09:41 (GMT)
Monday, June 23, 1941 ‘B’
RAF Northolt, England
The Lockheed A-29 HUDSON twin-engined aircraft was barely off the ground when Nancy took her laptop computer out of its carrying case and started working. The flight from RAF Northolt to the naval base of Scapa Flow would take at least three hours and she wanted to be fully ready on arrival to discuss with the senior naval commanders there the future naval use of helicopters. She was the only passenger aboard the small Coastal Command reconnaissance aircraft, with three crewmen to keep her company during the flight. Airman Jack Wallace, the dorsal gunner, came to her with a thermos bottle in one hand.
“Coffee, Maam?”
“Oh yes! You’re a darling.”
She gratefully took a steaming cup from the smiling young man.
“There is already cream and sugar in it, maam.” Added Wallace, obviously pleased to take care of such a famous (and pretty) passenger. Nancy temporarily put away her laptop computer, worried that she could spill coffee on it while drinking. The HUDSON was not renown for its bump-free ride, however good it was in its numerous roles. The coffee did help clear a bit her tired mind. Since the success of its first combat mission, the Avro VULTURE helicopter had become very popular with the higher staffs, with many useless concepts about its eventual use being pushed around constantly by overenthusiastic officers who understood nothing about helicopters. Nancy had her hands full with bringing some common sense to the whole business.
Halfway through the flight she had to store away her computer, the bumpy ride making any work on it nearly impossible. Looking through her window, Nancy noticed that they were not flying over land anymore. The pilot, Flight Lieutenant Biddle, came to see her shortly afterwards, an apologetic smile on his face.
“Brigadier Crawford, I’m afraid that a bad storm front will delay a bit our arrival. We are going to go around it but it could be a rough ride. You should keep your seatbelt on until further notice.”
“We are going to pass to the East of that storm, right?”
“Correct, maam! It should add half an hour to our flight, no more.”
“Thank you for the info, Mister Biddle: I’ll keep quietly to my seat.”
An hour later the situation worsened noticeably, with the aircraft jumping up and down in the midst of dense black clouds. Nancy was now starting to be seriously concerned. A blinding flash of light accompanied by a loud detonation suddenly made her cringe. The pilot’s yell from the cockpit didn’t do anything to reassure her.
“WE HAVE BEEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING! ALL OUR INSTRUMENTS ARE DEAD! I WILL TRY TO FIND A PLACE TO LAND. HANG ON, MAAM!”
The next fifteen minutes were terrifying, with the plane thrown around by the storm like a simple toy, surrounded by frequent lightning bolts. Flying Officer Tom Carpenter came to her with a parachute in his hands and concern on his face.
“Brigadier, I’m afraid that we are totally lost now. We can’t even judge our altitude correctly. You better put this on.”
“What about the three of you?”
“We have our own parachutes, maam. Mister Biddle will go down now to try to find a hole in the cloud cover. Please hurry!”
Swearing quietly about their bad luck, Nancy quickly put on her parachute: at least it was one of the new models that could be steered. Carpenter also gave her an inflatable vest and helped her strap it on. Looking at her computer carrying case, she understood that she would not survive a jump into the stormy sea if she tried to hang on to it. Its loss would be incalculable but she had no choice. Her heart heavy, she buckled herself in her seat, hoping that they could find some piece of land. By now, they were flying barely a few hundred feet above a sea covered with furious waves. Carpenter came out of the cockpit again and took a large rubber bundle out of a storage locker, then walked to the passenger side door. He signaled Nancy to come near him and then jettisoned the door. He had to yell above the owl of rushing winds.
“We are nearly out of fuel, maam. I will throw out this rubber boat, then Mister Biddle will turn around to overfly it. You will jump at that time.”
“I am not going to abandon you. If I jump, we all jump, right?”
“That’s the idea, maam. Now, be ready for my signal.”
Pulling the inflation chord as he threw out the rubber raft, Carpenter watched it fall in the sea, then used signals relayed by Airman Wallace to direct Biddle’s turn back towards the yellow raft. He patted Nancy’s shoulder as they flew over it.
“GO!”
