Star Wars: The Empire's Finest (IC)

[Aeritai]

Corellia
Imperial Shuttle Station
It was another busy day at the Shuttle Station, ever since the destruction of the Death Star there has been an increased presence in security around the station making sure there was no threat of a Rebel attack. Keijohn stood in one of the hanger bays in his dress uniform waiting for both his squad and the shuttle to arrive to pick them up and transfer them to another planet. For five months, Keijohn and his men have been stationed on Corellia dealing with the local resistance movement on the planet. However, due to the Rebels fighting on multiple planets across the Galaxy, the Empire needed more men to stomp out all Rebel activity ever since the Death Star was destroyed. Even though one year had passed, to Keijohn it felt like it was yesterday it happen deep down in his heart he felt a burning hatred for the Rebel Alliance.

Soldiers, admirals, pilots, and civil workers all died on the station wanting to make the Galaxy a better place for everyone that had suffered during the Clone Wars. To Keijohn the Rebels weren't fighting for freedom, to him they were terrorists wanting to bring disorder to the Galaxy again and form a corrupted government that would only care for its own self-interest much like the Republic did. Keijohn would gladly lay down his life for the Empire and the Emperor to keep everlasting peace in the Galaxy so that every family on every planet will have a bright future. Keijohn's train of thought was soon lost when he heard the engines of an Imperial Shuttle enter the hanger bay and land on the ground. Also entering the hanger bay was his squad all of them in their dress uniforms as they carried bags on their back ready to depart to their next planet.

"So Sarge, do you know what planet we're being transferred to?" A Private asked as he saluted Keijohn.

"I do, but I shall debrief you all once we are on the shuttle until then hop I rather not stand here all day." Keijohn replied to the Private.

His squad nodded and they entered the shuttle with Keijohn following close behind them, once everyone was inside the pilot shut all doors and took off out of the hanger bay before finally leaving Corellia's atmosphere.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Planet Casideiro
Outer Rim
474th Light Dropship Division “Yularen”

With all its combined power and scientific prowess, ruling a territory that stretched across the known universe and commanding a fleet that could wipe out entire species in seconds, the Empire still had not found a way to dampen the sound of rain rattling against durasteel construction panels. Lieutenant Kalo Baan sat hunched over his makeshift desk, part wood gathered from outside and part durasteel barstools. He held a pen in his hand, twirling it around his fingers as he tried to come up with the right words to put to paper.

Dear mother, dear father it said at the top. Apart from that, the page was empty. Kalo clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His parents loved to hear positive news from the front. Mostly because all the negative news was blackened by the army censor. After his previous letter was blacked out almost entirely, he felt like he owed his parents at least two complete, legible sentences.

“The weather is good…” he muttered under his breath. He looked outside his plastic window to the planet beyond. Casideiro was your typical outer rim planet. Underdeveloped, almost uninhabited, crawling with both natural resources and rebel guerillas alike. Some company with their headquarters on Coruscant mined some sort of mineral here. What mineral and what company, to what end, Kalo did not know. Neither did he much care. He just wanted to know the name so he could use it as a curse when he stubbed his toe against his bedframe.

Casideiro, like many outer rim planets, had a peculiar climate. In the case of this planet, that peculiarity was the constant, unabated onslaught of torrential rain. Most of the planet’s life was semi-aquatic, just because living on that planet was like being submerged in a bath on a constant basis. The local sentient species were mostly amphibian in nature, and very aggressive. They enjoy pulling imperial soldiers into shallow pools to drown them, and then mount their purple heads on spikes as close to imperial encampments as they can muster. Which, during the rainy nights, was quite close indeed. The divisional headquarters sometimes got them in boxes delivered to their doorstep.

The worst thing was that these locals (troopers referred to them as tadpoles, their other names were academic) was that they were not even aligned with the broader rebel alliance. As far as they knew, they were primitive, and had not contacted the outside galaxy before the unnamed company started cutting down their forests. There were no objectives, just a garrison slowly succumbing to attrition, receiving recruits at just a rate to replace those who had been lost in the swamps. Or those who came down with trench foot, which was quite a common affliction here.

“And the locals friendly…” Kalo muttered. He put down his pen. He was not getting anything done, and he would not have much time anyway. Just as he did so, the door to his makeshift shack swung open, letting in a wet gust of wind. In came staff sergeant Ytter, commander of the 1st Squad, the torrential downpour dripping from the rubber cloak hanging from his shoulders. His moustache was soaking wet, as it had been for the past month that they had spent on the planet. The sergeant took off his helmet and sat down on a crate Kalo used both as a nightstand and as emergency seating.

“Had they made me commander of the Death Star, knowing what I know now, I would have taken out these outer rim shitholes one by one. Crack ‘em open so all the fat cats can collect their precious minerals with asteroid miners”

Benn Ytter was a veteran soldier, ten years Kalo’s senior, who had somehow never risen up the ranks. Everyone suspected it was because he had a big mouth and could not stop himself from cursing. Kalo knew Benn had no interest in commanding anything that he could not wrestle down on his own, so he was permanently stuck commanding a section of army troopers. Benn took out a piece of cloth from his pocket to dry his face, but as soon as it touched him he threw it on the mossy ground.

“Bah, everything is damp in this place. I should start wrapping my shit in plastic. I heard the lads and lasses over at D-company trade plastic bags for death sticks and liquor. I have not had a dry sandwich ever since we dropped down here”

Kalo grinned. Things could get tough in service of the empire, but there were always men like Benn Ytter, who through their dogged determination pulled you through with a smile on your face.

“How are the troopers doing?” Kalo asked. Benn usually did his rounds around this time. The platoon commanded by Kalo consisted of four sections of fifteen troopers each. They were consigned to two barracks, where they resided most of the time they were not actively on duty. The day was divided up into four six-hour shifts, during which the active duty troops had to check the gargantuan ore trucks passing by for any stowaways. They never did find any, but those driving the trucks felt a lot safer after checks were performed. Currently, second squad was on duty.

“They are holding up. Still a bit haggard over the Naboo girl, but what can you do”

Just a week before, the tadpoles had captured a girl from 4th squad. They had tortured her throughout the night, and her screams had kept everyone awake. Expeditions to find her were mounted, but somehow they never got closer. After a while, the company captain gave orders to call off the search, as it had all the trappings of an ambush. Still, the girl screamed, which only died down once the sun came up behind the rain clouds. Some troopers had not gotten sleep since, and they barely ventured outside their barracks.

“It’s a shithole planet, that’s for sure” Kalo replied.

Suddenly, Kalo heard a ringing in his ear piece. Someone was giving him a call. He looked at the caller ID, but he could not immediately place it. He lowered his microphone to his mouth and pressed a button on his arm pad, taking the call.

“Hello, this is lieutenant Baan, B-company, third platoon”

There was some interference on the line, mostly caused by atmospheric disturbances. Or rather, the iron-laced rain that poured down all around them.

“Hello, lieutenant” he heard amicably from the other side. “This is lieutenant Hure from division HQ. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, I do. How can I help?” he answered. Benn gave him questioning looks, which he answered by pulling up his shoulders and shaking his head.

“So do you remember that card game you beat me at, two weeks ago?”

Kalo did not, but he got black-out drunk a lot there, so he knew it was better to answer in the positive.

“Of course I do, Hure. You still owe me something, don’t you?”

This was a safe bet. Kalo muttered a silent prayer, hoping it would be right.

“Hahaha” he heard on the other side. He clutched his heart.

“Yeah, you’re right!” came the liberation from Hure. Kalo let out a sigh.

“I think I have found a way to pay you back” Hure added immediately. “So, I can’t tell what for, but the division is being split in two. Half will stay here, and the other half will catch the next acclamator to a rendezvous point above Corellia. They are looking to full up some empty space on a ship heading through from Mustafar. Anyway, long story short, you’re looking at active deployment against organised rebel troops.”

Kalo’s heart jumped.

“So, shall I put you on the list? I am separating the units now, and B-company needs to be split.”

Kalo let out a sigh. This was incredible news. This morning, he had expected to be there for at least another five month deployment. Now, he could be out of there by the end of the week.

“Thanks, Hure. I will discuss it with my sergeants” Kalo replied. The answer was immediate.

“Can’t do, Baan. This list needed to be done an hour ago. I need to know before we hang up, otherwise you’re staying put”

Kalo shot some panicked glances at Benn, who was still struck with utter confusion. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind at once. Where would they be going? What mission would there be? Any new offensive? Garrisoning a quiet planet? What would be transported from Mustafar? Heavy machinery? Walkers? For a moment, there was silence.

“Baan?”

“Yes, Hure. Put us on the list for that acclamator. Thanks for the call, your debt has been repaid”

“Alright, there you go. You’ll receive a notification somewhere tomorrow, please act surprised when you get it. Cheers”

“Cheers”

And with that, the connection was broken. Kalo leaned back against his chair, his eyes wide open. He could feel his heart pound in his neck, pulling at the strap that kept his helmet attached to his head. Slowly, his head moved sideways to Benn, who seemed ready to gut him with his combat knife. After a big gulp, Kalo managed to get a few words out.

“We are getting the hell out of here, Benn”

[Bolslania]

Tong-Falk class escort carrier "Feng Chao"

"Azure lead to Bridge, over." Cmdr Andrew Ette said into the comm station headpiece. He was standing on the bomber flight deck, surrounded by his flight leaders, all of them asking one question


"Yes Azure lead, over?" Came the reply.

"Connect me to the Captain, please, over." He put the comm station on speaker, and the others clustered in.

They had been stuck onto surprise convoy escort duty, but they were rigged up for assault fleet support, and they wanted to know why.

[Quebec-Libre]

Ojom Low Orbit, Deep Core
Bellator-class Star Dreadnought Pertinance

Fleet Admiral Jeremiah Trenaur was on the ship's bridge, hands crossed behind his back as he looked down to the planet. His red pauldrons reflected the lights of the hull, while his newly-acquired rank insigna further illustrated his recent promotion. His battle-vessel and others of his fleet were resupplying in goods and fuel, and he had given a leave to the crew, who were desperate to leave the ship and take a drink or 2 (or 6, no one knows) to relieve themselves. As for him, he just stood there, looking out to the stars. Using the on-screen indicator, he marvelled at how many of those stars he had visited in his career.

After coming to the conclusion that the number was neglectable, he headed to his quarters, only to be halted by a buzz of the docking port camera. The Entirety of the crew was coming back aboard the ship at a speed that was far too fast to be normal. Within half an hour, the entirety of the ships were manned and fully ready. The Fleet Admiral was slightly confused, so he approached one of the radio officers.

"What exactly happened?"

"The Sensors of the Station picked up unidentified vessels that just entered the outer reaches of the system. We were ordered to return to our ships and prepare for a potential attack." The Officer said, and Jeremiah nodded.

