07:10 (GMT)
Wednesday, September 25, 1940
24 St James’ Place, London
Thankfully there were no reporters waiting for her as she stepped out of her building. It seemed that they still didn’t know where she lived…yet. She was wearing her dark green Canadian Forces dress uniform but she was now openly armed: a heavy duty black gun belt supported a custom-made combat speed holster designed for her Glock 17 9mm pistol. The custom design had been made necessary by the bulky holographic sight unit fixed to the top of the pistol. Spare magazines retainers were fixed to the left side of her belt, while a small plastic case contained an ASP telescopic baton. Retracted, it looked like a six inches steel rod, but it could instantly be deployed to a length of 21 inches, then becoming a very effective argument in any hand-to-hand fight.
While there were a few people already out, she did not attract attention at first: armed soldiers were a common sight in 1940 London. Turning on St James’ Street towards St James’ Palace, Nancy saw the same boy from whom she had bought a newspaper yesterday and crossed the street towards him. The boy did a double take when he saw her but smiled immediately after that.
“Good morning, miss! Do you want a newspaper?”
“I’ll certainly have one. Here!”
He caught the two pences and handed her a paper. She quickly reviewed the first page on the spot, finding that she was still front-page news. At least she was not the top story. Putting the newspaper in her computer carrying case, she slung it on her left shoulder and continued on her way.
Apart from whispered comments and stares, she arrived at the Prime Minister’s Office at 07:40 hours without incident. She sighed with relief as she entered the Home Office building: it had been easier than she had expected after all. Nancy was pleased to see that she had beaten the dedicated Jennifer to the office this morning. Her computer was already set up and running by the time the secretary showed up. She was excitedly waiving yesterday’s special edition of the Daily Telegraph as she entered.
“Nancy, you’re already here? Did you see this?”
“Oh, I sure did. That was when I decided to delay my shopping spree.”
“Aw, I’m sorry for you, Nancy: those reporters can be such a pain.”
“You can say that again.”
Nancy stood from her chair and walked to a bookshelf, taking out the big Webster’s dictionary there: she was still mixing up British and American spelling. Jennifer’s eyes fixed the low-slung, front-break holster strapped along Nancy’s right leg. The pistol’s holographic sight unit stuck out prominently from the front of the holster, making the whole thing look like it came out of a Flash Gordon story.
“WOW, a ray gun!”
Jennifer’s comment made Nancy grin. She waived a finger at the secretary.
“Didn’t I tell you that I was from the future and not from Mars?”
“Is there a difference?”
“A slight one: there are living people on Earth in 2012, while there is no life on Mars, at least today.”
“How would you know there are no green men on Mars?”
“Easy: probes have landed on Mars and had explored its surface for years by 2012.”
“Gosh!”
Jennifer’s awed look suddenly changed into a grin.
“Hey, do you think you could help my ten year-old son with his astronomy class assignment?”
“Would not this be called cheating, Jennifer? Anyway, I may be more of a problem than a help to your son: 2012 astronomy facts would contradict most of what he is learning now in his class.”
“Oh!”
That deflated the secretary quickly. Nancy took pity of her.
“I tell you what: if you bring your son tonight at my place, we could all watch a good science-fiction movie together. Or even two.”
“We could? You’re on!”
They then went about their work until ten O’clock, when Churchill’s principal secretary, John Martin, stuck his head in the office.
“Captain Laplante, the conference is about to begin.”
“Thank you, I’m on my way.”
Nancy undid her gun belt and put it in one of her desk’s drawer, then put on her uniform jacket.
“Jennifer, I will be at the ambassadors meeting. Please take my calls and don’t touch my gun.”
Taking her computer case with her, she crossed to the Foreign Office part of the building and met John Martin at the entrance of a conference room. By then, ambassadors and their staff were starting to fill the room. One of them came to Nancy with a big grin and a handshake.
“Captain Laplante, I’m Vincent Massey, Canada’s High Commissioner in London. I wanted for days to tell you how proud we all are of you in Canada.”
