22:14 (GMT)
Base Intelligence section, R.A.F. Northolt
Nancy put her hand on Jones’ shoulder to get his attention: he had been totally immersed in reading her printed data and her technical and military magazines for the last hour, taking masses of notes and preparing his report to London.
“Doctor Jones, if you don’t mind I will go sleep now: I have crammed 36 hours inside 24 hours and I’m bushed.”
He looked at her with a sheepish smile.
“Go ahead. I’m afraid I am too caught up in this to be able to sleep much tonight. However, I will wait tomorrow morning to examine with you in detail those strange craft remains and your two devices you were so generous to give away.”
“Well, they were useless to me without the orbiting satellites to make them work. By the way, Mister Wilson just told me that the autopsy report on those tall men will not be ready before the morning. I will be on the camp cot inside the adjacent storeroom. Good night!”
Jones worked for another half hour, then got on his feet and stretched his back a bit. Excusing himself with Leading Airman Sutcliffe, who was on night watch duty, he went out of the intelligence section office and walked to the building’s orderly room, where he picked up a telephone and dialed London. Winterbotham answered within two rings.
“Winterbotham here!”
“This is Jones, calling from Northolt. You can tell General Menzies that the woman is for real. She is also extremely cooperative. I still have a lot to do here, so don’t expect me before at least tomorrow night.”
“Are you positive about her story? Any doubts?”
“None at all! I can’t tell you much on this line, but I have heard and seen things here that would knock your pants down. Her equipment is way too far beyond our technology to leave any doubts at all about her origins.”
“That much?! Alright, I will pass the word to Menzies. Take all the time you need to investigate this case: I want no doubts left about her.”
“Understood, sir. Good night!”
As he was returning to the intelligence section, he took the wrong corridor and stumbled on the lounge, where Air Commodore Nicholls and Flight Lieutenant Wilson were about to watch a movie on Nancy’s TV unit. Jones had heard about it but had been too busy to have a look at it. Maybe now was a good time, he told himself. The commodore greeted him and pointed the other end of his sofa.
“Please sit, Doctor Jones. I may have a few things for you.”
Accepting the seat, Jones folded his legs, enjoying the comfort of the sofa. He watched Wilson as he was putting a shiny disk inside a small box linked by a cable to the television unit.
“What kind of movie are you going to watch, sir?”
“It is one of Captain Laplante’s futuristic movies which I restricted the viewing of to people in the know about her. The title is TERMINATOR 2. Welcome to the club.”
There was a short moment at the start of the movie used to present the movie company’s logo. Nicholls used it to talk with Jones.
“What do you think of our pretty visitor from the future, Doctor?”
“She’s positively fascinating. She is also most friendly and cooperative, contrary to what some of my superiors in London were thinking.”
“You can also tell them that she has a lot of guts: just as she was arriving at this base, the Germans started bombing it. She replaced dead ack-ack gunners on the spur of the moment and shot down a Junkers 88. A bullet went through her jacket’s arm sleeve but she kept firing until that German crashed. Later in the day she gave us early warning of a second raid, thus saving many lives, then ran out in her car to capture two Germans who parachuted out. She was very skillful in interrogating one of them shortly after.”
Jones’s eyes went wide open.
“Quite a woman we have here.”
“Indeed! In fact, I sent today an urgent recommendation for her to be awarded the Military Cross for her actions under fire. This is also not apparently her first war. I saw her personal resumé and it was quite impressive. Apart from serving as an intelligence officer in a number of operational missions in the future, she also happens to be a war correspondent with extensive field experience. Also know this: shortly after her arrival, the idiot in charge of base security had her arrested, interrogating and beating her naked in front of his men. The bastard has been since run out of the base, but she was seriously traumatised by that incident. What I am getting at, Doctor Jones, is that she has rendered valuable services to the RAF and that I, along with Air Chief Marshal Dowding, would take a very dim view of anybody mistreating her again.”
“Message understood, sir! I will pass it along.”