"They can't attack us if we get them first." He then oppened fleet-wide coms. "This is your Admiral Speaking. We are going after the rebel scum that are within our system. All Crews, prepare for Precision Hyperspace Jump."

As the vessels undocked and displaced themselves away from the station. The calculations were made on each ship, and the entire fleet jumped at once, exiting half a second later.

They found themselves undetected, sneaking behind a peculliar Rebel arsenal composed of 2 Venator-Class Star Destroyers, 2 Victory-Class Star Destroyers, 5 MC40a light cruisers and 9 heavily busted-up Nebulon-B Frigates. This was odd. Usually the Rebels didn't have this much firepower. But they were outnumbered and hopelessly outgunned, so it mattered very little.

"We're on their 6 Jeremiah, What now?" Captain Ishmael Davids, of the Resolute Star Destroyer, asked over the fleet coms.

"On my command, Target the bridges of the Venators and the Victories with the SDs and let the Frigates and Cruisers attack the smaller ships."

"Alright Sir, Awaiting your order."

"Fire."

The Bellator and the SDs fired a salvo of their Ion Canons on the enemy capital ships, crippling their shields, before unleashing their turbolaser weaponry onto the now undefended Ships. Within Minutes, the enemy vessels were crippled, with one of the Venators exploding due to a capacitor overload near the weapon systems. The smaller crafts of the 9th fleet engaged the MC40as and Nebulon-Bs by themselves until the Larger warships fired their weaponry at them, crippling several of them. Only 1 MC40a and 4 Nebulon-Bs managed to escape into hyperspace, leaving trails of smoke behind them.

The 9th Fleet, in this engagement, had not suffered a single loss, with the only noticeable sign of the battle on the Imperial side was a dent in Arquitens-class cruiser Gatalenta. This had gone so well that it was nearly worrying.

[The Verdantderm Lands]

Tong-Falk class escort carrier "Feng Chao"

"Azure lead to Bridge, over." Cmdr Andrew Ette said into the comm station headpiece. He was standing on the bomber flight deck, surrounded by his flight leaders, all of them asking one question


"Yes Azure lead, over?" Came the reply.

"Connect me to the Captain, please, over." He put the comm station on speaker, and the others clustered in.

They had been stuck onto surprise convoy escort duty, but they were rigged up for assault fleet support, and they wanted to know why.

Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

"Stand by, Azure Leader", came the response from the the officer on Bridge.

The comm station buzzed the Captain in her quarters. "Ma'am, the Azure Squadron Leader, currently on the Flight Deck, wishes to speak with you."

Captain Raphe Zhǔ was just finishing the last button on her tunic when the call came. She had met with all of the squadron leaders prior to this deployment and was well satisfied with the caliber of professionals that would be making up this space-faring hive of deadly hornets. Now, it seemed that they had all realized that the squadrons were not typical.

To the Bridge Officer she replied, "Ask the Squadron Leader if the matter is urgent. If it is not, then there will be a meeting of the the officers after the evening meal, if it is urgent, then invite him to the Bridge. I will be there shortly.

---

Last year, the loss off the Death Star had been a terrible blow to the morale of her crew. So many lives lost on something that most Imperials hadn't even heard of until the footage and Rebel propaganda made it's way into the news nets. The concept of the DS frightened the Captain, she had hoped it would never be needed, but it was always good to have the biggest deterrent on one's side. However, she was more of a "hands on" personality, so hunting down the terrorist Rebel Alliance ship by ship and person by person was fine with her. In the months that followed, that's what her ship and crew did, hunt them down and exact vengeance.

In the Officer’s Mess, after the “evening meal”, Captain Raphe Zhǔ ‘politely’ requested her senior officers, squadron and flight commanders to remain for an informal chat. As she invited them to relax, she let down her silver hued hair. It wasn’t an effect of age, the Captain’s chronological age was only thirty, but a product the high mineral content of her homeworld’s air pollution and the drugs that were used to combat the pollution’s effect on the human body.

Zhǔ instructed her steward to prepare hot chai for herself and the other officers.

After they had been served and appeared comfortable, Zhǔ smiled pleasantly and spoke, “While not ‘official’, I have heard from a reliable source about our next mission.” After a brief pause, she continued, “We will be attached to a small convoy of transports. It may be that the official cargo and destination of the supplies has been compromised by the spies of the rebel scum, so there are a number of operations going on. First, if we encounter the rebels, we will be closer stopping the leak. Second, the Fēng-Cháo will not be listed as part of the convoy, so it’s possible that we may be an unexpected surprise on the rebels, or possible pirates. Third, we will gather intelligence and perhaps be able to narrow down the location of the rebel base in this sector of space. Also, if we encounter ships and fighters with outrigger propulsion modules, like Y-Wing Fighters, IF, you are not exposing yourself to undue risk, disable their drives so we may have prisoners to interrogate. ”

"As to the composition of the Group, it was a matter of availability and timing."

The Captain smiled and asked, “Any thoughts, ladies and gentlemen?”

[Ormata]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

They’d been assembled at the Officers Mess following dinner. While that sort of thing wouldn’t be odd or out of place, considering the facts that a briefing of one nature or another was omnipresent, nothing of that sort was on the schedule of the day. In fact, very little was on that schedule. Leatal sat down in one of the chairs, his posture tense in that military tradition, watching as the rest of them had filed in. It wasn’t a normal meeting, that was for sure, especially considering the sort of people that had been assembled. Senior officers were there, the XO, Ops, Engineering, and things of that sort, along with the squadron commanders. No, not a normal meeting at all. The Captain entered, an individual who Leatatl considered...young for her posting and position. She was young, after all, at just thirty years of age and the Fēng-Cháo was her first posting. Former pilot, something else out of the usual.

Nevertheless, she had entered, told them to relax, and ever let down her hair in a most out-of-regulations manner. Leatal didn’t relax. Something was just a good bit off in the whole of the scenario and while paranoia hadn’t been a word he would use to describe his thoughts on most, the fact of the matter was that even Imperial high command posts were not immune to Rebel influences. Generals, Admirals, and others of high authority had defected. It would not be unusual for a Captain, especially a young Captain, to do the same. She had the steward get tea, the small cups sat down next to each and every officer. Some drank from their cups. Others watched, waited.

“While not ‘official’, I have heard from a reliable source about our next mission. We will be attached to a small convoy of transports. It may be that the official cargo and destination of the supplies has been compromised by the spies of the rebel scum, so there are a number of operations going on. First, if we encounter the rebels, we will be closer stopping the leak. Second, the Fēng-Cháo will not be listed as part of the convoy, so it’s possible that we may be an unexpected surprise on the rebels, or possible pirates. Third, we will gather intelligence and perhaps be able to narrow down the location of the rebel base in this sector of space. Also, if we encounter ships and fighters with outrigger propulsion modules, like Y-Wing Fighters, IF, you are not exposing yourself to undue risk, disable their drives so we may have prisoners to interrogate. ”

"As to the composition of the Group, it was a matter of availability and timing."

The Captain smiled and asked, “Any thoughts, ladies and gentlemen?”

They were to be an escort. There was a possible leak for the convoy contents. They were unlisted as an escort. Otherwise, what she had stated were of normal procedure. Gathering of intelligence, especially when considering the sort of vessel the ship was, was a routine matter on the simple basis that there was little they could do aside from operating as usual. Patrols, observation of communications frequencies, and things of that sort was daily routine, something automatically done. To state such was a waste of time. That said, however, the fact that they were unlisted proved, usually, a unique problem if measures weren’t taken. True, they were only a singular Ton Falk-Class, but the disappearance of the ship...if they hadn’t taken measures, such as comms blankets over the outgoing circuits, hopefully the sheer scale of the Empire would help them get lost.

The Rebellion surely wouldn’t notice the disappearance of a single ship. Surely.

Besides that fact, it was usual duty for an Escort Carrier of their ilk to join convoy duty for those that would likely be attacked. If the Rebels didn’t deploy forces that would take that into account, they were already making tactical mistakes; it was a mistake on his part to assume any such thing. They would deploy forces capable of dealing with the likely escort, the Nebulon B frigates and CR90s, maybe a Tartan-Class, along with forces able to deal with the Escort Carrier. In any case, the fact that the ship would not be listed would probably not help their case at all Leatal decided. It was merely a formality, a flourish by those who thought such things held enough meaning to matter.

He leaned just a little back in the chair, the synth-leather creaking, lips pursed as the man thought things over. His intertwined fingers kept together, not tight-drawn as some might, not as loose as others, but the Commander yet stared forward before looking about the room slowly. There was little actual information she had given on the convoy itself, where it was going and from where it had come, and the length of the trip, the likely hazards and frequented areas by Rebel forces they were to pass by, there factors would come into play easily and with great speed. Leatal, like some squadron commanders, preferred to keep a section of his squadron of twelve on alert. This rotation, while extremely taxing, helped in the case of an ambush when drawn from hyperspace. He needed to know on that, at the very least. His chai sat to the side on the table, steam rising and still yet untouched.

“Do you have any word on the scheduling for this convoy, ma’am? It’s last port and next? When and where we are to rendezvous with the convoy? I need to know for the Alert Fighter scheduling purposes.”

[The Verdantderm Lands]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

“Do you have any word on the scheduling for this convoy, ma’am? It’s last port and next? When and where we are to rendezvous with the convoy? I need to know for the Alert Fighter scheduling purposes.”

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

"No, Commander Leatal," the Captain Zhǔ answered and then continued, "I am sorry, there is no further information, at this time. As I stated previously, the general mission profile is from a trusted but unofficial source, a brother in arms, you might say. After official orders arrive, there will be a mission briefing as soon as we are underway."

Raphe felt a little sorry for the Commander. She'd just given him a morsel of information that concerned him professionally. As a professional, the Captain appreciated his zeal. Still, he needed to conserve that fire, temper that steel, with patience. She sipped her chai, noticing Leatal's expressions. He was judging her, she imagined, comparing his own standard of conduct to what he perceived about hers. He didn't know her well enough not to have questions. That would be fine for now, as long as he obeyed her.

The Captain looked at her chronograph and said to her officers, "At this time, we have put a block on all outgoing personal communications."

Then the Captain turned her attention to Commander Ette, the leader of the bomber squadron. "Commander Ette, I believe you had some concerns, earlier"?

[Endem]

Kaleh Enfrer, Imperial Gunner, on board Fēng-Cháo, Crew Quarter, One of them at least

This particular crew quarter was occupied by about 50 people, but currently, only five were there, all five are Imperial gunners, why they occupied this particular crew quarter, well, it was the closest to their turbolasers. Ithers from this quarter were right now either in the cantina or on duty, why this particular five weren't on either was quite simple, they weren't on duty and they have already been in cantina, and now they were here. Three of them sitting at an improvised table playing some cards, while the two others were sitting on one bed, one of them holding a piece of what looked like a wet strip ripped from some now unused clothing against his palm, while the second person tries to get the first one to go to the onboard medic, here enter Kaleh Enfrer, he's the one trying to convince his friend to go to the med bay.

