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Imperial Naval Headquarters
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Star Wars: Episode VIII: Binds of Tyranny Forum Index » Coruscant » Imperial Naval Headquarters
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Uric Treshan
Lance Corporal


Joined: 29 May 2006
Posts: 123
Location: Coruscant

 Post Posted: Wed, October 24th 2007 03:33pm    Post subject: Imperial Naval Headquarters
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Grand Admiral Uric Treshan's fist clenched as he read the latest formation data. The gesture was not one of anger, but of power. His dark eyes gleamed with joy as he saw long rows of Imperial starships formed into lines, squadrons, and systems forces. The massive fleet of Carrack-class light cruisers had finally been exhausted, a task made slightly more difficult from the donations of the Devaronians and Vitans. But anything that strengthened his beloved fleet was welcome.

This new group had been forming for over a year. It was possibly one of the most formidable units in Imperial history, even against the Empire at its peak. The flag officer rosters were housed in datafiles pages long and stacks of flimsies with heights measurable in integer figures of centimeters. It was possibly the single-largest force in the known Galaxy, and certainly the biggest he'd ever formed or commanded.

The idea was certainly preferable to it become a massive reserve force. Zend was much too intelligent for that kind of work. Granted, she was a mere female and now some kind of 'borg contruct, but the psychotic bitch could handle fleets and win victories. The still-smoldering rock of Corulag--only relatively recently solidified in large enough patches for garrison--was clear proof of that.

The only thing that depressed the Grand Admiral about his mighty force was that most of the ships would be on final missions. It wasn't that the crews and ships were being deliberately sent to their deaths (with a few exceptions, and those vessels would be crewed entirely by droids), but that shipwrights had thrown off the shackles of tradition for intelligent and powerful starships. Sadly, it did mean that ships had become more flying gun platforms instead of the handsome pieces of technology such as the Imperator or Victory, and often anything smaller than a Star Destroyer could have its combat lifespan measured in minutes instead of hours or days or even missions.

A soft pang of guilt struck near the Grand Admiral's normally cold heart. He had worked his way up the ranks, and was ultimately appointed to the esteemed office of Grand Admiral and Commandant for the Imperial Navy when Grand Admiral Serpentes retired. As such, he knew the trials and tribulations and dangers faced by the men (and now some women) on board those ships. And the large groupings of the ships merely underscored the age of those fine vessels, and the grim fate of those officers and men aboard them. Of course, the Imperial Navy's attitudes toward stranded personnel had been forced to update considerably, so their chances of survival had increased tenfold... but odds were still very slim.

Still, they all knew their duty when they signed up and donned the gray uniform and bicolor plaques. Death was a very clear and present threat in any branch of the Empire, but in the fleet, death was particularly cruel. A Stormtrooper or Army footsoldier could at least have the luxury of being shot in the head or heart, or taking a direct hit from artillery and dying instantly and mostly painlessly. But there was no clean way for a Star Destroyer to go down, and while some lucky ones might meet their fate instantly, others could be ejected into the harsh, unforgiving vacuum or torn apart by flying debris. He'd seen both cases too many times to recall all of them, and none were pleasant in any way.

He almost felt as sorry for those that would face this fleet as he did for the Imperials that were going to perish. There was an odd relationship among naval officers, even dating back to the beginnings of human navies on oceans. While armies were taught to loathe the enemy and were often heavily indoctrinated to treat their foe as subhuman, navies were different. Seamen (and modern crewmen) could understand the hardships their enemies faced, leading to a sort of grudging camaraderie. Often, after battles, the victorious force would pick up survivors--both their own and the enemy's--and treat their wounds and act to them as they would to their own personnel. Of course, nowadays, with the rabid fundamentalism and seething hatred that was exuded by the Rebels, Treshan doubted any survivors in escape pods or pressure suits would be given any aid at best, and likely killed in revenge at worst.

All because of the Clone Wars, he mused. Perhaps one of the first wars in Galactic history fought solely with machines. On one side, the Confederacy with its vast battle droid armies, bent on laying waste to any world they occupied. On the other side, the Republic's clone forces; not machines in the conventional sense, but not exactly human themselves, either. Only as the New Order was birthed in the waning days of the War were actual soldiers and spacefarers taking major roles. But how could machines show mercy to each other? Droids had no ability for it, clones had no use for it. And the fine art of sailing the stars had degraded since then.

But maybe there was hope. After the Rebellion was defeated and the Empire once more spanned the Galaxy, he could shape the Navy in the way it should be. Order would be kept in the Universe by a Star Destroyer, not a Mon Calamari monstrosity.

A smile slowly crossed his lips, and he turned back to the screen. So many squadrons already formed and approved, so many more to review. And he could not waste any further time on idle reflection, not when the shape of things to be was about to change so drastically.
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Grand Admiral Uric Treshan
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