She couldn’t help blush at the compliment but he cut off her protests.
“Don’t be overly modest, Captain. I know who you are and what you did. By the way, here is an information you do not know yet…”
He then whispered in her ears something that made Nancy smile.
“Please try to act surprised when they will tell you later. I’ll see you inside.”
The High Commissioner then entered the conference room with his aides, leaving Nancy by the door with Churchill’s secretary.
John Martin described discreetly to Nancy each of the ambassadorial parties as they filled the room. The countries represented as the doors were closing were the United States, France (through its government-in-exile), Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Africa. Nancy finally entered behind Winston Churchill’s staff and, as an officially junior advisor, sat off the main conference table, besides John Martin. Churchill rose from his seat at one of the table’s ends at 10:25 hours to open the conference.
“Good morning to you all, gentlemen. You have been invited to this conference because you have one point in common: you all recently received some intelligence from a source codenamed ‘Athena’. As you well know, that information was largely responsible for the recent defeat of the Luftwaffe and is considered by the British government to be totally accurate and reliable. Many of you may still wonder what or who is this Athena. Wonder no more, gentlemen. On September the second of this year, a person from the year 2012 was brought involuntarily to our time, near the RAF base of Northolt. That person happened to bring along numerous pieces of very high technology and a fantastically detailed knowledge of this whole war, plus knowledge about the political and military affairs of the decades to come. As you may understand, we were at first very skeptical about that source, but we changed our minds when we studied her equipment and compared her predictions to actual German actions.”
The American ambassador raised his hand then.
“Prime Minister, would this source have anything to do with yesterday’s gunfight, or should I say massacre, in St James’ Park?”
“Ambassador Kennedy, you have obviously read the newspapers. Yes, the woman involved in the gunfight with a German assassination team is the source codenamed Athena. The simple fact that the Germans tried to kill her right here in London is proof enough that they consider Athena a mortal threat to them. Unfortunately, it also proves that they know already way too much about her, which is why we have decided to go public with her existence.”
The South African ambassador was next to talk.
“If the Germans know about her, then they will obviously change all their operational plans accordingly. This means that your Athena is now useless.”
“Let me disagree with that, Ambassador. While the Germans can change their battle plans, changing their whole war program is next to impossible. We now know about everything concerning German weapons programs and on future German military equipment: this they cannot change. Also and not least, we have started the studies to duplicate part or all of the 2012-era technologies brought along by Athena. This alone is a bonanza that will certainly help us in shortening this war and save lots of lives.”
“But who is this Athena, finally?” Exploded the South African, attracting a smile on Churchill’s face.
“Come, Mister Ambassador, don’t tell me that you haven’t read the newspapers. If so, let me introduce you to my new special military advisor, Captain Nancy Laplante, of the Canadian Army military intelligence.”
On Churchill’s cue, Nancy stood up and took place to his right. She let them have a good look at her before starting to speak.
“Gentlemen, let me first say that I did not come to this time period of my own accord. I was abducted in 2012 by people I believe to be from a very distant future and used in some kind of ill-fated experiment. I say ill fated because their craft exploded shortly after transporting me and my car to this timeline. Debris and bodies from that craft were incidentally a major factor in convincing the British government that I was not a fake.”
She saw a wave go through the foreign staffs: their diplomatic couriers would probably be busy today. A French officer had a question for her then.
“Captain, how come you know so many details of this war? You could not memorize it all, especially since you were brought here by surprise.”
“I did not need to memorize anything, Colonel, although I have in fact an excellent memory. I had with me at the time of my abduction all my historical and military files I use as an international military correspondent. I was on my way to my lakeside cottage for a working vacation and was ready to write up a travel report for my editor. Believe me, sir, I have plenty of information with me.”
The Australian ambassador was next.
“How did you manage to eliminate a German assassination team all by yourself, Captain? Did you have some kind of super weapon from 2012?”