"You should really go there, they'll fix it in an instant" Kaleh said to his friend who was still holding the piece of cloth "Eh, don't want to burden them, it's just a burn" he said "If any action comes you won't be able to participate, and how are you going to explain that" he asked "You're sounding like our Captain" to this all five people burst out laughing "Eh, maybe I was interpreting him" Kaleh said as he lifted himself from the sitting position and walked over to the three others "Mind if I join?" One of them said "Nah, we just finished a round"

Kaleh sat down to the improvised table "So what are we playing?" He asked "Paazak or Sabacc, we can't yet agree," one of the three said "Let's vote it" one of them proposed to which others silently nodded and told what they wanted to play, after which they started a round of Paazak.

[Argonopolis]

Tong-Falk class escort carrier "Feng Chao"
Commander Castor Vex listened to the briefing with a well practiced stoicism. A pretend escort mission turned into an ambush seemed like a solid plan to try to catch some rebels unaware, but one had to always plan for the worst. The commander of the Death Star had basically ignored the rebel fighters, thinking them useless against a moon-sized battle-station. His hubris had been his downfall and led to the death of so many brave soldiers. All they had to do was send out some interceptors when the fighters had first been sighted and the Death Star would still be intact and the Rebel spirit crushed. Castor turned his thought from past failures to the current mission. The attackers had to be planning to overcome an escort, so the surprise wouldn't give much of an advantage. Another problem was the hidden nature of the cargo and the Rebel's goal with it. It would be a completely different mission if they needed to stop a theft versus stopping the destruction of the cargo. Finally, the rebel mole could have leaked the Feng Chao's involvement as well. There was a chance that they were headed into a rebel ambush, and he had to do his best to prepare.

"Captain, I have some concerns as well, mainly about the cargo. What is so important about it that the rebels are willing to risk outing a mole to get it."

[The Verdantderm Lands]

Tong-Falk class escort carrier "Feng Chao"
Commander Castor Vex

listened to the briefing with a well practiced stoicism. A pretend escort mission turned into an ambush seemed like a solid plan to try to catch some rebels unaware, but one had to always plan for the worst. The commander of the Death Star had basically ignored the rebel fighters, thinking them useless against a moon-sized battle-station. His hubris had been his downfall and led to the death of so many brave soldiers. All they had to do was send out some interceptors when the fighters had first been sighted and the Death Star would still be intact and the Rebel spirit crushed. Castor turned his thought from past failures to the current mission. The attackers had to be planning to overcome an escort, so the surprise wouldn't give much of an advantage. Another problem was the hidden nature of the cargo and the Rebel's goal with it. It would be a completely different mission if they needed to stop a theft versus stopping the destruction of the cargo. Finally, the rebel mole could have leaked the Feng Chao's involvement as well. There was a chance that they were headed into a rebel ambush, and he had to do his best to prepare.

"Captain, I have some concerns as well, mainly about the cargo. What is so important about it that the rebels are willing to risk outing a mole to get it."

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Feng Chao

The Captain turned from Cmdr. Ette to Cmdr. Vex, "Mister Vex, this mission is very compartmentalized. The short story is I don't know. I don't know what cargo is in the transports. I don't know know if real information was compromised. I just need to be the best Escort Carrier Captain that I can be, follow the orders given to me, and complete the mission while bringing back as many of my pilots and crew as I can."

The Captain breathed a sigh and then addressed the entire room again. "It's natural to be curious about what's in the transports, but it's not your job. The convoy may simply have spare parts and fresh munitions that the Rebels would love to deny to our forces. Likewise, it could be carrying the makings of a second Death Star. I doubt very seriously that it's tons and tons of birthday cake. But no matter what the convoy is carrying, there are Imperial officers and crews depending on us do defend them."

This informal meeting seemed to be going well, Raphe thought. She was fairly certain that she was establishing a level of trust between herself and her Squadron Leaders. Some of the questions were natural, but really, they all ought to have some experience with "security clearance" and "need to know". When the official orders arrived and were opened then they'd likely find out to what degree they were expected to perform, whether offer passing resistance or to fight to the last man.

"I've reviewed all of your records," the Captain said. "I'm very pleased that you've all be assigned to the Feng Chao. Now, based on the limited intel that I've given you and the make up of the squadrons, I'd like to hear your ideas on convoy operations."

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Planet Casideiro
474th Division “Yularen” Headquarters

The cloud layer of Casideiro was almost constant. It shifted between three shades throughout the day: at night, the clouds were black and invisible, save for when the floodlights of the mining operation made them shine. In the early morning and in the evening, the clouds were dark grey, illuminated at the top by rays of sun passing over the horizon. During the day, the clouds were a light grey, and bore resemblance to the seas of Kamino, swirling and crashing overhead. And always, there was the incessant downpour. Always the rain came down, like the violent crash of a meteor spread out over hundreds or thousands of years.


The hue of the clouds was the only natural way for the troops on Casideiro to naturally tell the time. Right now, it was very early in the morning, and above, unseen, the black ocean of vapour unleashed its deluge upon the ever-battered world. With boots half-filled with water and sludge, the men and women of 3rd platoon trudged their way through the ankle-high mud that passed for an encampment road. Behind them, the dropships that had flown the platoon in from company HQ blasted off, creating a gust of wind that engulfed the troopers in iron-laced rain. This was nothing new, however, and the experienced troops just threw their rubber capes around their shoulders to ward off any more of those nasty surprised.


The troops of 3rd platoon were weighted down by all they had to carry. Each trooper carried a duffle bag with clothes and personal belongings. Besides that, there were bandoliers of ammunition, their issued E-10 blaster, helmets and cuirasses, as well as two heavy repeating blasters per squad. The weight of the gear, however, was nothing compared to the levity they felt, even though every other yard they got stuck in the mud. Before them, flooded in the light of gigantic lamps, was the makeshift spaceport. Gigantic freighter vessels, meant to transport minerals to even larger ships in orbit, stood side to side, the rumbling wheeled ore haulers effortlessly driving up their ramps. The imperial CR-90 corvettes that stood parked next to them looked insignificant next to them. To the platoon, however, they meant the world.


“Alright, troops. CR-90/4456. This is our ride. Don’t get too comfortable, we’ll have to get up again before long” Kalo said, gesturing for his platoon to get in. The CR-90’s were there to transport troops to the acclamator “Amidala” currently in orbit. He did not have to repeat his order. The men and women of 3rd platoon took a sprint up the access ramp, incredibly grateful to finally be in a place where some things were not damp and rain-soaked. They left dirty, mudded footprints all over the stainless white floors of the Corellian, leading Kalo to cast an apologetic look at the captain.

“Apologies, captain…” he began.

“Maynard, lieutenant Baan” the captain answered kindly “And not to worry, our mops will take care of that in no-time”


Just as he said that, a few Utai slaves came walking around the corner with cleaning gear, immediately getting to work mopping up the stains left by the troopers. As they finished that task, the Utai took to cleaning the boots and duffel bags of mud, much to the amazement of some and the disgust of others. Slaves were not referred to as slaves in normal parlance. They were either called ‘workers’, or they were assigned a name based on what they did. The ‘mops’ referred to them as much as to their tools. Kalo smiled at the sight.



“It’s like being in a hotel” he said, leading the captain to laugh. He patted Kalo on the back.

“You guys have been stuck on this shithole for too long, lieutenant. Wait till you get abroad the Amidala. Will you join me on the bridge?”

“Gladly”


What amazed Kalo most of all was the almost absolute silence. The sound of rain clattering against the hull was entirely dampened. The engines were off. The only thing that produced a sound were their boots hitting the durasteel floors. After passing through a corridor or two, the captain and the lieutenant entered the bridge. On it were a few imperial sailors, as well as one blonde lad in his late teens in early twenties. He stood out in two ways: he wore the outfit of an army trooper, which made him stand out from navy personnel, but he was also not covered in rust, grime and dirt, which made him stand out from the other troopers. Most of all, he was dry as a bone, which was an odd sight to see. As soon as the lieutenant entered, the boy got to his feet, straightened like an ironing board and saluted.


“Lieutenant, sir!” he shouted, earning him the annoyed looks of the entire bridge. For a moment, the lieutenant waited, until he saw the expecting look in the eyes of the boy.

“Oh, at ease, soldier. Private, I mean”

Casideiro was a very informal planet. The shittier the climate of a place, the more informal things became. And the climate on Casideiro was extremely shitty indeed. The relationship between the troopers and the junior officers bordered on the disobedient, but the alternative was a coldness that could not survive contact with the planet.

“Thank you, sir” the boy said. His knuckles had turned white around his blaster, indicating he was holding it very tightly. This one was either straight from the academy, or worse. The boy answered that question for him.

“I’m private Maritin Pollonen, sir. Here to reinforce the 4th squad. Part of the Imperial Force Compensation Program, sir”


Exactly what Kalo had feared. The IFCP, Imperial Force Compensation Program, colloquially known as ComPost, was a special edict first issues by Grand Moff Tarkin. Rebellious planets, after pacification, had to send volunteers to the imperial armed forces equal to the number of soldiers lost to achieve pacification. If volunteers were not enough to fill the gap, the remainder was made up of conscripts. Since the intention was to punish the planet rather than actually provide troops, not a lot of thought was put into actually training them. In fact, the more died in battle, the better. What concerned Kalo most was having someone from a possibly hostile environment in his ranks.

“Where are you from, Pollonen?”

“Chonsetta, sir”

A rebel planet if ever there was one. Kalo took up the boy head-to-toe, measuring him against himself, looking for details. Kalo liked to know the people serving under him, liked to know what they were made of. He would keep an eye on this one.

“If you’re in 4th, better report to sergeant Meree, private” Kalo said. “He will get you and your squad sorted”

There was a moment of silence, as the boy wasn’t showing any signs of moving out.

“Oh, dismissed” Kalo said. Maritin saluted and almost ran out the door, nearly forgetting his own duffle bag. Kalo looked after him as the bridge doors swished open and shut. He felt the hand of the captain on his shoulder.

“We were once like that too, you know” he said. Kalo shook his head.

“No, never like that”


After final check-ups, the CR-90 began to shudder. Its engines roared to life, and it lifted itself from the damp swamp floor. From the bridge, Kalo could see the ground slowly move away from them. For the first time since arriving there, he could see over the treetops of the mangroves, the hilly terrain going on for uncountable miles and miles. Clouds as far as the eye could see, too, accentuated with the sparse flash of thunder. And further still, the giant pit mines that had been dug, looking like gates into hell. The small compliment of TIE-fighters did their daily rounds, unable to provide any support thanks to the tree cover.

