silence. First dropping off Mike at his apartment at 24 St-James’ Place, Doug Wilson then drove his two colleagues to the ministry building in Whitehall housing the Hourglass Section. Wing Commander Humphreys, Doctor Reginald Jones and Sergeant Betty Moffat stared at them the moment they walked in the closely guarded office of the most sensitive and secret government section in England. Peter spoke immediately, preempting their questions.
“Nancy is dead. I identified her body. She was also obviously tortured severely before being shot in the head. Her body should now be at the forensic department of St-Thomas Hospital. We wil know more tomorrow morning.”
Peter’s subdued announcement brought tears to Jones’ and Moffat’s faces. In contrast, after bowing his head briefly, Humphreys went to his desk and grabbed a decrypted German Enigma message, waving it at Peter.
“When are you going to tell General Ismay about this?”
“Tomorrow, at the war cabinet meeting. I am going to the Tower of London tonight to speak to the main person concerned by that Enigma message, in order to find out why Nancy acted the way she did. In the meantime, I would appreciate if you would keep this under wrap.”
The tone Peter used for his last sentence obviously didn’t please Humphreys.
“You are trying to cover up for her, aren’t you? Wel , there is too much at stake here to play this kind of game: I’m going to see General Ismay now.”
An enraged Stilwell grabbed Humphreys by his shirt before he could make two steps, then slammed him hard against a wall.
“Are you crazy, Commander? Let me go!” could barely say the half-choked wing commander. Instead of letting him go, Peter tightened his grip even more as he spoke in a low, dangerous voice.
“I’l be damned if I let you smear the name of a lady who won twice the Victoria Cross in combat without giving me a chance to find out about both sides of this affair.
Furthermore, I don’t want to hear any more doubts about Nancy’s loyalty, especially when coming from a desk-bound, ex-traveling salesman like you. You shut your mouth until the cabinet meeting tomorrow. Is that clear, mister?”
Humphreys, cold sweat on his face, looked around the office, silently pleading for help.
Jones, Townsend and Wilson were all looking at him with something akin to murder in
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their eyes, while Sergeant Moffat, his own cryptographic clerk, was turning her back to him, typing at her desk as if nothing was happening. Even the two military policemen on duty at the entrance of the office had retreated in the hallway and were ignoring him.
The devotion which Nancy Laplante enjoyed around the Hourglass Section was now clearly turning against Humphreys, who swallowed hard.
“Alright, I’l keep quiet for the moment.”
Stilwell then released his grip and took one step back, his eyes still locked on Humphreys.
“Don’t worry about the truth, Wing Commander: whatever I find tonight will be reported in full to the war cabinet tomorrow. Now, let’s go back to work.”
Returning to their various occupations, the five officers and the female sergeant kept themselves busy until closing time but their hearts were clearly not into their work.
Humphreys and Stilwell exchanged poisoned looks when the R.A.F. officer walked out of the office. In contrast, Sergeant Moffat waited until Humphreys was gone before grabbing her purse and stopping in front of Peter’s desk.
“Commander, I saw that decrypted Enigma message too. While it shocked me at first, I revised my opinion after seeing the amount of information we already have in Nancy’s database about that German. I now think that she acted purely out of kindness, to avoid unnecessary suffering to that German. For what it’s worth, I’m on your side in this.”
Peter smiled tenderly at Betty Moffat and took her hand gently.
“Betty, you do count for a lot in this office. Thanks for your confidence in Nancy.”
The mention of Laplante’s name brought back tears to the clerk’s eyes, who wiped them quickly while speaking in a shivering voice.
“When I think that, after all she did for us, some people stil would try to stab her in the back…”
“Jealousy and chauvinism!” replied Peter bitterly. “It was to be expected, I guess.
Betty, be assured that I will do my best to defend her name at that meeting tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Commander. I appreciate that.”
Betty then Kissed Peter on the cheek before leaving the office. His heart heavy, Peter then packed his briefcase and had a last look at Nancy’s desktop computer, sitting on a work desk in one corner of the office, before closing the door and locking it up. His briefcase in his left hand, he then walked away, his mind in turmoil.
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19:04 (GMT)
Tower of London
Mike Crawford and Peter Stilwell found Ingrid Weiss in her small room on the second floor of Gaoler’s House, studying an English conversation book. She was barefoot and wore only a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Peter couldn’t help notice how athletic the young German had become since the first time he had seen her five months ago, after she had been captured in France by Nancy, along with the rest of the staff of the Luftwaffe headquarters where she had been working as an air situation plotter. The rows of books on her small desk reminded him that Ingrid, apart from being a very beautiful teenage girl, was also a very sharp cookie. Ingrid’s welcoming smile disappeared as soon as she saw the sad faces of her two visitors. Tears appearing in her eyes, she looked up at Mike, who still stood just inside the door of her room.
“No! Don’t tell me that Nancy is dead, please!”
Mike nodded his head, then stepped quickly forward to hug the now crying girl.
Watching closely Ingrid, Peter was convinced that her distress was not faked: Nancy’s affection for her was no one-way street. He himself felt a pang of guilt at the secret attraction he had towards what was supposed to be an enemy of England. That young German made him think more and more about a teenage version of Nancy, and an even more beautiful one at that.
Mike and Ingrid finally parted after a long minute, their eyes still moist.
“How did she die, Mike? Please, tell me the truth.”
The American sat on the edge of Ingrid’s bed before answering her in a weak voice, his head bowed.
“She was tortured and killed by the Gestapo, Ingrid. The Abwehr1, on Hitler’s orders, tried to deliver her but arrived too late. Her body arrived this afternoon in Northolt via Spain, escorted by a representative of the International Red Cross.”
“Could I see her, one last time?” pleaded the teenager, prompting Mike to look at Peter, who nodded his head.
1 Abwehr: German Army Intelligence service during World War 2.
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“I can arrange a visit later tonight to the forensic lab where her body is kept.”
“Thank you, commander. You are a kind man.”
“Ingrid,” said softly Mike, as he took an envelope out of the bag he had brought with him, “Nancy included you in her wil . Here is your copy, which she translated into German.”
The teenager took the document, then read it carefully, occasional tears still coming out.
At one point she opened her eyes wide with surprise.
“She is leaving me her savings?”
“That’s right, Ingrid. That bank account is now yours, with 2,342 Sterling Pounds in it. Here is the bank transfer form. Just sign here and I will complete the paperwork tomorrow.”
“But you are her husband, Mike. You are entitled to that money.”
“Bunk! I don’t need that money. You will, when this war is over. Besides, I intend to be with you then: I will come here at the end of the war to pick you up and bring you to the United States to offer you a new family. That is what Nancy wanted and that is what I stil want.”
Peter looked at both of them with unmitigated surprise.
“You and Nancy were planning to adopt Ingrid at the end of the war? That is a sweet thought indeed.”
Mike simply nodded his head, unwilling to look straight at Peter: the truth was that Ingrid was already his stepdaughter, at least in the eyes of the American government. Mike had secretly obtained and given to Ingrid a certificate of adoption, listing him and Nancy as her step-parents, along with an American passport made in her new legal name: Ingrid Maria Louise Crawford. Another item in that passport which would have shocked Peter was the religion she was listed under. Officially designated until now as a Lutheran, the religion of her original mother, Ingrid had started two months ago to return to the secret religion of her dead father, Judaism. Knowing what kind of controversy and even hatred that could spark amongst the other Germans interned with her if that became known, Ingrid had been very discreet about that, praying in Hebrew and Yiddish solely in the privacy of her room at night and often flouting the food restrictions of the Mosaic Laws in order to appear as a good, typical German. Ingrid was however resolved to change that in time. Signing the bank form, she gave it back to Mike, who pocketed it before taking out of the bag he had brought Nancy’s Discman and portable
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radio/CD/cassette player unit, along with a small carrying case. He then gave the three items to Ingrid.
“Nancy wanted you as well to keep her Discman and portable sound system, along with her collection of musical tapes and CDs. These are now yours.”
Peter was about to protest this but Mike stared firmly at him.
“Peter, don’t get in the way of that part of Nancy’s will. It is not as if Ingrid will send the electronic parts of those items to Germany by mail. I was anyway planning after this to go see Brigadier Browning, to tell him about these appliances.”
“Alright, I wil go with that, but only because it is for Ingrid. Now, before we go to the forensic lab to see Nancy’s body, could I speak to one of Ingrid’s friends, Hanna Reitsch?”
Peter’s apparently innocent question made Ingrid stiffen, alarm appearing on her face.
Mike, on the other hand, appeared surprised by Ingrid’s reaction.
“What’s wrong, Ingrid? What is it with this Hanna?”
“Only me and Nancy knew the true identity of that woman, Mike.” explained the teenager without breaking eye contact with Peter. “Why do you want to see her, Commander?”
It was Peter’s turn to touch Ingrid’s hand gently.
“Ingrid, others have learned about Hanna Reitsch’s true identity and are ready to smear Nancy’s name for her protecting that woman. I must know why Nancy acted the way she did, in order to defend her name at a cabinet meeting tomorrow.”
Ingrid nodded her head, her face grave.
“Wait here, Commander. I wil get her.”
While Ingrid walked out of her room, Peter sat beside Mike on the bed, emotionally drained.
“This must be the worst day of my life, Mike.”
“Welcome to the club!” replied the American, equally downcast. Both then waited in silence, lost in their thoughts, until Ingrid returned with a petite blond woman in her early thirties. The newcomer looked with dread at Peter, who stood up and offered his hand.
“Flugkapitan Hanna Reitsch, I am Commander Peter Stilwel , one of Nancy Laplante’s assistants.”
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Hesitantly at first, the frail woman finally shook hands with him and spoke in a fair English.
“Pleased to meet you, commander. Ingrid told me that Brigadier Laplante is dead. How did she die?”
“She was captured following an airplane crash at sea, then tortured and kil ed by your Gestapo, Flugkapitan. I am here to avoid her losing her good name on top of losing her life. Could you explain to me the reasons why she protected your true identity?”
Hanna Reitsch, pale and shaken, had to sit on the bed before speaking, her voice subdued.
