The Game Called Revolution, - [ebook reader 8 inch .txt] 📗

the last word as an insult. “We need men for this.”

“Tough words coming from a woman,” he countered. “Just give me a chance. I want to fight for my country same as all the other guys I’ve seen come by here.”

Farahilde massaged her temple with one hand; she was getting a headache. “Have it your way.” She decided to let him join up. If Fräulein ends up having a problem with it, she can give the kid the boot herself.

Speaking of which…

The distinct whirring of an airship engine caught their attention. Hubert craned his neck up towards the white peaks of the Alps. “What’s that?”

“That, meine large friend, should be our friends coming back.”

Sure enough, the unmistakable outline of an airship appeared over the Alps. It descended into town and landed in a nearby patch of dry grass which served as a recreation area for the town’s children. Fortunately, there weren’t any children playing there at the moment.

 

***

 

Farahilde and Hubert rushed over to get a look at the airship. Just as Jeanne had told her, it was of Austrian design, identical to Farahilde’s own Blitzkrieg Rache. Black and shiny and metallic—that was what military vessels ought to look like!

Before long Jeanne and her officers appeared on deck. They then lowered the ramp and came down. “I hope you’ve stayed productive,” Jeanne bantered to Farahilde.

“We’ve done all right, fräulein.”

“We got lots of people to join us!” Hubert announced jubilantly.

“Good,” Jeanne said. She turned to a teenage girl wearing glasses who was standing behind her. “Celeste, I want you to take a couple of the recruits and teach them how to fly the Minuit Solaire II.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Jeanne turned back to Farahilde. “It’s not easy flying this thing with only three people.”

“I can’t believe you were able to do it at all.”

She shrugged. “We probably wouldn’t have if Celeste didn’t know airships so well.”

“She is your engineer?” Jeanne nodded, and Farahilde was awestruck. This girl must have been quite the wunderkind to have maintained the Ordre’s two ships through everything they had gone through.

“Nice to meet you,” Celeste said nervously. “I’ve heard…interesting things about you.”

“I bet you have,” she replied slyly. “And for the record, it’s all true.”

Jeanne addressed Farahilde. “Anyway, the reason we’ve returned is because we found out exactly what Robespierre is planning. Let’s go inside the ship and we’ll tell you everything.”

“Why don’t you just tell me right here, fräulein?”

“Because I have a pretty good idea of what your reaction is going to be, and I don’t want you anywhere where you can hurt any of the townspeople.”

Farahilde clenched her fists tightly. She didn’t like the tone of Jeanne’s voice one bit, and she was certain whatever Jeanne had to report, it was going to be even worse than she let on.

 

***

 

“What?” Farahilde roared. “That arschloch is going to attack meine Austria? I’ll flay him alive!” She flipped over the table in the captain’s quarters and smashed several other things before Jeanne could get her to calm down.

She was certainly right about Robespierre being an asshole. “No, he’s not—because we’re going to stop him. We won’t let him carry out his plan.” Jeanne had insisted on giving Farahilde the news alone, much to the objections of her officers. She had faced the wrath of the enraged Austrian woman before, and knew she could handle her if she went out of control. Jeanne didn’t want anyone else getting caught in the crossfire. She also withheld the fact that the Marquis de Sade was on board; Farahilde was mad enough already.

Farahilde continued to fume. “How much is enough for him? He declares war on meine people, he murders meine schwester…” Her sentence abruptly ended with an anguished howl. She then fell to her knees and proceeded to beat her fists on the deck.

Not for the first time, Jeanne felt sorry for her. However, she had never before seen her former nemesis in such misery. Here was the young woman who had tortured her brother and tried to kill them both…and Jeanne actually wanted to do something to comfort her. “Rest assured, it will all end on May third. You have my word on that. But for the time being, we have to prepare. There is a lot to be done before we attack Paris. I need to know I can count on you.”

Farahilde stopped assaulting the floor and looked at her hands. They were bloody and raw. She took a deep breath, gathered herself together and looked up at Jeanne. “Yes, you may, fräulein.” Her voice was ragged and hoarse, yet determined.

8

 

 

 

 

12th arrondisement, Paris, France, May 3, 1790 (Infini Calendar), 11:00

In the southeastern edge of Paris lay the twelfth arrondisement. In the center of the twelfth arrondisement, a dozen members of the French Army stood guard outside one of Robespierre’s towers. In truth, it actually looked like an ugly gray obelisk with a metal dish on top. The dish had been carefully aligned so that it pointed directly at the central tower at the Tuileries.

Last year, this location had been home to the Bastille before it was destroyed in a riot. Some time afterwards, Robespierre ordered a tower to be built from the remains. The tower was built with materials left over, so Robespierre ordered a large wall built around the tower to keep out intruders. Nineteen other such towers ended up being built around the city.