The CR-90 rose and rose, higher and higher. They entered the clouds, first dark and unwelcoming, but growing increasingly bright as the craft progressed. Then, finally, they broke through the cloud layer. In the distance, the sky was busy turning morning pink, and to the other side the stars were still wheeling overhead. Kalo felt his stomach turn at the sight, and immediately began to well up. He clasped the railing next to him to support his legs, which had turned to jelly. In the distance, through the corridors, he could hear his platoon shouting with glee. The captain looked at Kalo with a questioning smile.

“T’ was that bad?” he asked. Kalo merely nodded.

Next, the craft started flying horizontally, with the sun at its right. Kalo felt its rays through the thick glass. He had not felt that warmth for over a month. Slowly, the sun became a star as they left the planet’s atmosphere. Its rays shone even brighter, and Kalo used it to warm his hands.

“There she is, lieutenant” the captain said, grabbing his attention. In the distance he could see a grey speck, slowly getting bigger and bigger. Soon the distinctive shape, a V with a protruding bridge and a fat underbelly, became visible. The acclamator bore no markings. It was not necessary. There was, after all, no navy other than the imperial navy. There was no need for distinguishing marks. In a way, they forced the rebels to adopt such a practice, thus showing the rebel’s weakness. The rebels were just that, something different. The empire was the norm.

“Acclamator Amidala, this is CR-90/4456, requesting permission to land”

“Permission grated, 4456. Welcome aboard”

The underbelly of the acclamator opened to allow them entry. Slowly, the CR-90 hovered underneath, finally rising through the ship’s hangar bay shield. As it rose, it was locked in by magnetic clamps, and air tubes were extended towards the ship’s doors.

“Welcome to your new home, lieutenant. The quartermaster will be waiting for you, ready to assign you your bunks. Have a safe trip” the captain said, with Kalo nodding in thankful agreement.

“Same to you, captain. Till we meet again”

[Bolslania]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

“Do you have any word on the scheduling for this convoy, ma’am? It’s last port and next? When and where we are to rendezvous with the convoy? I need to know for the Alert Fighter scheduling purposes.”

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

"No, Commander Leatal," the Captain Zhǔanswered and then continued, "I am sorry, there is no further information, at this time. As I stated previously, the general mission profile is from a trusted but unofficial source, a brother in arms, you might say. After official orders arrive, there will be a mission briefing as soon as we are underway."

Raphe felt a little sorry for the Commander. She'd just given him a morsel of information that concerned him professionally. As a professional, the Captain appreciated his zeal. Still, he needed to conserve that fire, temper that steel, with patience. She sipped her chai, noticing Leatal's expressions. He was judging her, she imagined, comparing his own standard of conduct to what he perceived about hers. He didn't know her well enough not to have questions. That would be fine for now, as long as he obeyed her.

The Captain looked at her chronograph and said to her officers, "At this time, we have put a block on all outgoing personal communications."

Then the Captain turned her attention to Commander Ette, the leader of the bomber squadron. "Commander Ette, I believe you had some concerns, earlier"?

"Yes, ma'am. My flight commanders and I are wondering, why, if are mission is purely protection and Intel gathering, it is that are ordnance stores are rigged out for an assault fleet, like the 9th, ma'am." Ette replied in his usual polite, but not friendly, voice. He had a fair amount of respect for the captain, acquiring a command at such a young age. As for Leatel, he respected the man's drive, but not his constant adherance to regulations.

Ette sat comfortably, but not relaxed in the chair, the chai untouched. He did not consider this the time for tea and a comfortable chat.

[Bolslania]

Tong-Falk class escort carrier "Feng Chao"
Commander Castor Vex

listened to the briefing with a well practiced stoicism. A pretend escort mission turned into an ambush seemed like a solid plan to try to catch some rebels unaware, but one had to always plan for the worst. The commander of the Death Star had basically ignored the rebel fighters, thinking them useless against a moon-sized battle-station. His hubris had been his downfall and led to the death of so many brave soldiers. All they had to do was send out some interceptors when the fighters had first been sighted and the Death Star would still be intact and the Rebel spirit crushed. Castor turned his thought from past failures to the current mission. The attackers had to be planning to overcome an escort, so the surprise wouldn't give much of an advantage. Another problem was the hidden nature of the cargo and the Rebel's goal with it. It would be a completely different mission if they needed to stop a theft versus stopping the destruction of the cargo. Finally, the rebel mole could have leaked the Feng Chao's involvement as well. There was a chance that they were headed into a rebel ambush, and he had to do his best to prepare.

"Captain, I have some concerns as well, mainly about the cargo. What is so important about it that the rebels are willing to risk outing a mole to get it."

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Feng Chao

The Captain turned from Cmdr. Ette to Cmdr. Vox, "Mister Vox, this mission is very compartmentalized. The short story is I don't know. I don't know what cargo is in the transports. I don't know know if real information was compromised. I just need to be the best Escort Carrier Captain that I can be, follow the orders given to me, and complete the mission while bringing back as many of my pilots and crew as I can."

The Captain breathed a sigh and then addressed the entire room again. "It's natural to be curious about what's in the transports, but it's not your job. The convoy may simply have spare parts and fresh munitions that the Rebels would love to deny to our forces. Likewise, it could be carrying the makings of a second Death Star. I doubt very seriously that it's tons and tons of birthday cake. But no matter what the convoy is carrying, there are Imperial officers and crews depending on us do defend them."

This informal meeting seemed to be going well, Raphe thought. She was fairly certain that she was establishing a level of trust between herself and her Squadron Leaders. Some of the questions were natural, but really, they all ought to have some experience with "security clearance" and "need to know". When the official orders arrived and were opened then they'd likely find out to what degree they were expected to perform, whether offer passing resistance or to fight to the last man.

"I've reviewed all of your records," the Captain said. "I'm very pleased that you've all be assigned to the Feng Chao. Now, based on the limited intel that I've given you and the make up of the squadrons, I'd like to hear your ideas on convoy operations."

"My suggestion is that we stay a little bit out of the convoy. My thought process is that when the rebs pick up the convoy, they'll rush in, not seeing us, therefore we can deploy safely and move in with the element of surprise." Cmdr.Ette said. He had done his homework on rebel convoy his tactics, and as a bomber pilot knew what they would do.

[Ormata]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"No, Commander Leatal. I am sorry, there is no further information at this time. As I stated previously, the general mission profile is from a trusted but unofficial source, a brother in arms, you might say. After official orders arrive, there will be a mission briefing as soon as we are underway."

“At this time, we have put a block on all outgoing personal communications."

"Commander Ette, I believe you had some concerns, earlier?”

Of course she had no information on such a thing at this time; if Leatal were prone to such things he’d smack himself in the head for asking. Information, especially when countering rebels and traitors, had to be compartmentalized. Until there was an official briefing nothing of exceptional value would be put out or in fact should be able to be put out. That was how you got the measure of surprise against the enemy. You limited knowledge amongst your own troops as to limit their knowledge. Of course, in that case inviting questions was useless as well since a person lacked answers completely. Of course.

There were some other questions, mostly one which involved Ette wondering what the cargo itself was that the convoy was moving and which had the predictable answer from before. The Captain simply didn’t know. Figures. Leatal found it rather poor taste of her trivialization of the cargo, what it might be, considering precisely how important that sort of information might be. It was one thing to be moving supplies. It was another thing to be moving vast quantities of turbolaser-grade Tibanna gas. If the transport got hit too hard and popped like a party balloon, Leatal would love to know. Nevertheless, the man continued to watch the others.

"My suggestion is that we stay a little bit out of the convoy. My thought process is that when the rebs pick up the convoy, they'll rush in, not seeing us, therefore we can deploy safely and move in with the element of surprise."

“I disagree. Their victory at Yavin has made the Rebel bold, not stupid. They would conserve their forces in order for a full determination of our own before they strike. To not see an Escort Carrier would make their incompetence complete and to bank on that, Ette, is not how we win this war.”

“The question then becomes how far we keep ourselves from the convoy. If we are too far, and out of sensor range as you state, then our fighters will not be launched close enough to actually escort and defend the convoy. If we use the micro-jump to bypass this, we place the carrier itself in danger, the Rebels were destroy it as they have demonstrated their ability to do so on multiple occasions, and all of the launched fighters are very dead along with the crew. Obviously unacceptable. I would state that we keep to normal formation.”

[Quebec-Libre]

Oridin City, Fondor
Tapani sector, Colonies Territory

"You're going to Endor, Fleet Admiral Trenaur." Governor Mordur, the Sector's Supreme authority, ordered.

The Fleet Admiral had been called to meet the Governor on the basis of a report concerning the Ojom confrontation incident, but it now looked like orders were being given. Trenaur didn't like being lied to, but right now, shutting up about it was most likely the most sensical thing to do.

"Why is that?"

"You don't need to know, and it's an order."

"As Fleet Admiral of the 9th Fleet and Sitting member of the Imperial Ruling Council, I'm in full right to know!" Jeremiah had an outburst of impatience, but just as it came, it went away, and he completed with a blank "Sir."

"...You are to Supervise the early stages of a Prototype Death Star. A convoy is headed there do deliver more components to the partially completed frame of the battlestation, and Tong-Falk class escort carrier 'Feng Chao' shall provide escort, among other vessels." Mordur gave the explaination, and Jeremiah's tactical mind was disgusted.

"With all due respect, Sir, Do you know how many Executors, Bellators and Mandator IIIs the empire could build with these ressources that are currently being used for a proven failed concept? The Empire lost 25% of its leadership at Yavin, including Grand Moff Tarkin and Deputy Director Yularen. Taking another blow like such might be unrecoverable."

"I'm not saying I agree with the Project, Admiral, But it's a direct order of the Emperor. So I advise strongly for doing it."

"...Very well, Sir. Permission to be Dismissed?"

"Granted."

Trenaur quickly left the office and facepalmed as he walked towards an elevator with the intent of returning to his shuttle. However, on the way to the landing pad he came across a small intriguing shop. It had a large display of what looked like Gems. But if the Imperial had learned anything from his mission on Gatalenta all those years ago, it's that those were actually Kyber Crystals. Approaching the Stand, he quickly picked a crystal and examinated it before passing at the counter.

"I'd like a necklace out of it."

"I'm sorry, but I really don't think you can afford that." The business owner was a male blue-skinned Togruta.

Jeremiah flashed his badge of fleet Admiral. "Think Again."

Immediately, the Togruta was sent into panic as it made the necklace with the kyber crystal and gave it to the Imperial as if his hands were on fire, then knelt to the ground in submission. Unsure about what to do, he simply left without paying, which was quite reasonable due to the fact that the spontaneous killing of Togrutas was more than common.