“I don’t know if you will understand, Commander. I myself couldn’t believe it when she recognized me early on and didn’t blow the whistle on me. Basically, she told me that, since she already knew everything of importance about me and my work as a test pilot through her historical files, it would be pointless to finger me and thus expose me to endless interrogations and harsh treatment. She was a very humane and kind person, Commander. If it can help protect her name, I am ready to testify in front of your superiors.”
Peter lowered his head in discouragement then. Nancy’s open-mindedness and generosity was nothing new to him, but to make his superiors understand how she could be kind to a German was going to be one tough sell.
“Flugkapitan, I wil attend a meeting of the war cabinet tomorrow, where I intend to defend her actions as best I can. If it would be only for me, you would remain here under your cover name, with only a few high-ranking officers and politicians in the know about you. I cannot guarantee that I will succeed in protecting both her name and yourself, though. I do appreciate your offer of testifying and may take you up on that.
Was there any other reason why Nancy protected you?”
Hanna, her hands pressed together, hesitated before answering him.
“Yes! I was one of her childhood’s heroines, believe it or not. I was after all the first-ever female test pilot and the first woman to fly a helicopter.”
Peter and Mike exchanged bemused looks at that confidence.
“Uh, don’t mention that little detail if you have to testify tomorrow, Flugkapitan.”
said Peter. “I am now going to bring Ingrid to the forensic lab of St-Thomas Hospital, where Nancy’s body is kept. I will fetch for you tomorrow if your deposition is needed, Flugkapitan Reitsch.”
Peter suddenly found a pair of blue eyes pleading at him.
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“Commander, could I come too? I owed so much to her.”
Peter contemplated for a moment the sad face looking up at him from her five feet of height, then nodded his head.
“This is most irregular, Flugkapitan, but I guess that today is not an ordinary day.”
20:12 (GMT)
Forensic lab, St-Thomas Hospital
London
Doctor Stephen Brown looked with sympathy at the two men and two women standing near him besides the examination table, where a form lay under a blanket. He then addressed the one wearing a Royal Navy uniform.
“Commander, I have to warn you that, while we have not opened up Brigadier Laplante’s body yet for detailed forensic examination, the tortures inflicted on her were horrific. Are you sure that the two ladies here want to see this?”
Brown then looked at the two women, one a mere teenager informally dressed in shorts and T-shirt, the other a petite blonde wearing a baggy two-piece fleece sports suit.
Neither of the two had said a word yet, having been simply presented by Stilwell as close friends of Laplante. The commander nodded his head soberly in response.
“Go ahead, Doctor. They can take it.”
“As you wish, Commander.” replied Brown as he uncovered the head and shoulders of the body. Tears immediately came to all four visitors. To Brown’s surprise, it was the teenage girl who spoke up first after the initial shock.
“Uncover her completely, Doctor.” she said in a voice she tried to keep firm.
Brown obliged and pulled away the blanket. The petite blonde choked down a horrified sob, while the young girl closed her eyes for a moment. She however reopened them quickly and examined with immense sadness the body from head to toe for long seconds. She then nodded to Brown, who then covered back the body. A tearful Stilwell shook Brown’s hand.
“Thank you for accommodating our visit tonight, Doctor. Will the forensic report be ready in time for tomorrow’s cabinet meeting at ten O’clock?”
“It wil be, Commander. I will deliver the report myself during that meeting.”
Brown then lowered his voice and glanced quickly at the two women, who were being escorted out by the American officer.
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“May I ask you who were those two women, Commander?”
“You can, Doctor.” replied Peter in a tired voice. “Nancy was planning to adopt the younger one, who is a war orphan, while the other is a good friend of her.”
“Commander, you have my most sincere condolences. Brigadier Laplante will be sorely missed by all.”
The Royal Navy officer shook his head angrily.
“Wrong, Doctor! Some are already trying to stab her in the back. Don’t be surprised tomorrow if you hear nasty accusations and comments about her at that cabinet meeting.”
“Who could do such a thing to her?” asked Brown indignantly. “It is obvious from the extent of her wounds that Brigadier Laplante resisted her interrogators for hours, if not for days. She deserves to be treated like a heroine.”
“Wel , believe it or not but some are ready to call her a traitor.” replied Peter bitterly.
“What? Are they mad or just mean? What would make them believe such a stupid notion?”
“Doctor, if Nancy was guilty of something, it was of being too kind and tolerant for this damn time period. Keep this for yourself, but those two women you just saw are actually German prisoners of war.”
On that, Peter then left the lab. A stunned Stephen Brown now stared alone at Nancy’s battered face. Pulling up a stool besides the examination table, he then started his grim autopsy work.
08:06 (GMT)
Saturday, June 28, 1941 ‘C’
Prime Minister’s Military Secretary’s office
Home Office building, London
Peter Stilwell found Lieutenant General Hasting Ismay at his desk, working on some report. The old officer didn’t seem to have his heart in his work, though. Smiling meekly at Peter, he threw away the file he had in his hands the moment his visitor walked in.
“What can I do for you this morning, Commander?”
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Putting first a pile of documents and papers on the general’s desk, Peter then locked eyes with his superior.
“For me, nothing, sir. For Nancy, a lot. I need to ask a very big favor from you, sir.”
10:02 (GMT)
Cabinet conference room
Prime Minister’s residence
10 Downing Street, London
Winston Churchil ’s gavel banged three times, bringing silence to the room full of ministers, generals, admirals and various advisors and aides. Peter Stilwell was actually the lowest ranking person present, if one discounted Jennifer Collins, the Prime Minister’s junior secretary tasked with steno typing the meeting’s proceedings.
“I now declare this special war cabinet meeting open.” said the Prime Minister in his usual gruff voice. “The main subject to be discussed is the death of Brigadier Laplante and its possible fallouts. I will first ask the honorable Sir Anthony Eden to summarize the events of the last few days.”
The tall and lanky Foreign Minister nodded, then took a sheet of paper from a folder and started reading it in as steady a voice as he could muster.
“On June 23, Brigadier Laplante boarded a Lockheed Hudson aircraft of the Coastal Command at R.A.F. Northolt, with the Royal Navy base of Scapa Flow as her destination. Somewhere off the coast of Scotland, her plane encountered a very severe storm and apparently crashed in the North Sea. On the next day, we intercepted and decrypted a message from the German submarine U-47, advising its headquarters in Wilhelmshaven that it had found Brigadier Laplante on a rubber raft, nearly frozen to death. That submarine then apparently delivered her in the hands of the Abwehr in that port. From what we now know from Admiral Canaris, who contacted us via our embassy in Spain, it seems that it was actually a Gestapo team, which had ambushed the Abwehr team on its way to Wilhelmshaven, that actually took delivery of Brigadier Laplante. She was subsequently brought to a Gestapo center in Berlin, where she was tortured for a minimum of six hours and probably for a much longer period, before being killed by a gunshot to the head. Since torturing her was in direct contravention to a directive from Adolph Hitler, the Abwehr took by assault that Gestapo center with the support of
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Luftwaffe troops as soon as they learned where Laplante was held, but arrived too late.
Admiral Canaris, still through our embassy in Spain, then arranged for her body to be flown back to England. The body arrived in Northolt yesterday afternoon and was subsequently brought to the forensic department of St-Thomas Hospital. That’s it for my report, gentlemen.”
An oppressive silence followed Eden’s presentation; a silence broken by Winston Churchill.
“As distasteful as the next subject is, in view of the amount of highly classified information held by Brigadier Laplante, we have to ask ourselves the following question: did she talk under the Gestapo’s tortures?”
“What does the forensic report say about the state of her body, Mister Prime Minister?” asked Lord Hankey, the old civil servant in charge of the British Secret Services.
“I thought that the doctor who performed the autopsy would actually be the best person to enlighten us on this.” replied Churchill, who then turned towards a bodyguard standing beside the door of the conference room. “Let Doctor Brown in!”
Most of the meeting’s participants looked il at ease as they waited for Doctor Brown to come in, with the notable exceptions of Stewart Menzies and Claude Dansey, respectively the head and assistant-head of the Intelligence Service, the M.I.6. Both men appeared cold and unconcerned, something that did not escape Peter Stilwell’s attention. The tension went up in the room as soon as a tall and lean man in a civilian suit came in, escorted by the bodyguard. Taking the seat offered by Churchill, Stephen Brown listened to the whispered instructions from General Ismay before opening a briefcase and putting a file folder on the conference table, then looked around at the faces surrounding him.
“Mister Prime Minister, gentlemen, I am Doctor Stephen Brown, head of the forensic department of St-Thomas Hospital. I performed a full autopsy yesterday on the body of Brigadier Nancy Laplante. While some chemical test results are not in yet, I am confident that my report contains all the details of interest to you. I am pained to tell you that nothing was spared to Brigadier Laplante. Before being shot in the head with a high velocity, small caliber bullet which instantly killed her, she was atrociously tortured for at least many hours, maybe a day or two if there were breaks between interrogation
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sessions. With the amount of pain she had to endure, she undoubtedly passed out more than once and was probably close to a cardiac failure by the time she was shot.”
“Excuse me, Doctor.” interrupted Claude Dansey. “Could you be more specific about the treatment inflicted on her? We have to assess if she could have resisted those tortures.”
Brown shot a dark look at Dansey before picking up a sheet of paper from his file folder.
“If it’s the cold facts you are after, mister, then here they are. She was flogged to the point of bleeding on over seventy percent of her body, with the heaviest concentrations of strokes on her back, chest and groin. All of her nails, both on her fingers and toes, were pulled out. Her fingers and toes were then smashed, probably with a heavy hammer. Her face showed the marks of severe and repeated beatings, both with fists and with a short leather flogger, and six of her teeth were broken or missing, while both eyes were closed shut and her lips were split open. There were extensive electrical burns on her breasts and genitals, along with 37 large, third degree burns distributed over her torso and chest, probably the result of the application of red-hot irons. Both of her feet were also extensively burned with a probable welding lamp.
Finally, I can say that she was raped, repeatedly. Like I said before, she was spared nothing.”
Winston Churchill, looking sick, was about to say something to Claude Dansey when Jennifer Collins, the junior secretary, ran out of the room in tears. Churchill immediately rose from his chair and followed her, turning briefly towards the others.
