CHAPTER 20 – PHANTOMS IN THE NIGHT
09:58 (GMT)
Monday, October 28, 1940
Vickers Armament Factories
Newcastle, England
“NO, NO, NO! One vision periscope on the commander’s cupola is not enough. How do you expect him to see around in a fight?”
The shop supervisor standing with Nancy besides the prototype main battle tank, nearly completed now, shrugged.
“You should pick a fight with the second engineer: he decided to save on production costs by cutting what he thought unnecessary.”
Nancy nearly exploded then but restrained herself, to the supervisor’s relief: she had proved in the last few days that she was not to be trifled with lightly.
“He did, hey? Where is that little weasel now?”
“Probably having tea in the canteen: it’s tea time, miss.”
She raised her arms in frustration.
“Damn tea time! We can’t get anything done around here: everybody is drinking tea all the time. Stay here, I’ll be back soon with this pencil-pushing asshole.”
The supervisor was wringing his hand as he watched her storm inside the canteen, whose door opened directly on the experimental shop. A commotion in the canteen was followed by its door being kicked open and Nancy going out at a fast walk. Trailing behind with one of his ears firmly pinched in Nancy’s left hand was the second engineer, a little man with a normally big ego. The supervisor giggled at that sight: the man was far from popular with the shop workers. The engineer was nearly out of breath by the time Nancy stopped in front of the tank prototype. She then pointed at the 45-ton machine.
“Mister Green, or should I call you Mister Bean, did you read the War Ministry’s specification for this vehicle lately? Did it occur to you that we are trying here to build a main battle tank and not an economy family sedan?’’
“But, this idea about putting eight periscopes on the commander’s cupola is an extravagant waste.” Replied hotly the engineer as he rubbed his reddened ear.
“Oh, is it really? Mister Green, get up there and sit inside the commander’s cupola. I will show you why we need eight periscopes instead of one or two.”
“But…”
“NOW, MISTER GREEN!”
Was it the fact that Nancy was fully seven inches taller than him, the Victoria Cross ribbon on her battledress or her right hand on the grip of the nasty-looking pistol on her right hip that decided the engineer to climb up? The supervisor bet on the pistol. The engineer hesitated as he crouched besides the commander’s hatch, making Nancy push him on.
“Come on, Mister Green, get inside and keep your head under the level of the hatch.”
The little man disappeared inside the turret. His muffled voice then came out.
“Now what?”
Nancy moved to the right of the tank before answering.
“Now, imagine that I am a German soldier about to throw an anti-tank charge on your tank. Do you see me?”
“No, but I can always…”
Green’s head started to emerge from the commander’s cupola. The loud bang of a pistol shot and the ping of the bullet ricocheting on the steel armor of the turret sent his head back inside.
“Correction, Mister Green: I am an armed German soldier about to throw an anti-tank charge on your tank. Do you see me?”
“N… no, Miss.”
“Then, Mister Green, your little cost cutting idea just cost us a whole tank with its four-man crew. You may come out now.”
The engineer cautiously emerged from the turret, then slowly made his way to the ground. Nancy drilled her eyes on him.
“Now, will there be one or eight periscopes on the commander’s cupola?”
“Er, eight, Miss Laplante.”
“It’s Major Laplante to you! Go get your cup of tea now!”
She then turned towards the supervisor, who was trying hard not to laugh, as the engineer ran away from her.
“After this damn tea break is finished, have seven extra periscopes installed around the commander’s cupola, to cover the arc from the eight O’clock to the five O’clock positions. What’s the matter, you never saw a woman blow a fuse before?”
“Never with such panache, miss, er, Major.”
A clerk emerged from the shop’s office at that moment and shouted at Nancy.
“Telephone call for you from London, Major.”
“I’m coming!”
She sprinted the fifty yards or so to the office and picked up the telephone a secretary pointed to her.
“Major Laplante here!”
“Hi, Nancy!” Said a familiar voice. “Would you care to join me on another beach party soon?”
“George? How are you these days?”
“Pretty good! They promoted me not long ago. Look, I’m in London, at the War Office with General Joubert. We are preparing something interesting that would involve your new baby, LCMAC-1. Would you be interested in going along with us?”
