10:35 (GMT)
Wednesday, September 18, 1940
St Thomas Hospital, London
“Enter!”
Nancy looked up from her laptop computer and put her CD player on ‘pause’ as a RAF officer with a large briefcase opened the door of her room.
“Good day, Captain Laplante, it’s pay day!” announced the officer with an infectious grin.
“My god, you’re right! If it’s pay day, it must be a good day.”
“Eh, I like that turn of phrase. Can I borrow it?”
“Sure! Er, how much is my pay anyway? I don’t even know how much I earn a day.”
The officer looked at her with feigned shock, as if she just had declared herself as being an heretic. He leafed quickly through a thick ledger book and pointed in triumph at an entry.
“Ah ah, here we are! Captain Laplante, Nancy, Canadian Army exchange officer with the RAF, effective September 3, 1940. Daily pay rate of one pound and three shillings. Your accumulated pay balance to date, minus various dues, is fifteen pounds, two shilling and eight pences.”
As the officer counted her money, Nancy realised that she knew very little about the cost of living in 1940, apart from the price of a pint of beer. She promised herself to talk with Durling about that, him having been in England for months now.
“Can I put your money on this bedside table, Captain?”
“Of course! You’re too kind.”
As he put the money on the table, his eyes fell on her dress uniform’s jacket, suspended besides the bed from a wall hook. Her medals, including her newly won Victoria Cross and C.B.E., were still pinned to the tunic. Even the undress ribbons for them were in place, as the hospital’s seamstress had insisted on immediately sewing them on her uniform. The pay officer stared at the V.C. for a moment, then saluted her.
“Captain, it was a real pleasure meeting you. I wish you the best of days.”
He then left, closing quietly the door behind him. Amused by all this, Nancy put the money in her wallet and continued to work on her laptop.
Her second visitor of the day showed up at 11:15 hours. It was a junior secretary from the Prime Minister’s Office who had already visited her the day before to pick up her completed briefing notes for the American and Soviet ambassadors. Jennifer Collins handed the briefing notes back to Nancy and sat.
“The Prime Minister has read your notes and agrees to send them after a few minor corrections. I understand that you have some equipment here that allows you to do that quickly and also produce copies easily. A total of three copies of each are needed.”
“Did you bring some official letterhead paper, as I asked you yesterday?”
“Yes! 8 ½ by 11 inch sheets, letter quality paper with the Prime Minister’s Office seal. I brought 300 sheets, will that be enough?”
“For the moment, yes.”
Nancy looked for the corrections on her notes and found a few hand-scribbled remarks.
“Damn! I keep forgeting that Americans and British don’t spell certain words the same way. Give me two minutes, please.”
Jennifer watched, fascinated, as Nancy corrected the notes on her laptop and initiated a print program after loading the official paper in her portable printer. She had been told not to ask questions about that woman’s equipment but what she was seeing now was unsettling, to say the least.
“Wow! That’s what I call efficiency.” Exclaimed Jennifer as Nancy gave her the requested copies five minutes after her arrival. The secretary looked at the words ‘ATHENA INFORMATION’ printed in large bold letters at the top and bottom of each page.
“Athena: funny name for a security classification. Anyway, I have more things for you here.”
She took out a bundle of documents from her briefcase and gave them to Nancy, who sifted through them.
“The Canadian High Commision has acted quickly on our confidential requests on your behalf. You have here a Canadian passport and birth certificate, a driver’s permit and a Canadian Army identification card. We also joined an official British government security pass good for up to and including ‘Most Secret’ level clearance. I brought you a bundle of personalised calling cards with the P.M.O.’s seal: there are more at our office if you need them.”
Nancy looked carefully at her new identity documents. They had used the pictures taken of her at Northolt shortly after her arrival there. Everything was as on her 2012 identity cards, except for the date of birth, which now reflected her actual age.
“Born June 13, 1910…”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Oh, nothing! Do you have anything else for me?”
“One last thing, yes. Here is a schedule of meetings and committees concerned with the war effort that you may want to attend once you are out of the hospital. By the way, my next job will be to find you a furnished apartment in London, with room and board paid by the government of course.”
