18:55 (GMT)
Base intelligence section, R.A.F. Northolt
As Nancy locked her computer and got up from her chair, interrupting her work to go eat, Doug Wilson approached her and patted her shoulder.
‘’Let’s pack away your gear and put it back in the storage room: we need the space to get back to work.”
“Just let my main computer and printer in place, will you? I still need to do a lot of work on it tonight.”
“I certainly won’t complain about you getting more information on paper. By the way, I have made arrangements with a mess steward to pick up your laundry in fifteen minutes, so you better collect it now.”
“Thanks Doug, I won’t forget this.”
Nancy picked up her various suitcases and started hauling them to the storeroom behind her. The moment she was inside, Wilson turned towards Sanders.
“Did you collect from all the men?”
“Yes sir. It leaves only you, sir.”
Wilson dug in his pocket and took out a ten pound sterling banknote.
“Christ, sir! You’re mighty generous.”
“You know how rare steaks are these days? She is pennyless and probably won’t see a paycheck for a long time. If we eat her groceries, it’s only fair that we reimburse her for it.”
“Talking of eating groceries, sir, those steaks went out like snow in the Sun. If you don’t eat yours soon, it might evaporate.”
“I think that the men know what would happen if they touch my steak, Sergeant.”
“Er, actually, it was the commodore who was targetting your steak in the refrigerator.”
“OOPS! I better have supper now. Please make sure that Captain Laplante takes the money and that her laundry is picked up and speedily processed.”
Wilson then left at a trot. Sanders then waited for Nancy to come out, picking up one of the files printed earlier by her. It was about the nazi ballistic rocket. Sometimes, German technological sophistication scared him and made him wonder if the war could be won. Nancy’s affirmation that Great-Britain would win by 1945 had taken an immense weight off his shoulders. Next he picked up a magazine titled International Defence Review, dated October 2012. He had browsed through it earlier but kept returning to it and an article titled ‘RAF: future in the balance’. His reading was interrupted by the return of Nancy from the storage room. Taking a deep breath, he took her duffel bag full of dirty clothes and put it down near the entrance door, then handed her an envelope containing the donated money. If she was true to character, then he could expect a hard sell to try making her accept it. He was correct on that. He had to finally use his ultimate argument.
“Look, miss! Do you prefer having to borrow money from poor Mister Wilson every time you go eat at the mess? A flight lieutenant’s pay is nothing to shout about.”
Knowing she was being had somehow, Nancy reluctantly accepted the money and put it inside her wallet. An airman arrived at that moment and announced that he was sent to pick up her laundry. Nancy grabbed her duffel bag and gave it to the young man.
“When do you expect to have it returned here?”
“It will be ready no later than tomorrow afternoon, maam!”
“Excellent! Please accept this.”
She handed him one shilling that came from the money donated by the section. Sanders nearly chocked as the happy airman left with her duffel bag. She couldn’t resist throwing him a barb.
“It’s your fault, sarge! You forced me to accept that money, it’s thus mine to spend at my convenience.”
Knowing that he couldn’t win that fight, Sanders changed the subject.
“Er, I am afraid that the mess’ dining room is now closed for supper, maam. You can however get something at the small kitchen adjacent to the operations room. Mister Wilson is there already, having supper.”
“Good idea. Thanks!”
The building’s kitchen was really more like a large relaxation lounge, with a small counter and a sink in one corner. An electric hot plate and a small refrigerator complemented the mandatory tea kettle. Wilson was enjoying his steak and chatting with Commodore Nicholls at one table, while four WAAFs and a duty officer were relaxing and drinking tea in a corner. Those last five couldn’t help stare at Nancy and her foreign uniform when she entered. She ignored the stares and went to the kitchen corner to prepare for herself two sandwiches and a glass of milk before going to sit with Doug Wilson and Commodore Nicholls. Wilson was still eating with delight his steak. Nancy looked at the WAAFs, who seemed bored.
“I suppose that this lounge is used by off-duty personnel. What do they do in their off time?”
Wilson answered that between two bites.