Keeping her eyes on the yellow spot dancing on top of the waves, Nancy jumped out and waited a little before opening her parachute, then let her laptop computer drop and fall into the sea. The winds were fierce and it took all her experience to be able to direct her glide and splash in the water fifty feet from the raft. The contact with the icy water was a shock to her. Quickly undoing her parachute harness, she then swam frantically towards the raft, finally pulling herself in it, both exhausted and freezing. Scanning the horizon and the sea around her, Nancy felt her heart sink: nobody else was in sight. Praying that the aircrew of the Hudson would make it somehow, she inventoried the content of the rubber raft’s storage pouch: it was limited to a flare pistol with a few spare cartridges, a water canteen and two chocolate bars. Loading the flare pistol, she pointed it skyward and fired, sending a red flare high above her in order to guide the airmen towards the raft, if they were still alive. She fired another flare five minutes later, then reloaded the pistol and waited, shivering. Tossed around and sprayed constantly by the still stormy sea, Nancy waited and hoped for hours, firing periodically signal flares, before going to sleep both from fatigue and from the onset of hypothermia. She was in a near coma when the sound of approaching diesel engines became audible. Barely managing to move her right arm, she pointed her flare pistol skywards and fired a flare, then passed out.
17:51 (GMT)
Submarine U-47
North Sea
“Captain, I confirm one person on board that raft.” Yelled the lookout atop the conning tower of the submarine.
“Very well!” Replied Kapitanleutnant Gunther Prien. “Steer hard port! Engines one quarter ahead! Rescue team on the forward deck!”
Six sailors scrambled out of the forward hatch with ropes and gaffes. Skillfully steered by Prien, the submarine soon bumped into the yellow raft, which was promptly grabbed and pulled aboard by the sailors. One of them examined the inert body inside the raft and raised its head towards the conning tower.
“IT’S A WOMAN! SHE’S STILL ALIVE!”
“A WOMAN? GET HER INSIDE, QUICKLY!”
Giving back the con to the watch officer, Prien went down the ladder leading to the control room, then walked into the forward torpedo room, where the sailors were gently laying the limp woman on the deck gratings. The men respectfully stepped back, letting their captain have a good look at her. Prien took her left wrist and found a slow but strong pulse. Her body was frigid.
“Get some warm blankets for her. You two, strip off her wet clothes but be respectful about it. The others, out!”
Prien examined closely the woman’s clothes as the two sailors undressed her. He straightened up in surprise at seeing the rank insignias and the patches on the woman’s vest, along with the impressive row of medal ribbons on the left chest.
“A Canadian female brigadier general from Army Intelligence?”
Prien’s exclamation made the senior sailor’s eyes bulge.
“Sir, you’re not saying that we got our hands on THE Nancy Laplante?”
“There is one way to know.”
Searching the pockets of the jacket and finding a soaked wallet, Prien emptied its content on a nearby bunk bed. He soon took out of the soggy pile a personalized calling card that was still readable.
“Brigadier Nancy Crawford-Laplante, VC and Bar, DSO and Bar, DFC, MC, Special Military Advisor to the Prime Minister.”
Petty Officer Klaus Hummel looked at the still unconscious woman, now wrapped in blankets and with a pillow under her head.
“Mein Got! Talk about catching a big fish.”
22:37 (GMT)
Submarine U-47
The first thing that Nancy saw clearly when she regained consciousness was the bearded faces of several men looking down at her with curiosity. Her heart sank when one of them spoke in German.
“She’s got green eyes alright. Beautiful ones too.”
“Thank you!” She replied weakly in German. The men smiled at her, with one turning his head and shouting at someone else.
“Tell the captain that Brigadier Laplante is awake.”
The man then looked back at her.
“Welcome aboard the U-47, Brigadier. Don’t worry about your uniform: it is being dried out now.”
Looking under the blankets covering her, Nancy saw that she was effectively stripped down to her underwear. She sat up cautiously, still feeling weak from her exposure to cold seawater. The dried salt on her skin made her itch like crazy. She looked at the older sailor, the one who had spoken to her.
“I suppose that you don’t have showers on board this submarine.”
“Correct, Colonel. If you want to wash, I can provide you with a basin, soap and a towel.”
“And a captivated audience?”