Nancy smiled to her: Jennifer was really making life much easier for her today. She scanned the schedule and did a doubletake.
“Damn! There is a meeting of the land armament committee this afternoon, where they are to plan future tank design and production. I must attend it!”
Jennifer looked at her with disbelief.
“But, you are still covered with bandages and in an hospital bed. You can’t go in your present state.”
Nancy gave her a determined smile.
“Watch me! Could you please arrange for a car to pick me up and bring me there this afternoon? I would also need an empty briefcase to put my notes in.”
Bewildered, Jennifer nonetheless checked the schedule, then looked at Nancy.
“The meeting starts at 14:00 hours at the War Office on Whitehall Court, in room 233. I can have a car show up here at 13:30 hours.”
“Make it 13:15 hours. I may be slow going up the stairs at the War Office.”
“Alright! I will also tell the driver to come to your room with the briefcase, so you can fill it here.”
“Perfect! Thanks for everything, Jennifer. Now, I better prepare my notes for that meeting.”
The secretary then left her, shaking her head in wonderment.
As promised by Jennifer, a government service chauffeur showed up at 13:14 hours, bringing to her room an empty briefcase. Nancy was already in full dress uniform, thankful that the weight she had lost while in hospital made up for the bulk of the bandages around her legs and arms. She also had her Glock 17 pistol worn from her heavy-duty belt holster: she was now going nowhere without a weapon. Packing her laptop with a spare battery, some CDs and DVDs and a number of printouts freshly produced into the briefcase, she let the chauffeur wheel her to the hospital’s main entrance before stepping out of the wheelchair and walking slowly and stiffly to the car. The chauffeur, a mild-mannered man in his forties named Jarvis, offered to help her but she politely declined with a smile.
“Thanks, Jarvis, but I have to impress those paper-pushing bureaucrats if I’m going to have them listen to a simple captain.”
In response, he pointed at the ribbon of the Victoria Cross on her chest.
“Captain, if they don’t respect you with this visible, then they are bigger fools for it.”
He then closed her door and took his place behind the wheel. The drive itself took less than five minutes, the hospital being just across the Thames from Whitehall and its government buildings, with the Westminster Bridge linking them directly. As Jarvis was helping her out of the car in front of the War Office, Nancy told him that he was free to go.
“I don’t know how long this will be and I can take a cab ride back to the hospital.” She explained. Jarvis saluted her and left.
13:40 (GMT)
Committee room, War Office
Lord Beaverbrook had been anxious to see that mysterious Athena in person since that cabinet meeting where Air Chief Marshal Dowding had revealed her existence. Now that a secretary had advised him that she would be participating today as Churchill’s special advisor on military and foreign affairs, he could barely contain his excitement. He had no illusions about the real state of the British Tank Corps: what equipment that had not been lost in Dunkirk during the panic evacuation of the British Army from France was inadequate in both numbers and capabilities. Since Athena was supposed to be an expert on military affairs in 2012, maybe she could teach something to everyone here on the committee: armored warfare should have evolved quite a bit in 72 years, after all.
There was suddenly a small commotion at the door of the committee room. Lord Beaverbrook got closer and saw a Tank Corps colonel trying to block a tall female officer from entering.
“This is a closed committee meeting, Junior Commander. You are not on the access list and cannot enter.”
“And I tell you that I’ve been sent by the Prime Minister’s Office. Besides, I am a commissioned officer with the rank of captain, sir, not an auxiliary.”
“Like hell you are! Did they send you to serve tea, or do you claim to be an expert on tank warfare?”
The tone of the colonel had been contemptuous and deliberately insulting. The Minister of War Production hurried to the door and interposed himself between the colonel and the female captain, whose height and built surprised him. She wore a dark green dress uniform, complete with trousers, which was an oddity for a female uniform. A ‘CANADA’ patch was sewn on each shoulder and she wore a nametag on her right breast, with the name ‘LAPLANTE’. What really got Beaverbrook’s attention, though, were her paratrooper wings insignia and her medal ribbons, which included that of the Victoria Cross, the CBE and the MC.