“Mister Ambassador, I did use a 2012-era pistol, but it differs little from what you use in 1940. I made the difference: I happen to be an expert in combat pistol shooting. Lets say that the Germans’ shooting standards did not measure up to American pistol shooting techniques.”
She could see that the American army brigadier general sitting besides his ambassador loved that remark. The Australian ambassador was not finished with her yet.
“Are you ready to share your knowledge with all of us?”
“Absolutely! I have ideas for new anti-tank weapons that will be available to all of you once they are experimented and tested.’’
Churchill then took back control of the conference, but everybody kept glancing at her during the rest of the discussion. She now was in up to her neck and there would be no turning back for her from now on. At the end of the conference, the Canadian High Commissioner came to see her with his Military Attaché, eager to speak to her.
“Captain Laplante, I believe that my Military Attaché, Colonel Francis Thompson, wanted to talk to you.”
Nancy saluted the tall, slim army officer, who saluted back with a smile for her.
“Captain Laplante, in consideration of your outstanding services, both in the field and as an exchange officer with the British government, I am pleased to announce to you that Major General McNaughton has decided to promote you to the rank of major, effective immediately. I believe that you may need these.”
He then handed Nancy a pair of epaulette slip-ons with the crown that was the symbol for the rank of major. She took them with one hand while shaking his right hand.
“Sir, I don’t know what to say.”
“You fully deserved it, Major.”
“Sir, this raises a subject that was bothering me for a while. You can see that my present uniform, which is by the way the regulation one in 2012 Canada, is not the same as that worn today by the Canadian Army. I also came to 1940 with a very limited wardrobe, military or otherwise. My question is, in view of my somewhat unusual status, what should I wear? Should I wear civilian clothes or military uniforms? If it should be the latter, then I’m afraid that I’m running out of them: One of my two combat uniforms was shred to pieces when I was wounded in France.”
Colonel Thompson was thoughtful for a while.
“Well, since you just got promoted on the authority of General McNaughton, you are certainly entitled to be issued with a full set of current Canadian uniforms, which you should wear for your work.”
“Would they issue full battledress to a woman, sir?”
Thompson grinned in amusement at that.
“Major, if any quartermaster is dumb enough to refuse the right to wear a battledress to a Victoria Cross recipient, then that quartermaster deserves a swift kick in the butt. I will advise our depot in Camp Aldershot to expect you and to provide you with anything that you will request. Here is my card. If you have any problems or questions, don’t hesitate to call me.’’
“Thank you, sir! I will probably go to Aldershot during the course of next week.’’
‘’Excellent! It was a pleasure to meet you, Major. Continue the good work.’’
Thompson then left with Massey after a last round of handshakes.
Nancy was whistling as she came back to the secretarial office. Jennifer handed her a small piece of paper with a note on it.
“A Major Crawford from the American embassy called you about ten minutes ago, asking that you call him back.”
“Thanks!”
She got on her telephone right away, with Mike answering within two rings.
“Hi, it’s Nancy! You wanted to speak to me?”
“Well, if I could do more than speak on the phone I would do it, but I have to live with today’s limitations. Actually, I wanted to extend to you an invitation from the embassy’s Marines to come use their indoor range and teach them your combat shooting techniques. If it could convince you to come, I would be attending the sessions too.”
“Hot damn! You got my attention right there, Mister. How about if we start tomorrow afternoon at five? I think I could give your guys three sessions a week, at least for the time being. Do you have .38 Special and 9mm ammunition available?”
“We certainly have .38 Special ammo by the crate. As for 9mm ammo, I will have to check. Can I see you tonight?”
“You can, but you will have to share me with one kid and a female friend for the first few hours after supper: we’re having a movie night”
“What are we going to watch?”
“One, maybe two science-fiction movies. You should like them.”
“Then I’ll see you at supper time. Bye!”
Nancy waited for his phone to click down before putting down her own receiver, then turned towards Jennifer, who had half-listened to the conversation.