“Please take a short break, gentlemen. I won’t be long.”
Churchill found Jennifer in the anteroom next to the conference room, crying hysterically while sitting in a sofa. Sitting beside her, the politician took out his handkerchief and gave it to Jennifer, who thankfully accepted it.
“That poor Nancy… she was a good friend of mine and now these cold-hearted bastards are discussing her fate as if she was nothing more than a slab of beef in a butcher’s shop.”
“Look, Jennifer, nobody is enjoying this, least of all me. We must however find out if Nancy could have given away some secrets before dying. This is critical.”
“She would never have betrayed us!” shouted the secretary, furious. “Do they assume that, because she was a woman, she was thus weaker and incapable of resisting the Gestapo?”
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“I never believed that, Jennifer, and you know it. Can you resume your duties or do you want me to get Mary Miles to replace you?”
Jennifer shook her head, wiping her tears as she answered.
“I will go back inside. It’s the least I can do for Nancy.”
“Good girl! Nancy would have liked that.”
Holding the still sobbing woman by one arm, Churchill helped her back into the conference room. There, he found half the participants, led by Sir Anthony Eden, facing off the other half, led by General Menzies, in an acrimonious debate on whether Nancy Laplante had talked under the tortures. The confrontation calmed down as Churchill sat down while looking severely at the participants around the table.
“Gentlemen, Brigadier Laplante worked for me for nearly a year. If there is anything that she proved during that period, it was that she possessed enough courage for the lot of us. I see two glaring facts out of Doctor Brown’s report: first, Brigadier Laplante obviously resisted the Gestapo, as her extensive wounds clearly show; second, the Germans would not have killed her if she was in the process of giving away our secrets. With the amount of secrets she held in her mind, it would take days of interrogation to note down everything she knew, and that is if she was cooperative and didn’t have to be constantly coerced. I thus believe that Brigadier Laplante didn’t give away anything despite the worst tortures that could be inflicted on her for hours and that an interrogator probably killed her out of frustration. Does anybody here disagree with this assessment?”
“Mister Prime Minister,” said Claude Dansey, “just learning about how we can decipher the German Enigma encoding machine would have been a coup for the Gestapo. There are countless cases known of persons being tortured for weeks by the Gestapo. Surely, their interrogators would have shown lots of patience with a prisoner as valuable as Brigadier Laplante. Killing her after only a day or less would have made no sense, unless she gave away enough information to satisfy them. As Doctor Brown said himself, Laplante was probably close to death when she was shot.”
“Then the Gestapo would have stopped to let her rest and would have continued another day.” objected General Ismay. “Brigadier Laplante must have said something that infuriated the Gestapo so much that she was then shot. Maybe the shooter was a visiting, high-ranking SS officer on whom Brigadier Laplante was about to reveal something very embarrassing or incriminating. As an example, take Reinhardt Heidrich, the head of the SS security forces. Laplante and we knew that his maternal
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grandmother was Jewish, something I doubt Heidrich wanted to be widely known. It would have been consistent with this sadist’s ways to go watch her being tortured and to laugh at her. Brigadier Laplante may just have had the last laugh on him.”
Churchil , Eden and many others nodded their heads, convinced by Ismay’s reasoning.
Churchill then addressed the participants in a voice full of sorrow.
“Gentlemen, in view of the facts presented up to now, it appears that Brigadier Laplante died as bravely as she lived. God knows I will miss her. She was a godsend to our cause and saved us from a lot of grief in this war. I intend to personally recommend her for a second bar to her Victoria Cross, for her incredible courage under extreme duress.”
“If I may, Mister Prime Minister…” said Stewart Menzies, attracting everybody’s eyes on him.
“Go ahead, General Menzies.”
“What I’m going to say may shock many of you here, but I have some hard evidence with me to suggest that, instead of being decorated, Brigadier Laplante should actually be stripped of her medals and rank, for aiding and abetting the enemy.”
Churchill immediately shot up from his chair, rage on his face.
“WHAT? WHAT’S THIS NONSENSE?”
Churchil ’s furious reply made Menzies cringe, while nearly all the other participants glared angrily at him.
“Please, Mister Prime Minister, hear me out. I am taking no joy in this, believe me. What I have are facts, not suppositions or suspicions.”
“Then you better be very convincing, General.” warned Churchill. The head of the M.I.6 nodded once and took a sheet of paper out of a locked briefcase, then passed it to the Prime Minister.
“This, sir, is a translated copy of a decoded German Enigma message from the higher Luftwaffe headquarters to their liaison office at the Focke-Wulf factories near Bremen. It informs Bremen that one of their test pilots, one Flugkapitan Hanna Reitsch, was being held as a prisoner of war in London but that she was assuming the identity of a simple auxiliary. That message also said to the Focke-Wulf management not to worry about us discovering her real identity, as quote Nancy Laplante was taking good care of her and was protecting her cover identity unquote. Here, sir, I must emphasize that this Hanna Reitsch is no ordinary test pilot. She has flown many of the most secret German prototypes and even received the Iron Cross from Hitler himself. This message thus
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proves that Brigadier Laplante knew the true identity of the so-called Oberhelferin Fisher for months, but protected her for some unknown reasons. By that willful act, Laplante let a prime potential source of information slip from our hands for many critical months. If that is not treason, I don’t know how to call it.”
“But…why?” asked Sir Cyril Newall, Chief of the Air Staff, as stunned as everybody else around the table, except for Dansey, Wing Commander Winterbotham and Peter Stilwell.
“I am afraid that the answer to your question accompanied Brigadier Laplante in her grave, sir.” replied solemnly Menzies. The noise of knuckles rapping on the table then made everybody look at Stilwell.
“I believe that you are wrong, General Menzies: I have both statements and witnesses to explain Nancy Laplante’s actions. May I, Mister Prime Minister?”
“By all means, Commander.”
Stilwell took out a number of files from his briefcase, putting them on the table as he spoke.
“First of, this business about hiding Hanna Reitsch’s identity. These files in front of me contain the information on Reitsch available in the historical data files given to us by Nancy Laplante after she arrived in England a year ago. Tell me, General Menzies, how would your M.I.6 interrogators proceed with this prime potential source of information, as you called Flugkapitan Reitsch?”
“Wel , we evidently don’t use torture, unlike the Germans. She would be subjected to tight, non-stop questioning, using strictly psychological tricks, stress positions, sleep and sensory deprivation and so on.”
“How long would you subject her to that treatment, sir?”
“As long as it takes. What’s your point, Commander?”
“My point, General, is that this treatment you described, apart from amounting to mental and psychological torture, would also have been totally unnecessary in the case of Flugkapitan Reitsch.”
Peter then started throwing forward on the table his files one by one as he spoke.
“This is the biographical entry on Hanna Reitsch, including her accomplishments in aviation. This is the list of characteristics of all the so-called secret prototypes she flew, along with the dates and places she flew them. This one contains the service history of the prototypes which made it to the production line. The last file describes the relations between Hanna Reitsch and the Nazi Party. We had all this information since
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September of 1940, when Nancy Laplante arrived from the future with her computers and her data files. We even used some of that information to raid some critical German installations. In short, General, your goons would have destroyed mentally that woman for no good reason at all. That is why Nancy Laplante protected Reitsch’s identity: to prevent unnecessary suffering to a fellow human being. Is that such a crime, General?”
“Why did she care so much for Germans?” replied Menzies, furious at letting himself be trapped like this by Stilwell. “Besides, who could swear to her true motives?
You have only suppositions, Commander.”
“Wrong, sir! I have a written statement from Nancy Laplante, as well as two witnesses. As for why she cared for Reitsch and other Germans, it is simple enough: she was from the future. In that future, Germany was a trusted ally of both Great Britain and Canada. Nancy actually served with German Army units during joint exercises in Europe and during an exchange tour with a German paratrooper unit. She did not despise or hate Germans the way many of us do. In fact, the only prejudices Nancy had that I know of was against racists and male chauvinists.”
Many participants smiled at that last remark from Stilwell: Nancy had been widely known as a forceful feminist. With the tension in the room now lowered somewhat, Churchill spoke up.
“Commander, what is that statement you referred to and who are your two witnesses?”
“Mister Prime Minister, I was given yesterday by Nancy’s husband a copy of her last will, along with a letter intended for this government. I would like to read out loud the latter with your permission, sir, along with parts of her will which are relevant to this conversation.”
“Please do, Commander.” said Churchill softly, then looking sternly around the table. “I will not tolerate any interruptions during the reading of Brigadier Laplante’s last wil and of her letter.”
Peter, a lump in his throat, unfolded a few sheets of paper and started reading them aloud.
“Dear Prime Minister, this letter is to ask forgiveness for an act that may be construed as an act of treason, but one which I consider merely an act of mercy. One of the female German prisoners held in the Tower of London since Operation BACKSTABBER, Oberhelferin Katharina Fisher, is in reality Flugkapitan Hanna Reitsch, a civilian test pilot previously employed by the Focke-Wulf factories in Bremen. I
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protected her identity in order to avoid her long and brutal interrogations which would have been in my mind unnecessary and cruel in view of the amount of information on her contained in my computer files. I further beg the British government to be lenient and humane with Flugkapitan Reitsch and to treat her like the other German women held in the Tower of London. My last wish to the British government is to be buried in London in as simple a ceremony as possible, instead of in Canada. I have yet to set foot in the Canada of the 1940s and consider London as my true home in this decade. I hope that the honorable Winston Churchill will find a hole in his busy schedule to do the eulogy at my burial. I would also be eternally grateful to the British government if one of the German Luftwaffe auxiliaries held in the Tower of London, Helferin Ingrid Weiss, would be allowed to be one of my pallbearers, alongside my four assistants from the Hourglass Section and Corporal Megan Thomas, a WAAF serving in R.A.F. Northolt. As I will no longer have the need for them, I wish to inform you as well that, in my last will, I give full possession to the British government of all my electronic equipment and data files presently situated in the Hourglass Section.”
At that point, Peter looked back at Churchill.