“Please, Colonel, let me handle this. I was in fact expecting Captain Laplante and she is really from the Prime Minister’s Office.”
“She is?” Sneered the colonel, as if a beggar had just been admitted to one of the king’s receptions. He then turned his back on her and walked away. Laplante looked at the colonel with daggers in her eyes. Looking then at Beaverbrook, she became a lot more friendly and presented her right hand.
“Captain Nancy Laplante, Special Military Advisor to the Prime Minister. You must be Lord Beaverbrook, sir?”
She winced in pain when he, as was his custom, vigorously shook back her hand. Alarmed, he started to apologize but she cut him off.
“Sorry, my fault! I should have warned you that I was coming straight from the hospital: I collected a few bullets and pieces of shrapnell eight days ago in France.”
“And you are already up and running?”
“Well, up and walking at the least. May I take my seat right away, if it’s not impolite: I’m tiring quickly.”
“But of course! Follow me, please.”
Her walk was stiff and deliberate as she followed him towards the long conference table. Signaling an army stewart to help him, Beaverbrook had his own chair, presiding at one end of the table, pushed a bit to the left so that a second chair could be placed immediately to its right. Inviting Laplante to sit, he whispered in her ear as he positioned her chair.
“If these dinosaurs don’t get the message, I should have them fired.”
Effectively, a number of senior officers and bureaucrats had been watching him sit her at the table’s end with growing bemusement. They then watched her take out of her briefcase a small pile of printed sheets, a notepad and a curious-looking flat box. She opened the lid of the box, revealing to Beaverbrook what looked like a typewriter keyboard and a dark grey glass panel.
“What is this, Captain?” Asked the minister, immediately curious. She looked up at him as she explained.
“It’s called a computer. Basically, it is an information processing and storage machine. There is no equivalent to it today.”
She touched a few keys and buttons and the dark glass panel suddenly turned bright blue, with columns of words and numbers parading on it at an amazing speed. Beaverbrook could not help stare at it in wonderment, as did an officer and an engineer who happened to chatt close by. Once the picture on the panel had stabilised, Laplante inserted in a slot on the box a small shiny disk, then declared herself ready. Checking his watch first, then the attendance list to see if anybody was late, Beaverbrook called the committee meeting into session.
The minister looked around at the faces of the senior officers, bureaucrats and civilian engineers sitting at the conference table. There were more than a few curious glances at Captain Laplante, with some being less than friendly.
“Gentlemen, before we formally start the discussion, I would like to present Captain Laplante, Special Military Advisor to the Prime Minister. Captain Laplante is still recovering from wounds received recently in France, so do not be offended if she may not follow all the protocol procedures.”
“The Prime Minister has chosen a woman as his military advisor?”
That remark, said as much with contempt as with disbelief, had come from the same colonel who had tried to block Laplante from entering. From their expressions, Beaverbrook saw that all the other senior officers and most of the civilians seemed to agree with the colonel’s attitude. The latter then piled more sarcasm on.
“How can a woman give advice on tank warfare to battle-proven officers?”
“May I answer this, Minister?” Asked eagerly the target of his cynicism. Beaverbrook nodded his head as he fixed severily the Tank Corps colonel.
“Fire away, Captain!”
“Thank you, sir! Gentlemen, this may seem to you very irregular, but the Prime Minister had very good reasons to name me as his special military and foreign affairs advisor. I am not however at liberty to explain the details concerning my background, that subject being classified ‘Most Secret Eyes Only’. As for combat experience, would the Victoria Cross and the Military Cross be proof enough that I am a combat-proven officer, Colonel?”
The colonel, like all other officers present, stared at the ribbons on her tunic with utter amazement.
“You have the C.B.E. too, Captain? How did you get those medals, if I may ask?” Asked a major general of the Armored Corps.
“You may, sir! I won the C.B.E. for devising the plan for Operation Counterpunch, while I won the V.C. during a commando raid in France, where I also collected an assortment of scrap metal.”
An army brigadier general looked at Nancy Laplante with both curiosity and incredulousness.