Arriving at his shuttle, he told the Pilot that he could take off, and as the Imperial Lambda removed itself to the ground and propelled itself towards the sky, he laced the necklace around his neck.

"A new compulsive purchase, Jay?" The Pilot, Wolrenz 'Willy' Dynavo, was a childhood friend of the Fleet Admiral, and therefore still called him by his nickname.

"I guess you could say so. Didn't even have to pay either, the poor guy panicked when he saw my badge."

"I'm not even surprised!" They both chuckled slightly as the shuttle was now into space, heading towards the Bellator's hangar.

"Right...One thing that I don't understand is How come I became a Fleet Admiral and you're merely a Captain."

"It's one of life's many mysteries, if you ask me." Wolrenz said, sighing as he finalised the approach.

"One other being how you managed to pass at Bar'leth University."

"Hey!" The Pilot objected as the 2 friends laughed.

"...Alright, I have to go run this ship and fleet, if you need anything I'll be on the bridge."

"Understood, Sir."

And on that, The gate of the shuttle oppened and Jeremiah walked out. He accessed the fleet coms and roughly explained the mission regarding Endor, explaining that they left soon.

[The Verdantderm Lands]

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

Cmdr. Ette: "My suggestion is that we stay a little bit out of the convoy. My thought process is that when the rebs pick up the convoy, they'll rush in, not seeing us, therefore we can deploy safely and move in with the element of surprise."

“I disagree. Their victory at Yavin has made the Rebel bold, not stupid. They would conserve their forces in order for a full determination of our own before they strike. To not see an Escort Carrier would make their incompetence complete and to bank on that, Ette, is not how we win this war.”

“The question then becomes how far we keep ourselves from the convoy. If we are too far, and out of sensor range as you state, then our fighters will not be launched close enough to actually escort and defend the convoy. If we use the micro-jump to bypass this, we place the carrier itself in danger, the Rebels were destroy it as they have demonstrated their ability to do so on multiple occasions, and all of the launched fighters are very dead along with the crew. Obviously unacceptable. I would state that we keep to normal formation.”

Zhǔ nodded at Leatal, "I agree. Unless we receive orders to be reckless, a standard convoy formation is best."

She made a gesture to the officers in the mess and said, "All of us here are highly motivated to go after the Rebel scum. I am highly motivated. But this mission is about protection. It is very very rare that a plan survives at the hundred percent level upon contact with the enemy. In rough, our Imperial plan is that the rebels won't know about the Fēng-Cháo and her three squadrons. If that plan works, the rebels might arrive and then decline engagement. We will have been an effective deterrent. If the rebels arrive and choose to engage we will not flinch."

The Captain continued, "Squadron Leaders, I've put files into the ship's library about Rebel attacks on convoys over the last six months. Study them. Until the official orders come in, it will be the best information that I can give you."

Just then the speaker in the Officer's Mess crackled and the communications officer on the Bridge spoke, "Captain, one of our Lambda class shuttles just signaled that they are five minutes out."

"Acknowledged", replied the Captain. Then to the Executive, she said, "X.O., make the ship ready to depart."

[Aeritai]

ISD Judgement
While it took five hours for the shuttle to land in Judgement's hanger bay, Keijohn didn't mind the small trip to the Imperial Star Destroy. It gave Keijohn a chance to talk with his squad and debreif them on their new mission and to prepare them for whats to come. According to the data that Keijohn recieved from Imperial High Command, the Rebel Alliance had a heavily defended base in the Oarkon System. And according to Imperial High Command the mission will be a ground assault
on the planet itself with air support being provided by Judgement's fleet of course. Though Keijohn didn't understand why the fleet couldn't just use a orbital bombardment on the planet, though there might be something of value on the planet.

Whatever that value is, Keijohn did not care as long as he gets to avenge his brothers and sisters that were killed on the Death Star. He knew a few friends of his that died on the Death Star most of them had families back home in which the fallen soldiers would never see again. The Rebels say they fight for freedom and everyone that is suffering, but in Keijohn's point of view the Rebels only cause more suffering for the families who have lost loved ones who died serving the Empire. Keijohn soon broke his own train of thought as the shuttle's ramp door opened up, it was time for him and his squad to leave the shuttle and head off to the crew quarters to unpack. As soon as Keijohn stepped off the shuttle he squint his eyes as the bright lights in the hanger bay almost blinded him, it has been about five months since Keijohn was on a Star Destroyer and he forgot how bright the lights were in the hanger bays.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the lights, he looked straight ahead and saw a Imperial Officer heading in his direction. Wasting no time Keijohn and his squad automatically went into attention and saluted the Officer waiting for him to speak.

"At ease gentlemen." The Officer ordered as he put his hands behind his back.

"Sergeant Keewake, I trust that you debreifed your squad on the mission we're about to embark on?"

"Yes Sir! I debreifed them all on the shuttle ride here!" Keijohn replied.

The Officer nodded in approval before speaking again.

"Good now we don't have to waste time explaining the mission, all there is left to do is to discuss the battle plans once we link up with other two fleets that will join us in our operation." The Officer explained.

"Do you have any questions?"

"No sir!" Keijohn replied.

"Good, in the mean time you and your squad are dismissed until we arrive at the Vonkor System to meet up with the other two fleets." The Officer said before turning around and walking away.

Once the Officer had left, Keijohn led his squad out of the hanger bay and into the crew quarters to unpack their things. Keijohn was surprised to say the least that Judgement's fleet will be linking up with two other Imperial fleets. Whatever, the Rebels are defending on the planet must be super important for the Empire if High Command is sending a large invasion force for just one Rebel planet. Keijohn continued to unpack his things as he starts to think about the invasion and to make sure he and his squad are well prepared once everything is set in place to began the invasion.

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

Endor was not alone.

A vast sphere, skeletal in it’s appearance and nature, hung suspended in the shadow of that forest, about it the bustle and hurry of industry. To test the newer technologies was its simple purpose, though the industry required for such a test surpassed many projects in their entirety. Smaller vessels made their way to and fro, Star Galleons leaving their cargo pods for the drones and evosuit workers to unpack and make ready. A fleet laid in wait, their own purpose quite simple to the observer if there ever was such a thing. Star Destroyers of various classes, heavy cruisers, corvettes, interdictors all were present, their shapes like kitchenware scattered in the big black while the gray was scattered and broken by fighter shadows. Patrols ran rings around the massive installation, ready to intercept and put down any intruder.

Why they hadn’t placed the prototype in the Maw Installation with the rest of the Empire’s vast collection of secrets was patently known by Progre; he’d been told so in his briefing on the matter. ISB suspected a leak at that place and had started an information quarantine on the whole area, compartmentalizing each and every project, turning each and every scientist and engineer within each of those projects into a suspect and prisoner, and effectively putting a hold on any new projects that would require as much manpower as this did. They hadn’t been apologetic about it, either. Business was business, in those guys’ eyes, and as far as Progre himself had been concerned it was a great unfortunate thing that they hadn’t decided to place the project under Rothana’s jurisdiction. In his opinion, they were far more equipped to deal with that construction, far more equipped to deal with prying eyes, and generally it would have streamlined the process a great deal more.

In his objective opinion, they were better. Nothing to do with emotions.

Grand Moff Progre had been requested, however, to deal with the project personally. The Emperor had given a call, made that request, because he had experience with restoring industrial projects, had experience with eliminating technical mistakes and errors. Requested. No, he’d been told and ordered, though not in those words, and told that were he to do as asked he would be rewarded with more resources. Progre could already see the writing on the wall when that sort of thing happened, when it was as vague as the ISB agents before. The fact that he was to be a passive during the project’s construction, that he was to watch unless interference was absolutely necessary, gave some annoyance to the man as well. Sitting by was hardly his forte.

Of course, it made sense though. At least Progre told himself that it made sense. He tried to rationalize it and the best way one could think on it would be that Endor was, for all intensive purposes, a system that was watched by none, noticed by none, traveled by none, and further stood in the middle of a massive, uncharted cluster. It was a hazard to navage on a purely technical basis, not to mention could be considered to hold no worth in attempting that feat to begin with. And yet there seemed to be better systems that held the same. The galactic center, for instance, was never explored due to the amount of black holes, forming stars, and general gravitational anomalies that could make hyperspace travel lethal. Likewise, the Bastion System was a well-fortified, out of the way area that could serve the same purpose. He signed, leaning back in his chair.

He’d set off for the system once notified. Details were given on the overall command structure and Progre had poked around on each of the names he had been given. Kaltal had found a post as one of the directors of the ISB and she gave the information right on back. For the most part they were inoffensive, quiet little people, people who’d undergone screening for their participation and held little to no connections to the Rebellion. What connections they did have were deemed coincidental at worst and each and every member was watched constantly. She even said ISB concentrations there were higher than most in the Empire, including such quiet spots as Corellia, Sullust, and Kashyyyk. If anyone knew of fishy things like the Endor project, it was always the ISB. The new supervisor for the project was one Fleet Admiral Trenaur of the 9th Fleet, was an oddity. For the actions of killing some notable Jedi on Gatalenta, he was given command of an Imperial I-Class, the Resolute, as well as the rank of Commodore. ISB agents aboard that vessel were suspicious for this action, though no actual proof could be found of wrongdoing at that time. Due to the lack of Imperial leadership by virtue of the DS-1’s destruction, he was rapidly promoted.

Inoffensive, friendly, and polite was how his crew described him. An odd Fleet Admiral if there ever was one, though it gave some concerns for Progre. A man of that stature and power who had accumulated not only nearly a dozen Star Destroyers but a Star Dreadnought as well, who was friendly and beloved by his crew, that was a man creating a cult of personality about himself. Progre found those dangerous, even if they were made by staunch loyalists. A loyalist with such a thing, if ever killed, proves a deadly blow to morale for those they once lead. They become a figure too easily cut down. Just as dangerous, even more so, was a traitor with such a cult of personality. They could turn traitor nearly every ship under their command, gift the Rebellion with such a force of arms with such an intimate level of knowledge of Imperial technical data, tactics, and force dispositions that could turn the tide of the conflict in whole. That was unacceptable for Progre. ISB agreed with that assessment, too, and they had watched the man for some time. The only difference between Progre’s assessment and the Bureau’s was that Progre disapproved of the Emperor’s cult, too. They did not.

