March 1, 2015
Jeanne woke up.
Which is odd, because she didn't remember going to sleep.
She was in a white room. The walls were white. The floor was made of white tiles. Her sheets were white. The bedframe was painted white. She was wearing a simple gown of rough white fabric. Even the old man sitting at her bedside was wearing white. The only noticeably non-white thing was a large wooden crucifix hanging from the wall.
The man looked up at her. His expression was warm and kindly. He spoke in an odd accent:
"Bon matin, mademoiselle."
Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Where am I?"
The man smiled. "I am Pope Francis, Bishop of Rome," he said simply.
Jeanne's eyes, which had been heavy with sleep, flew open. She had never heard of a Pope Francis, but she knew it was true. She sat up and bowed her head. "Your Holiness…" she began, but the Pope cut her off.
"Careful, my child. You have been through a lot. Besides, it is my judgment that even the Holy Father must show deference when in the presence of a saint."
A saint? Me? How is that possible?
She stared at him, mouth agape. Francis looked down, then back at her. "Perhaps I should just give you the whole story." He took a deep breath, and Jeanne lay back in her bed.
"You were burned at the stake by the English for heresy in 1431. France ultimately defeated the English, ending what is known as the Hundred Years' War. In 1456, following a formal investigation by the Church, the trial was found to be invalid, and you were declared a martyr. You were beatified in 1909, and in 1920, you were canonized by Pope Benedict XV."
It was all too much to handle. France's victory was no surprise – why would He have called her if He did not intend for France to prevail? And she could comprehend being made a martyr, although it struck her as prideful to think of herself that way. But to be canonized… and the date…
"What year is this?" she asked, her voice weak.
"Today is the first of March, in the year of our Lord Two Thousand and Fifteen."
Two thousand and fifteen… Jeanne had never been skilled at mathematics, but even she could figure out that she had been dead for centuries.
Francis continued, this time more gravely.
"The world has seen many changes since your death. But perhaps none more so than recently. On January 5th, a strange object fell from the sky in Stuttgart, Germany. A team of elite soldiers was sent in to investigate. They learned that the object had carried several aliens – beings from other worlds. The soldiers fought the aliens… and were nearly wiped out. The only survivor has lost her leg and will never walk again. So the nations of the world formed an organization called X-COM, intended to defend this planet from outside threat."
He paused again, and looked at Jeanne.
"And then came the Lazarus Project. X-COM's scientists found a way to resurrect the dead. I do not know the details. But I have seen others they have brought back, and they possess not only the appearance of their former selves, but their memories, personalities… even, I believe, their souls. So I gave my blessing for them to bring you back as well. We need you, Saint Jeanne. You will join a team of the greatest warriors in human history. All of you have been given knowledge of modern weapons and technology, as well as knowledge of the English language. I wish I could say they were all virtuous sons and daughters of the Church, but that is not the case. Most are heretics or infidels. Some are guilty of horrible crimes. Nevertheless, they are all famed in history for their exploits on the battlefield, and they are all human."
Jeanne nodded. She wasn't sure she understood the concept of aliens, but she understood the idea of joining together with others for a common cause. And if they could bring her back, then it made sense to bring others back, others who could fight against a common foe.
"I have three things for you, Saint Jeanne," Francis said. He reached down to a small bag, and opened it, withdrawing a rolled up piece of paper. He handed it to her, and she opened it. To her surprise, she could read the words perfectly.
"This is a Papal Bull, declaring a defensive Crusade to preserve the whole of the Earth. I have called upon all Catholic nations to support X-COM and provide assistance. And I have commanded you, Saint Jeanne, to join X-COM and represent the Church in this matter."
He withdrew another piece of paper, and handed it to her.
"This is a letter from François Hollande, President of the Republic of France, appointing you to the rank of Brigade General in the Army of France, and commanding you to represent France within X-COM."
Jeanne nodded again. "Thank you, your Holiness. And the third thing?"
Francis smiled, and reached behind his chair, pulling out a sheathed sword.
"When you are well, you will be given modern weapons. But I thought you might like this. It is a sword worthy of a crusader… and a sign that we trust you."
Jeanne took the sword. She drew it partially, and examined the blade. It was simple and unadorned, yet beautiful at the same time. As she laid it across her lap, Francis stood.
"And now, the time has come for me to go. Rest, Saint Jeanne. You will need your strength in the coming days."
"May the Lord watch over you."