“That was the content of her letter to this government, Mister Prime Minister. I will now read excerpts from her last will which will explain further her frame of mind concerning those female German prisoners in the Tower. What that will make clear is that Nancy Laplante and her husband, Major Mike Crawford of the American embassy, were planning to adopt a young German girl at the end of the war. That girl is fifteen years old, is a war orphan and also happens to be one of the prisoners interned in the Tower of London. Her name is Ingrid Weiss.”
Many officers and ministers tensed up as he then resumed his reading.
“To Ingrid Weiss, born on September 7 of 1925 in Berlin, whom I consider as my adopted daughter for all intents and purposes, I give full possession and use of my two portable music systems and of my library of musical tapes and disks. I also give to Ingrid Weiss the content of my bank savings account, held at the Bank of Midlands on St-James Street.”
Peter looked up at Churchill again.
“That account now holds the sum of 2,342 Sterling Pounds, Mister Prime Minister. I understand that Nancy Laplante was not much of a spender, what with all the time she spent either planning or conducting combat operations. Those savings basically represent her untouched pay.”
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“Damn, you could buy a nice car with that sum.” wondered Sir Newall.
“That money should be confiscated, along with those two portable radios given to that German girl.” replied wryly Claude Dansey, attracting the ire of Churchill.
“Out of the question! First off, Lieutenant Colonel Laplante has the legal right to give her money to whoever she wants. Secondly, it is not as if this Ingrid Weiss can go to the bank when she feels like it. As for the two radios, I believe that the security in the Tower of London is tight enough to prevent Miss Weiss from taking them out of there.
What is it between the M.I.6 and Brigadier Laplante, Mister Dansey? First, when she arrived from the future, you wanted to confiscate all of her belongings and lock her up for life in an insane asylum, so she could not claim her things back. Now, you seem to want to destroy her reputation at all cost as she lays dead. May I remind you that she proved her loyalty on the battlefield many times and that we are now in the process of winning this war mostly thanks to her? I am not aware of any outstanding credentials on your part, sir.”
As Dansey smarted under the sharp rebuke from the Prime Minister, Churchill looked severely at General Menzies.
“From now on, I will not hear any more accusations of treason or disloyalty against Brigadier Laplante. Am I clear on this, General?”
“Very clear, sir!” said Menzies, swallowing hard. Churchill then looked at Peter Stilwell.
“You mentioned two witnesses earlier on, Commander. Who are they?”
“Helferin Ingrid Weiss and Flugkapitan Hanna Reitsch, Mister Prime Minister.”
Churchill smiled at the calm answer from Stilwell, while Menzies and Dansey turned red with indignation.
“I should have guessed so. However, their testimony will not be necessary at this time.”
Churchill was silent for a moment, looking at the table while collecting his thoughts, then spoke softly.
“I will have to disagree with one of the ultimate requests from Brigadier Laplante: I will be damned if we bury her in London without giving her the honors that she earned so hard. General Ismay, I want from you a list of suggestions about this within three days. Do not hesitate to search for the King’s advice: I know that His Majesty had a lot of admiration for her.”
“It wil be done, sir.” replied soberly the old general.
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“Then, gentlemen, let’s discuss now how we are going to keep using Nancy Laplante’s legacy to the best effect to win this war as quickly as possible. I’m open to your suggestions.”
13:19 (GMT)
Office of Governor of the Tower
King’s House, Tower of London
Brigadier Charles Browning, having just received a long telephone call from Lieutenant General Ismay, put down his receiver as someone knocked on the door of his office.
“Come in!”
Corporal Ann Myers, one of the military policewomen in charge of the 23 female German prisoners of war held in the Tower of London, then opened the door and came to attention, saluting Browning.
“Sir, Helferin Ingrid Weiss is here, as you requested.”
“Good! Let her in, then wait outside, Corporal.”
Myers saluted again, then shouted at the young German waiting in the hallway.
“Prisoner, forward…march! Left, right, left, right… Prisoner…halt!”
As soon as Myers closed the door behind her, Browning smiled at the apprehensive-looking girl and spoke to her in German.
“At ease, Helferin Weiss. I know that you asked to see me this morning but I also wanted to see you. Please have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.” said Ingrid softly before taking the chair offered by the old, thin officer. Browning waited for her to be comfortable before speaking again.
“Ingrid, I first wanted to express my condolences to you about the death of Nancy Laplante. I knew that you were very close to each other, plus I was just told that she had been planning to adopt you after the end of the war. I am truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, sir. You were always a kind man.”
“My job is to ensure that you and the other prisoners are safely held and well-treated until the end of this war, Ingrid. I have no wish to be harsh with you. What I wanted to tell you is that Nancy Laplante asked in her will that you be one of her pallbearers and that, after a discussion at the highest level, you have been authorized to do so. The only condition will be that you will have to attend the ceremony in civilian
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clothes. Since I realize that you have no proper civilian clothes for such a formal occasion, I am ready to let you out under escort on Monday to let you buy clothes with the money you just inherited. The burial ceremony is scheduled for next Friday, which wil give you ample time to prepare.”
Some tears came out from Ingrid’s eyes at those words.
“You are most kind, sir. Do you know where Nancy wil be buried?”
“Yes: beside Admiral Nelson and the Duke of Wellington, in the crypt of St-Paul’s Cathedral. The funeral procession will be led by the King and the Prime Minister. She wil get a heroine’s farewell, Ingrid, as she deserves.”
Ingrid then broke down in tears, prompting Browning into leaving his chair and going to kneel besides her to console her. She was able to speak between sobs after a minute or so.
“Your government’s gesture towards her is nice, but I would have preferred instead to see Nancy return alive, sir.”
“So do we, Ingrid.”
“Sir, about my request to see you this morning, I have a favor to ask from you.”
“I will do what I can. What is it, Ingrid?”
The teenager swallowed her last sobs, then spoke in a soft, nearly whispering voice.
“Sir, what I am going to tell you must not be known by my German comrades, as I am not sure how some of them will react to it. While I am officially of Lutheran faith, the religion of my mother, my father was Jewish. He taught me Judaism, along with how to speak and read Hebrew. I also speak Yiddish, but did so only within our house or with other family members, while in discreet surroundings. Nancy’s death has deeply shaken me and I now feel the need to return to my true roots. What I am asking for is the permission to be able to go discreetly pray at a synagogue once a week, preferably on a Saturday, Sabbath day. I realize that I will have to be escorted around but if you could find one of your soldiers who is Jewish, I would be eternally grateful to you, sir.”
Truly surprised by this, Browning stared into Ingrid’s eyes, trying to gauge how sincere she was. He finally decided that she was only saying the truth and patted gently one of her hands.
“I wil see if I can find someone in the Tower, Ingrid. Wil you need a special piece of clothing or religious item for your prayers?”
“Only a dark shawl, sir. I was planning to buy one in the next days.”
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“Then consider your request granted. I will keep you informed on when you will be able to go pray.”
A weak smile then appeared for the first time on Ingrid’s face.
“Thank you so much, sir. You truly are a kind man.”
“It is nothing, Ingrid. You may go back to Gaoler’s House now.”
The teenager nodded her head and got up, saluting him before leaving the office.
Browning waited until the door was closed again before picking up his telephone and calling the guardroom.
“Hello, this is Brigadier Browning. Tell Sergeant Chaney to bring Oberhelferin Fisher to my office right away… Thank you!”
The petite German blonde was marched into Browning’s office twelve minutes later, appearing quite nervous, something understandable in view of her now precarious status. Browning returned her salute and stared severely at her.
“Oberhelferin Fisher, or rather Flugkapitan Hanna Reitsch, do you know that assuming a false identity is enough to strip you from the protection normally entitled to under the Geneva Conventions?”
Hanna Reitsch swallowed hard, some sweat appearing on her forehead.
“Yes, sir! I am ready to take whatever punishment you deem appropriate, sir.”
“Wel , we can start with one day of extra duties for being improperly dressed, Flugkapitan. From now on you will only wear civilian clothes, as you are not a bonafide serviceperson. As for assuming a false identity, the Prime Minister, after reading a plea in your favor in a letter made by Brigadier Laplante before her death, he has decided that no action will be taken against you. You will thus continue to be held here, with the other female German prisoners, but as a civilian internee. As such and in view of your rank of Flugkapitan, you are entitled to a room of your own. Being now as well the officially most senior prisoner in the Tower, I have decided that only one of the V.I.P.
rooms in King’s House is fit for your needs. The one I chose for you was previously occupied in the 16th century by Queen Ann Boleyn prior to her execution in 1536. Your day of extra duties will consist in sweeping, dusting and cleaning that room before you can occupy it. Do you have any questions or objections, Flugkapitan Reitsch?”
“Uh, no sir!” replied Hanna, not believing her luck.
“Then you are dismissed. Sergeant Chaney, you will take the prisoner to Ann Boleyn’s room and make sure that she cleans it thoroughly before she can move in.”
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“Yes sir!” shouted Chaney, who then marched Reitsch out of Browning’s office.
The Governor of the Tower chuckled to himself while picking his telephone again and calling the orderly room of the Royal Fusiliers Regiment, the unit stationed inside the Tower of London.
15:02 (GMT)
Gaoler’s House, Tower of London
A young British soldier approached Ingrid as she was taking care with other prisoners of a bed of flowers on Tower Green, the grassy square in front of Gaoler’s House. The soldier, too timid to address her immediately, simply stood beside her until she noticed him and looked up from her kneeling position. After five months of internment in the Tower of London, Ingrid’s English was now quite passable.
“Yes, soldier?”
“Uh, you are Private Ingrid Weiss, correct?”
“Yes. Am I requested somewhere?”
The British soldier, a thin young man with a prominent nose and curly black hair, hesitated and looked at the other prisoners nearby, who were now starting to show curiosity at his presence.
“Yes. Could you come with me, please?”
Intrigued, Ingrid nonetheless got up and followed the soldier to the entrance of Gaoler’s House, where the British stopped and whispered to her.
“I was sent by Brigadier General Browning to escort you to the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue near here, where I normally pray. My name is Benjamin Lewinski and I’m Jewish.”
Ingrid nearly clapped hands with joy but restrained herself in order not to attract the curiosity of her comrades. She did however whisper back to the soldier, in Yiddish this time.
