"Is everything prepped?" Aaron asked Luca, who stood at the right side of the bridge, overseeing sensors, navigation, gunnery, and communications.
"Aye, sir. STATIONS, CHECK!" he bellowed. What followed was an organized response from each department.
"Flight-1, check," the main pilot said."Flight-2, check," the co-pilot added.
"Sensors-1, check," said the crewman in charge of long-range sensors."Sensors-2, check," another confirmed—he handled short-range sensors.
"Operations-1, check," came the voice of the crewman overseeing the ship's operational systems."Operations-2, check," another followed.
"Navigation-1, check.""Communications-1, check.""Communications-2, check."
"Gunnery-1, check"—he manned the starboard turret."Gunnery-2, check"—the port turret."Gunnery-3, check"—ventral starboard."Gunnery-4, check"—ventral port.
Then the side turrets responded:"Gunnery-5, check.""Gunnery-6, check.""Gunnery-7, check.""Gunnery-8, check."
"Gunnery-9, check," said the officer handling the concussion missile system.
Nineteen active personnel stood at their stations. The last two on the bridge were Luca and Aaron themselves.
"Very good. Engage thrusters. Hover at fifty meters, then engage the engines," Aaron ordered.
The ship began to lift from the ground. Arquitens-class cruisers couldn't start engines while grounded—they had to rise with thrusters before engaging main propulsion safely in midair.
"Open the hangar and deploy TIE fighters," Aaron said, walking over to the communications officer.
"Patch me through to the lead pilot."
The crewman got to work. The Arquitens-class cruiser carried three TIE fighters and two Lambda-class shuttles, with five primary pilots and five reserves—a total of ten. The lead pilot was Lieutenant Jaruss Wagner.
"Lieutenant Jaruss, deploy your men. You'll be running combat simulations against ISD Xindros. Your three reserve pilots will also fly. The ISD has generously loaned us three TIEs. You'll fight in 6v6 skirmishes. I expect decent results."
"Aye, boss. We'll clean 'em up real good for ya," Jaruss replied.
Aaron allowed himself a small smile—but none of the crew noticed.
"Command, out," he said, cutting the transmission and returning to his station.
"Alright, men. We'll start with the gunners. As we exit the atmosphere, the program will initiate. Hostile targets will appear on your HUDs. Your task is to shoot them down as quickly as possible."
He turned to the pilot and co-pilot.
"Set heading to -320, 32, -1."
They nodded, engaging the engines and accelerating smoothly to 550 kilometers per hour as the ship climbed into the sky.
"For the next two weeks, we'll be training at speeds of 55–60 MGLT—the maximum this vessel can reach. Speed is central to our tactical doctrine, so we'll operate at maximum velocity frequently," Aaron explained.
The cruiser broke through the clouds and neared the designated coordinates.
"Hold position," Aaron said, grabbing his HoloPad.
"In exactly 23 seconds, I will activate the simulation. At the same time, we'll accelerate to maximum speed. Understood? The inertial dampeners will mitigate most of the force, but you'll still feel 5.8 Gs."
A countdown appeared on the bridge monitors:
00:10
00:08
00:03
00:01
"Engaging engines," the pilot announced.
Aaron braced himself on the pilot's seat as the ship surged forward.
Suddenly, a shot rang out.
What? He managed to fire under 5.8 Gs? Aaron thought, surprised, turning his head—just barely—to see who had fired.
The one who'd fired was a young first crewman, fresh out of the academy.
But Aaron himself wasn't immune to the force of acceleration, so he returned his focus forward as they hit peak velocity. The gravitational strain began to ease.
As the pressure dropped to 3 Gs, Aaron exhaled and checked his HoloPad. The young gunner had struck his target—along with two additional ones.
We might have a generational talent on our hands, he thought, glancing at Luca, who had clearly noticed it as well.
Aaron took note of the young crewman's name, just as the gunners continued their simulated engagement. Blaster fire echoed through the simulation environment, and red indicators flashed across the system.
Meanwhile, the pilot and co-pilot were immersed in their own simulation—maneuvering through digital X-wings and adjusting positioning to draw optimal fire from the turrets.
At Luca's station, the senior officer was deep in thought.
Cedric, huh? Even Clone Wars veterans struggled to pull that off. And this kid just—
He opened his DataPad and searched Cedric's file.
What? Enlisted six months ago? Passed every test with flying colors, all except the final exam—where he placed dead last?
Luca frowned.
This doesn't add up. I'd better have the Lieutenant Commander look into it.
He forwarded the file to Aaron's secure inbox.
Back in the simulation, one of the digital X-wings scored a direct hit.
"The ventral turret on the port side has been demolished," an operations officer reported. "Dispatching an engineering team."
Of course, no real team would respond—the engineers were currently undergoing their own simulations. They trained for hull breaches, depressurization, and zero-gravity emergencies.
Auxiliary crews rotated through theory courses. Flight marshals practiced signal protocols. Cleaners, doubling as ship scouts, drilled emergency responses. Armorers studied weapons regulations by rank and class.
And the Stormtroopers?
They were enduring Hell Week.
Lieutenant Commander Aaron had introduced the concept—a brutal, focused trial led by Captain Catcher. Each soldier was broken down physically and mentally, then rebuilt with discipline and purpose.
Grueling PT sessions left them aching. Tactical theory followed, stretching their minds to the limit. Then came relentless drills: formations, breaching, room clearing, shipboard patrols.
Their days ended with marksmanship practice, followed by protein-rich meals and mandatory medical checkups.
Aaron had made it clear: no permanent injuries. Every man was to report to the medics before rest. Captain Catcher agreed.
He understood better than anyone—these weren't clones. They weren't built to endure like his brothers were. They were weaker, yes—but not hopeless.
They just weren't bred for war.
And despite the yelling and drills, Catcher didn't enjoy breaking them. Not really.
The Lieutenant Commander is the first non-clone to share my view on the Stormtroopers, he thought. Maybe he'd even consider reinstating clones. The Empire hasn't erased us completely. We're still on reserve lists. If Rysell puts his mind to it, he could bring some of us back...
Catcher filed the thought away for now.
There was still work to be done.