The Game Called Revolution by - (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📖

ruse since she didn’t know if the Ordre could handle whatever defenses might await them inside the volcano.

Sitting in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Ordre’s airship, she spied the domed form of Mt. Erfunden coming up towards them in the canopy window at the front of the bridge. She was glad they still had the steam cannon aboard. It had proved vital to defeating the Blitzkrieg Rache in their previous battle. And if any enemy airships within the volcano turned out to be operational, the steam cannon would likely prove just as vital this time around.

Suddenly, though, the Minuit Solaire was rocked by a thunderous blast. The bridge shook violently, and Jeanne had to hold on tight to her chair to keep from being thrown forward, backwards, left and right.

She grabbed the communications tube hanging from the ceiling above her chair (which connected her to the boiler room). “Celeste! Status report!”

Celeste’s voice came up through the tube. A horrible cacophony accompanied her. “We’ve taken a direct hit, milady! I think it was a steam cannon.”

“Our steam cannon? Did it explode?”

“Negative. Judging by the angle of impact, it had to have come from the ground. There’s a gaping hole in the floor! I’m having to hang on to the pipes on the wall to avoid falling out.”

“Just hang on!” Jeanne then ordered the operators to bring them in for an emergency landing ASAP. The operators informed her that they probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to pull off such a feat, and that she should prepare for a crash landing instead.

The ground (and the volcano) raced up towards them at an amazing speed, as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in millennia. Jeanne felt a tragic sense of déjà vu; this was too much like the crash landing she had endured on the royal airship, the Majesté Divine. This time, however, the situation was even worse. The Minuit Solaire was even more heavily damaged than the royal airship, everyone under her command was in mortal danger, and there was no lake below to cushion their fall and no backup airship to see to survivors.

She wasn’t even aware of hitting the ground. Did they skip across the landscape like the world’s most destructive pebble on the lake, or did they make a single crater in the ground? Jeanne didn’t know; everything just went dark in an instant.

3

 

 

 

 

????????

As awareness returned to her, she found herself riding on a horse into a city surrounded by a high stone wall with forty-four towers. She tried to look around, but found she had no control over her body.

What is this? What’s going on?

Her body turned its head of its own accord, and she saw that she was accompanied on either side by men in full suits of armor. It wasn’t armor of the Ordre, though; it looked much older and clearly was made of less advanced metal than her own irodium armor.

But when her eyes looked down (also not of her own volition), she saw “herself” wearing the same inferior armor as her companions, except with a red skirt similar to the purple one she typically wore. The question again came to her, much stronger this time: What on earth was going on?

The knight to her right, an average-size man with black hair and a left eye shut closed with an impressive scar, said, “I have to hand it to you, girl. When you first came to our lord and said God had commanded you to help us defeat the English, we all thought you had contracted some sort of head fever. But now look at us: marching into Compiègne after a number of victories, and it’s all thanks to your brilliant strategies.”

Compiègne? That’s a city in Northern France along the Oise River. But why am I here? Am I here?

She replied, but it was not her voice speaking. “You give me too much credit, Philippe. We have gotten this far because the Lord deemed it to be so. And also because His Majesty Charles VII believed in me.” The voice was higher-pitched than hers.

Charles VII? He was king during Jeanne d’Arc’s time. Is this…no, it can’t be.

The knight to her left said, “Don’t be afraid to pat yourself on the back, Jeanne. You always charged in to battle without any fear. You practically won victories single-handedly.” He was a fair-haired young man, rotund but with a winning smile.

Again she spoke, and again it wasn’t her voice. “Who shall be afraid when the Lord is with them? I had faith that we would triumph.”

He called me Jeanne, but it seems clear this body is not mine. Is it possible…could I really be…seeing things through her eyes?

They rode through the wall and into the city of Compiègne. Past the wall was a field, and past that were the town’s buildings. As they rode along the field’s dirt road, they were greeted by crowds of people triumphantly shouting, “La Pucelle! La Pucelle! La Pucelle!” They were heralding her as the Maid.

“You certainly are popular,” Philippe said. “To think: a nineteen-year-old peasant girl, the hero of France.”

She replied, “It is because they have faith. We are showing the people that with faith, anything is possible.”

A nineteen-year-old peasant girl? The similarities are becoming hard to ignore.

When they rode into the town square, the girl they called Jeanne stopped to address the masses who had gathered around her. “My dear people of Compiégne, you have welcomed me into your town, even though I am no one special, simply a poor girl who carries out the will of the Lord. This is because you have faith, and your faith shall be rewarded. Tomorrow we go to battle with the Burgundians who seek to sack this city and rob you of your freedoms.” At this there was a round of boos and heckles from the townspeople directed towards the absent Burgundians.