“May God bless you! At what time is the religious service?”
“At five O’clock. We have plenty of time. The Brigadier told me to remind you that you have to be in civilian clothes.”
“That’s alright: I will go change into a clean fleece sports ensemble. The one thing I don’t have however is something to cover my head, like a shawl.”
Benjamin smiled and produced a sealed envelope with Ingrid’s name on it.
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“The Brigadier gave me this for you. It contains twenty Sterling Pounds, an advance from the Brigadier. He said that you can reimburse him later this week, when you will be allowed to go to your bank to get out some money to buy clothes for Brigadier Laplante’s funerals. I know a small store on the way to the synagogue where you will be able to buy a shawl and maybe some Jewish religious items. My father owns it.”
The malicious way the soldier said those last words made Ingrid smile widely: Benjamin seemed to be a nice young man, even if he was most timid.
“I will go wash and change quickly. Wait here!”
Benjamin had to wait only ten minutes before Ingrid came back, wearing a gray fleece top and trousers, plus a pair of black shoes. He admired her young, beautiful face for a second, her reddish-brown hair held in the back in a ponytail and her blue eyes sparkling with happiness.
“You’re perfect, Ingrid. Let’s go!”
Haupthelferin Sara Wolf, still working with the other German prisoners on the flowerbed, had been watching the conversation between Benjamin and Ingrid and elbowed discreetly Oberhelferin Rebekka Lindeiner to attract her attention. Both women had been long recognized by their British guards as being part of a group of six hardcore Nazi sympathizers amongst the 23 female German prisoners in the Tower.
“Rebekka, there is something fishy going on with Ingrid. That British soldier seems to be leading her out of the walls.”
“A British, you said? Say a Jew instead. I can smell his type even at a distance.”
“This is weird. We better talk to Fuhrerin Manheim about this later tonight.”
They both watched as the soldier and Ingrid effectively walked out through the gate of Bloody Tower, then returned to their work, their minds still on that mystery.
Once out of the old fortress, Benjamin, who was armed with a revolver in a belt holster, escorted Ingrid up Tower Hill Street, turning north on Minories Street and following it for 400 yards before arriving at the corner with Aldgate Street. By now, it was obvious to Ingrid that many Jews lived in the area, judging by the inscriptions on the shop fronts. Turning left on Aldgate Street, Benjamin led her to a small pawnshop, gallantly opening the entrance door of the shop for her. The bearded, bespectacled man in his forties standing behind the service counter shouted with both joy and surprise at the sight of Benjamin.
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“Ben! What are you doing here at this hour? Aren’t you stil on duty?”
“I am on duty, father. This is Helferin Ingrid Weiss, one of the German female auxiliaries held in the Tower. I am escorting her out.”
Abraham Lewinski gave Ingrid a guarded glance and then looked back at his son, switching from English to Yiddish.
“Are you meshugeh2, Benjamin? Why bring a German here, even if she is young and beautiful?”
“Because she is a Jew, father. She hid her true religion up to now in order not to attract the hostility of her German comrades. She asked my commander permission to go pray at the synagogue, so I was chosen to escort her, since I regularly go pray each Friday.”
“If she’s a German Jew, why did she volunteer to serve the Nazis? As a woman, she could not be conscripted against her wil .”
“I enrolled in the Luftwaffe after my whole family was wiped out in a British bombing raid on Berlin, Mister Lewinski.” said Ingrid in Yiddish, surprising Abraham. “I was then an angry, insecure fifteen years old girl who mostly wanted to help protect her country from the enemy bombers who had killed her parents and siblings. Since I always had an interest in flying and in aircraft, I enrolled in the Luftwaffe as an air situation plotter. I joined to serve my country, not the Nazis.”
“Why didn’t you declare yourself as a Jew when you were brought here, instead of waiting until now?”
“Because I didn’t want to abandon my comrades, most of whom are no more Nazis than I am. What decided me to switch back to the religion of my father was the recent death of my adoptive mother, Brigadier Nancy Laplante. I desperately need to renew contact with God.”
Abraham opened his eyes wide at those words. Laplante’s death had been announced on the BBC radio at noon and had caused him no little grief. The Canadian time traveler had been after all their best chance at ending this war quickly and thus put an end to the suffering of the Jews in Europe. Abraham looked back at Benjamin, who answered his silent question.
“It is true, father. The Governor of the Tower confirmed to me that Brigadier Laplante was planning to officially adopt Ingrid at the end of the war. I can tell you 2 Meshugeh: Crazy in Yiddish
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personally that Brigadier Laplante always showed great affection towards her and was very protective of her.”
Abraham looked back at Ingrid with new respect and bowed his head in salute.
“You must be someone special to have conquered the heart of such a woman, Miss Weiss. Were you looking for something to buy here?”
“I was, Mister Lewinski. I was looking for a dark shawl, to cover my head for the prayers. I was also hoping to find a prayer book in Hebrew.”
“Those two items I have, miss.” declared Abraham before leading her to the back of the room, where used clothes were suspended on coat racks. He searched for a moment through the racks and took out three shawls, all of dark color but of varying pattern and tone.
“This is all the choice I have in shawls, miss. Which one do you like best?”
Ingrid looked briefly at the three shawls before pointing at one of them.
“I will take the dark gray one. It wil fit better with my present clothes.”
Abraham looked with some reprobation at her fleece suit.
“They may be modest enough for praying but I wouldn’t call them exactly stylish, miss. A young beauty like you deserves better clothes than this.”
Ingrid sighed and nodded her head.
“I couldn’t agree more with you, Mister Lewinski, but I have very little leeway presently on what I can wear. It was this or my Luftwaffe uniform. I suspect that the latter would not have been welcome at the synagogue.”
“I can’t imagine why.” said Abraham sarcastical y. “Let’s look at the prayer books now.”
Going to a shelf unit full of used books and various other objects, he showed two books to Ingrid. One was smaller than the other and was barely bigger than Ingrid’s hand, but was beautifully decorated with gold lettering. The bigger one was easier to read but was also quite plain. Ingrid chose the smaller book, prompting a warning look from Abraham.
“This is effectively a nice book, miss, but it is also an expensive one. It is tagged at fifteen pounds.”
“And how much is the shawl?”
“I am ready to leave it to you for ten shil ings, miss.”
“Then I will take both.” said Ingrid while taking out the envelope given to her by Benjamin and counting sixteen pounds. Abraham gave her a surprised look as he took the money.
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“The British let you keep this much money, miss?”
“Actual y, Nancy left me an inheritance. No need to pack these things: I will be using them soon.”
“As you wish, miss.”
Going to the cash register, Abraham got her change and gave it to Ingrid while smiling widely.
“Thank you for coming, miss, and welcome back to our faith.”
“Thank you, Mister Lewinski. You were most kind.”
Ingrid then left the shop with Benjamin, her prayer book in one pocket and her shawl tied over her hair. Abraham followed the couple with his eyes as they crossed the street and headed towards the nearby synagogue. He then shook his head in wonderment.
19:26 (GMT)
Gaoler’s House, Tower of London
Ingrid was feeling nearly at peace with herself as she entered Gaoler’s House: the service at the synagogue had gone well for her, with the congregation accepting her after a touching speech from the rabbi, who had interceded in her favor. The pain from losing Nancy was still there but now she had somewhere to go to get comfort and relief.
Half a dozen of the female prisoners was sitting around a massive oak table and playing cards when she entered. Silence fell as all eyes became fixed on her. Ingrid hesitated for a moment, then smiled to the others and started heading towards the staircase. The harsh voice of Fuhrerin Greta Manheim stopped her.
“Hold it there, Helferin Weiss! Where have you been all this time outside the wal s?”
Ingrid turned around to face her, answering firmly but politely.
“I was getting ready for Nancy’s incoming funeral, Fuhrerin. Nancy asked in her will that I be one of her pallbearers and the British accepted to let me go. I simply got briefed on the incoming ceremony. The burial will be next Friday.”
“You are planning to attend a ceremony for an enemy of the Reich? That is…”
“That is none of your business, Manheim!” declared Hanna Reitsch, who was stepping out of the restroom adjacent to the hall and who had heard the exchange. She walked to one end of the table and stared hard at the Luftwaffe matron.
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“Manheim, you try to cause more trouble to Ingrid because of this and you will have to answer to me. Brigadier Laplante may have been an enemy of the Reich but she was no enemy of the German people. Even I can see and accept that.
Furthermore, she was always a fair and compassionate enemy. That is rare enough in war to warrant respect. I would be in a British interrogation cell if not for her and that nearly caused her to be branded a traitor by the British. So, cut the patriotic crap and try using your heart for once, if you have one.”
Subdued by the fierce tone of the small but energetic pilot, Manheim could do nothing but sit back and swallow her anger as Ingrid climbed the steps towards her room. She however did swear mentally to herself that the young bitch was going to pay for this one fine day.
15:14 (GMT)
Friday, July 4, 1941 ‘C’
St-Paul’s Cathedral
London
Peter O’Neal was listening only occasionally to the eulogy presently being given by the Prime Minister. He was still trying to figure out who was the teenage girl sitting across from him and the other reporters in the Chapel of the Order of St-Michael and St-George, one of the six chapels contained inside St-Paul’s Cathedral. While the crowd admitted to Nancy Laplante’s funeral was small, due to the size of the chapel, it more than made it up with its composition. Apart from the royal family, most members of the cabinet were there, along with many generals and admirals. The lowest ranking persons present, not counting the reporters, were the six pal bearers. O’Neal knew four of them as being Laplante’s assistants, while the young WAAF corporal was rumored to have been the first person to have met Laplante after she had arrived from the future. That left the girl in black mourning dress sitting beside Nancy Laplante’s husband, Major Mike Crawford.