“Jennifer, do you mind if a six foot four inch handsome hunk comes to watch the movies with us tonight? That is, if your husband is not prone to jealousy.”
Jennifer’s smile faded at those words.
“I… Nancy, my husband was killed in France. Anyway, I’ll be happy to meet your friend. Can we come at, say, seven O’clock?”
“That will suit me fine. Do you live far from my place?”
“We live in the Tower Hamlets district, about three miles away, but we can take the subway without a problem.”
“Then I’ll expect you at seven. Jennifer, about your husband, I’m sorry. Please accept my sincere condolences.”
“Thanks, Nancy!”
She then looked at her watch.
“What do you say if we go eat now at the first floor cafeteria?”
That made Nancy grimace.
“I suppose that it is the most convenient place to eat quickly. No offence to you, Jennifer, but I’ll have to find a good ethnic restaurant in my district: I don’t think that British cuisine and I are compatible.”
Nancy then put her gun belt back on as Jennifer was grabbing her purse, attracting a puzzled comment from the secretary.
“Do you really need this to go eat?”
“Yes, for two reasons: first, if the food at the cafeteria is as bad as last time, I may just shoot the cook.”
“And your second reason?”
“Well, I have to cultivate my image as a space woman from Mars, don’t I?”
10:45 (GMT)
Thursday, September 26, 1940
American embassy, London
Brigadier General Emmet Walker pointed to a chair in front of his desk as Nancy Laplante entered his office.
“Please have a seat, Major. By the way, congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thank you very much, sir. You wanted to speak to me about new weapons programs for the American forces?”
“That’s correct, Major. Would you like a coffee first?”
“Oh yes, please! You can’t know how fed up of tea I am.”
Walker chuckled, then called for an orderly, who took Nancy’s order. The general took that time to scrutinize her a bit more: she was the key to so many things now. Walker was particularly surprised by the speed with which everything happened around her. She had arrived in England less than a month ago and she was already literally turning the war upside down. They exchanged pleasantries until the orderly came back with her coffee. He then went straight to the point.
“Major, I am told that Winston Churchill has authorized you to pass to us any information you wished to give us. Is this correct?”
“Quite correct, sir. I believe that the United States is the key to winning this war quickly, either as a source of armament or as a fighting ally. What can I do for you, sir?”
“Major, as you must know, the United States is still not involved officially in this war. However, I can tell you that President Roosevelt is taking the Japanese threat very seriously and is working hard right now to convince the Congress to put our forces on a war footing in order to preempt any Japanese attack. I am happy to tell you that he believes that he will succeed soon in passing a War Bill. As a consequence, I have been directed by Secretary of War Stimson to enlist your aid in planning new weapons to reequip our forces as soon as possible.”
“But, that is marvelous news indeed. In that case, could I suggest something to you?”
“Of course! What do you have in mind?”
“It happens that I have been working during the last few days on a list of short and medium term weapons programs that could improve dramatically the performance of the British forces in the least time possible and by using existing technology. Maybe you could adopt or adapt to your needs some of the projects on my list.”
“Do you have this list with you?” Asked Walker eagerly, instantly interested. Nancy answered by searching in the black leather carrying bag she had brought with her, taking out a document and handing it to him.
“The list is separated in a number of sections for the users’ convenience: army, navy, air, amphibious and common equipment projects. I will leave you a few extra copies if you want.”
“Please do, Major!”
Walker then reviewed the list with growing excitement: this was going to make the various chiefs of staffs water at the mouth. He looked back at her with a grin on his face.
“I like this! Could I ask you to stay here this afternoon, so that you could discuss these various projects with my staff? It would help us tremendously in making a preliminary assessment of this list.”
She thought for an instant, then nodded her head.
“I could do that, sir. I will only need to go out for a couple of hours to visit somebody in hospital and have lunch. I could be back by one O’clock at the latest.”
“Agreed! I will expect you after lunch, then.”