In any case, there was some more recent information in ISB reports on that man’s activities. He was outspoken of the Emperor’s tactic in constructing a second battlestation, as was noted in one Mordur’s report, a Sector Governor, advocating for a more numerous heavy capital ship fleet. Of course, that was behind closed doors but still was a notable enough event. He was impetuous and impatient, as well as somewhat infantile, as the secretary and exterior guards had noted in their own separately filed reports. He made little effort to disguise his rank, flashing it to a civilian on that same station in order to bully his way into a necklace of kyber crystals. That civilian, a Togruta apparently, had fallen to the ground in fear. That would be the usual cruelty displayed, Progre found, except for the fact that the man lacked a personal guard throughout the event. Rebel sympathizers, the Grand Moff found, were rarely as sensible as their heroes to know self-sacrifice was a poor thing. One of them, with one blaster, would likely be enough to kill the Fleet Admiral in a quick event. It was a good thing ISB agents had followed him through his stroll to his shuttle of the man might have very easily been murdered. Of course, that assumes the agents would intervene. Not even Progre would speculate on that idea.

Progre had quickly assessed the man to likely give some issues in the months to come. He was too personable to those about him, gave too little of a concern on some of the basics of security, and likely rose through the ranks by virtue alone of the power vacuum that followed the Battle of Yavin. The swathe the Rebels had cut through the upper Imperial ranks had allowed far too many average or even sub-standard officers to rise to ranks they should not while also allowing many of the new faces to be given power. The old guard that Progre knew well during the Clone Wars, those advocates of a strong capital ship power, were largely dead and gone if not retired in their old age to more civilian postings. Perhaps some of the new would be able to finally get starfighter programs up and off the ground. After the notable failure of the Alpha-Class Xg-1 Star Wing, Progre was interested in the furthering of those sorts of projects. This man, however, did not seem to be either old guard or new, nor did he seem especially capable. His actions on the Leikanger, an old Arquitens-Class, demonstrated a possible ability in lower level command but as any officer knew the fact that one could command a gunboat did not instantly make one fit to command a full-grown Star Destroyer, nor mean one able to command a fleet of Star Destroyers. It remained to be seen. His actions following Yavin did seem to imply a capability, though against any fleeing enemy even an invalid could be a hero.

The Legacy was on it’s way, along with the full force of the 209th Fleet, and Progre leaned back in his office chair. The soothing sounds of a timeless Tarisian song blasted over a small set of speakers on his desk and the man leaned further back in his chair, head nodding to the beat, foot twitching to the drums. Everything was coming together, especially since everything about him seemed to be falling apart. The galaxy didn’t seem to be able to last with the Galactic Empire, in Progre’s thoughts, and what he could do best was strengthen his Oversector against all others.

His own thoughts, however, were cut short with the knocking on his open door. Opening his eyes and looking over his opened jacket, the man’s mouth turned into a wry little smile as he pushed himself back upright, tapping the speaker off with the eraser of his holopen. After all, when your aid comes to your office, it doesn’t really do to have a good song like that blasting. Ruins the ambiance, Progre found, motioning for Mirtaya to come it before he looked down to his jacket and buttoned it. Closing the door behind her, the Lieutenant approved with the quick strides of someone who’d been yelled at before for being too timid, too fearful. Fearing a yelling for being fearful, now that put a spark into people Progre had found. It was also just a little bit funny. He hadn’t yelled at her since, in fact apologizing at one point, considering how annoying that exact day had been. Looking back up, Progre was just in time to see her set down a sheath of folders on his desk.

“Three requisitions for additional personnel on Rothana, two Captains requesting leave, an Imperial Navy request for a fleet from the Oversector Fleet in order to halt a Mid Rim incursion near Phorsa Gedd, and a status report from that Oversector Fleet on anti-piracy operations. In that order, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” came the often-said reply, the Grand Moff’s eyebrow raising nonetheless as he picked up the first three folders and opening one. “Additional personnel? For what?” He was already reading that report.

Looking up as she talked, almost as though reading from a book in the sky, the black-haired woman provided the details. “The construction of that new platform. Apparently there was an outbreak of the Cardooine Chills on one of the transports bringing in construction workers and they’ve had to be quarantined in orbit. That quarantine still has a month to run after the last case is finished. Flare-ups and all that. They’re requesting an additional group of around four-hundred, I think the number was.”

Clicking his teeth together, Progre scratched the back of his neck. “And all three requests are for that?”

“Yes sir.”

“Ask Captain Wilsta if the Corps of Engineers can help with that. Maybe the Army can do better than the civilians for once. Deny the leave requests. We’re in the middle of a war and frankly I don’t need warships commanded by their XOs or COs getting killed by Rebel cells.” Pausing for a second as she wrote the information down, the man let her look back up before continuing. “We can spare the fleet for the Imperial Navy. Just as long as it’s not a hundred ships just for a few Rebels.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Progre watched her leave, clicking his teeth together discordantly before taking up his holopen and clicking the speaker back on. Shuffling the folders to the very back one, the man leaned right back into his chair, reading the report as the feet started to twitch again, the head started to bob again. It was good news. It should always be good news. The man was glad he’d appointed some actually competent people for once. Of course, just as soon as the song started the speaker cut-out, a different voice filtering into the room over the circuit and across the ship.

“Entering Endor System. Hyperspace exit in one minute.”

Jumping back forwards, Progre made his way to the bridge. It was time to meet this Fleet Admiral Trenaur.

[Quebec-Libre]

Endor Low Orbit, Moddell Sector, Outer Rim Territories
Bellator-class Star Dreadnought Pertinance

The Entire Fleet came out of hyperspace, decelerating back to sublight within a snap and locking itself in orbit. The halfly-assembled superstructure of the Prototype was enormous and frightening even.

"It's definitively bigger than the last one."

Jeremiah looked at the battlestation in legitimate shock. Never before had he seen something of this size being built. This was merely a testbed, and yet it was larger than the 1st Death Star. And by a lot. He knew that it was powered by Kyber Crystals, and for a moment he looked down at the one he was wearing around his neck, perplexed.

"Permission to speak Freely Sir?" One of the lower ranked officials asked, and the Fleet Admiral simply nodded.

"They just made it a bigger target."

"Right...But the rebels have no idea of its location. We're here to make sure it stays that way if they accidentally stumble on us, by any means necessary. Besides, who the hell would want to go to Endor?"

The officer nodded, then left. The Fleet Admiral quickly ordered his ships into a defensive formation around the battlestation, circling it to face any potential threats when they would come. The Pertinance was itself positionned at the station's front, right under the partially constructed Superlaser Dish. Even if the laser under it was not there yet, the dish was a menacing sight.

"Sir, we picked up a large object coming out of Hyperspace. A worldcraft." One of the officers broke his thought process.

"...Thank you for the information."

[Bolslania]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"No, Commander Leatal. I am sorry, there is no further information at this time. As I stated previously, the general mission profile is from a trusted but unofficial source, a brother in arms, you might say. After official orders arrive, there will be a mission briefing as soon as we are underway."

“At this time, we have put a block on all outgoing personal communications."

"Commander Ette, I believe you had some concerns, earlier?”

Of course she had no information on such a thing at this time; if Leatal were prone to such things he’d smack himself in the head for asking. Information, especially when countering rebels and traitors, had to be compartmentalized. Until there was an official briefing nothing of exceptional value would be put out or in fact should be able to be put out. That was how you got the measure of surprise against the enemy. You limited knowledge amongst your own troops as to limit their knowledge. Of course, in that case inviting questions was useless as well since a person lacked answers completely. Of course.

There were some other questions, mostly one which involved Ette wondering what the cargo itself was that the convoy was moving and which had the predictable answer from before. The Captain simply didn’t know. Figures. Leatal found it rather poor taste of her trivialization of the cargo, what it might be, considering precisely how important that sort of information might be. It was one thing to be moving supplies. It was another thing to be moving vast quantities of turbolaser-grade Tibanna gas. If the transport got hit too hard and popped like a party balloon, Leatal would love to know. Nevertheless, the man continued to watch the others.

"My suggestion is that we stay a little bit out of the convoy. My thought process is that when the rebs pick up the convoy, they'll rush in, not seeing us, therefore we can deploy safely and move in with the element of surprise."

“I disagree. Their victory at Yavin has made the Rebel bold, not stupid. They would conserve their forces in order for a full determination of our own before they strike. To not see an Escort Carrier would make their incompetence complete and to bank on that, Ette, is not how we win this war.”

“The question then becomes how far we keep ourselves from the convoy. If we are too far, and out of sensor range as you state, then our fighters will not be launched close enough to actually escort and defend the convoy. If we use the micro-jump to bypass this, we place the carrier itself in danger, the Rebels were destroy it as they have demonstrated their ability to do so on multiple occasions, and all of the launched fighters are very dead along with the crew. Obviously unacceptable. I would state that we keep to normal formation.”

Ette turned his gaze towards Leatel, his eyes hard.

"I would remind you Commander Leatel, that we are of the same rank, and that I am entitled to be treated with a respect that you have not yet earned" Ette gestured at Distinguished Flying Medal pinned to his dress uniform "And I am not to be treated like a fucking subordinate. Now, as for your suggestion, I agree, but, flying close to the convoy would present the same problem, our fighters would not be able to scramble fast enough, and if your suggestion is that the fighters are constantly off-ship, that is infeasible." Ette turned back to the Captain. " Captain, all due respect, but one escort carrier with 1 air-superiority fighter squadron is not much of a threat to a determined assault by the Rebels."

[Ormata]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"I would remind you Commander Leatel, that we are of the same rank, and that I am entitled to be treated with a respect that you have not yet earned" Ette gestured at Distinguished Flying Medal pinned to his dress uniform "And I am not to be treated like a fucking subordinate. Now, as for your suggestion, I agree, but, flying close to the convoy would present the same problem, our fighters would not be able to scramble fast enough, and if your suggestion is that the fighters are constantly off-ship, that is infeasible." Ette turned back to the Captain. " Captain, all due respect, but one escort carrier with 1 air-superiority fighter squadron is not much of a threat to a determined assault by the Rebels."

“Your complaint is noted,” Leatal replied, his tone cold, ice cold, and his face unmoving. To motion at a mere ribbon as a signal to all that one must be respected, instead of motioning to the actions that gave you that ribbon, that might normally not be a distinction to be made and yet in Leatal’s mind it was. The man had earned the ribbon for destroying fighters in a bomber, as well as two transports, if the man’s memory served him. It was a good action, but it did not make him a tactical genius in one broad stroke. Of course, it was incensing to a degree that Ette had immediately assumed that the man was treating him with disrespect. That was never the intention. The intention was to not get men killed.

Of course, if also didn’t help for the man to curse like a damn cur. It didn’t help for him to think himself to be able to be treated with more respect than Leatal simply on the basis of a shiny medal on a pretty uniform. It didn’t help that he was acting like a prick and an idiot. No, it didn’t help at all. Leatal was glad the man was with the bombers, that they wouldn’t be relying on him for cover, for support, for help. He could only get himself and his killed.