O’Neal was brought back to reality when the spectators around him rose to their feet, signaling that the ceremony was ending. Getting to his feet, he watched intently the teenage girl in black take her position at one side of the coffin and help pick it up from its pedestal. Preceded by the priest who had officiated the ceremony and by two choir
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boys, Nancy Laplante’s coffin was brought to the south transept of the cathedral, then down the stairs leading to the crypt, the crowd of mourners in tow. Six royal guardsmen in red parade uniform and a bagpipe player were waiting for them by the side of an open sarcophagus made of white marble. Peter O’Neal then realized with a shock that Laplante’s sarcophagus was close to that of the Duke of Wel ington, while the one containing the remains of Admiral Nelson was not far away. After the coffin was laid on supporting straps on top of the open sarcophagus, the priest said a last prayer before the bagpipe player started a moving rendition of ‘Amazing grace’. That was the signal for the six guardsmen to free the straps and start slowly lowering the coffin in the sarcophagus while everybody stood at attention, with the military men present saluting.
Mike Crawford, himself crying, had to support the teenage girl, who was overcome with grief. O’Neal himself had a big lump in his throat as the coffin disappeared inside the sarcophagus. While his interest for Nancy Laplante had been mostly professional, he had always admired her and had started to feel more than a little attraction towards her.
The final resting place chosen for her was a most fitting one for such a person of exception, at least in his mind. He knew that some reporters still resented her strong feminist views and had tried to find fault with her in their articles. Fortunately, very few readers still believed those articles.
The last act of the ceremony was the handing over of Laplante’s medals, laid on a red cushion, by the King to Major Crawford, who accepted them with tears in his eyes.
The mourners then dispersed, the heavy bronze lid of the sarcophagus to be put on and sealed only later in the evening. Peter O’Neal stayed discreetly behind a stone pil ar then, waiting to follow Major Crawford and the teenager, who were consoling each other by the side of the sarcophagus. They eventual y left the crypt, O’Neal following them discreetly, and exited the cathedral, going to Laplante’s car, a red and gold Mitsubishi Outlander 2010 which was by now well known throughout London. O’Neal ran to his car and started the engine as the Outlander was pulling out of its parking spot. To his surprise, instead of heading west towards Crawford’s apartment, the car speeded eastward. With its distinctive shape and colors, the Outlander was however easy to follow and O’Neal had no trouble keeping behind it, observing a cautious distance in order not to be spotted. He was not a little surprised when the Outlander finally stopped in front of the drawbridge marking the entrance to the Tower of London. The teenage girl got out and gave a quick kiss to Crawford, then walked towards the fortified gate of
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the Middle Tower, the cushion with Laplante’s medals in her hands. The two soldiers standing guard there briefly stopped the girl, with one of them grabbing a telephone and talking briefly in it. The soldiers then let the girl proceed to the Byward Tower gate, where she disappeared inside the fortress. Now frankly intrigued, O’Neal got out of his car and walked to the gate of the Middle Tower, flashing a smile at the two soldiers there. He decided that playing the donkey could possibly get him some information the soldiers might otherwise not volunteer.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen! I saw by chance that young woman walk inside while bearing a row of medals on a cushion. It can’t be her medals, right?”
His naïve question made the two soldiers broke out in laughter.
“A German, having the Victoria Cross? Having any woman win it was already pushing it far but that would be the end of everything.”
“A German? What is she doing here, in civilian clothes?” asked a flabbergasted O’Neal. The senior soldier, a corporal, gave him a derisive look.
“Don’t you know that we’re holding 23 female German prisoners of war here, in the Tower? That young Ingrid Weiss is one of them. She was quite cozy with Brigadier Laplante, to whom the medals belonged. In fact, if Laplante would not have been so well known for bedding men left and right, I would have thought that the two of them were lovers!”
“That young Ingrid would be one nice thing to have in bed.” added the other soldier. “She’s a real looker and one hell of a firebrand, German or not.”
“Hey!” said the corporal in fake protest. “Don’t you know that the laws of war prohibit the rape of enemy women?”
“I know that! It makes me long for the good old medieval days of rape, loot and pillage.
The two soldiers then laughed hard again. O’Neal laughed with them in order to play his role, then thanked the soldiers and returned to his car. Driving away, he stopped and parked one block away, in order to think over what he had just learned. O’Neal was fully aware how damaging to Nancy Laplante’s reputation the public knowledge of her affection towards a German would be. He personally didn’t object to such an unlikely affection: he was open-minded enough to accept that it could be based simply on mutual friendship and also knew how tolerant and compassionate Laplante had been. Despite the fact that this story was definitely a hot one, O’Neal decided that he was not going to publish it: Nancy Laplante’s name deserved to be respected, not reviled.
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17:18 (GMT)
Gaoler’s House, Tower of London
Hanna Reitsch was sitting at the large table in the ground level hal of Gaoler’s House, along with Gruppenfuhrerin Lisa Hartmann, Unterfuhrerin Anna Hauser and Oberhelferin Bertha Reinholdt, when Ingrid Weiss slowly entered the hall. Everybody fell silent as Ingrid approached them and put a red cushion on the table, numerous medals carefully pinned to it.
“This…this is all that is left of Nancy now.” She said tearfully before sitting beside Hanna and burying her head in her arms, crying shamelessly. Hanna Reitsch caressed one of the medals, which bore the inscription ‘Peacekeeping – Au service de la paix3’, then hugged tenderly the teenager.
14:50 (GMT)
Friday, August 15, 1941 ‘C’
Hourglass Section, Home Office building
London
“You wanted to see me, Peter?” Asked Reginald Jones, sticking his head inside Stilwell’s private office.
“Yes, Reginald. I need your help as a physicist to understand fully this report on the project ‘Tubes Al oys’. I am afraid that physics was not my strong suit in college.
Did you read this report?”
“I did, as a matter of fact. Do you want me to explain to you its main points?”
“That would be greatly appreciated. I stil don’t know how Nancy managed to understand all this technological stuff.”
Reginald gave him a sober look then.
“Peter, she may not have been an engineer or a scientist, but she was a self-taught woman who read widely on all aspects of technology. From the speed she grasped some of my technical briefings, I also suspect that her I.Q. must have been in the high 140s. She was just not anybody.”
3 Au service de la paix: ‘In the service of peace’ in French
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“I know!” replied sadly Peter, visualizing for a moment Nancy’s smiling, beautiful face. “Please go on!”
Jones scanned the first pages of the report quickly before resuming them.
“The Canadians report that the work on the atomic reactor at Chalk River is going well, with completion expected in about a month. From there, they will immediately start producing plutonium by irradiating natural uranium, since Nancy’s data on nuclear weapons made most preliminary research work unnecessary. We saved at least two years of intensive work just there. That data also saved another year or more of bungling around on the design of the bomb itself. It seems that the first American atomic bombs made in the original history were very wasteful of fissile material. Ours will be an implosion type device with a yield of about twenty kilotons and a weight of no more than two tons, thus compatible with our actual heavy bombers. Also, contrary to the Americans, we will not pursue the uranium 235 road, which would have entailed immense efforts at separating the various uranium isotopes. To top the cake, once successfully tested, that atomic bomb design will become the core for a thermonuclear weapon with a yield of about two megatons. Again, Nancy’s data saved us a lot of work there, possibly up to eight years. Once we have those bombs in service, we will be able to dictate an end to this war on our own terms and will also gain world supremacy, whether the Americans like it or not.”
Peter couldn’t help shoot a worried look at the physicist.
“Reginald, I can’t help feel bad about keeping the Americans totally out of this project. Remember Nancy’s warnings about playing nuclear king of the hil .”
As if on cue, Stilwell’s telephone rang, making Peter pick it up quickly.
“Commander Stilwel here! … Ah, good day to you, General Walker. What can I do for you? … Where did it crash? … My God! I… I wil advise Ingrid Weiss right away about this… You already did? … Thank you for telling us, sir. Please keep us informed if they find anything, sir… Thank you again, sir.”
“What was that all about?” asked Jones, alarmed by the distress on Peter’s face as he put down the telephone. “What did the American Defense Attaché want?”
“Brigadier General Walker just advised me that the plane transporting Major Mike Crawford and other officers recalled to the United States crashed in the North Atlantic yesterday. Two ships searched the area for nearly a day, without results. General Walker has already visited Ingrid Weiss in the Tower of London to give her the sad news.”
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“My God, the poor girl!” whispered Jones sadly. “First Nancy, now Mike Crawford. We should go visit her and try to comfort her.”
“That is a kind thought, Reginald. However, we should let her some time to quiet down after receiving such awful news. I will visit her tomorrow evening.”
Jones was silent for a moment, then locked eyes with Peter.
“You know as well as me that Nancy was planning to adopt Ingrid at the end of the war. With Mike gone, she should be entitled to inherit the rest of Nancy’s things, including her car, that is after the end of the war, of course.”
“General Walker already has that covered, Reginald. He is in possession of a wil from Mike that gives everything he had here, including Nancy’s car and electronic appliances, to Ingrid. I will however discuss that subject with Brigadier Browning tomorrow, when I wil visit Ingrid.”
19:18 (GMT)
Saturday, August 16, 1941 ‘C’
Gaoler’s House, Tower of London
“What do you mean, attacked?” asked Peter Stilwell, surprised and shocked, to Hanna Reitsch as they both stood in the main hal of Gaoler’s House. The female aviator appeared embarrassed, even shameful as she answered him.
“Someone attacked Ingrid and beat her up badly last night, while she was sleeping in her room. She is now in the hospital block, across the inner yard.”
Peter could sense that she was not telling everything and stared down at her.
“Flugkapitan, you are one of Ingrid’s best friends here. I am also one of her friends, whether you believe it or not. What real y happened?”
“I… I must let Ingrid tell you herself, Commander. I will lead you to the hospital.”
Walking out of Gaoler’s House and past the huge mass of the White Tower occupying the center of the inner yard of the fortress, Stilwell and Reitsch soon entered the Tower’s hospital, where a British military doctor led them to a private room. Stilwell winced when he saw Ingrid Weiss in her bed: her face was puffy, with one eye black and shut, both lips split open and with bruises all over her face. Her ribs had been bandaged, telling him that some of them had been broken or cracked. Approaching to just besides her bed, Peter whispered softly to Ingrid, who appeared drowsy.
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“Ingrid… Ingrid. This is Commander Stilwell. I’m with Flugkapitan Reitsch. What happened last night?”
“She is on pain kil ers, Commander.” explained Hanna when Ingrid would not react at first. After repeating his question, Peter finally got a clipped answer in a slurred speech.