“Hell yes! Er, what does the Prime Minister say about sparing me for that party?”
“Since this would be the official combat test of LCMAC-1, he agreed to spare you as long as you don’t take unnecessary risks.”
“And what is the definition of unnecessary risk in time of war, George?”
The Royal Commando officer chuckled.
“Beats me! Anyway, could you be in London before supper?”
“No problem! I’ll be there by four O’clock. Where do we meet in London?”
“How about the War Office officers’ mess, for six O’clock?”
“I’ll be there! See you soon!”
Excited at the prospect of some action, Nancy ran to the small office where she had worked and slept to pack her things. She gunned her car out of the parking lot an hour later, only taking time for a quick snack and a filling up for her Mitsubishi OUTLANDER.
02:55 (GMT)
Sunday, November 3, 1940
LCMAC-1 on approach to port of Lorient
South coast of Brittany, France
LCMAC-1 was in blackout condition, approaching the German submarine base in Lorient on the French coast of Brittany and using only its lift fans in order to be quieter. The extensive minefields and protective nets defending the base had already been penetrated without problems, since they were essentially useless against an hovercraft. The night was dark, with only the light from the stars and a quarter moon to provide illumination. That was however sufficient for Nancy’s night goggles. Standing besides the helmsman, she guided him towards a part of the shore some distance west of the submarine docks. Thankfully for the LCMAC-1 and its occupants, the German fortification works that would turn much of the French coast into the so-called ‘Atlantic Wall’ were still months away. That meant no extensive minefields or beach obstacles and no lines of coastal bunkers…yet. High above the port, a squadron of British bombers was conducting a diversionary raid to keep the Germans’ heads up and to cover LCMAC-1’s engine noise.
A nervous major Townsend stood besides Nancy, wearing like her full battledress and helmet and armed with one of the new Enfield assault rifles. Apart from her own E.A.R., Nancy had her customary Glock 17 pistol in its holster on her right hip and a few rifle grenades in ammunition pouches hooked to her black 2012 tactical vest. She was also wearing her modern Kevlar helmet instead of the standard British steel helmet.
“I don’t see any gun emplacement or fortification to our front or immediate area. We’re two hundred yards from the beach, which seems to be free of obstacles.”
She handed her night goggles to Peter Stilwell, who was standing behind the helmsman.
“Here, Peter. You will need these until we get back on board. Take good care of them.”
Stilwell looked at her with concern and doubt.
“Do you really need to go ashore, Nancy? We can be replaced, while you can’t.”
She looked at him with a little annoyance.
“We discussed that already, I believe. Nobody is truly irreplaceable. Besides, how can I plan a mission and send others into danger while sitting safely on my fanny back in London?”
Townsend’s white teeth showed up in the darkened bridge as he smiled.
“Ah, but such a nice fanny should be protected at all cost.”
“How would you know how nice it is? You never saw it.”
“I have a vivid imagination. Besides, maybe you’ll get hit in the butt and I’ll have the chance to patch it up. Remember our earlier raid in France.”
Nancy blushed at his sneaky comment: when the German doctor had removed her shirt and body armor to examine her after she had been shot in the back and chest during the raid on the prison near Gravelines, Townsend had had the opportunity to look at her bare breasts for a few minutes. He had been discreet about it at the time, but she knew that he had not looked away either. She decided to change the subject.
“Time to go down to the vehicle deck, Major, before you get your hopes up, or something else up anyway.”
Chuckling at the joke, they both went down the steep ladder connecting the bridge with the vehicle deck, where the other members of the commando team were waiting, anxious for action after four hours spent at sea.
“ALRIGHT MEN, ER, PEOPLE: TIME TO HIT THE BEACH!”
