And just like that, three weeks had passed for Aaron and the Hound, both of whom had now been officially integrated into the 893rd Squadron.
Aaron currently stood on the base, in front of the Hound's lowered ventral ramp, which was extended all the way to the ground.
About a hundred civilians—hired by the Empire—were busy transporting the necessary supplies onto the Hound: all three months' worth of food, water, equipment, and parts.
Auxiliary crew members of the Hound moved among the civilians, leading teams and assisting with the deliveries.
A few Stormtroopers were stationed around the ramp, overseeing the civilians boarding the ship.
It was the Stormtroopers' first day off in three weeks, and they had started referring to 'normal duties' as being 'off-duty,' mainly because of the continuous three-week hell they had endured.
But the effort had paid off. The previously disorganized Stormtroopers were now gone—replaced by a unit that moved as one. Their movements were no longer random; they had purpose.
Whereas before the Stormtroopers would place themselves wherever they happened to be, they now stood in strategic positions.
These positions gave them a broad overview while keeping each trooper within sight of their comrades, ensuring that the disappearance of one would quickly alert the others.
"You've truly outperformed my expectations by years," Aaron said to Catcher, who was standing behind him in guard position, his E-11 rifle in hand.
"They take surprisingly well to formations and discipline, sir. One of the advantages of Imperial training—they only need to hear something once," Catcher replied, his voice and stance neutral, giving nothing away.
"Indeed. But we'll see how they react to actual combat," Aaron stated. Catcher shrugged before saying something Aaron never would have expected.
"I have faith."
"You? You, as a clone, have faith in Stormtroopers?" Aaron exclaimed, bewildered.
"Is it that shocking?" Catcher asked, genuinely confused. He hadn't expected his commanding officer to be so taken aback.
"Yes. The rivalry between clones and Stormtroopers is well known—at least, it used to be," Aaron said, referring to the near removal of clones from the Imperial forces.
Catcher said little after that, letting the topic die—which was understandable. Clones were among the most beloved soldiers of the Clone Wars (in the fan base, at least).
But now they had fallen unimaginably—from elite soldiers of the Republic, guardians of peace and prosperity, to little more than beggars on the streets.
Without another word, as the civilians finished transporting the supplies, Catcher and Aaron headed back inside the Hound, Catcher falling a step behind as they walked down the corridors of the Arquitens-class light cruiser.
Along the way to the bridge, they passed crewmen and Stormtroopers who saluted the pair.
It was slightly tiring for both, but it truly showed the discipline—and sheer propaganda—drilled into the recruits.
Officers, even low-ranked ones, were essentially kings in the eyes of the crew. Stormtroopers and naval personnel were taught to follow their commanding officer to death, without question.
They were to obey every order unless it conflicted with direct Imperial code or an explicit disobedience order.
Soon, the pair reached the bridge. Luca was organizing the bridge crew, preparing for takeoff, which would happen in just a few minutes.
"C-1, activate roll-call procedure Aurek-Cresh. We're not leaving anyone behind," Aaron told one of the communications officers. It was standard procedure to use code names, though some officers would later switch to first names.
"Yes, sir," the communications officer replied as he began typing codes into his station.
"O-1, how far along are we with resupply?" Aaron asked the operations officer.
"Sir, Head Engineer Gavin reports all items accounted for. We're just waiting for the green signal that all civilians have left the ship," he said. Aaron nodded, then turned back toward the cockpit.
"C-2, inform ISD Xindros that we'll be at jump point Cresh at XX:35 galactic time," Aaron ordered one of the communications officers, who quickly got to work.
"Sir, we've received the green signal. All civilians are off-ship and accounted for," the operations officer reported, and Aaron smiled.
We might just be early.
"Alright, close the ventral ramp. Start up the thrusters," Aaron instructed the pilot. The pilot and co-pilot pressed buttons, and an audible hum filled the bridge as the thrusters powered up.
"P-1, ready for takeoff."
"P-2, ready for takeoff," the two pilots responded in turn, and Aaron replied sharply.
"Good. Activate thrusters. Let's get off this planet."
The pilots nodded as the Hound lifted from the ground. Upon reaching fifty meters altitude, the engines ignited, propelling the ship higher.
With that, the Hound escaped the surface of Commenor, where three Imperial Star Destroyers awaited them. As they ascended, a transmission came through.
"Sir, the ISD Xindros is hailing us," one of the communications officers announced.
"Patch them through to my station," Aaron ordered. The officer quickly answered the call and redirected it to Aaron's console.
"Vice Admiral!" Aaron greeted, saluting the man as his image appeared on screen.
"At ease, Lieutenant," Cor replied, and Aaron lowered his hand.
"We'll be using formation Herf-Dorn. Transmit your hyperspace codes and get in formation—we depart in five minutes," Cor said, and Aaron nodded.
Herf-Dorn was the standard formation for squadrons with three ISDs and an undefined number of smaller craft. The Star Destroyers would form a wedge—with the lead ISD in front, and the other two to the left and right.
The smaller support ships would form up in the center, between the two rear ISDs and behind the lead.
"You heard the man—get in position and transfer those codes," Aaron said to no one in particular, but his crew understood. The pilots and communications officers got to work immediately.
Hyperspace codes were a technology allowing ships to enter hyperspace simultaneously. The codes were a variation of the Slave Circuit, but limited to hyperspace travel and had to be manually activated onboard.
The codes could be deactivated at any time. If intercepted or manipulated, forcing a ship into hyperspace, the crew could quickly shut off the codes, exit hyperspace, and return to their squadron or fleet.
"Sir, the codes have been transmitted, and Xindros has acknowledged receipt," the communications officer reported. Aaron turned toward the pilots.
"How long until we're in formation?" he asked.
"In approximately 30 seconds, sir," the co-pilot replied. Aaron smiled.
"Good." He then turned to the operations officer. "Run the yellow alarm—let the crew know we're prepping for hyperspace," Aaron ordered, before returning his gaze to the window, where the three ISDs waited.
ISD Xindros, ISD Zaryuu, and ISD Rodir—Aaron's new allies.
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