“Most people go to the pub near the base when they have a few hours off. On base, unfortunately, there is little to do apart from drinking at the various messes: the base theatre was destroyed in a raid days ago and we haven’t been able to get hold of a new projector or films yet.”
Nancy suddenly grinned.
“Wait, I can provide some entertainment. I have an electronic entertainment unit that can play films, of which I have a selection. I could install it in this lounge, if you agree with that, sir.”
Nicholls was immediately enthusiastic about the idea.
“Anything that will improve morale in these bleak times is welcome. Do you need anything to make it work here? I understand that your equipment is to North American specifications.”
“As a matter of fact, I will need a 220 to 110 volts transformer and an extension chord with adaptors compatible with american sockets. Do you have these around here?”
“No problem at all, Captain. With the supplies we are getting from the United States, we have quite a lot of American equipment on base. Squadron Leader Burns!”
The duty officer drinking tea in one corner jumped to his feet.
“Sir!”
“Get hold of the duty electrician and tell him to come and immediately install in this room a transformer and extension chord to power American specs equipment. Then pass the word to everybody that movies will be available for viewing here this evening.”
Cheers came from the WAAFs as the duty officer walked out in a hurry. Nicholls turned his attention back on Nancy.
“I hope that those movies are not too, uh, futuristic, Captain.”
“Most are, but they could always be passed off as science-fiction movies. I have however a few movies where the action is set in these times or earlier still. The viewing quality will be of course up to 2012 standards. Mister Wilson could always vet movies before they are projected.”
“A sensible idea. Please do that.”
“To return to more serious things, sir, I have to warn you about one thing, sir: the more you use my historical information to influence the war, the more the Germans themselves will react to these changes and alter their tactics. In short, my historical information, while dependable at first, will become more and more inaccurate as it is used. Any technical information will however stay mostly current.”
Nicholls brushed his moustache with one finger, thoughtful.
“That makes sense. I will keep that in mind. Know that I contacted Marshal Park about you, who contacted in turn Air Chief Marshal Dowding, Commander of Fighter Command. Be assured that you are now well considered in very high places, Captain.’’
‘’You just took a heavy weight off my shoulders, Commodore. Thank you very much.’’
‘’My pleasure, Captain.’’
Once they had finished their respective meals, Nancy and Doug went back to the intelligence section, to go get her television unit, a large flat screen model, and a game system able to play as well movies on DVDs. Wilson felt embarrassed as he followed Nancy, who was carrying a heavy piece of electronic gear, with only two small suitcases. They found an electrician already plugging in a small transformer in a corner outlet of the lounge. Moving a small table near the outlet, Nancy put her Sony TV unit on it and inspected the connector at the end of the extension chord: the electrician had done his job correctly. As she was plugging in the unit, a group of WAAFs entered the lounge.
“Hey, Nancy!”
“Meg! I didn’t know you worked in the operations room this evening.”
“I just finished my shift there, in fact. We were told there would be movies shown here. Is it true?”
“Sure! Grab a seat. We will be ready to start in a few minutes.”
One of the WAAFs whispered in Meg Thomas’ ear as they took place on a sofa.
“Who is your friend?”
“She’s a Canadian Army intelligence officer. There is more about her but I’m not sure how much I can tell you about her.”
As Nancy was ready to insert a laser disk in her game unit, Doug asked her what kind of film it was, obviously remembering Nicholls’ directive. She reassured him with an amused expression.
“Actually, you will like this. It’s about an American archeologist of the mid-thirties battling nazi stooges to find the cup of Christ, which is supposed to give immortality if you drink from it.”
“Hey, this sounds fun! Any futuristic items in it?”
“None at all. In fact, the Germans use at one point an old souped-up Mark II tank from World War I. The action is riveting and there is quite a lot of humor in it.”
“I may just stay for it. What’s the title?”
“Indiana Jones and the last crusade.”
The movie was well under way, with the RAF personnel cheering as Indiana Jones was throwing out of the window of a german airship’s lounge a nazi colonel, when Flight Sergeant Sanders came to fetch Nancy and Doug with a discreet message.