Giggling at Townsend’s slip, Nancy went to the second last of the fourteen Bren Carrier light armored vehicles crowding the vehicle deck. Her driver and a two-man anti-tank team were already in the little open-top tracked carrier. She jumped lightly in it, then looked at the medical team’s carrier besides hers, giving it a thumbs up signal. Like the carriers and their drivers, the three medical personnel had been borrowed from the First Canadian Infantry Division for the raid. Apart from being one of the rare fully equipped army formations now in England, the division’s location in the Surrey put it conveniently close to Portsmouth, their departure point for the raid. Corporals Métivier and Brown, along with Nurse Patricia Wilson, gave back a thumbs up. Wilson’s baby face showed a wide grin as the blond woman, dressed like everybody in battledress but carrying a large medical kit instead of weapons, sat in her carrier. It had taken all of Nancy’s influence to have a female nurse included in the raid, but she was sure that Patricia had both the stamina and the guts to do the job. The voice of major Townsend then got their mind back on the mission.
“START YOUR ENGINES! GET READY!”
A few seconds later, the bow ramp was lowered, showing a patch of dark sky and a sandy beach. Townsend’s carrier raced out of the hovercraft first, followed by twelve other carriers and heading towards the nearby coastal road before turning right on it. Nancy’s carrier veered left, heading towards the base main gate, some 500 yards away. The carrier soon stopped behind an old, abandoned hut by the side of the road. Nancy and the anti-tank team jumped out and ran cautiously to a clump of trees some 100 yards from the hut, taking cover and setting up their weapons. They could hear in the distance the faint engine noise of their hovercraft as it went back to sea, heading towards the docks of Lorient. Pointing her directional microphone towards the distant main gate, Nancy heard only faint voices speaking calmly in German. The lights of the barrack housing the guard force were visible through the trees.
Six minutes later, the noise of an intense firefight erupted from the East, in the direction of the submarine docks. Six loud explosions and cannon fire soon added to the noise: LCMAC-1 was engaging the port’s defenses after firing its torpedoes at the submarines docked in the Great Basin. Nancy could now pick up in her microphone the noises of running boots, yelled orders and vehicle doors slamming, followed by the cough of a truck engine being started. She turned towards the two commandos crouching besides her with one anti-tank launcher at the ready.
“The Germans are sending a reaction force this way, probably in one truck. Corporal Stone, you fire your anti-tank launcher at no more than fifty yards range: I want a first round hit on the driver’s cabin. Private Muldoon, you and me stand by with fragmentation rifle grenades and shoot at the truck’s rear section once it is stopped. We will then clean up any Germans still alive. Any questions?”
“No, Major!” Replied Stone, just before he shouted a warning.
“I see a pair of headlights coming our way, Major.”
“Stand by to fire from short range.”
Nancy plugged a rifle grenade on the muzzle of her E.A.R., raised the grenade launching sight and adopted a prone position between Stone and Muldoon. The German truck was soon nearly on top of them.
“Fire!”
With a popping noise, the anti-tank projectile flew out in a short arc before hitting the truck’s radiator and exploding, destroying the engine and the cab. Out of control, the truck veered off the road and slammed brutally against a large tree, coming to an abrupt stop. The first German soldiers were jumping out of the rear section when Nancy and Muldoon fired their rifle grenades. Both hit the disabled truck and exploded, peppering the surviving Germans with steel fragments. Short rifle bursts followed, downing more Germans. There were now no more than five Germans returning rifle fire from behind the wrecked truck but their fire was starting to be too accurate to Nancy’s taste.
“Stone, Muldoon, give me covering fire: I’m going to turn the flank of these Germans.”
She rolled away in the high grass and low brush before either of the commandos could protest. Crawling quickly for twenty yards towards the left of their position, Nancy then got up to a crouch and ran across the road, diving behind the cover of shrubs and trees once on the other side. None of the Germans saw her in the dark night, too busy exchanging fire with Stone and Muldoon. Putting a full magazine in her rifle before resuming her progression, Nancy then advanced cautiously and as quietly as she could towards the Germans hiding behind their truck. After a minute or so she was close enough to see them through the trees, barely fifteen yards away. Taking out a hand grenade and pulling out the safety pin, she let fly the safety lever and counted to two before throwing it. The grenade rolled just behind one of the Germans and exploded, killing or wounding all five Germans in a concert of screams. Nancy then rushed in, firing her rifle and finishing off the Germans who were still moving: in the dark, she could take no chances about trying to figure out who was wounded and who was still dangerous. Her heart pounding, she looked at the now still German soldiers and shouted to the two commandos.
