As Katsuo Shimoe began recovering his senses, his consciousness was overwhelmed by a myriad of different feelings and memories. First, was that he was lying down on something, most likely a bed. Second, while not unbearable, he felt pain on several parts of his body. That somehow gave him relief, as he still had a body to rely on. And yet, there was also some sort of numbness and heaviness, as he attempted to move.
He opened his eyes, and a white ceiling greeted him, together with the light and slight breeze coming from the nearby window. He was planetside, he thought, in some hospital. Near his head, a light had begun blinking, likely the monitoring system alerting the doctors to the awakening of the Naval Forces pilot.
He tried to sit, but found that he only had strength to lift his right hand. He began to check the places it hurt him for bleeding or wounds with his hand. He had bandages covering part of his torso, and it appeared to him one of his legs was bandaged too. As he sensed his left hand, he found out that it was... encased in some restraint box. That didn't look ok to him.
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Finally a medic appeared in his room, and greeted the pilot. The first thing Shimoe wanted to know was the date, so as to know how long he had been in the hospital. About two weeks had elapsed, and they had entered August by now.
It had been two weeks since the failed patrol mission he was leading in the Sapporo sector, where his team encountered and engaged yet another wing of Golden Chrysanthemums, as they had become quite active.
However, this time they were overwhelmed, and some new ingenious devices of the GC had put them through big losses.
He remembered the flash of the Shrapnel Mine detonating over his ship at the worst moment, piercing the unshielded fighter and crippling it completely with hundred pieces of metal impacting at the same time.
The doctor helped Shimoe to sit, and began explaining his condition. He had barely managed to survive the ordeal, and other than some broken ribs and a badly cut up leg, his main problem was his hand.
Shimoe felt a cold shiver running through him, as he knew that it could have an impact in his continuation as a fighter pilot. He waited for the doctor to unlock the casing and give a better explanation.
The casing opened in two, and the doctor moved Shimoe arm out of it. The hand, with a pale and sickly skin resulting from the continued medication to heal the burns and preserve mobility, was missing it's pinky and ring finger, as well as the extension of the palm under them. In its place, a small synthetic cover had been placed.
The doctor told him that the prosthetic was only temporary. The Naval Forces would cover the treatments for limb regeneration, which would take time, or a good quality prosthesis to replace the missing section.
Not knowing how long it would be before he was recalled again, he choose to go with the prosthesis.
After a checkup, he was ordered to keep resting while the preparations would be made in the following days.
In his mind, he remembered the flashes of the battle, the explosion that had taken out his wingman, the cruel cloud of GC that swarmed the members of his squadron. How many had been taking down, how many had managed to survive another day. How many of those women had to be killed to preserve our peace, our sense of order that they hated so much.
As he fell into sleep, he concluded that he was tired of fighting women... that he was tired of women entering his life and work...
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