“Good! Ah, here we go.”
“My God!” Suddenly gasped Jones, appaled by the opening scene: a dead city at night filled with skelettons. Everybody jumped in their seats when a robot’s foot suddenly appeared, crushing a skull. The rest of the movie left them nearly speechless. Jones looked at Nicholls with an awed expression when the film came to its end.
“Well, apart from saying that this was the most incredible movie I ever saw, I think that it showed us a few things.”
“And what would they be, Doctor Jones?” Asked Nicholls.
“First, I think you will agree that the city scenes had to be shot in actual, real cities and not in some makeup set. It thus probably showed us the urban life circa 2012 or a bit earlier. Second, electronics and especially computers, like the one Miss Laplante is using here, have made strides in seventy years that I would have never thought possible. Third, do you remember that awful bomb that was shown blowing up a whole city?”
“How could I forget that?”
“Well, I think that I can safely assume that such weapons really exist in her time, as work is already being done on them today.”
“My God! I hope we don’t use such bombs in this war. It is already barbaric enough as it is.”
“Well, there are speculations now about if these weapons are indeed possible, as I believe that nobody has advanced yet beyond the purely theoretical studies stage. After seeing this movie, I’m afraid any doubts I had have just evaporated.”
“It may be a good idea to ask Captain Laplante tomorrow about what she knows on those bombs, especially about the German research program on them.”
“I will keep you informed on that, sir.”
“Please do, Doctor. Good night.”
01:36 (GMT)
Tuesday, September 3, 1940
Base intelligence section, R.A.F. Northolt
Lying on a camp cot set up in the small storage room of the intelligence section, Nancy was tossing and turning, unable to sleep despite her fatigue. The possible consequences of her acts today weighed heavily on her conscience, making her anxious and agitated. Finally, unable to find sleep, she sat on her camp cot and held her head with both hands, trying to convince herself that she had made the right choice. The fate of her own world of origin in the future was worrying her in particular. Will it be irremediably changed by her actions in 1940 or did her actions create a new, parallel timeline? Would she be ever able to return to her original life in 2012 or did she disappear for good from it when she was abducted? As she despaired of finding answers to those questions, a soft voice resonated inside her head.
‘’You did what had to be done, Nancy. Stop tormenting yourself and go to sleep.’’
Nancy looked around her, trying to find the one who had just spoken, but didn’t see anyone.
‘’My God, am I becoming crazy?’’
‘’No, Nancy! Believe in your humanity.’’ Said the voice inside her head in a tone that was neither male nor female.
‘’Who are you? Are you from the future?’’
‘’I am the past, the present and the future. I already spoke to you once, when your name was Jeanne. You have a destiny to accomplish and I will guide you on your way.’’
‘’What destiny? What am I suppose to accomplish?’’
Despite her repeating her questions, the voice was not heard again in her head. Someone then knocked gently on the door of the storage room.
“Maam, this is Airman Sutcliffe. Are you alright?”
“I… I will be okay. I was having nightmares. Don’t worry about me.” She replied in a weak, hesitant voice.
‘’In that case, good night, Captain.’’
‘’Thank you, Airman Sutcliffe.’’
Still confused, Nancy lay back on her cot, trying to go to sleep. This time she was able quickly to close her eyes and fall asleep, as if someone had given her a sedative.
08:10 (GMT)
A gentle shake on her shoulder awoke Nancy in the morning.
“Nancy, Nancy, wake up! It’s ten past eight.”
She opened her eyes to see Wilson’s face over her. Passing her hands on her face, she moaned softly.
“Damn, what a lousy night that was.”
“I heard about it.” Said a concerned Wilson. “Anything I can do to help you about it?”
“Yes: find me a time machine.” She replied bitterly before softening her voice and looking apologetically at him as she sat on the camp bed.
“Forgive me, Doug, I’m a bit on edge right now. I realise that you’re doing your best to help me and I thank you very much for that.”