The sailors laughed at her joke and became noticeably friendlier.
“I can have this compartment evacuated for a few minutes if you need to wash.”
“That would be much appreciated, mister.”
An officer wearing the rank of Kapitanleutnant entered at that moment, stopping two paces from her. Nancy got to her feet and faced him, holding a blanket around her. She was actually taller than the officer.
“Brigadier Nancy Crawford-Laplante, Canadian Army, requesting permission to come aboard, Kapitanleutnant Prien.”
Prien’s jaw dropped from the surprise.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know you from history books, Kapitanleutnant. By the way, thank you for picking me up. You wouldn’t have seen anybody else floating around, I presume?”
Prien shook his head.
“There was nobody else around, sorry.”
She looked down at the deck, her jaws tight.
“There were three aviators with me. What are their chances of being still alive?”
“Nil! When we picked you up, you were already close to death by hypothermia. If nobody picked these men up soon after you were rescued, then they are long dead by now.”
Prien was silent for a moment, respecting her obvious grief.
“Brigadier Laplante, I have to inform you that my orders are to return to port and to deliver you to the Abwehr as a prisoner of war. We should be in Wilhelmshaven in about half a day. In the meantime, do you have any needs or wishes?”
“Yes, Kapitanleutnant! I would like to wash, then eat something, if it’s possible.”
“It certainly is, Brigadier. Klaus!”
“Yes sir?” Replied the petty officer, coming to attention.
“You will make sure that Brigadier Laplante gets what she wishes for. Until we are in port, she is to be considered as a guest, not a prisoner.”
Nancy smiled to him, relief in her eyes.
“Thanks, Kapitanleutnant. Once I’m finished eating, I will be more than happy to chat with you and your men about life in the future, if you are interested, of course.”
The wide grin on Prien’s face was enough to tell her that she was going to have a captive audience.
13:10 (Berlin Time)
Submarine U-47
Wilhelmshaven harbor
Germany
“Where is Brigadier Laplante, Klaus?” Asked Gunther Prien, just back from the open bridge of the conning tower. The petty officer turned away from the ballast valves he was checking inside the crowded submarine control room.
“She is in the forward torpedo room, sir, doing some sort of relaxation exercise.”
Prien’s eyebrows went up in curiosity. Nancy Laplante had been a most charming, albeit unusual guest during their trip back to Germany.
“Have eight armed men ready on the forward deck, just in case the Gestapo shows up. Have also the 20mm cannon discreetly manned and ready to fire.”
Klaus Hummel nodded in understanding and started assembling his armed party. The consensus on board, decided during a general crew meeting earlier on, was that they would fight if the Gestapo tried to pick up Laplante. The fact that a Fuhrer’s directive specifically protected her from the Gestapo had made things a lot easier in that matter. Walking to the forward torpedo room, Prien bent and entered it through the large, round hatch. He immediately froze in surprise when he saw Nancy. She was sitting cross-legged near the torpedo tubes, her back straight and eyes closed. Her hands were resting palm upwards on her knees and her face was the image of tranquility itself. Shaking his head in amusement, Prien walked to her and gently tapped her shoulder.
“Brigadier, it’s time to go on deck.”
She took a slow, deep breath, then opened her eyes and smiled to him.
“I am ready.”
Getting up, she put on and adjusted her green beret before walking to the forward hatch ladder and climbing it behind Prien. They emerged to a gray, cloud-covered sky. Surrounded by armed sailors, Nancy looked around the devastated port of Wilhelmshaven. Only 400 yards away, two giant floating cranes were still trying to upright the sunken hull of the pocket battleship LUTZOW. Prien swept his arms around.
“As you can see, Brigadier, your British friends did quite a proper job on their visit in May. I understand that you were yourself quite busy in Hamburg at that time.”
“You could say that. In fact, I nearly left my skin there.”
Prien nodded his head, then looked towards the quay, where a big black sedan car and four men in civilian clothes were waiting.
“I am afraid that the vultures are here to pick your bones, Brigadier. I sincerely wish that I didn’t have to give you up.”
“That’s alright, Kapitanleutnant. The Abwehr has always been correct in their handling of prisoners of war. Besides, another day on board this nest of sex-starved perverts and I would have been forced to start raping your sailors, starting with that cute young one over there.”