At this time the guards stationed at the “Bastille Tower” were incredibly bored. They didn’t honestly expect anyone to attack one of the towers, and in the unlikely event that someone did, the odds of them attacking this particular tower were unlikely. Therefore, half the guards were sitting down against the tower, resting.

However, a sound soon grabbed the attention of every single one of them. “What’s that noise?” one of them asked.

“Don’t know,” another replied. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it before, though.”

“Wait—look!” a third one shouted. Coming in fast from the southeast was a black object.

“It’s an airship!”

“We don’t have any more airships. It must be an enemy!”

They instinctively raised their rifles, and then quickly realized those would be completely useless against an airship. They stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. One of them then ran inside the tower; they had a telegraph machine in there which could be used to alert the Tuileries.

The other members of the French Army waited around, their sense of duty preventing them from abandoning their posts even though there was virtually nothing they could do. The other towers located farther in had steam cannons to protect them, but there weren’t enough to go around, and as an outer arrondisement, no more defenses could be spared.

When the airship arrived and hovered one hundred feet above them, then, they stood their ground.

But not for long.

Within minutes people appeared on the deck of the vessel and began dropping what looked like small metal balls on them. These objects looked harmless at first, but when they hit the ground they exploded into bursts of fire and shrapnel.

Some of the men caught in the blasts died instantly—they were the lucky ones. The others ran around on fire, their bodies riddled with burning metal. Those who avoided the initial volley took the cue to run away and run away fast.

 

***

 

Pierre returned to the bridge of the Minuit Solaire II and stood next to the captain’s chair. When she noticed him, she said, “Ironic, isn’t it? We’ve come back to where it all began.”

“I have to admit, I never expected things to run in a circle like this.”

She chuckled lightly. “It’s even more ironic that we’re the ones attacking this site now.”

That seemed to remind him of what he came in to tell her. “We finished dropping the explosives. Some of the soldiers below were killed. The others ran away.”

“Good,” Jeanne said. “I hate the idea of fighting our own people, but this is war. Even though you weren’t born in this country, Pierre, I know you think of them as your people, too.”

“Anyone who would serve a man like Maximilien Robespierre is no kinsman of mine. I take no pleasure in setting them on fire, but like you said, this is war,” he said solemnly. “At any rate, the tower can probably still function if there’s anyone left down there to work it.”

“That’s irrelevant. Like we agreed, knocking them out one by one would take far too much time, and we probably don’t even have the resources to do it anyway. We’ll stick to the original plan. I think it’s time we moved on to the next one.” The knights fully expected someone down below to alert Robespierre, and that was part of the plan. However, this would not be the only tower to call for help. Soon, Robespierre would know exactly who he was up against.

 

***

 

The knights flew northeast in the airship to attack the eleventh arrondisement’s tower. The result was the same: Panicked soldiers ran for their lives, while the tower itself was mostly unharmed.

From there, they flew east to the twentieth arrondisement and attacked its tower. They intentionally flew a seemingly random course, attacking seemingly random towers. This, too, was part of the plan, though not the only part. Robespierre’s about to learn he’s not the only one who can rile up the public in secret, Jeanne thought to herself.

 

 

***

 

Within the central tower, Robespierre oversaw the last-minute adjustments to the Alset Project. Although he didn’t want to sound like a cliché, everything was going according to plan. Soon all the towers would be activated, and the entire European continent would bow to French supremacy.

In addition, it wouldn’t be long before the Americans got wind of what France would achieve this day. Robespierre was counting on them remembering what the French people had done for them during their war against Great Britain. After all, the Alset Project had nearly drained the country to the point of exhaustion, and the French people would need America’s help stabilizing their economy once this was all over. Perhaps the gift of a little technology—just a little—could persuade their friends in the west to lend them assistance. France was far beyond America in terms of technology at this juncture, after all, and the “Yanks” would be open to any deal which would allow them to get their hands on what the French had to offer. How could it fail?

Perhaps in response to that question, the telegraph machine on the wall to his left began uttering a series of klacks and taps as a sheet of paper slowly emerged from the slot. Annoyed that none of the engineers was headed over to pull it out, Robespierre reluctantly did it himself. His annoyance then turned to frustration as he read the paper.

 

12th tower under attack by black airship stop. Light casualties incurred stop. Request immediate instructions stop.

 

This was followed by another sheet of paper, which said basically the same thing except it indicated the eleventh tower was under attack. “Someone get over here!” he yelled to no one in particular. “I need to send orders out now!” He then yelled to Adrien up on the scaffolding. “Start the tower!”

“But, sir—”

“Do it! We don’t have any more time to waste.”

Under attack by black airship, the messages said. It could only have been the Ordre de la Tradition. Robespierre had considered the possibility of them returning for revenge, but dismissed it