Going out of the embassy and jumping into her car, Nancy drove to St-Thomas Hospital, on the other bank of the River Thames, parking in front of the old hospital. She was greeted at the reception desk by a nurse who couldn’t help look at her combat uniform and her pistol, slung low on her right hip.
“Can I do something for you, Miss?”
“I believe you can. There is supposed to be a wounded German prisoner treated here. His name is Manheim. I would like to see him.”
The nurse looked at her suspiciously before checking her registry.
“He is in room 315, under guard, but…”
“Thank you!”
Without giving a chance to the nurse to protest, Nancy walked to the nearest staircase and ran up the stairs to the third floor, where she easily found room 315: two military policemen stood guard at the door. They came to attention and saluted after a short hesitation when she approached them. She returned their salute and faced the most senior MP.
“I’m Major Laplante, from the Prime Minister’s Office. I would like to see the prisoner for a few minutes. Could you let me in, Corporal?”
The man hesitated for a moment before opening the door.
“That kraut is not going anywhere with his wound. Be careful, though, Major.”
“Thanks, Corporal!”
Nancy entered a small private room similar to the one she had occupied not long ago. Klaus Manheim’s bored look turned to one of surprise at her sight.
“You?”
She answered him in German while still halfway through the doorway, attracting suspicious looks from both MPs.
“Hi, can I come in?”
“Er, sure. Why not?”
Nancy examined closely the German as she took a chair besides his bed. His right arm and shoulder were immobilized in a massive cast and his face reflected pain and fatigue.
“You don’t look so well today, Klaus.” She said softly.
“That’s because I am not well. Even if I was not going to be executed by the British, the doctors told me that I would lose fifty percent of my right arm’s mobility from my wound. Your hand cannon tore a gaping hole in my shoulder.”
“I am truly sorry about that. As you said yourself, I wish that we had met in better circumstances. Were you serious when you said that you were falling in love with me?”
Klaus looked away, apparently embarrassed.
“It may sound crazy but, yes, I was starting to have feelings towards you. It won’t mean much now, however.”
“It does to me, Klaus. I can’t return your love but you certainly proved to me that you are a decent man. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Manheim was silent for a while, thinking his answer over.
“I have one favor to ask of you, Nancy: I want to see you when they will execute me. At least my last vision will be one I can bring with me in the afterlife.”
Deeply touched by these words, she raised a hand and caressed his face.
“I will be there, I promise. Don’t despair: you are not dead yet.”
She then kissed him on his forehead before leaving him.
On her way back to the American embassy, she drove around Piccadilly District, in search of a good ethnic restaurant. She was quickly attracted to a bilingual sign in English and Arabic advertising Lebanese cuisine, something she was fond of. Parking her car nearby, she went in the small restaurant, which was furnished with six tables, a few chairs and a service counter. Three Lebanese men were having lunch at the time, while one waiter was relaxing behind the counter, drinking a small cup of strong Arabic coffee. Ignoring the stares from the customers, Nancy went to the counter and nearly made the waiter choke from surprise when she ordered her lunch in fluent Arabic. Taking place at one table, Nancy exchanged polite greetings in Arabic with the customers, which they returned eagerly. One of them, a small man in his early fifties, inquired about where she had learned her Arabic.
“At McGill University, in Montreal. I did have a lot of practice on the ground, though. I am an international correspondent in civilian life and I spent many months in various Middle East countries, including Lebanon.”
“So, how did you like Lebanon, Miss?”
Nancy had to be cautious about her answer: the Lebanon she knew and visited had gone through nearly two decades of civil war, plus repeated fighting along the border with Israel.
“It is a nice country and I do love Lebanese cuisine, but too many people are coveting its territory for its own good.”
“That is very true.” Agreed the Lebanese man, who then lowered his voice and bent forward. “Is it true that you come from the future? How will Lebanon be like in the years to come?”
“Mister, I can only say that it will face some hard years in the decades to come, like the rest of the Middle East, in fact.”