“THEY ARE DONE IN! JOIN ME BY THE TRUCK!”
Rifle at the ready, she then cautiously inspected the rear section of the truck. She saw some slight movement in the dark and heard moaning amongst the pile of bodies inside. Climbing inside after slinging her rifle and grabbing her pistol, she took her flashlight and switched it on. She now could count nine Germans, all of whom but one were still. The one that was moaning was holding his stomach with both hands, his uniform jacket soaked with blood. Kneeling by his side, she saw that the soldier was very young, barely out of his teens, and was conscious. As Nancy inspected his wound by the light of the flashlight, he looked at her face and opened his eyes wide.
“Die Wolfin!”{7}
Nancy snapped her head around in surprise and spoke in German.
“What? Why do you call me like this?”
The German held in a scream of pain before answering her. As he spoke, she took out a morphine shot from her emergency medical kit and injected the drug in his left leg. The soldier soon relaxed somewhat.
“You are the Canadian from the future, no? There are posters everywhere with your picture on them, instructing that you should be handed to the Gestapo if you are ever captured. They have been put up three weeks ago and every officer has one. The nickname became popular at once.”
Nancy was silent for a while, stunned by these revelations. Being a celebrity amongst the Germans was definitely not something she wanted, especially if it earned her a torture session at the hands of the Gestapo.
“Relax, soldier: I’m not as savage as my nickname would imply. I don’t have much time but I can give you a field dressing.”
She quickly ripped open a dressing pad and applied it on the wound.
“Do you need more morphine?”
“Please!” Answered eagerly the German, still in great pain. She gave him a second shot, then patted his head.
“I have to go now. Don’t die on me. That’s an order!”
Her attempt at relaxing him with a joke made the German stare at her in disbelief.
“Why would you care about me? I’m German.”
“I will let you in on a secret, soldier: the German people are not my enemies. The Nazis are.”
Nancy then left him. She was about to jump out of the truck when her eyes saw a medium machine gun sticking out from under a dead German.
“A MG-34! We could use this.”
Pulling the machine gun free, she then gave it to corporal Stone, who had been watching her speak with the wounded German. Next, she took the extra belts of ammunition from the dead machine gunner and jumped out.
“Where is Muldoon?”
“Dead, Major! Bullet through the head.”
“Damn! We can’t leave him or his equipment here. Tell our carrier to come closer and load his body and weapons inside. I will take that machinegun and cover you. I doubt that these are the only Germans who will show up here tonight.”
“Do you know how to operate this, Miss?”
She gave the commando a dubious look.
“I have plenty of experience with German machine guns, Corporal. Carry on!”
“Yes, Major!”
Giving her first the MG-34, Stone then ran towards their Bren Carrier. The small vehicle soon rolled out from behind its cover and advanced close to where Muldoon’s body lay. Stone and the driver loaded him inside the open-top crew compartment, then joined Nancy by the truck.
“Alright, men, here is what we will do: We will go forward by 200 yards towards the main gate, so that we can ambush anybody approaching this truck. Stone, you will stay in the carrier, which will stay under tree cover, and man this MG-34. I will take our two remaining anti-tank launchers and stay fifty yards down the road from you. If any German column shows up, I will shoot up the most dangerous vehicle. You will then pepper any German infantry that tries to dismount. Got that?”
“Yes, Major!” Replied Stone and the Canadian driver in unison.
“Then, let’s move!”
03:11 (GMT)
Medical team carrier
Patricia Wilson was nervous as her carrier was heading at top speed towards a specific part of the docks area, from which the noise of a firefight had just died down. This was her first experience of combat. She wondered what her parents would say if they could see her now. When she had interrupted her studies in medicine just two months short of obtaining her doctor’s diploma in order to join the Army Medical Corps, her parents had vehemently opposed her decision to do so, claiming that war was no business for a young woman like her. Her first months in England had then been a disappointment, with male soldiers treating her and the other women as mere servants and sexual prizes unworthy of combat. Nancy Laplante had recently changed all that with a swift kick at established male attitudes. To say that Patricia now held Nancy in high esteem would have been a severe understatement.
