Codename: Athena

Chapter Two

Somewhere west of London, England Both the craft and the Mitsubishi Outlander, with an unconscious Nancy still collapsed on the steering wheel, reappeared in a small clearing near a two-lane paved road. As soon as the car was deposited softly on the ground, the craft moved slowly sideways to a safe distance, then started to gain altitude. It barely had time to start clearing the top of the surrounding trees before a low flying aircraft overflew the opening, heading directly into the craft. Both pilots were equally surprised by the appearance of the other and were unable to avoid the collision.

The resulting explosion was seen and heard by a young woman named Megan Thomas, who was hitchhiking back to Northolt from Aylesbury after having attended her grandmother’s funeral. The traffic was still very scarce at this time of the morning and she was wondering if somebody would pick her up after that last ride that had dropped her before turning towards Uxbridge. She was only a few hundred yards away from the fireball and alternatively ran and walked towards the now rising column of smoke.   Finally arriving at the site, she saw the burning debris of at least one aircraft dispersed over a wide area. She then noticed a red car in a corner of the clearing opposite the debris. It was immobile and silent as Megan cautiously approached it. Something about the car was weird. It certainly was not a model she had ever seen before and the paint scheme was definitely not military.   While it had a rugged, utilitarian air to it, it was also quite attractive and futuristic in appearance.

 Megan saw a form, motionless, in the front passenger seat and circled the car towards it. She understood her mistake only when she was close enough to touch the door handle: the person was sitting in the driver’s seat, which told Megan that it was foreign-made, with the steering wheel on the left side instead of the standard right side position in England. Suspicion and fear took hold of her for a moment, but her natural curiosity finally made her look closer. She then saw that the driver was a woman, tall, with neck-length black hair and wearing a brown leather coat. The woman was apparently unconscious. Deciding that she had to do something, Megan opened the driver’s door and checked the woman for a pulse: it was slow but strong and she also heard her breathe softly.   Reassured, she dragged the woman out of the car and laid her in a more comfortable position on the ground. The stranger was indeed very tall for a woman, quite heavy,  and athletic-looking. It reminded her of ballet dancers, who had strong but svelte bodies. The stranger was certainly pretty, with a well-developed figure further enhanced by skin-tight black pants and short, elegant black leather boots. Her face was smooth, with a small nose and large, still closed eyes.

Those eyelids finally started fluttering, revealing pale green pupils. Megan hovered above her face so that she could see her easily. A soft moan was followed by a few weakly spoken words that sounded like French. Trying to remember her school years French lessons, Megan spoke slowly, hoping that the stranger would understand her. She did.

“How do you feel, Miss?”

“My head… hurts. Where am I?”

“I just dragged you out of your car. You were unconscious.”

The stranger hesitated a moment, then switched to English, to Megan’s relief.

“Your… accent. British?”

“That is correct. My name is Megan Thomas. And yours?”

“Nancy… Nancy Laplante. Where am I?”

“Near Uxbridge. I was hitch-hiking towards Northolt when I saw the explosion and came

here.”

Megan was surprised by the sudden look of alarm on the stranger’s face.

“Uxbridge? Northolt? What explosion? Could you help me sit?”

“Certainly, Nancy.”

Megan had to use most of her strength to help her, as Nancy was still quite groggy. The French woman surveyed her surroundings with apparently increasing dismay and panic.

“My cottage, the lake, where are they?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, miss. You are near Northolt. Where are you from?”

“Boucherville. I don't know any Northolt near Montreal.”

Megan was not able to speak for a few seconds. Was this woman crazy? At least she now knew that this Nancy was Canadian, not French.

“Montreal is in Canada. This is England, miss.”

“…England? I…”

Nancy rose on her feet slowly and shakily. Megan had to help keep her from losing her balance. She finally steadied Nancy against the car. The Canadian, or so she claimed, looked around with horror.

“My cottage, gone! I was just arriving there for a vacation when that thing showed up over the lake and somehow knocked me out.”

“What thing?”

“Some sort of flying craft of an impossible kind. I…”

Nancy surveyed the crash site at the end of the field, where two twisted aircraft propellers were visible among the debris, along with a piece of fuselage bearing a black swastika, then turned towards Megan, a sick expression on her face.

“You said earlier that this here is near Northolt, England. Were you serious?” Megan suddenly started to be irritated by all this nonsense.

“Of course I was! What kind of game are you playing? There is no cottage or lake here and, as for going on a vacation, you chose a funny place and time for one. We are at war, don`t you know?” Megan had nearly screamed her last sentence, which made Nancy flinch. She now looked at Megan’s uniform as if she was seeing it for the first time, scrutinizing in particular the various patches sewn on it. She suddenly looked sick.

“A British Women Auxiliary Air Force uniform, old style. God, no! NO!” She said as she banged her fist furiously on the car’s hood. After a prolonged silence, Nancy turned again towards Megan.

“What is the date today?”

“The date? Well, September the second.”

“And the year?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“THE YEAR?”

It was Nancy’s turn to scream and Megan’s one to flinch. “But, 1940, of course.”