The young seaman pointed by Nancy turned red as the other sailors and Prien exploded in laughter.
As soon as the walkway between the quay and the submarine was in place, the four civilian men walked on board and stopped in front of Prien, who was shielding Nancy from them. The apparent leader of the group, a tall, slim man with a prominent nose, produced an identification card that Prien examined closely.
“Field agent Paul Steiner, Abwehr. We have been sent by Admiral Canaris to pick up Brigadier Laplante and bring her to the Abwehr headquarters in Berlin.”
Sadness in his eyes, Prien turned to face Nancy, saluting her.
“It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Brigadier. I wish that the rest of this war will not be too rough on you.”
Nancy returned his salute while smiling maliciously.
“Don’t fear for me, Kapitanleutnant. Pity rather the stalag guards that will be stuck with me.”
Prien grinned in turn and shook her hand.
“Good luck, Brigadier.”
He then reluctantly let an Abwehr man handcuff Nancy, then handed to Steiner Nancy’s gun belt, with the Glock 26 pistol and spare magazines hanging from it.
“This was on her when we picked her up in the North Sea.”
“Thanks!” Was the curt answer of the man before he turned away and walked off the submarine, following his men and Nancy towards the black car. They piled in quickly, two burly men sitting with Nancy in the back seat, then drove off. Gunther Prien looked a last time at the receding car before turning towards him men and shouting orders: he had a sea patrol to resume. He didn’t know yet that it would be his last one.
18:16 (Berlin Time)
Berlin, Germany
The five-hour drive to Berlin was spent in silence between Nancy and her guards, with only one short stop at a small roadside restaurant for a visit to the washrooms and a snack. While the Abwehr men ate, they didn’t give her any food or water or let her take any. By the time their car finally stopped in front of a large stone and brick building in the Kreuzberg District of Berlin, Nancy was dying for a glass of water. Craning her neck past the guard seated to her right, she saw with a sinking feeling that the guards in front of the building were soldiers of the Waffen-SS.
“Hey! This can’t be Abwehr head…”
The butt of a pistol then struck her hard on the back of her head, knocking her unconscious.
18:21 (GMT)
24 St James’ Place
London, England
Mike Crawford looked tearfully at George Townsend, who was still standing in the doorway of his apartment.
“She… she is alive? Is she alright?”
Townsend, worn out mentally from worrying about Nancy, shook his head slowly.
“We don’t know, Mike. The only thing we know is that she was picked up, alive, in the North Sea by a German submarine. That submarine was then ordered back to port to deliver her to the Abwehr. Luckily for her, the Abwehr is known to play clean with prisoners of war. Maybe we could ask later on the International Red Cross or a neutral embassy in Berlin to check on her well-being.”
Mike Crawford suddenly looked at Townsend as if he was the Messiah.
“That’s it! A neutral embassy! I could ask the American embassy in Berlin to check on her tomorrow.”
“Not so fast, Mike! We can’t let the Germans know that we learned so quickly about her capture: it would tip them off on our radio intercept capabilities.”
“Do you expect me to sit on my ass and do nothing while Nancy could be mistreated?” Raged Mike.
“Mike, calm down! Why don’t we go see together my boss tomorrow and propose to him your idea?”
“Alright, I’ll wait until tomorrow. But, if your boss says no, I will go ahead with my plan anyway.”
“I know! In your place I would do the same.”
19:03 (Berlin Time)
Abwehr headquarters, Berlin
Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was growing more impatient by the minute: his team should have been back with Nancy Laplante by now. He literally jumped on the receiver when his telephone rang. It was his regional director from Wilhelmshaven. What the man told him did not help Canaris’ state of mind.
“What do mean, they were ambushed?… Are they all dead?… Listen, I want a round-the-clock vigil on that agent at the hospital. Anything he says can help us find who grabbed Laplante and to where she was taken…. Of course it must be the Gestapo! Who else could it be?… Keep me informed!”
Putting down the receiver, Canaris thought for a moment, then picked up the telephone again and dialed a number.
“Hello, this is Admiral Canaris. I need to speak with the Fuhrer urgently.”