“Was sleeping… Didn’t see who… Many, saying ‘Jewish bitch’ or ‘dirty Jew’… I passed out.”
“Jewish bitch?” said Peter, confused. Hanna explained for him.
“Commander, I didn’t know it before last night, but it seems that Ingrid is actually Jewish through her parents. Since the death of Nancy Laplante, she has been praying a lot, going out of the Tower with a military escort nearly every Friday. She kept her newfound faith secret, something that now appears to have been a wise move.
Somebody however must have found out and then attacked her out of ingrained racism.”
“And you, Flugkapitan? We know from Nancy’s data that you were a fervent Nazi sympathizer and a fan of Adolph Hitler. Didn’t it shock you to learn that Ingrid was a Jew?”
Hanna bowed her head in shame.
“At first, yes. Then I thought about how Nancy Laplante, who was no lover of Nazis, accepted and protected me, showing a degree of open-mindedness I would not have been capable of before. Ingrid is my friend, whatever her faith is, and I intend to support and protect her in this, like many of the other prisoners.”
Peter nodded, satisfied, and then looked back at Ingrid.
“Ingrid, the voices of the persons beating you, were they speaking German or English?”
“German… at least three persons.”
“Alright, Ingrid, let us handle this now. Rest and get well soon: I will visit you again during the next days.”
Peter then led Hanna out of Ingrid’s room and spoke to her in a low voice, so that the medical staff around couldn’t hear him.
“Flugkapitan, if someone could attack Ingrid once, it means that this could happen again in the future, maybe with more serious consequences. Ingrid could even be killed one night by the jackals who did this. I believe that she should be moved out of the Tower of London, for her own safety.”
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“But her best friends are here, Commander. She will never agree to abandon Frida Winterer, Johanna Fink, Bertha Reinholdt or Susanna Berghof, to name just a few.”
“Alright, if she has so many friends, she should not have too many enemies here then, no?”
“I know a few.” said Hanna hesitantly. “You will understand if I am hesitant to denounce a fellow German to you British.”
“I was expecting that, Flugkapitan, and can understand your reluctance. We need however to do something to ensure the safety of Ingrid in the Tower. If we can’t, then she will have to be moved. Were you planning to try to resolve this problem between yourselves?”
“That would stil be the best solution for all, I believe, Commander. Brigadier Browning has given me a two-day ultimatum to iron out this problem. There is already a military investigation going on anyway. Please let me handle this my way for the next days. If we still have a problem, then I will accept whatever measures you British deem necessary.”
“That sounds fair enough to me, Flugkapitan. I wil now escort you back to Gaoler’s House.”
They walked back together in silence, both preoccupied by Ingrid’s dangerous situation. They shook hands in front of Gaoler’s House before Peter left the fortress.
Hanna watched him walk away, silently thanking faith for having brought such a decent man to the help of Ingrid. She then entered the old Tudor building and went to each of its four levels, shouting in each room.
“EVERYBODY DOWN IN THE MAIN HALL, NOW! GENERAL MEETING!”
Then returning to the ground level main hall, Hanna soon had the other 21 female prisoners facing her, wearing either their uniforms or informal sports gear. She scanned each of the faces slowly, gauging their attitudes. Hanna already had quite a good idea about who had been involved in beating Ingrid, but still hoped that the culprits would be honest enough to publicly stand by their bad deed. She didn’t think that Gruppenfuhrerin Lisa Hartmann had been involved, though: while being a thoroughly indoctrinated Nazi, she was not mean enough in Hanna’s mind to beat up the teenager. On the other hand, Fuhrerin Greta Manheim and Fuhrerin Grete Meissner were exactly the kind to commit such an act. She looked at them hard while speaking in a harsh, clipped voice.
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“You probably all know why I called you here, so let’s not waste time. As the senior prisoner here, one of my duties is to ensure the safety of all of you. We are all Germans and we were all serving our country when we were captured. We thus have a duty to support each other while in the hands of our enemies. Helferin Weiss had understood that and had proved her solidarity with us even as she formed a bond of friendship with Brigadier Laplante, a woman I myself respected greatly. Helferin Weiss was hit hard by Laplante’s death and returned to the Jewish faith of her parents, but stil stayed with us. We all know how much of a stigma being a Jew is nowadays in Germany and I won’t fault her for hiding her faith, especially since that fact did not change her loyalty towards our group. She may be a Jew but I still consider her a German loyal to her country and her comrades. She is thus worthy of our protection and support. What happened last night was nothing but a total disgrace and an act of rank cowardice. Ganging up on a sleeping teenager at night to beat her is an act unworthy of any true German. Those who committed that act now have a choice: you can either show some honesty and courage now by stepping forward and acknowledging your participation in that beating; or you can hide in this group and earn our collective contempt. First off, which ones of you knew that Ingrid was a Jew?”
Frida Winterer, Bertha Reinholdt and Susanna Berghof stepped forward without hesitation, followed a few seconds later by Mathilda Reichenberg. Hanna Reitsch looked at Reichenberg, a young Luftwaffe haupthelferin4 she knew to be a member of the National-Socialist Party, like her.
“Haupthelferin Reichenberg, did you attack Helferin Weiss last night?”
“No, Flugkapitan!”
“Oberhelferin Reinholdt, Helferinen Berghof and Winterer, did you attack Helferin Weiss last night?”
“No, Flugkapitan!” answered in unison the three auxiliaries. Hanna nodded her head, her face still stone hard.
“I believe all four of you. You had the courage to acknowledge a fact that would make you suspects in the beating of Helferin Weiss. Others in our group did not have such courage, though.”
Hanna then stared hard at Manheim and Meissner.
4 Haupthelferin: German female auxiliary rank equivalent to a master-corporal
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“As senior auxiliaries, I expected much better from you, Fuhrerinen Manheim and Meissner. I know for a fact that you knew about Weiss’ newfound religious faith: you swore loud enough about it for me to hear. So did you, Oberhelferin Lindeiner. If anything, you were the most venomous of the lot. Yet, none of you three had the honesty to acknowledge this in front of the group. I now give you a second chance to confess.”
Meissner looked down at Hanna with contempt.
“A chance to confess what, exactly? Jews are the enemies of the German people. I have done nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ingrid’s three best friends stared angrily at the matron, with young Frida Winterer shouting at Meissner.
“You beat up Ingrid while she was sleeping and you find nothing shameful in this? You’re nothing but a jackal, Fuhrerin or not.”
“Helferin Winterer, keep silent!” shouted Hanna. “I am the one doing the disciplining here.”
Hanna then stared back at Meissner.
“Fuhrerin Meissner, you just proved yourself to be unworthy of both our trust and of your rank. I do not intend to point you to the British, since I wish to preserve the solidarity of this group. However, I do expect you to move to one of the free rooms in the attic, away from the rooms of the others. I expect the others involved in yesterday’s beating to move up to the attic as well and to refrain from trying to intimidate the other members of our group. If anything else happens to Helferin Weiss in the future, then I wil have no qualms to ask the British to move you out of this building.”
“Who the hel do you think you are, Reitsch?” shouted Greta Manheim. “You’re just a fucking civilian!”
Lisa Hartmann finally reacted, coming out of her lethargy and jumping to her feet.
“Fuhrerin Manheim, Flugkapitan Reitsch is a pilot, thus of officer status. She was also decorated by the Fuhrer himself. If I can defer to her authority, so can you. You, Meissner and Lindeiner will move upstairs to the attic tonight and will keep your peace with Helferin Weiss. Is that understood?”
The three hardcore Nazis came to attention, having no choice but to obey the senior auxiliary.
“Yes, Gruppenfuhrerin!”
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Once the three women had marched upstairs to move their things, Hartmann looked more gently at Reinholdt, Berghof and Winterer.
“I wil ask you three to move Ingrid’s things out of her present room, which is too close from the attic to my taste. Which one of you would be willing to share your room with her?”
All three raised their hands. Frida Winterer then stepped forward.
“Ingrid is my best friend, Gruppenfuhrerin. I wil be most happy to share my room with her.”
“Excellent! Let’s do it then.”
Hanna Reitsch approached Hartmann as the other women were dispersing, presenting her right hand to the tall blonde.
“Thank you for your support, Gruppenfuhrerin. This could have turned quite ugly.”
“It stil could.” said Lisa, bitter. “I never loved Jews myself but Helferin Weiss has won my respect for her courage and sense of comradeship. If she is attacked again, then I won’t have any hesitation in asking the British to move Meissner and her clique out of the Tower. In the meantime, I will ask you and the others to keep a protective eye on Ingrid.”
“You can count on me, Gruppenfuhrerin.” replied firmly the petite aviator.
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CHAPTER 2 – ALONE
15:07 (GMT)
Thursday, September 4, 1941 ‘C’
Tower of London
England
Reginald Jones hesitated for a moment as he watched from a distance the young German woman, a teenager actually, who was sitting in a wheelchair in front of the infirmary of the Tower of London. He had seemingly done little but bear bad news around these last days and was still grieving the loss of three of his best friends and colleagues, all killed in action in Norway. He finally collected his courage and walked resolutely to the German girl, who watched him approach with some curiosity. Reginald found her most beautiful but profound sadness was also visible on her face. As well, she still bore the marks of the severe beating she had endured about three weeks ago.
“Helferin Ingrid Weiss? My name is Reginald Jones. You may not know me but I was a close friend of Commander Peter Stilwell.”
Peter’s name made a genuine smile appear on the girl’s face.
“Ah, yes! And how is Commander Stilwel these days? Is he planning to visit me soon?”
Reginald bowed his head, a lump suddenly appearing in his throat.
“I…Peter Stilwell is dead, miss. He was kil ed in action four days ago.”
“Dead? My god! He was such a gentleman. I am truly sorry to hear that, Mister Jones.”
From the expression on her face, Reginald decided that her grief was sincere and proceeded to give her the rest of his message.
