***Super Star Destroyer Ultimatum, Primary Command Bridge***
Chronos. At times like these, Doren couldn't stand the things. And here, on the most preeminent vessel in the Empire, everywhere the Captain turned, numbers continued to shrink down closer and closer to zero. The pre-op jitters were always the worst. Post-battle adrenaline and exhaustion usually lent a delirium that dulled one's emotions: at least, the emotions that got in the way of this sort of work. Prior to an engagement however, an officer was fresh, at their most alert- and their most vulnerable. While the young Captain might have normally have taken comfort owing to his lack of present command. His upcoming role as a militant diplomat tipped his nerves to another scale degree. Today, the collective population of three stars hung in the balance, and Vassyl would have his role to play.
Whether Doren would identify himself as a defender or invader was yet to be seen, but if nothing else, the tenebrous shadow of the Rebellion would not intervene so easily. The Captain took further solace in the amount of preparation and fail-safes that had been locked in place in a truly avid period of time. Even now, as the wary Jaeman was situated amongst some of the most decorated elements in the Imperial Fleet, he knew his own detachment, the Third's Second Battle Group, was keeping peerless watch over the northern territories. Rivalries, disputes, and general prejudice aside, the upper echelons of the Navy had halted all bickering and grievance, and presented a united front that stirred the hearts of many a soldier.
And, some hearts were still stirring, or, in the case of Yaht Yawehb's, churning. "Of course we're heating the batteries now, you long-face lout! The excess from the reactors isn't about to coming streaking out our rear end!", the veteran of Questal admonished, evicting a few specks of his late lunch from his gaping mouth onto the shoulder of a helpless aide in the process, "And someone get me a commline to this backwards procession they call a task force!". Both of the Commodore's requests were met in due course, and soon, everyone within the formation had the distinct pleasure of listening to Yaht's titular, sandpaper tone, "Hear me now, children of the Empire! Far from here, a sheep has fancied himself a wolf, and whispers lies to our herd!".
The Commodore balled a tight fist, and held it up at shoulder height for all the bridge to see, "Livestock do not decide the natural order of things: that right belongs with us! The apex! The strong! The able and willing, who know better- fight better. If that system is challenged- only death and chaos awaits us". Vassyl had seen recordings of Yawehb's name brand speeches before, but the carnival act was a whole other holodrama in person. Looking off to his side, Doren acknowledged Inquisitor Prazutis, and, in the moment, appreciated his characteristic silence to this sort of buffoonery. Vassyl was likewise aware of his acquaintance, Private Zuno Drallac, who he did not look upon, but could practically imagine his glower from where he stood near the bridge exit lift.
"The job is simple", the Commodore continued, dragging Vassyl's attention back to his superior, "We arrive, we make ourselves heard, and we make sure the line gets toed. The rest is up to Captain Vassyl and whatever fancy words the brass have supplied him". Doren tipped his head down some, if for no other reason than to hide his malcontent from the other officers. Yaht's wordplay was unbearable enough as it was- the added layer of honesty only made things worse. "We had our practice run over that dustbowl on the edge of The Yawn", the Commodore alluded, recalling his previous encounter with Vassyl, "Now the time has come to show your Empire how we do business. This is our day, let's not keep the Galaxy waiting".
With an unexpectedly rousing round of salutes, Doren watched in earnest as the bridge flew back into a flurry. Outside the viewport, Vassyl could also make out the distant gray diamonds that were the Ardent and Reclaimer. The other cruisers, few that they numbered, had begun to draw up close to their de-facto protector and potentate. Smaller specks could occasionally be seen, doubtless the other, near microscopic anti-starfighter vessels that hung about the Ultimatum in the manner that feeder fish gather round a shark. Though they would be stored until the target had been reached, the contingent's own interceptor wings, Vassyl was convinced, would blot out the stars themselves if they were mustered in full.
At last, the final checks were complete, and Commodore Yawehb boomed the final declaration, "Death Squadron, prepare to make the jump to lightspeed on my mark". The chrono perilously ticked a few seconds more. Then came the affirmation, and the entirety of the Executor-Class Battleship vanished into the blackness of space...