As her carrier was driving along a line of warehouses, a series of powerful explosions reverberated in the night, coming from the Long Basin, where the German submarines that were their main targets were. Patricia understood that the explosive charges that the commandos were supposed to set on the submarines were now detonating one by one. Patricia’s carrier suddenly decelerated, returning her mind to reality. A British commando had flagged down the carrier after emerging from behind the corner of a large brick building. The soldier then jumped on the carrier and directed the driver down a side street, towards the port’s Long Basin. The noise of shooting was now very close.
“Stop here!” Ordered the commando as they got to a corner giving a direct view on the port. Patricia could now see rows of German submarines, at least twelve of them, lined alongside the docks of the Long Basin. She felt elation when she noticed that many had already sunk, their conning towers barely emerging at odd angles from the water. One of the still intact submarines visible to her left suddenly shook as a large underwater explosion raised a geyser along its side, then started to settle by the stern. Patricia then understood that the commandos were now fighting to deny to the Germans a chance to find and defuse the demolition charges they had laid.
The commando, now guiding Patricia and her two stretcher-bearers on foot, arrived at an open area by the side of the basin. A number of corpses and wounded littered the ground, the large majority of them German: the fight had been hard and nasty here. The British soldier ran to a moaning man on the ground and waived to them.
“Quick, get Private Thuttle to safety. I have to join the rest of the group.”
As Patricia and the two medics ran towards the wounded, bearing a stretcher, a hail of bullets from their right swept the commando and both stretcher-bearers. A bullet cracked past Patricia’s head as she stumbled to the ground, tripping on the stretched dropped by Métivier and Brown. Looking up from the paved ground, she saw with terror a dozen soldiers with the characteristic helmets of the Wehrmacht run towards her. They were less than thirty yards away when a storm of automatic fire downed half of them, forcing the rest to stop and take cover behind large wooden crates littering the quayside. Patricia then found herself literally in the middle of a firefight, with bullets passing barely inches above her as she hugged the ground. To make her feel even more vulnerable, she was well illuminated by a nearby lamppost. Hoping that the light made plainly visible to all the red cross markings she wore on her uniform and helmet, she cautiously crawled to the inert bodies of her stretcher-bearers and of the commando and checked for a pulse: all three men were dead. A moan then reminded her of private Thuttle. Dragging her medical kit behind her, she crawled to the side of the wounded. He was very young, maybe nineteen, and was delirious. Checking him out quickly, she found a bullet wound to his abdomen that bled profusely. Patricia, cringing as each bullet passed close to her head, ripped open a sterile field dressing and started applying it to the wound. A loud crack and fragments of the pavement flying in her face were immediately followed by a scream from Thuttle, telling her that somebody was firing directly at them. Thuttle’s left leg was now bleeding too. Despair overtook Patricia momentarily: if she could not protect him, all the care she could give him would be worthless. She hesitated for an instant, then switched her position around the wounded, getting in the process a bullet that ripped the back of her jacket without touching her skin. Deliberately using her body as a shield between the Germans and Thuttle, Patricia then proceeded in giving him first aid, ignoring the bullets flying over her.
The German sergeant leading the squad caught in the quayside fight looked angrily at one of his soldier.
“Do not fire at that medic or the wounded! We are Wehrmacht soldiers, not murderers.”
Major Townsend and warrant Higgins, who had intervened with a few commandos to stop the Germans, had plainly seen Patricia’s actions and looked at each other.
“Bloody hell, sir! That girl has a set of commando-size brass balls if you ask me.”
Townsend fired a short burst before replying with a grin on his face.
“You would think that she is following in the trail of someone we know, hey, Warrant?”
He then looked around at his men nearby.
“Listen up! Load fresh magazines and plug in a fragmentation rifle grenade. On my signal, we fire a grenade volley, then storm their positions. Fix bayonets!”
Giving his men a few seconds to prepare themselves, Townsend readied his rifle, then yelled.
“UP! FIRE!”
