The captain was there looking over the troops, but he didn't linger long. Captain Valerin ex-Imperial Army and no one was sure where or how he'd joined the Alliance, but such people existed. When push came to shove, and when the fiction that the Imperial Army was stability and order in the galaxy wore thin, a lot of people decided that the Empire was scarier than the things the Empire told them to fear. The dark days after the Clone Wars were one of constantly justifying the oppression with an external threat. The Seps, the Jedi, the this the that and the other, until finally one came to the conclusion that the Empire was the primary threat. Slow process, but it went faster when you were blasting rock for crystals and the shifts got a little longer, company security got a little rougher and, when you talked back, suddenly a Stormtrooper was there with a blaster in your face.

The opinions of the captain were mixed; he seemed to be good at his business, though much of that business involved handling supplies and replacements for three different ships' worth of troops, and he rarely brought good news. The speculation was rife of what would happen if he had to actually command the company in combat, but it had yet to happen -- the entire regiment was broken up into platoons and stuffed aboard corvettes, though occasionally a task force got formed to hit a larger-than-usual target.

"Alright troopers, I know some of you," he didn't look at Vannin and Besk and the Sarge and all the other vets but he seemed to have an idea of just went on as soon as boots hit deckplates on Vanguard -- they didn't have the hangovers entirely hidden away, "just had liberty, so I hope you got all the fun out of your system, because you're going right back out as soon as you are replenished for supplies and personnel, because there's no rest for the wicked. Lieutenant Byron here will be assuming command of 1st Platoon and he has the details of the next operation. Carry on, Lieutenant."