Ainsi je frappe - the pasts and presents of Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup

[Lanakov]

Chanteloup's theme.

The height of the Gallic war.

Isabelle Montlaville de Chanteloup was sitting in an armoured transport. By herself. That sort of ship had passenger compartments isolated from the cockpit, to ensure maximum peace and quiet for whoever had the honour to travel aboard one. She checked the ship's position on a conveniently-placed display on the wall in front of her. Azincourt. The beginning of the AuTauroute, and the return to safety.

She sighed. Perhaps with relief, perhaps with sorrow.

She had received the order to relinquish her command from the Téméraire and return to the Etat-Major on Paris. Not many in Gallia still had the authority to order her around, a fact she was acutely aware of as she had utterly forgotten how it felt. Chanteloup had never been one to demand freedom at every turn and was content to follow a chain of command which she respected and knew to be necessary... But that didn't make her feel any better.

Come back, Isabelle. I need you here. Let Thouars and Justéton handle the frontlines. Grand Maréchal Macron was not a man she could say no to. She couldn't imagine anyone saying no to the discreet, silent and impossibly imposing man. Though reserved and austere herself, she felt like a babbling schoolgirl every time she had to interact with him.

It's fine, she had thought. I'll be just as useful back in Paris, if not more. There's so much to be done from there. And I'll be back, this is nothing. Chanteloup had been in many positions before, chiefly in internal affairs and intelligence. She had worked aboard warships and had seen her fair share of combat... But commanding a flagship on the most dangerous frontline of the entire sector wasn't something she had ever imagined doing. Or was prepared for. Perhaps, on the command bridge of the Téméraire, someone had noticed those fleeting moments of doubt, of concern. Of fear. She took great pride in her impenetrable façade and ability to read others, necessary traits to have when working in intelligence... But she was acutely aware of her own shortcomings. Perhaps that someone had seen her for the fraud she was and reported it directly to the Grand Maréchal ? That'd have been the thing any good soldier would have done...

She waved those dark thoughts away. Insecurities had crept upon her repeatedly during those last few weeks at the front. Directing people into battle, dealing with death directly. She had pinned it on the stress of command. Who wouldn't doubt when faced with such odds ? Madmen, she assumed. But then, she got that curt message, along with a time of pick-up. Leave your ship behind, the message seemed to say. It'll be just as useful without you.

She had erred along this grim path for the rest of the AuTauroute. Not even the traditionally uplifting sight of the gates to Gallia and its exceptional lane network, so advanced compared to the primitive Sirian equivalent, managed to cheer her up. She mindlessly gathered her belongings and exited the transport, which had dropped her to her personal quarters at the Marine's headquarters in Paris. Mindful of her preferences in regards to solitude, the crew of the ship and the servants of the building had given her a wide berth. So effectively that she had not seen a single soul ever since she had left the Téméraire. Without ceremony, without honours. Just a simple "Au revoir, amiral. Bon retour" from her Second, to which she had replied a simple "Merci. Rompez". Armoured transports were fast. Only several hours had passed. They'd felt like weeks.

Dutifully, she busied herself with unpacking her meager belongings. Her quarters were somptuous compared to those abord the Téméraire, yet still simple and functional compared to the suites traditionally favoured by those of her social rank. It didn't matter. For the first time in decades, she longed for company. The thought came, unbidden, and brought scores of unfamiliar, deep feelings with it.

She completed her unpacking by placing her PDA on the nightstand, and sat on the large bed, ready to relax and savour forgotten comforts. Company could wait. This isn't so bad. You're back home.

Then the PDA flashed to life and an digital voice greeted her.
"Happy birthday, -Isabelle-. Gallia Télécoms hopes you had a wonderful day".

Chanteloup's PDA profile picture, then a young Commandant. She never bothered to update it.

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If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.