“Of course… “

Another moment passed in silence.

“Megan, you know what was the date when I arrived at my cottage outside of Montreal?” Megan suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“September second, 1940, I presume.”

“Not even close. Try October the eleventh, 2012.”

It was Megan’s turn to feel funny. What Nancy just said was impossible, pure nonsense, but why would anybody try to push such a ridiculous story? She suddenly realized that Nancy was walking away, going towards the crash site.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see if I can get some answers. You’re coming?”

Megan had to nearly run to keep up with the resolute pace of the much taller woman. What they came across was a typical aircraft crash site: lots of twisted, charred pieces that bore little resemblance with their previous appearance, mixed with a few larger, more recognizable pieces. One of the large pieces was an aircraft propeller. Nancy looked at it for a few seconds, her face grave.

“Bomber propeller, probably German.”

Megan was taken aback by the assurance in Nancy’s voice. “How could you be so sure of that?”

“Look at the propeller hubcap. It is large and semi-spherical. Most fighter propellers in World War Two had smaller hubcaps, with German ones having an axial opening for a cannon or heavy machine-gun barrel. If I remember my historical references, R.A.F. bases in this area belong to Fighter Command, not Bomber Command.”

Megan looked at Nancy with suspicion.

“What do you do actually for a living? You seem to know a lot about military matters.” That made Nancy smile wryly.

“My main occupation is as a war correspondent. I also happen to be a reserve captain in the Canadian military intelligence. Believe me, I have seen quite a few crash sites, although they were of jet aircraft instead of propeller-driven aircraft.”

Megan gave her a blank look. “What is a jet aircraft?”

Nancy started to answer but reconsidered. “I will show you later.”

Continuing her inspection, Nancy was led by the sickening smell of burned flesh to what was left of a person. Megan took one look and immediately turned away before throwing up.   Nancy had to brace herself mentally before starting to move away debris from the corpse with a twisted metal bar.   She suddenly had a good look at a six-fingered hand and became as pale as a sheet.

“NO! It can’t happen to me! Not this!” “Nancy, what’s wrong? What did you see?”

Nancy, shaking like a leaf, sat down away from her discovery. When she looked at Megan again, it was with eyes filled with absolute despair and with tears in her eyes.

“Whoever brought me here against my will is dead. I am now stuck forever in this rotten time period, with everything that means anything to me now 72 years away in the future.”

She then lowered her head on her knees and started sobbing.   Megan could not help then to feel sorry for her, even if her story was completely unbelievable. She knelt besides Nancy and hugged her until she had controlled her tears.  It took a long time.

Her lips still trembling, Nancy raised her face toward the WAAF and spoke in a broken

“What am I going to do now? Nobody knows me. I have nothing left except my car and what is in it and I will probably be locked up in a mental institution if I tell anybody what happened to me today. Even the money I have on me is probably now worthless. I am a castaway.”

Megan silently thought that Nancy was right about the mental institution. However, she couldn’t help feel bad for her and tried to comfort her.

“Look Nancy, the one thing of importance now is that we are at war and that England needs everybody’s help. You said that you are an officer in you military intelligence. I am sure that they could use your talents.”

“They?”

“My superiors at R.A.F. Northolt. Believe me, we can use all the help we can get these days!”

Which was too true unfortunately. England’s situation was truly desperate as it was facing alone the might of the German war machine and was expecting a German invasion at any time. Nancy seemed to think on that for a minute. When she spoke again she sounded like she had finally accepted her situation.

“O.K., I will drive you to Northolt and see what happens next.”

She then got on her feet and led Megan back towards the car. The minute Megan stepped in the car and looked at the interior, she started reconsidering her opinion on Nancy’s story. She had seen before the war pictures of supposedly futuristic concept cars at automobile shows. The interior of those cars now looked downright primitive compared to what was now in front of her. If this was a con job, it was indeed an extremely good one. Nancy, on her part, started the engine, then pushed a button on the central console while looking at a sort of small square screen.

‘’It was to be expected: my GPS navigational unit is not receiving any signal. Too bad: I will have to navigate the old way.’’

‘’A GPS? What’s that?’’ Asked Megan, confused. Nancy answered while tapping the small screen on the central console with one finger.

‘’It is a navigation system that uses a network of many radio emitters to triangulate its position. Since the sources of those radio signals still don’t exist in 1940, my unit is now useless.’’

Megan threw her a cautious look then.

‘’Do you still say that you really come from the future, miss? I have to warn you that I don’t think that anyone in Northolt will buy your story.’’

Nancy stared at her for long seconds before speaking again. “Do you want me to show you now what a jet aircraft is?” “Er, yes.”

Nancy threw her right arm over the space between the two front seats, digging inside a kind of duffel bag and finally handing Megan a magazine with a large colour picture of an impossible aircraft on its cover. Megan’s hands started to shake when she noticed the publishing date on the cover, while Nancy looked gravely at her.

“Do you believe me now, Megan? I assure you that I have enough advanced technology stored in this car to render obsolete most of your science.”

Somehow, the WAAF knew she now believed Nancy.