“If our fighters cannot scramble fast enough, that is an issue with the pilots and the crews, not the ship. I expect mine to be out in a minute, if not less, but that’s my expectations, not yours. I’m not asking for a formation maneuver, Ette, for two meters and change between warships like we’re at a Coruscant gazette for the Emperor to watch fly past. I’m asking for the standard formation doctrine. Standard doctrine has the escort carrier around 1,000 Megalights from a formation, giving ten minutes to scramble fighters if the Rebels are moving at maximum speed, ten minutes to get them out and jump the ship to a safe distance. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I don’t think that’s asking too much. As for before, if we’re going to think of the squadrons aboard this ship to be ‘not that much of a threat’, I’d invite you to take a look at the kill-marks for those squadrons one of these days.”

---

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

As the ship jumped in system, Progre was just walking through the door. The Legacy’s bridge wasn’t a fantastic affair, full of workstation-holes like a Star Destroyer’s bridge, nor was it full of support beams like many of the older ships. The roof was low, not at all the cathedral style. The consoles stood against each of the four walls, one row of consoles in the back, facing front, and a holotable dominated the rest of the room. Off to one side, a small little desk and seat was provided for the CO, something done after the fact once it was noticed that a commanding officer might need to sit at one point or another. The walls lit-up in dull light, each of them an image of the world about the Legacy. As Progre strode in, he could see the construction site, the fleet about it.

What really took his notice was the Star Dreadnought before it. It was...an Assertor-Class? No, a Bellator. One could tell by the aft superstructure placement, by how extensive it reached up to the bow of the ship, and to a small degree the overall dimensions of the warship. A Bellator-Class was far more slender than it’s cousin.

“Captain on the bridge!” One Ensign called-out, noticing the man. The Officer of the Deck tapped on his headset, repeating that, before turning to another to make sure it was logged.

As he passed by the individuals, a datapad was handed to Progre; he read it, making sure his information from before had been completely correct. Of course, it was. The ISB was anything if not prudent in their gathering. Clicking his teeth, the man nodded. Pertinance. What an odd title for a warship. It was funny enough, considering the meaning of the word itself. ‘I am relevant’, the ship said to the void, ‘I swear’. Was almost funny if it wasn’t on official paperwork. Nodding to himself, Progre sat in his Captain’s Chair.

“Keep formation. Order us to close distance with the 9th at three-quarters impulse. Hail the Pertinance.”

“Aye sir. Channel open, sir.”

“Pertinance, this is Legacy Grand Moff Progre speaking.”

[The Verdantderm Lands]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"I would remind you Commander Leatel, that we are of the same rank, and that I am entitled to be treated with a respect that you have not yet earned" Ette gestured at Distinguished Flying Medal pinned to his dress uniform "And I am not to be treated like a fucking subordinate. Now, as for your suggestion, I agree, but, flying close to the convoy would present the same problem, our fighters would not be able to scramble fast enough, and if your suggestion is that the fighters are constantly off-ship, that is infeasible." Ette turned back to the Captain. " Captain, all due respect, but one escort carrier with 1 air-superiority fighter squadron is not much of a threat to a determined assault by the Rebels."

“Your complaint is noted,” Leatal replied, his tone cold, ice cold, and his face unmoving. To motion at a mere ribbon as a signal to all that one must be respected, instead of motioning to the actions that gave you that ribbon, that might normally not be a distinction to be made and yet in Leatal’s mind it was. The man had earned the ribbon for destroying fighters in a bomber, as well as two transports, if the man’s memory served him. It was a good action, but it did not make him a tactical genius in one broad stroke. Of course, it was incensing to a degree that Ette had immediately assumed that the man was treating him with disrespect. That was never the intention. The intention was to not get men killed.

Of course, if also didn’t help for the man to curse like a damn cur. It didn’t help for him to think himself to be able to be treated with more respect than Leatal simply on the basis of a shiny medal on a pretty uniform. It didn’t help that he was acting like a prick and an idiot. No, it didn’t help at all. Leatal was glad the man was with the bombers, that they wouldn’t be relying on him for cover, for support, for help. He could only get himself and his killed.

“If our fighters cannot scramble fast enough, that is an issue with the pilots and the crews, not the ship. I expect mine to be out in a minute, if not less, but that’s my expectations, not yours. I’m not asking for a formation maneuver, Ette, for two meters and change between warships like we’re at a Coruscant gazette for the Emperor to watch fly past. I’m asking for the standard formation doctrine. Standard doctrine has the escort carrier around 1,000 Megalights from a formation, giving ten minutes to scramble fighters if the Rebels are moving at maximum speed, ten minutes to get them out and jump the ship to a safe distance. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I don’t think that’s asking too much. As for before, if we’re going to think of the squadrons aboard this ship to be ‘not that much of a threat’, I’d invite you to take a look at the kill-marks for those squadrons one of these days.”

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

The Captain did not raise her voice, but it was clear that the tone had become as cold as space, as she said, "Mister Ette, while I invited my officers to relax, I did not invite profanity. That medal does not entitle you to act like a spoiled child, either. Also, I don't enjoy repeating myself, so when I tell you that this ship got what was available in the line of small attack craft, take the inference that I wasn't given a choice."

It had seemed to be going so well, earlier, Raphe had thought. That illusion was now shattered. It was time for a dramatic exit with an important suggestion for them all to consider an order.

"Squadron Leaders, the Flight Deck Crews are well trained and will tend to your craft with speed and efficiency, so if you can't clear the bay with speed it will be your fault," she said. "Because of the differences in the squadrons I expect you to spend some time figuring out how you will cooperate and support one another." The Captain briefly paused and looked at her officers. "The ship will be underway, soon. Make ready. I am headed down to the flight deck to meet the arriving shuttle. Ladies and gentlemen, you are dismissed."

With that, Raphe left the Officer's Mess, pinned her hair back and went to do her job.

[Quebec-Libre]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"I would remind you Commander Leatel, that we are of the same rank, and that I am entitled to be treated with a respect that you have not yet earned" Ette gestured at Distinguished Flying Medal pinned to his dress uniform "And I am not to be treated like a fucking subordinate. Now, as for your suggestion, I agree, but, flying close to the convoy would present the same problem, our fighters would not be able to scramble fast enough, and if your suggestion is that the fighters are constantly off-ship, that is infeasible." Ette turned back to the Captain. " Captain, all due respect, but one escort carrier with 1 air-superiority fighter squadron is not much of a threat to a determined assault by the Rebels."

“Your complaint is noted,” Leatal replied, his tone cold, ice cold, and his face unmoving. To motion at a mere ribbon as a signal to all that one must be respected, instead of motioning to the actions that gave you that ribbon, that might normally not be a distinction to be made and yet in Leatal’s mind it was. The man had earned the ribbon for destroying fighters in a bomber, as well as two transports, if the man’s memory served him. It was a good action, but it did not make him a tactical genius in one broad stroke. Of course, it was incensing to a degree that Ette had immediately assumed that the man was treating him with disrespect. That was never the intention. The intention was to not get men killed.

Of course, if also didn’t help for the man to curse like a damn cur. It didn’t help for him to think himself to be able to be treated with more respect than Leatal simply on the basis of a shiny medal on a pretty uniform. It didn’t help that he was acting like a prick and an idiot. No, it didn’t help at all. Leatal was glad the man was with the bombers, that they wouldn’t be relying on him for cover, for support, for help. He could only get himself and his killed.

“If our fighters cannot scramble fast enough, that is an issue with the pilots and the crews, not the ship. I expect mine to be out in a minute, if not less, but that’s my expectations, not yours. I’m not asking for a formation maneuver, Ette, for two meters and change between warships like we’re at a Coruscant gazette for the Emperor to watch fly past. I’m asking for the standard formation doctrine. Standard doctrine has the escort carrier around 1,000 Megalights from a formation, giving ten minutes to scramble fighters if the Rebels are moving at maximum speed, ten minutes to get them out and jump the ship to a safe distance. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I don’t think that’s asking too much. As for before, if we’re going to think of the squadrons aboard this ship to be ‘not that much of a threat’, I’d invite you to take a look at the kill-marks for those squadrons one of these days.”

---

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

As the ship jumped in system, Progre was just walking through the door. The Legacy’s bridge wasn’t a fantastic affair, full of workstation-holes like a Star Destroyer’s bridge, nor was it full of support beams like many of the older ships. The roof was low, not at all the cathedral style. The consoles stood against each of the four walls, one row of consoles in the back, facing front, and a holotable dominated the rest of the room. Off to one side, a small little desk and seat was provided for the CO, something done after the fact once it was noticed that a commanding officer might need to sit at one point or another. The walls lit-up in dull light, each of them an image of the world about the Legacy. As Progre strode in, he could see the construction site, the fleet about it.

What really took his notice was the Star Dreadnought before it. It was...an Assertor-Class? No, a Bellator. One could tell by the aft superstructure placement, by how extensive it reached up to the bow of the ship, and to a small degree the overall dimensions of the warship. A Bellator-Class was far more slender than it’s cousin.

“Captain on the bridge!” One Ensign called-out, noticing the man. The Officer of the Deck tapped on his headset, repeating that, before turning to another to make sure it was logged.

As he passed by the individuals, a datapad was handed to Progre; he read it, making sure his information from before had been completely correct. Of course, it was. The ISB was anything if not prudent in their gathering. Clicking his teeth, the man nodded. Pertinance. What an odd title for a warship. It was funny enough, considering the meaning of the word itself. ‘I am relevant’, the ship said to the void, ‘I swear’. Was almost funny if it wasn’t on official paperwork. Nodding to himself, Progre sat in his Captain’s Chair.

“Keep formation. Order us to close distance with the 9th at three-quarters impulse. Hail the Pertinance.”

“Aye sir. Channel open, sir.”

“Pertinance, this is Legacy Grand Moff Progre speaking.”

"We hear you loud and Clear, Legacy. This is Pertinance Fleet Admiral Trenaur."

The tone was even. However, Jeremiah was internally cursing, making up insults that had never been thought of before. He had been sent there as overseer in chief, and some imbecile ordered a Grand Moff to Show up and take his place?

"You weren't originally supposed to be here. I assume there was a change of plans?"

[Bolslania]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

“Your complaint is noted,” Leatal replied, his tone cold, ice cold, and his face unmoving. To motion at a mere ribbon as a signal to all that one must be respected, instead of motioning to the actions that gave you that ribbon, that might normally not be a distinction to be made and yet in Leatal’s mind it was. The man had earned the ribbon for destroying fighters in a bomber, as well as two transports, if the man’s memory served him. It was a good action, but it did not make him a tactical genius in one broad stroke. Of course, it was incensing to a degree that Ette had immediately assumed that the man was treating him with disrespect. That was never the intention. The intention was to not get men killed.