He nodded his head in understanding: many, if put in her situation, would react with much more despair than her. His cheeks suddenly reddened as she rose from the camp bed and went to her bags to get one of her uniforms: she was only wearing her underwear. Seeing his reaction, Nancy shot an exasperated look at him.
“Are you British ever prudish. What would you do in my army, where men and women share tents on field exercises?”
“They do?” Said Wilson, not a little shocked by that. “Do you have many women in the army in 2012?”
She replied matter-of-factly as she put on her baggy camouflage uniform.
“About ten percent of the Canadian Forces members in 2012 are women, in specialties ranging from infanteers and sailors to fighter pilots.”
“Women fighter pilots?” Exclaimed Doug, surprised and incredulous.
“Yes, women fighter pilots. By the way, you don’t need to go as far in time as 2012 to find them: the Soviet air force will use many women as combat pilots in this war. As we would say in my time, Doug, wake up and smell the coffee!”
Still digesting that information, Wilson watched as Nancy put on a gun belt supporting her holstered Glock 26 pistol and two spare magazine holders, then covered it with the bottom of her baggy combat shirt. Remembering something then, he handed her an official mess meal card and a temporary security pass.
“Here, so that you’re not harassed by security patrols around the base. I’m afraid though that you’re too late for breakfast at the mess. However, there are some of your eggs and bacon left in the lounge’s refrigerator.”
“Thanks!”
She smiled to him before walking out of the storeroom. Wilson sighed, the sight of her nearly naked body still in his mind.
She was back at 08:45, having taken the time during her breakfast to start a new movie on her TV unit for the outgoing WAAF shift. Wilson wondered aloud about the absence of Doctor Jones. Somehow, Nancy knew why.
“He’s the type who works late at night but also starts late in the morning. You won’t see him before ten, probably.”
Jones showed up at five past ten, as predicted by her. Doug shot her a bemused look, which made her laugh.
“20/20 hindsight can be so much fun.”
Nancy and Jones then tried together for an hour or so to figure out the pieces retrieved from the crashed time machine, without success: the technology involved was so advanced that they just couldn’t understand it. The only useful conclusion was about the markings on some pieces: they were written in a highly evolved form of English, as different from modern English as had been medieval old English. Jones, having a classical education she didn’t have, could barely make out a few random words. He shook his head in resignation.
“This is hopeless! Whoever these men were, they must have come from thousands of years into the future. We are like bronze age farmers trying to understand a radio.”
“Alright then, how about looking at 2012 era equipment?”
He took her suggestion with enthusiasm and they were soon looking at the innards of Nancy’s now useless GPS receiver. What really fascinated Jones were the transistors and microprocessors.
“Not having to use tube valves saves a lot of volume.”
“Yes, also, transistors are a lot more resistant to shock and dependable, apart from generating less waste heat than tubes. The only problem for you here is that you need extremely pure gallium or silicium semi-conductor crystals to make them. I doubt that your industries can produce them before at least a decade.”
He looked at her resolutely.
“If we put our heads and hands to it, I promise you that we will produce these in less than six years.”
“I doubt it, but good luck to you anyway. This is now yours, along with the cellular telephone. I hope they will be useful to you.”
“Useful? These are worth their weight in gold, and more! Too bad you didn’t bring any items related to radar technology.”
Jones saw Nancy’s face suddenly change, as she had a look of sudden realisation.
“What an idiot I make! I’ll be back in a moment.”
She then ran out of the room, followed by the surprised look of the British. Jones then looked at Wilson.
“Does she do that often?”
“Oh, about once a day.” He quipped. She was soon back, putting a very small black box with round corners on the table in front of Jones. There were a few small buttons and a thin strip of plastic at one end.
“What is this?”
He took it in one hand: it was light, about the same as a lighter.
“That, Doctor Jones, is a miniature radar and laser beam detector. I used it to warn myself of police speed traps that used portable radars.”
She smiled in embarrassment as she concluded.
“It’s also illegal, which is probably why I didn’t think about it at first, until your remark.”