“Miss Weiss, Peter Stilwel was one of the four main assistants to Nancy Laplante, along with Squadron Leader Douglas Wilson, Major George Townsend and me. Both Wilson and Townsend died as well in combat and I am thus the lone survivor of the group. You may not believe this but we as a group decided to safeguard your interests after Nancy died. You may be German but we know that you were adopted by Nancy, which is enough of a recommendation for us. We communicated with General Walker, the superior of Mike Crawford at the American embassy, to see what was
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happening concerning the execution of Mike’s last wil . We found out that he left legally to you all the possessions he inherited from Nancy, including her car and her weapons, plus a few things he had owned personally. With the support of General Walker, we consulted a lawyer to see what effect your status as a prisoner of war had on your rights to inherit Mike and Nancy’s belongings. That lawyer came back with a legal opinion a week ago. Essentially, he said that you are entitled to get that inheritance as soon as you are not a prisoner of war anymore.”
Instead of cheering up as Reginald half expected her to do, Ingrid lowered her head, repressing a sob.
“I thank you for taking your time to help me like this, Mister Jones, but those things won’t bring Nancy or Mike back to me. Besides, I am a German prisoner of war, as you said it yourself. I will be shipped back to Germany once this damn war is over, with barely more than what I am wearing now.”
“Maybe you won’t be shipped back to Germany, Miss Weiss. I understand that you are Jewish and that you also hold American citizenship, thanks to Mike Crawford.
You could very well end up staying here or even be accepted into the United States. In either case, your inheritance could become handy.”
That was when Ingrid looked up at him, tears in her eyes.
“I know that Nancy’s work was very important to the British government. If you assisted her, then your time is also important. Why do you bother helping me, a German?”
“Because Nancy loved you enough to adopt you and risked being called a traitor for that.” said Reginald softly. “That alone makes you worth helping.”
Ingrid then broke down and cried, prompting Reginald to pass an arm around her shoulders while crouching besides her wheelchair.
“Please don’t cry, Ingrid. As long as life goes on, there will always be hope. This could be your chance to start a brand-new life here or in the United States.”
“How could you be so certain of that? As a German I wil always be regarded as an enemy here. As a Jew I am already an enemy for some of my own comrades.
Nancy and Mike were the only ones apparently able to look past my nationality.
Commander Stilwell was also decent with me but he is now dead, like too many good people in this war. Again, I thank you for caring for me but it will probably bring you nothing but trouble. You are probably better off forgetting about me, Mister Jones.”
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Reginald reluctantly got up and withdrew his arm: he could hardly help her if she didn’t want to. He was already putting his reputation and government security clearance at risk by visiting Ingrid.
“Look, miss, if you ever change your mind about this, just ask Brigadier Browning to advise me. I wil always be ready to help.”
“Your kindness is much appreciated, Mister Jones. Thank you again for visiting me.”
Reginald didn’t insist further and walked away towards the Bloody Tower gate. Brigadier Browning, who had been watching from a distance, intercepted Reginald just short of the gate, concern on his face.
“How did it go, Doctor Jones?”
“Not very well I’m afraid.” replied Reginald in a discouraged tone. “She is stil despondent about the loss of her adoptive parents and doesn’t believe that she wil be truly accepted by us. Frankly, I can’t blame her for that. Even if this war ended tomorrow, most of our people would still look at her with suspicion, at best. As for being a Jew in Germany, you know what kind of treatment she will get once back in her country.”
A pained look appeared in Browning’s eyes as he looked at the teenager, still sitting in her wheelchair, alone.
“What a shame! She is truly a good, decent girl who deserves much better than this. The worst part is that I can’t even guarantee her safety if I return her to Gaoler’s House. The same rats who beat her at night won’t give up until she is dead, that I am certain of. I saw that myself while being a prisoner in Colditz Castle during the First World War. Once other inmates mark a prisoner as a suspected collaborator, his life is worth little. Putting her in a cell separate from the others would only worsen her feelings of rejection and loneliness and could drive her to suicide. I just don’t know what to do about her, Doctor.”
“I’m at a loss myself, General. Everything now depends on her: if she keeps refusing our help, then there is little we can do for her.”
Both looked for a moment at Ingrid before shaking hands and wishing each other a good day. On her part, Ingrid stayed outside in her wheelchair for another half hour before being wheeled back into the infirmary by a British soldier who didn’t even say one word to her. The man kept his personal feelings to himself even as he thought about his family home, destroyed by a V-2 missile two days ago while his parents were inside.
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23:52 (GMT)
Infirmary, Tower of London
Ingrid was rudely awakened by a tremendous explosion which severely shook the infirmary and blew in the windows facing the inner courtyard of the fortress. The frightened teenager quickly covered her head with the bed sheets as plaster from the ceiling rained down, shaken loose by the explosion. Once the worst was over, Ingrid stepped out of her bed laboriously, still impeded by her broken ribs, and put on her Luftwaffe uniform as quickly as she could. She had to dress in the dark, as main power seemed to be out at the moment. Stepping out of her room and walking out in the inner courtyard, she was confronted by a scene that froze her blood: over a hundred British soldiers were frantically sifting through debris and rubble piled around a wide crater at the spot where Gaoler’s House had stood. Part of King’s House had also collapsed.
Her mouth opened in horror; Ingrid then saw the upper half of a human body lying maybe fifteen feet in front of her. Long brown hair was still attached to the head.
Approaching the mangled remains, Ingrid suddenly recognized the distorted, bloody face of Johanna Fink, one of her best friends in the group of female prisoners held with her in the Tower of London. She had to turn away and fell on her knees, throwing up on the grass. A British soldier came to her, apparently to help her, but stepped back at the sight of Fink’s remains.
“Jesus!”
The young soldier himself threw up but recovered most of his composure after a moment, gently grabbing the left arm of Ingrid, who was now crying hysterically.
“Come on, miss. You should stay away from all this while we search for survivors. I wil bring you back to the infirmary.”
Two female British guards soon joined them; taking over from the soldier and bringing Ingrid back to her room in the infirmary. They then left her alone and took positions outside the door of her room.
Ingrid had the time to cry herself dry of tears before someone entered her room.
It was Brigadier Browning, looking shaken. Ingrid nearly jumped on him, frantic for news about her comrades.
“Please sir, tell me what happened to my comrades.”
49
“It…it is stil too early to say, Ingrid: we are stil searching through the rubble.”
“Did you find any survivors yet?”
“None!” said Browning weakly. What he was not ready to tell the teenager was that he had already given up hope of finding anybody alive in the rubble, as Gaoler’s House had essentially been totally destroyed. The rubble surrounding the impact crater came mostly from the western wing of King’s House and from the defensive wall against which Gaoler’s House had been built. Right now, he could do little more than hold the sobbing girl and try to console her as best he could.
16:08 (GMT)
Friday, September 5, 1941 ‘C’
Tower of London
Ingrid now felt like an automaton, going on without thinking and simply reacting to the events around her. She had spent the whole day watching the British search the rubble from the missile strike, helping to identify the few bodies they found which were still identifiable. Most of the remains which had been found up to now were however little more than shredded flesh and bones. By now Ingrid had accepted the awful fact that none of her comrades and friends had survived. She was now truly alone, left to herself in a world which didn’t seem to care one bit about her. She revised that thought quickly: a few British and a few Americans had proven that they cared about her, even if she was a German. She was still thinking about that when a distant but still powerful explosion signaled the impact of yet another missile on the London area. Only after having swore at the ones who had launched the deadly projectile did she realize that she had reacted exactly like the British soldiers around her who were working through the rubble and debris. That in turn reminded her of something Nancy had told her once.
She had described something called the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, where a person who was kept captive or hostage for long enough could start to sympathize or even side with her captors. As disturbing as it appeared to her now, it seemed that she was effectively starting to think of the British as companions of misfortune in this war, instead of as enemies. The fact was that the British around her mostly treated her with politeness and respect, with only a few of them still showing hostility towards her.
50
A shout from a British soldier to his officer then attracted Ingrid towards the half destroyed West wing of King’s House. She watched on with growing hope as six soldiers dug a particular spot. Her hope then turned to grief when she realized that the person they had found was dead. Half an hour later, the body was carried out of the rubble and past Ingrid, who was overtaken again by tears when she recognized the body as being that of Hanna Reitsch. The female guard watching her gently patted her shoulder as the body was carried away.
“Time for supper, Ingrid. You wil feel better with a full stomach.”
“I’m not hungry, Corporal Beatty.”
“You wil be soon enough. Come!”
Ingrid followed the guard reluctantly to the Wellington Barracks, where the troops and the prisoners alike used a large dining room. Ingrid ate slowly and without conviction as thoughts flashed around her mind. Those thoughts in turn became a resolution. By the time she was finished eating, her mind was firmly made up. What would happen next only depended on the reactions of the British. Bringing her empty plate and utensils to the dishwashing area and cleaning them, she then faced Corporal Beatty.
“Corporal, I wish to speak to Brigadier Browning.”
“About what, Ingrid?”
“About my status as a prisoner of war. He will understand.”
“Alright, I will pass your request up the chain of command. You wil have to wait for his answer at the infirmary, though.”
“I am ready to wait as long as needed, Corporal.”
“Very well! Fol ow me!”
Going together to the infirmary, Beatty escorted Ingrid to her room first, then made a telephone call to the guardroom to pass on the teenager’s request. An answer came back after ten minutes. Another fifteen minutes and Beatty was knocking on the door of Brigadier Browning’s office, with Ingrid standing beside her. The old officer shouted for them to enter, which they did at a military pace, stopping in unison in front of the Brigadier’s work desk and saluting him.
“Corporal Beatty, escorting Helferin Weiss as requested, sir!”
“Thank you, Corporal. You may stay outside while I speak with Helferin Weiss.”
“Yes sir!”
51
Saluting again, Beatty then turned around and left the office, closing the door behind her.
Browning looked at Ingrid in silence for a moment, then pointed at a chair.
“At ease, Ingrid. Please sit if you wish so.”
“I prefer to stand, sir.”
“As you wish. You may speak freely, Ingrid, and please stand easy.”
“Thank you, sir.” said Ingrid, relaxing her position before continuing. “Sir, a Mister Jones visited me yesterday to tell me that Major Mike Crawford had put me in his will and that I could have access to that inheritance once I was no longer a prisoner of war. You may already know that I was granted recently American citizenship, thanks to my adoption by Major Crawford and by Brigadier Laplante.”