“What is this Operation Counterpunch, Captain?”
“Sir, that was the defensive plan used to decimate the Luftwaffe when they tried to bomb London earlier this month. The commando raid in which I participated, which I also planned and led by the way, was intended to free some of our pilots captured during Operation Counterpunch. I am sorry that I cannot go further into the details for security reasons.”
“Don’t you think that our security clearances are high enough, Captain?” Replied the still hostile colonel. By now, Beaverbrook had about enough of him.
“Colonel, there are a few facts about Captain Laplante that nobody here apart from myself are cleared to know about. Suffice it to say that she is a genuine expert on military affairs and that she has the full confidence and support of both myself and of the Prime Minister. You may all learn something from her today, gentlemen! Are there any more objections to Captain Laplante’s presence or role here?”
Nobody had anything to add, at least publicly. The colonel clenched his jaw but did not reply, realising that Beaverbrook was very close to ejecting him from the committee room.
“Good! Now, the goal of this meeting is to review the status of both the equipment and design doctrine of the Tank Corps, so that we can plan the reequipment of our armored units in the most efficient and diligent manner possible. Captain Laplante, do you have an opening statement of your own to present?”
She smiled at him, visibly relieved that he was giving her an early opportunity to speak. Her voice was clear and strong, with a hint of a Quebec accent in it.
“Lord Beaverbrook, gentlemen! In order to put this discussion into its proper context, I can announce to you today that the Germans have postponed indefinitely their plans to invade Great Britain. We can thus plan for a proper replacement to our tank losses instead of rushing into producing obsolete designs. Furthermore, since we have to consider the calibre of the potential threat to face our tanks, I have brought information sheets on both improved and new German tanks that are going to oppose our own tanks in the near future. These sheets are classified and are to be handled accordingly.”
She then enlisted the help of army stewards to distribute her papers around. The general relief that had permeated the room at her announcement of the end to the invasion threat was soon replaced by an oppressive silence, as the participants digested the information on the sheets. One general finally raised his head, concern on his face.
“How reliable or accurate is this information, Captain Laplante? If it’s true, our standard 40mm tank gun will be worthless against such a monster as this TIGER tank.”
“It is totally accurate, General, and I’m glad that you raised that particular point: the tank design that we have to decide on here will have to be armed powerfully enough to deal with such an opponent, apart from having sufficient protection to match.”
The obnoxious tank colonel then seized on her last statement.
“What do you mean, one tank design? We need both an infantry support tank and a cruiser tank. Also, it is not the job of tanks to destroy other tanks but rather that of anti-tank guns. What you are saying totally goes against our armored doctrine.”
Beaverbrook saw that Laplante contained her anger with difficulty.
“Which demonstrates that your precious doctrine is good only for the garbage can, Colonel. Were you paying attention when German tanks invaded Poland and then France? Look at what they did with your doctrine. Let me state the following very clearly to you all, gentlemen: I am ready to veto any design proposal based on such outdated concepts.”
“And what do you propose instead, Captain?”
The colonel was litterally livid by now. As a reply, Laplante signaled the army stewards to pick up and distribute a small pile of sheets she took from the table.
“This is what I propose, Colonel.”
Beaverbrook then realised with amusement that she had manipulated the colonel into a trap. Reading her latest sheet convinced him that she was no amateur about armament systems. Laplante underlined aloud the main points of her brief.
“Gentlemen, what we need is a main battle tank. Its role is to be a mobile armored gun system capable of engaging enemy tanks, field fortification, enemy troops and soft targets. Its main armament is to be a high velocity gun of a calibre no smaller than three inches and a muzzle velocity of at least 2700 feet per second when using armor-piercing rounds. The minimum acceptable power to weight ratio is to be 15 horsepower per ton, or ideally up to 25 horsepower per ton or more. The suspension is to be independently sprung and have as much vertical roadwheel travel as possible. Its armor is to be well sloped, with possible use of new, special armor that I will describe in a few moments. The crew should consist of a commander, gunner, loader and driver and the maximum combat weight of the tank should be 45 tons, but no smaller than 30 tons.”