He stared at the box in the palm of his hand. Even Wilson, who was rapidly becoming blasé about 2012 technology, had his mouth ajar in wonderment.
“This can truly detect radar emissions?”
“Yes, absolutely. It searches automatically for any radar emissions in the X to Ka bands, which cover roughly the 3.75cm to 7.5mm wavelength range, plus laser beams.”
“MILLIMETRIC WAVE RADARS? But, we are still trying to develop centimetric wave radars!”
Jones sat down with a thump, apparently stunned by such technology.
“Miss Laplante, you just made my whole year.”
“Glad to be of help.” She replied with a smile. Jones seemed to force his mind to calm down.
“Miss Laplante, you seem incredibly knowledgeable in military technology, even for your time.”
“I have to! I’m a reserve intelligence officer, plus a regular correspondent for a military and international affairs magazine. I hold a Masters degree in international relations and am fluent in French, English, German, Russian, Spanish, Arabic, Pashto and Dari. I also hold a B.A. in military history.”
Jones looked at her with frank admiration.
“Jolly good! Are there many women like you in 2012?”
“Er, I have to say in all honesty that I was considered an oddball.”
Jones was silent for a minute, turning the next question in his mouth.
“Miss Laplante…”
“Please, call me Nancy.”
“Well, Nancy, what do you know about atomic bombs?”
Her joviality disappeared instantly. She then turned towards Doug.
“Could we speak in private, me and the doctor?”
Doug nodded, then cleared his men from the room before closing the door behind him. Nancy kept looking directly at Jones all the time.
“Why do you ask about nuclear weapons, Doctor?”
“Well, my main concern is whether the Germans will be able to produce an atomic weapon. After seeing your movie ‘Terminator 2’ last night, the thought of them being able to destroy whole cities is, to say the least, horrifying.”
“Believe me, Doctor Jones: nuclear weapons are horrible, no matter who uses them. However, you can relax: by this war’s end the Germans will still be a long way from producing a fission bomb. The only ones who will succeed in time will be the Americans, who will then use it twice against the Japanese to force their surrender.”
“But, neither the Americans nor the Japanese are at war now.”
“By December of 1941 they will, Doctor. Another thing you should know is that those nuclear weapons will create more than forty years of terror and tension between the great powers. At one point, an incident in the Caribeans nearly resulted in massive nuclear exchanges. The World came to the edge of armagedon. By 2012, many long range nuclear weapons had been eliminated, but small rogue countries were trying to acquire them in order to play local bully. Believe me, Doctor, the World is better off without nuclear weapons.”
“Nancy, I agree with you totally. However, I would like to know for the benefit of my superiors if you would agree to help us develop an atomic bomb if you were asked?”
“No!”
Her answer had come without an hesitation.
“First of, I’m not a nuclear physicist. There would be little I could teach to the collection of Nobel Prize recipients already studying the subject. Secondly, giving the British government information on the bomb now would result in the Russians getting it also.”
“How can you say that? Churchill will probably keep this knowledge from Stalin.”
“Doctor, Stalin will not need to ask for it. He has communist sympathizers spying for him throughout the British government. Two of them works at the M.I.6 as a matter of fact.”
“Who?” Asked Jones, shocked.
“Guy Burgess and Kim Philby. They are part of a group that will be called ‘The Cambridge Five’, because they were five young men recruited by the Russians while studying in Cambridge. These five are all highly placed and will cause immense damage to your country. Donald Maclean, working out of the British embassy in Washington in 1944, will help pass American atomic secrets to Stalin. Another one, Anthony Blunt, is a close friend of the royal family and works at the M.I.5. The fifth one is John Cairncross, the secretary of Lord Hankey, the minister in charge of the Secret Services.”
“My god! General Menzies must be told about this.”
“If you are willing to pass the information on, I can do a printout on what I have on those spies and on many others in Great-Britain. Will Sir Menzies act on it, though?”
“Menzies is a dedicated professional and a patriot. He will do what is necessary for his country.”