Seven rifle grenades flew in a low arc trajectory and exploded around and within the German positions, wounding or killing most of them. Not giving the Germans time to recover, the commandos charged them, screaming like madmen. Only the German sergeant, dazed by the blast of a grenade, survived the charge, to be taken prisoner.
Wondering why she was still alive, Patricia Wilson was finishing her first aid job on Thuttle when major Townsend crouched besides her. She thought for a moment that she saw admiration in his eyes. He patted her on the shoulder.
“Damn fine job you did here, Nurse Wilson. Can your patient be moved now?”
“Cautiously, yes, sir. The medical carrier is nearby.”
“Good! My men will help you.”
Shouting a few orders, Townsend regrouped his men and his Bren Carriers and got them to pick up their wounded and dead, making sure that none of the new weapons were left behind. As they were about to depart the basin area, Townsend suddenly saw a poster nailed to a pole. Attracted by the picture on it, he went to it and ripped it free, then examined it quickly. The picture was that of Nancy Laplante but he could not read the German text on the poster. Swearing to himself, he folded the poster and pocketed it before rejoining his men. That was when he received a radio call from Nancy.
“Alpha two, this is Alpha three, over!”
“This is Alpha two. Send, over!”
“Alpha two, you better get out now: I have a heavy party of guests on its way. I will try to delay it as much as I can but make it quick.”
“Alpha three, we are leaving the docks now. We can be in position to support you in less than ten minutes.”
“Negative, Alpha two! Get out! I will join you in a short while. You show up here and I will rip your balls off.”
“Alpha three, this is no time for heroics.”
“Heroics like hell! My job is to cover your retreat, remember? I’m simply doing it now. Besides, if the big suckers lining up now at the main gate get through me, none of us will make it back to England, so move your butts and leave!”
“Alright, Alpha three, we are on our way out.”
Sighing heavily, Townsend then jumped back in his carrier and called LCMAC-1 as it started rolling.
03:43 (GMT)
Anti-tank team
Nancy had to steel herself as the German column approached on the road: following the SdKfz 251/1 halftrack troop carrier that was in the lead were three Panzer III medium tanks and three trucks full of infantrymen. She had only two anti-tank launchers left, along with two anti-tank rifle grenades and half a dozen stick grenades taken from the dead Germans in the destroyed truck. She had only corporal Stone and the Bren Carrier’s driver to support her with one machine gun, two assault rifles and a few rifle grenades. That was quite meager in the face of the column now less than 100 yards from her hiding place by the side of the road. Making her mind quickly, she put down the ready to fire anti-tank launcher she had shouldered, grabbing instead her rifle and plugging an anti-tank grenade on its muzzle. At night, the infantrymen scanning the area from the open top of the halftrack were going to be more dangerous to her than the tanks with their limited fields of vision. The halftrack, which had its headlights off, suddenly slowed down as its occupants saw the wrecked German truck ahead of them, to the right of the road. It stopped just after passing Nancy’s hiding place, making her grin with satisfaction: the vehicle was now less than fifteen yards away from her and presenting its rear right corner to her. Taking a stick grenade from her web belt, she armed it and waited two seconds before throwing it, then grabbed her rifle again as the grenade flew out. Nancy nearly yelled in triumph when the grenade exploded inside the halftrack, butchering the nine men riding it. Quickly pointing her rifle at the nearest tank, less than thirty yards distant, she fired her anti-tank rifle grenade, hitting squarely the side of its turret. A typical modern main battle tank from 2012, with its thick multi-layered armor, would have laughed at the small warhead of the rifle grenade. The Panzer III, with its average armor thickness of less than one inch of steel, was in comparison a cardboard box. The plasma jet from the grenade’s shaped charge easily penetrated the tank’s turret, killing the gunner inside and seriously wounding the commander and the loader. Without wasting a second, Nancy put down her rifle and shouldered one of her two anti-tank launchers. Taking a deep breath in order to steady her aim, she forced herself to press gradually on the launcher’s trigger, so that she would not disturb her aim. The projectile flew off with a small popping noise, while a cloud of dark green plastic flakes was ejected from the rear. The launcher’s design principle made it a very discreet weapon that was capable of being fired even from inside a building without risk for its user. The commander of the second Pa