The tank colonel read over the sheet, then threw it away.
“Captain, you are dreaming. Nobody can produce a tank like this today. This is pure fiction.”
Beaverbrook saw a dangerous smile appear on Laplante’s face as she gave another series of sheets to the stewards for distribution.
“Really, Colonel? Funnily enough, the Soviets are just now starting to field such an impossible tank: the T-34. Its only drawback compared to my suggested list of specifications is its two-man turret instead of the desired three-man turret. But again, we could look at the KV-1 tank or, if we look a bit further off, at the german PANTHER tank.”
More sheets were distributed as she spoke. Beaverbrook looked at them, then at the tank colonel, eyeing him severely.
“Colonel Bosworth, your services on this committee are no longer needed. As for your position at the Tank Corps Doctrine Office, I will have to speak seriously to the Chief of the General Staff about it. Good day, sir!”
The crestfallen colonel packed up his briefcase and left, slamming the door behind him. Lord Beaverbrook then looked at the remaining men around the table, his exasperation evident.
‘’Gentlemen, we will get nowhere today if you persist in opposing systematically the ideas presented by Captain Laplante. Those ideas in fact represent much more than simply her opinion: they represent the future of armored warfare, a future the Germans are already following. My question is: do we want to follow that road, or do we persist in ignoring the lessons from the recent past just to cling to an official doctrine? If you still want to follow the latter road, then I will simply dissolve this committee and work directly with Captain Laplante and the engineers from our tank manufacturers.’’
The Commandant of the Armored School then jumped on his feet, stung.
‘’Lord Beaverbrook, I find your last suggestion insulting. Why are you putting such blind confidence in this woman? What has she done to obtain her position at the Prime Minister’s Office? I have more than thirty years of service and fought in the Great War, sir!’’
Nancy then touched Beaverbrook’s arm before he could answer harshly to the major general. If she wanted to avoid a misunderstanding that would severely delay or even prevent the production of a new tank, then she had to give something to these generals and engineers.
‘’Lord Beaverbrook, if I may?’’
The minister looked at her, then nodded his head after a second.
‘’Go ahead, Captain.’’
‘’Thank you, sir! Gentlemen, you want to know why the Prime Minister has full confidence in me? Well, I will tell you, but you will have to promise me that you will not reveal this to anybody else. The truth is that I come from the future, more exactly from the year 2012. What I know about war and military equipment basically renders much of what you know and believe obsolete and irrelevant. As for my experience of combat, I was in 2012 a war correspondent and I have seen and experienced personally about all the types of combat you could think of.’’
As the generals and engineers were looking at each other, mostly incredulous, Nancy quickly opened a video file saved in her laptop’s hard drive and started it, putting it on widescreen mode and maximum volume before pivoting her laptop on the table so that the British could look at its screen. Nancy spoke quickly as the music of the video documentary started playing.
‘’What you are going to see now is a documentary made in 2010 about the latest and best models of main battle tanks in service in the World at that time. We will talk again at the end of the documentary.’’
Lord Beaverbrook hurried to move from his chair, in order to be able to watch himself the video. While most of the generals present watched with shock and incredulity the documentary, the engineers around the table listened to it with awe, taking notes frantically during the fifty minutes that the video played. At the end, Beaverbrook looked around the table and saw that all resistance to Nancy’s idea had apparently evaporated.
‘’Gentlemen, I propose that we start discussing the specific points of the design of a new battle tank.’’
The meeting really took off from that moment and went on for hours, with the bulk of it used by Laplante to explain new concepts such as multilayered and ceramic armours, discarding sabot projectiles and sloping of armor. She also proved to be realistic, always trying to facilitate the eventual production of such a tank design by using proven, existing components. Her concept of a family of armored vehicles, where a basic design was adapted to various specific roles by using fairly simple modifications, met with Beaverbrook’s enthusiasm, since it would greatly simplify series production and repair by the extensive use of common parts and would benefit from the economy of scales inherent to a large production run. He finally had the engineers from Vickers-Armstrong agree to a meal break at 19:15 hours. They were sucking up her knowledge like leeches and would have continued non-stop all night long if he had not called a recess. He could see also that Laplante was close to exhaustion, probably from fighting off the pain of her wounds.