“For England’s sake, I hope that you are proven right, Doctor Jones.”
Nancy then walked out, in need of some fresh air. She found Doug standing besides the building, watching a flight of Hurricanes in the process of landing on the grass airstrip. She stood besides him, silent for a moment as she also watched the airplanes land.
“You piloted one of these before, right?”
“Yes! A month ago I was badly hit in the leg during a mission. The damage was permanent, so I was taken off flying duty. At least I am still useful today, the more so now that you are around.”
She slowly caressed his left ear with the tip of a finger, making him shiver.
“Do you miss flying, Doug?”
“You bet I do! Flying, any kind of flying, is, or rather was my passion.”
“Maybe I can do something about giving you back some of the fun of flying.”
He looked at her with puzzlement.
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me that you have a way to heal my leg and so make me fit to fly again.”
“Unfortunately that’s impossible. What I had in mind is, if I could say so, a kind a substitute to real flying.”
“I’m afraid you lost me there.”
“Come inside and I will show you.”
They did not do more than ten paces towards the entrance of the operations building before a black staff car, preceded by an armed escort vehicle, stopped before the entrance. Two guards and a driver jumped out, the last one hurrying to open a passenger door of the big Bentley. A tall and lean high-ranking officer of the R.A.F. stepped out, followed by a Canadian Army General.
“My God, it’s Air Chief Marshal Dowding himself!” Explained Doug as he snapped to attention and saluted, imitated by Nancy. She strongly suspected that she was somehow responsible for Dowding’s visit to Northolt. As the commander of Fighter Command was about to enter the operations building with the Canadian general in tow, he noticed Nancy and stopped, then walked towards her. Nancy felt a surge of adrenaline in her veins: unannounced surprise visits by general officers tend to do that to military subalterns. Dowding stopped in front of Nancy, who saluted him again. He returned the salute and looked her over from head to toe while the Canadian general also examined Nancy with interest.
“I gather that you are the young person who has caused so much commotion around this base since yesterday, Captain?”
“I… I’m afraid that I am the guilty party, sir.”
“Since I was coming here with General McNaughton to discuss you case with Air Commodore Nicholls, you might as well accompany me to the operations room, Captain.”
A captain does not normally argue with an air chief marshal, so she fell in behind Dowding and General McNaughton, leaving Doug Wilson to hurry back to his section to order a panic cleanup of the room. Everybody they met in the hallway snapped to attention and saluted, then ran away, probably to clean up their own desks or work areas.
The whole operations room snapped to attention at Dowding’s entrance, with Commodore Nicholls hurrying down from the observer’s gallery surrounding the plotting board. Nicholls saluted smartly his commander after coming to attention in front of him.
“You did not need to bother coming here on account of my reports, sir. I would have been glad to bring you all the facts at Stanmore, sir.”
“In view of the content of your reports, I felt I had to see for myself, Commodore. Could we speak in your office?”
“Of course, sir! This way please.”
Nancy was left to wait with Dowding’s Aide-De-Camp in the operations room for what seemed to her like an eternity. Meg Thomas, who was on duty at the plotting board, smiled to her in encouragement. Nancy smiled back, still tense.
“Captain Laplante! In here please!” Boomed Nicholls’ voice.
“Yes sir!”
She walked into the commodore’s office to find Dowding sitting at the desk, with Nicholls and McNaughton standing behind and on each side of him. She stopped in front of the desk and saluted again. Dowding examined her at lenght, silent. He finally pointed to a chair near a corner of the desk.
“Please sit down, Captain Laplante.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
She positioned the chair in front of the desk before sitting. She then noticed on the desk some of her computer printouts.
“Captain, you handed yesterday to Air Commodore Nicholls a number of reports you claimed to be historical facts, with you being an involuntary time traveler. Frankly, I and the rest of the General Staff had a thin time believing in any of this…”
Oh shit! I’m cooked! Thought Nancy.
“…Until today.”
He seemed to enjoy the look of surprised relief on her face.