The Duchy of Burgundy was allied with the English during the Hundred Years’ War, which I seem to be experiencing here. If I remember correctly, the Burgundians fought against the French because they blamed them for the assassination of John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, in 1419. Compiègne was once controlled by the Burgundians, and Philip the Good, the current Duke of Burgundy—at least in 1430, which it seems to be here—wanted to retake it. Let’s see…Jeanne d’Arc found out about his plans and brought a force of at most four hundred soldiers to defend the city. Because of her failure to capture Paris from the English back in the fall, Charles VII would not give her command of a full military force. At least, that’s what it says in the history books that are going to be written.

“The Burgundians shall not take Compiègne! They have repeatedly rejected our attempts to make peace with them, so they have only themselves to blame for the defeat they will suffer tomorrow. We shall be victorious!” At this the townspeople switched to cheers and cries of adoration for her.

That night the people of Compiègne put her up in the finest room at the inn. When it came time for bed, she put on a light gown and took a look at herself in the mirror. At that point there could be no doubt.

It is my ancestor, Jeanne d’Arc! I truly am seeing things through her eyes. But why is this happening? Does this have something to do with my dream the other night?

Suddenly there was a flash of light behind her, and she turned around to see a figure hovering mere inches below the ceiling. It was the Archangel Michael, clad in ceremonial armor.

I can’t believe it! An angel of the Lord! Not only that, but the angel.

She fell to her knees before him. “I am not worthy.”

His voice was deep, yet compassionate. “Arise, my sister.” She did so, and he continued. “You have been blessed by the Father. Your task is approaching its completion.”

“The war is nearly over?”

“Nay, the war will continue for many years to come. But your part in it is nearly played. Tomorrow you will do battle with the Burgundians who seek to claim this town for themselves.”

She made a fist over her breast. “I shall not fail. We shall claim victory in the name of the Lord, and of His Majesty Charles VII, who has been favored by the Lord.”

“There is but one condition you must honor from now on.”

“What is that?”

“You must not use the God’s Body anymore.”

She did not understand. “But, why? It has kept me safe through many battles—even saving me from the arrow that pierced my heart back in Septembre—and all but guaranteed victory over the English and Burgundians. I haven’t even used its full power.”

“That is a command from the Father. But I know that you are strong enough to fight without it. Go forth, Jeanne, and show everyone the triumph of the human spirit.”

With that, there was another flash of light, and St. Michael was gone. For several minutes she did not move from that spot. She simply stood there with her head bowed and her eyes closed, softly chanting, “Faith, faith, faith, faith, faith, faith.”

She’s breathing heavily. I think she’s a lot more scared than she lets on. I wish I could help, but for whatever reason, I’m simply an observer here.

 

***

 

Margny, France, May 23, 1430 (Pre-Infini Calendar), 9:55 a.m.

Outside Compiègne, Jeanne d’Arc led her troops into battle against the Burgundians. It was a fairly even battle, and the Burgundians were soon on the run. The forces of Jeanne d’Arc chased them back towards their base. It looked as if it would be an easy victory, but she knew better.

If only I could warn her about what’s about to happen. But I can’t.

As if on cue, Phillipe (who was riding next to her), shouted, “Enemy reinforcements behind us!”

“What?” She looked behind her, and sure enough, hundreds of Burgundian soldiers had appeared. Jeanne d’Arc and her forces had been outflanked. Meanwhile, the Burgundians who had previously been fleeing suddenly turned around and charged back towards them.

“We’re outnumbered and outflanked,” Phillipe said. “What are your orders?”

Frustrated, she wanted to argue with him, but knew better. He was right; the Burgundians now had an overwhelming advantage. There was virtually no chance of winning this battle.

Perhaps if she had been allowed to use the mysterious power the archangel Michael called the God’s Body, she might have been willing to fight it out. But of course, that’s mere speculation on my part.

She gave the only order she could. “Retreat! Everyone, fall back to Compiègne. Once inside, close the city gates.”

Phillipe sat aghast on his horse. “But what about you, girl? Surely you’re retreating with us?”

She shook her head. “Someone has to secure your escape.” The look on his face did not betray any optimism. “Don’t worry; I have faith this will all work out somehow.”

She kicked her horse and rode off towards the oncoming enemies. She took one last look behind her and then charged straight into the heart of the attackers. At first, they were stunned by her reckless assault; they strove to get out of her way, and she used that opportunity to cut down several of them.

She continued to press through the Burgundian ranks, heedless of the extreme danger they posed. Enemy after enemy fell to her sword. It seemed like nothing could stop her.

However, that was a