The man was thoughtful for a while. He then took out a calling card and gave it to Nancy.
“My name is Rafik Shamoun. I own a jewelry shop near here. You will always be welcome there, miss.”
Nancy thanked him and pocketed the card. The waiter then showed up with her order. She enjoyed her lunch of Shish Taouk and lentil rice, then paid, leaving a generous tip before walking out of the restaurant after wishing a good day in Arabic to the other customers. She found a growing crowd of curious passersby gathered around her Mitsubishi Outlander 2010 and sighed with annoyance: this was becoming far too frequent an occurrence lately. Taking out her car keys, which were attached to a remote control unit, she pushed in succession two buttons. The onlookers stepped away nervously when the engine seemingly started by itself after the headlights blinked, followed by the doors unlocking as if by magic. Nancy then stepped in the car and, ignoring the numerous questions thrown at her, drove off towards the American embassy.
13:15 (GMT)
American embassy, London
“Er, Major Laplante, what does an air cushion vehicle look like?” Asked the U.S. Marine Corps officer, Major Ken Dows. Nancy tried to describe it at first but could not make him picture it. She suddenly realized: pictures! Taking General Walker and his four assistants by surprise, she rose from the table around which they had been discussing her list of projects and started packing up her laptop computer as she spoke.
“Gentlemen, I just realized that we may not be in the best setting to discuss this. I suggest that we move to my apartment in order to watch some documentary films and magazines on military equipment. General?”
“You say that you have films showing 2012-era equipment?”
“I do, sir.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
Mike Crawford, General Walker and Major Dows piled eagerly in her car, while Navy Commander Johnson and Major Bagley got in an embassy car. The Americans stared admiringly at the dashboard, with its LCD indicators and gauges, radio/CD system, navigational map display with GPS unit, wideband radio scanner and CB transceiver radio. Nancy had loaded in her car nearly all the options available in 2010, plus some more equipment in line with her job as a correspondent.
“So, this in a 2010 car.” Said General Walker. “It’s a beauty!”
“I do like that car, General.” Agreed Nancy before driving off. She however didn’t remind him that it was also a Japanese car. They arrived at her apartment in less than five minutes, parking in front of the building. Once inside, the five Americans sat on the sofa and chairs facing her television set in the lounge, taking out notepads and pens while she roamed through her video library.
“What you will see first, gentlemen, are two documentaries called respectively ‘Desert Shield’ and ‘Desert Storm’, about a war in the Persian Gulf in 1990-91. It pitted an international coalition that included the U.S.A., Great Britain, France, Canada, Egypt, Syria, Saudi Arabia and a number of other countries against Iraq, which had invaded Kuwait and was threatening Saudi Arabia. Desert Shield was the defensive phase of the campaign, with lots of air action for you, Major Bagley. Desert Storm was the offensive phase of the war. I have lots more documentaries if you still are eager for more after these, including one on the Russian ‘AIST’ class air cushion vehicle.”
Nancy then started the ‘Desert Shield’ documentary and took the place reserved by Mike Crawford for her, snuggling besides him with a purr. Often putting the film on pause or going back to review something quickly, she explained some of the finer points of what they were seeing, putting the emphasis on what was or was not achievable with 1940 technology. Once the first film was finished, they took a short break before starting the ‘Desert Storm’ video. At one point, she froze the picture of a British infantryman standing besides his MCV-80 WARRIOR Infantry Combat Vehicle.
“Look at his rifle, Mike: that’s a bullpup design.”
“Wow, is it ever compact! This would be ideal for our tankers and paratroopers.”
“Exactly! The fun of it is that it is very basic technology: you could probably take the mechanism of your Garand semi-automatic rifle and modify it to turn it into a bullpup rifle pretty easily.”
“Hey, you’re right! We also have a few Browning Automatic Rifles at the embassy. Once shortened into bullpup variant and lightened, they would make perfect assault rifles.”
“Now you’re talking! Thinking of it, the British Bren machinegun would also be