Of course, if also didn’t help for the man to curse like a damn cur. It didn’t help for him to think himself to be able to be treated with more respect than Leatal simply on the basis of a shiny medal on a pretty uniform. It didn’t help that he was acting like a prick and an idiot. No, it didn’t help at all. Leatal was glad the man was with the bombers, that they wouldn’t be relying on him for cover, for support, for help. He could only get himself and his killed.

“If our fighters cannot scramble fast enough, that is an issue with the pilots and the crews, not the ship. I expect mine to be out in a minute, if not less, but that’s my expectations, not yours. I’m not asking for a formation maneuver, Ette, for two meters and change between warships like we’re at a Coruscant gazette for the Emperor to watch fly past. I’m asking for the standard formation doctrine. Standard doctrine has the escort carrier around 1,000 Megalights from a formation, giving ten minutes to scramble fighters if the Rebels are moving at maximum speed, ten minutes to get them out and jump the ship to a safe distance. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I don’t think that’s asking too much. As for before, if we’re going to think of the squadrons aboard this ship to be ‘not that much of a threat’, I’d invite you to take a look at the kill-marks for those squadrons one of these days.”

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

The Captain did not raise her voice, but it was clear that the tone had become as cold as space, as she said, "Mister Ette, while I invited my officers to relax, I did not invite profanity. That medal does not entitle you to act like a spoiled child, either. Also, I don't enjoy repeating myself, so when I tell you that this ship got what was available in the line of small attack craft, take the inference that I wasn't given a choice."

It had seemed to be going so well, earlier, Raphe had thought. That illusion was now shattered. It was time for a dramatic exit with an important suggestion for them all to consider an order.

"Squadron Leaders, the Flight Deck Crews are well trained and will tend to your craft with speed and efficiency, so if you can't clear the bay with speed it will be your fault," she said. "Because of the differences in the squadrons I expect you to spend some time figuring out how you will cooperate and support one another." The Captain briefly paused and looked at her officers. "The ship will be underway, soon. Make ready. I am headed down to the flight deck to meet the arriving shuttle. Ladies and gentlemen, you are dismissed."

With that, Raphe left the Officer's Mess, pinned her hair back and went to do her job.

[/spoiler]

Ette sighed internally, he'd allowed his emotions to get away from him. He looked st the door the Captain had went through, more in his head than paying attention to the others. After a moment, he turned to the other commanders.

"Gentlemen, I apologize for my behavior, I believe that we are all stressed and tired, and to you Commander Leatel, I believe we are similar people, and that will inevitably lead to conflict, but I hope we can mitigate it and follow the Captain's advice." He said in his usual impassive voice, he stood up "Gentlemen." He said with a nod, put on his cap, and went to change into standard fatigues.

As he was leaving his quarters, he got waylayed by his senior most flight commander, Eric Gurti.

"Well, sir" he asked.

"She doesn't know much, as is to be expected, all she know is were flying escort. Leatel and Vex are presumably taking lead." He replied, he was heading to the flight deck to talk to the flight crews.

"Well,shit." Gurti said quietly.

As they reached the deck, some flight crew men dropped a load of bombs that rolled across the floor, one fetching up on Ette's feet. He sighed internally for the second time in an hour.

"Pick this up, check it out, and make sure my men and I can use it." Ette said firmly. He walked towards the flight crew HQ on this deck, he entered, closed the door behind him, and turned to the man sitting behind the desk.

"Gotta say lieutenant, I am not impressed with your men's work. We are flying escort for a convoy, and we need to be able to scramble in a minute, fix up your men so they can do that for us, I will handle mine. Good day lieutenant." Ette said, barely giving the lieutenant time to process what happened. "Ye-yes sir," came the reply.

Ette walked to where his men were lounging by their bombers. They stood up when he walked in.

"Right, so, we're flying escort for a convoy, the captain wants us ready to go in a minute or less, I've spoken to the flight crew already, so you should have no problem with them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." They replied.

"Excellent." With that, he walked to his bomber, which w as was closest to the comm station, and sat down reading a book, waiting for a message over the comm.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Aboard the Imperial Acclamator “Amidala”
474th Division

As they were hunched around the long dinner tables located in the ship’s central cafeteria, 3rd Platoon mostly stayed quiet. It was their first evening off-world in over a month, and eating at least some dry food was an experience they had sorely missed. Some of the troopers were eating dry corn flakes just for the sensation, and most had skipped the soups and the wetter sauces. Because navy ships tended to get their supplies themselves at star bases, navy ships generally had access to better, fresher produce than the hard tack and bagged rations the army troopers got. Some pilots of the complementary TIE-squadrons looked with fascination at what they called ‘Drop Monkeys’, the navy nickname for their type of light assault infantry.

Above the main entryway to the cafeteria hung a large portrait of a woman. She was dressed in senatorial garb, and had a stern look about her. Looking solemnly into the middle distance, she had the air of an officer. There was also something regal about the way she held herself, the way she had her back straightened. She was portrayed next to a window, through which you could see the burning husk of a lucrehulk class carrier. The lucrehulk was a ship that used to belong to the rebellion, but which was inherited by their spiritual successors in the form of the rebellion. She wore a black dress, with white flowers in her hair, and draped over the chair next to her was an imperial banner, the symbol clearly visible under her light touch. Kalo could not help but look at the painting. He held a fork with a piece of pear in front of his mouth, pondering the painting more than his food.

“You gonna eat that, sir?” Sergeant Meree asked. She had covered her plate with toast bread, and was vigorously applying butter to it as she said so. The troopers suppressed an urge to snicker, but many could not hide their smiles. Kalo pointed out the painting with his piece of pear.

“Just wondering who she is supposed to be” he said. Meree looked over her shoulder, and then looked back at the lieutenant with a frown.

“You don’t know who that is?” she said incredulously. Kalo shook his head. Sergeant Benn Ytter, sitting next to him, also shook his head. Sergeant Meree dropped the piece of toast she was buttering and clasped her hands together.

“Oh boy, here we go” she said, anticipating her own excitement.

“That’s Padmé Amidala, this ship’s namesake. She is a hero of the empire, and most importantly, my personal hero. She has a statue in front of the Imperial Bureaucracy on Coruscant, and I had to do a presentation on her in school”

“So, what did she do?” Kalo said, now chewing on his piece of pear. He was amazed at the people under his command. He knew them as soldiers, but once he got to know them he realised there was so much more going on that made them tick. Nada Meree, for example, was a Coruscant native from the lower tiers of the city. She had gotten out to see some of the sun, and had joined the imperial army to do so. Of everyone there, she knew most about the capital and about imperial politics, in part through the constant broadcasting of news in the city streets.

“When she was queen of Naboo, she organised the resistance against what would become the Confederacy of Independent Systems. She then helped overthrow the ineffectual Supreme Chancellor and installed Palpatine to the position, then the best Supreme Chancellor the galaxy had ever seen. After resigning as queen, she became a senator, and she was instrumental in giving Palpatine the necessary emergency powers to conduct the war. At the end, she helped Palpatine organise the Empire, but she was tragically killed by vengeful Jedi when their order attempted to perform a coup against Palpatine. She literally gave her life so Palpatine could become emperor. Like I said, a hero of the empire”

Benn whistled a low whistle. Kalo just looked more intently at the painting. She did have an air of imperial supremacy about her. Her status as queen of Naboo explained her regal outlook, too. In her black dress, flowers in her hair, she looked like the female embodiment of the empire.

“Wasn’t that Naboo girl called ‘Padmé’, sarge?” one of the 4th squad troopers asked Nada. She pulled up her shoulders.

“Could be, she was a new arrival, after all. Never really did get the chance to speak with her. But yeah, there were two girls in my class called ‘Padmé’ after her. It is said that the emperor keeps a picture of her on his office wall as a reminder of what he is fighting for.”

Suddenly, an alarm blared through the room, and the voice of the ship’s captain sounded over the intercom. As if ordered to, the men and women of the 474th division raised their heads in order to properly hear what she had to say. In very posh imperial basic, she made her announcement.

“Soldiers, welcome aboard the Amidala. For the coming journey, as well as the upcoming mission, this ship will be your home. I trust that you have found our assigned compartments, if not, please report to administrative services on the upper deck. In half an hour, we will make the jump to lightspeed. Estimated time of arrival at Corellia is 24 hours, with our final destination, the Vonkor system, being two days away. May you have a pleasant trip, and hail to the empire”

As soon as the intercom shut off, the troops started rushing their meal. Aboard a ship as large as an acclamatory, you hardly noticed the jump. However, especially for ground troops, it was absolutely fascinating to see the jump happening from a window. To see the stars elongate and space turn blue never seemed to get old, and many wanted to see the planet Casideiro melt into the distance. They scrambled their food and started making their way to the top decks, from where the jump could be observed. Almost the entirety of the platoon got up and started rushing the door. Kalo was almost through when he looked back at their table. There, alone, sat private Pollonen. He seemed content to eat his meal. Kalo was about to move on, when he was overcome with a feeling of responsibility. He sighed, walked back to the table, and took a seat opposite the lad.

“You don’t want to see the jump, kid?” Kalo said. The boy was hardly five years younger, and yet he felt like so young a lad to him. His skin was smooth, his hair fair, as if he had never seen a moment of hardship in his life. He looked up at the lieutenant, and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked, formally. Kalo almost rolled his eyes, but managed to cut the boy some mental slack.

“Permission granted” he answered solemnly. There was still time to learn before they made their next drop.

“I don’t care much for lightspeed jumps, to be honest. I have seen a lot of them. My parents worked for a local subsidiary of Kuat, you see” he said. As soon as he got going with his story, Kalo noticed the notable shift in his behaviour. His shoulder seemed less tense, and he started gesticulating ever-wilder. He even managed to get down some food as he did so.

“I have been on a lot of jumps as a kid, and after a while, it just doesn’t interest anymore, I think”

Kalo was about to leave it at that and stood up from the table. Just was he walked away, though, he turned.

“So, you know a lot about ships, yeah?” he asked. The boy nodded.

“Yes, sir. Chonsetta was a local repair yard before the conflict erupted. Which is why it was a rebel target in the first place”

“Right” Kalo answered. Like any soldier, there was more to this fair-haired boy than met the eye. Every time when Kalo thought a trooper could not surprise him, the trooper did. That did not mean he trusted him, of course. Not in the slightest. Having a past did not mean you could wield a blaster effectively. But still, there was something about every one of his soldiers, and after the Naboo girl, whose name he had forgotten along with the rest, he wanted to really have a connection with them all. Maybe he could prevent similar things from happening.

“Well, I’ll give you a call if I see something special, is that okay?” he said, jokingly. The boy took the joke well, and smiled.

“You’d brighten my day with a Nebulon B, sir. Imperial, of course”

“Of course…” Kalo said, as he finally left to see the jump.