“Those alien bodies and your hardware finally cut the cake in your favor, Captain. The question for me now is what to do with a Canadian Army captain from 2012 who has a 20/20 hindsight knowledge of this war and of the coming decades. The fact that no women yet hold commissioned ranks in either the British or the Canadian forces made you even more of a problem. I thus contacted Major-General McNaughton, of the Canadian Military Planning Staff in London, for advice about your legal status as an officer. General…”
“Thank you, Air Chief Marshall. Miss Laplante, according to existing Canadian military regulations, you would not be entitled to the rank of captain. In fact, you would not be allowed in the army, period, except as a nursing sister or as a civilian employee. Yet, I am told that you are proficient with heavy weapons and have extensive combat experience. Am I right up to now?”
“Yes sir! I have been a commissioned officer of the Canadian Forces Reserves for thirteen years, with my specialty being military intelligence. I participated in two wars and four peacekeeping operations and am a war correspondent in civilian life, sir. I am also parachute-qualified.”
“Hmm, quite impressive, actually. I still doubt that the Canadian Parliament would be ready to widely accept women as officers in the army, yet. You are clearly a special case, however. As the senior commander of all Canadian military forces in England, I am ready to issue you a special commission and to confirm you in the rank of captain.”
Nancy discreetly sighed with relief at those words: she had been afraid that military mysoginism would prevail over common sense.
“Thank you, sir! I will do my best in the service of my country, sir.”
“What do you think that we should do with you, young lady?” Asked Air Marshall Dowding.
“Use me to the utmost to help win this war quicker, sir.”
“You may already have started doing just that, Captain. Know that your predictions on today’s chosen targets for German attacks were correct. As of now, anti-aircraft artillery units are being quietly moved to form a protective ring around the Vickers aircraft factory in Brooklands. If your predictions are correct again tomorrow, you may well save the lives of many precious workers and help us give the Germans a bloody nose.”
“What about the coming raids on London, sir?”
Dowding looked suddenly tired and discouraged for a short moment.
“We will have to wait and see. 20/20 hindsight or not, the Germans still have a dreadful numerical superiority on us.”
“How can I help, sir?”
“Captain, I like your attitude. What would you say to being officially employed by the R.A.F., with R.A.F. pay and amenities, as an exchange Canadian officer with the title of assistant base intelligence officer here? You would of course be tasked from higher headquarters and would be available to help the other services as needed, but you would be part of the R.A.F. and be under our official sanction. What is your answer to that?”
Nancy felt triumph and relief suddenly submerge her.
“Would I have to wear a R.A.F. uniform, Sir?”
Dowding made an amused face at that.
“I knew I should have expected this question: army people seem to be allergic to air force uniforms. Alright, you can keep wearing your own uniforms as an exchange officer.”
“Then I accept your offer gladly, sir! May I ask a politically-oriented question, sir?”
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“Sir, at one point I will have to pass some of my information to the Americans, since they will get involved in this war sooner or later. Would I then be permitted to do that?”
“Hum, you are right in saying it is a political decision to make. However, I see no problems in this and, in fact, will advise the prime minister to get in touch with the Americans on your subject. Do you have any more questions before you return to your duties, Captain?”
“No, sir!”
Air Chief Marshal Dowding then rose from behind the desk and positioned himself in front of Nancy, who stood up.
“Captain Laplante, as of now you will be known under the codename ‘Athena’ for the purpose of reporting your information. One last thing.”
Dowding then took out of his vest pocket a small box that he opened, revealing a medal. He then pinned it to her combat shirt with a solemn expression.
“Captain Laplante, I, Air Chief Marshal Dowding, by the powers invested in me by His Majesty the king, am honored to award you the Military Cross for bravery under fire. Congratulations, Captain.”
She could barely hold tears of emotion as Dowding, McNaughton and Nicholls shook hands with her. Going out of the office, she was greeted by applauses from the WAAFs and the duty officers in the operations room. The tears then came out.