//Probably a one-shot, unless the character actually ends up going somewhere. Komatsu never got much characterisation compared to the rest of my characters, but I thought I'd throw her something halfway substantial at last. Better (three years) late than never, right?
Happy birthday to me.
Her chronometer had just ticked over, the blue glow of its digits illuminating her cockpit. It was now officially January 10th, New Paris Standard Time, and Capitaine Katsuko Komatsu had just turned twenty-five years old. Somehow, though, she didn't feel much like celebrating. Another year survived was nothing to shout about. It simply proved that she'd continued to exist, trudging along through a seemingly endless mire of patrol schedules and skirmishes.
Leeds hadn't changed much since the day she'd first seen it, bar an ever expanding debris field that was slowly collating in low orbit. The Oubli dominated the budding hazard zone; a great, rectangular hulk, covered in scorch marks and with great gouges torn in its once-mighty plating. Despite everything, she'd felt a twinge of sadness when she'd heard of the dreadnought's passing from her Lyon hospital bed. It was a feeling she'd felt only once before for a ship - the venerable Villeneuve, the spearhead of the Royal Navy's initial assault on the planet. She'd watched that one die herself, frozen in awe as the Derby, Bretonia's staunchest of defenders, had finally met its match - only to plunge itself headlong into the Valor's midsection. Both ships had been annihilated as the Villeneuve's fusion reactor had given out, wiping out the death-gripped pair in a flash of antimatter and white-hot energy.
I'm sure the Bretonians still remember the Derby, at least. I wonder if that was the moment the reality of the situation began to sink in - just how much more of a threat Gallia was to them than Imperial Kusari had been. Derby held out for years against Kusarian attack; against the Gauls, it didn't even stand up to the first serious push.
Sighing, Katsuko pulled her Lynx up in a slow, lazy turn, coming around to the next waypoint on her patrol path. The dark brown, polluted clouds of Leeds never did seem to yield much - but of course, that had never stopped Command from keeping constant patrols up, lest the next Royal Flush come from nowhere. Somehow, she doubted it, but she was never in any position to argue. Instead, all she'd ever been able to do was to nod her head and plow on.
Nodding her head and plowing on had served her well, after all. She'd outlasted more than a few of her colleagues. Commandant Chevalier, Colonel Fontaine, Lieutenants Nielsen and Gabriel, even Maréchal Xavier - all of them had since disappeared. Nobody had bothered to tell her where they'd gone - instead, fresh new faces had merely replaced them, to be accepted without complaint or question. Capitaine Leveque and Commandant Cornett were the only recognisable faces left among the group these days - the former had been transferred to the Guillestre battlegroup long ago, and the second still walked around with a permanent sneer on his face.
Outlasting them was all well and good, but where was it actually getting her? While Ansel Xavier had been in charge, the Foreign Legion had been a proper, well-managed part of the Royal Navy. She'd been promised adequate recompense for her service in the war, once all was said and done. Full citizenship had never quite crossed the table, but a comfortable enough life on some planet or another, with limited rights, the same as any other Sirian, had certainly cropped up a couple of times. Perhaps Lyon - Lyon was nice. That's what she had thought at the time.
Now, though - there was an almost imperceptible shift in the way things were going. Even with the recent breach into California, and the destruction of San Diego - Komatsu had seen it herself, watching with grim satisfaction as Dupont's counteroffensive ripped apart the Libertonian outpost with bombardment after bombardment - things seemed to be... slowing down? She couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but it was there - something in the expressions of her higher-ups, the replacement of more and more patrols with minor offensives and aggressive reconnaissance missions, and the increasing frequency with which these sorts of missions seemed to come across her desk in particular. Somehow, she doubted it was due to a vote of confidence on her behalf.
"-over. Capitaine Komatsu, you next. Report status, over." Her radio crackled with a sudden broadcast, making her jump slightly in the otherwise near-silence. When the only noise you heard for hours on end was the steady burning of prometheum being fed into the engines, it could often be a shock to have the monotony broken.
"Komatsu, reporting in." she began, voicing the same words she'd said a hundred times before. "Sectors BT-36 through SF-94 show all clear. Nothing but gravel and smog out here. Over."
"-oger that, Capitaine. Continue on prescribed path. Over and out." The transmission clicked off before she could reply, but she was used to it already. Everyone seemed terse these days - not that the Gauls had ever been a particularly friendly bunch.
Still, even as she settles back into her chair, a look of resignation written across her features, those niggling thoughts are stronger than ever. Ever since she'd joined up, of course, second thoughts had been a thing. Could have, would have, should have - everyone had those, right? No matter who or what they worked for. Then again, most people didn't have 'employers' as terrifyingly imperialistic, ruthless, or vast as hers. There wasn't really any possibility of an early retirement - at least, not if she actually wanted to get anything out of it. Her contract hadn't had a fixed length, to put it simply, and somehow, debating the fine print with Command didn't seem like a particularly good idea.
She was stuck here. At least- unless...
The gleaming white, pristine fighter careens through the dirt-brown smog, a deep blue engine trail left in its wake as it rockets into the distance. As birthdays came and went, this one wasn't anything special. Just another day, just another year trapped in the same old cycle, with the same old doubts.