“Someone from London has arrived to see you, miss.”
Leaving the lounge as quietly as possible, they made their way back to the intelligence section, where they found a tall young man in his late twenties and wearing a light grey civilian suit stooped over Nancy’s computer. Doug saw with puzzlement a triumphant smile appear on Nancy’s face, as if she had expected that particular man to show up. She offered her hand to the visitor, who shook it while gazing at her camouflaged combat uniform.
“Doctor Reginald Jones, you can’t imagine how excited I am to be able to meet with you in the flesh.”
The said Doctor Jones was taken aback by being recognized by a complete, albeit attractive stranger.
“You know me? How?”
“I read your book many times. A fascinating document.”
Nancy’s answer somehow seemed to puzzle him even more.
“What book? I haven’t published any books yet.”
“It will be titled ‘Most secret war’ and will be published, if I remember well, in 1978. You married earlier this year and your wife Vera is expecting your first child, a girl by the way. You live in Richmond Hill Court and work at 54 Broadway Street under, I believe he is now a wing commander, Fred Winterbotham, as an air ministry scientist attached to the RAF liaison office at M.I.6. Your main line of work at present is the study of German radio-navigation aids for their bombers and the state of German radar technology. You have not yet succeeded in getting an assistant for your work, but you have personally briefed Prime Minister Churchill during a cabinet meeting last June, where you gave him a good impression of yourself. Shall I continue?”
Jones had to sit, his legs feeling weak and his head spinning. Doug Wilson, although already knowing her as a time traveler, was himself stunned by her knowledge of the young scientist.
“Wha… what year are you supposed to be from already, 2012?” Asked Jones with difficulty.
“That is correct. Let me present myself: Nancy Laplante, correspondent for CONFLICTS MAGAZINE and reserve captain in the Canadian military intelligence. I assure you that I did not come to 1940 of my own free will. I suspect in fact that I may never be able to go back to my real time. By the way, Doug, that crash survey team should have been back by now: it’s dark outside.”
“You’re right, I should check on them.”
Jones, who was starting to get colors back in his face, looked at them quizzically.
“What crash?”
“That of what I suspect was the craft that abducted me in 2012 and deposited me near Northolt. It may have collided with a German aircraft.”
As if on cue, an excited Sanders ran in the office, panting.
“The crash team is back. You better come and see this, sir.”
The four of them rushed out of the building towards a five ton Bedford truck parked on the road in front of the building’s entrance. A number of airmen and mechanics were busy lining up on the grass a number of objects. Some flashlights were used to help them in unloading the objects from the truck. A senior technician came to attention in front of Wilson and saluted him. Wilson saluted back and looked at the various forms on the ground.
“So, what did you find, Warrant Officer Hill?”
“Sir, as we were told to expect, we found the debris of a German aircraft, probably a Junkers 88, plus those of an unidentified aircraft. We also found some bodies and partial remains. We have brought back the unidentified parts and the human remains. The German debris were left under guard at the crash site.”
“Good work, Warrant! Let’s see the human remains first.”
Hill turned towards his men and yelled.
“LET’S GET SOME FLASHLIGHTS HERE TO HELP THE FLIGHT LIEUTENANT!”
Hill guided Wilson, Jones and Nancy to a row of five canvas bags. The technician warned them before opening the body bags.
“I’m sorry, miss, but the sight and the smell are ghastly. You better brace yourself.”
“I have seen similar things many times already, Warrant. Go ahead!”
The opened bags revealed the remains of five persons in various states of damage. Two of them appeared to have been much taller than the three others. Nancy, Wilson and Jones were immediately attracted to the larger remains. Hill was looking at them too.
“Even burned up and dismembered, those two attracted our attention right away: they must have been well over seven feet tall.”
“Seven feet!”
Jones was obviously shocked, but was in for an even bigger surprise as Nancy crouched besides a body bag and cautiously, using a flashlight as a lever, raised a burned arm so that all could see it.
“My God!” whispered Jones, while looking at the hand attached to it: it had six fingers!