The break seemed to help her, as some colours returned to her face. They resumed the discussion at 20:10 hours. Half an hour later, Laplante, in the middle of a dissertation on tank gunnery systems, started hesitating in her speech. Beaverbrook noticed how pale she was and got closer to her, just in time to catch her from collapsing out of her chair. Helped by the stewards, he laid her on the carpet and saw that she was now as white as a sheet.
“GET HER TO ST THOMAS HOSPITAL, QUICKLY!”
As she was being hurriedly transported by four men to the ground floor level, Beaverbrook picked up her computer and papers lying on the table and stuffed them in her briefcase, along with her beret. Following her bearers to the main entrance, both her briefcase and his own attaché case in his hands, he was about to jump into the big Bentley in which Laplante was being loaded when a sarcastic voice in his back made his blood boil.
“What’s the matter? The lady can’t take the workload?”
Turning around, he saw colonel Bosworth standing in the front rank of the gathering crowd, a smirk on his face. Bosworth never saw the minister’s punch that knocked him flat on the sidewalk.
08:25 (Berlin Time)
Thursday, September 19, 1940
Abwehr headquarters, Berlin
“ONE WOMAN DID THAT MUCH DAMAGE TO US IN TWO WEEKS?”
Reinhard Heydrich, head of the RSHA, the Nazi state security apparatus, looked up from the briefing paper he was reading while sitting in Admiral Canaris’ office. Tall and handsome, his angelic face did not reflect the human monster Canaris knew him to be. Heydrich flipped back to a specific page.
“Let’s see if I got this right. This Captain Nancy Laplante, a Canadian from the year 2012, appeared in Northolt on or around September second with a car full of advanced equipment. On the fourth, one of our Bf 110 units was cut to pieces by British fighters waiting for them. On the seventh, our first major bombing raid on London is savaged in a similar manner, with such heavy losses that it reversed the course of the air war in the West, not mentioning the accurate strikes on our radar network. On the night of the ninth, she is seen leading a commando raid in France in a manner any professional soldier would be proud of. On the eleventh, our secret weapons research center in Peenemunde is bombed to rubble, putting back our efforts there by at least one year. On the thirteenth, the Norwegian factory producing heavy water for another secret program is bombed. On the fifteenth, ALL of our radio-guidance transmitter stations used to guide our bombers are hit by accurate strikes. There are also these reports of a new type of precision landing parachute being both tested and then used in that raid on the ninth. Is there anything else?”
Admiral Canaris nodded his head.
“In fact, there is: a recent report says that she may be now in London, working as some kind of special advisor to Winston Churchill.”
“GREAT! Now she is in a position to counter everything we do. Do we have at least a picture of this she-wolf?”
Canaris handed him a file as he explained.
“A picture, no, but the doctor and nurse that saw her in France described her in detail to a police artist. This is a copy of the sketch he produced.”
Heydrich looked carefully at the sketch and memorized her main features: black hair falling to the neck; large green eyes; smooth facial features; delicate nose and resolute but sensual mouth. He then reread her physical description in the briefing papers. There was also a medical assessment on her made by the doctor who had briefly examined her during the raid in France. He didn’t like that bit about a bulletproof vest: it would definitely complicate any assassination attempt against her. There was also the fact that she may be deadly with a pistol. He shook his head.
“A most interesting woman, but also a very dangerous one and one that cannot be allowed to continue helping the British. We will have to either capture her or, failing that, kill her. This should become a top priority mission for all the state security agencies. Do you have agents in England who could do the job?”
Canaris nodded his head and pointed at Klaus Manheim, sitting in a corner of the office.
“Agent Manheim controls a network of Irish operatives in England. In fact, one of his agents was the first to spot and report on Captain Laplante. He is ready to leave for London on short notice.”
“Excellent! You can count on the full cooperation of my services on this matter. I will also make sure that all the German forces and security services get brief