Much to his surprise, there weren't any hostile fleets approaching or already engaged with the Silver Jedi ships already in orbit of the system. As the ships reverted to realspace, the alarms continued blaring and countless Iron Wrath puppets were scrambled, if not only as a defensive measure, but also a precautionary one. Though not as effective as the more skilled pilots of the navy, the AIs aboard still possessed a cunning precision. They'd also be exhausted less quickly as their manned counterparts, who might let their boredom get the best of them without immediate action.
The puppets weren't the only thing to take off from the iron bellies of the star destroyers. Exiting the safety of the hangars were dozens of shuttles, bound for the refugee camps planetside. Aboard were the men and women of the Iron Imperial Marines, off to assist the Jedi on the ground in their own ambitions to help dislocated refugees. These vessels, however, were escorted by piloted crafts of the Iron Empire.
"Resolute, this is Kingpin. We're approaching the refugee camp now. Stand by for confirmation.", the marine battalion commander reported.
Good. Things were going well. The absence of an opposing fleet still made Zeradias uneasy, but he wasn't about to go out looking for trouble. For now, the fleet would take up a defensive posture and maintain watch for enemy activity. If things were things quiet on Bimmisari, he could only imagine what the force looked like on Charros IV.
As the shuttle doors whirred open, there was a conundrum of activity before Lieutenant Colonel Alyn Rooke stepped off the metal surface into the dirt below. His eyes took a brief moment to adjust, but before long, he could see the treetops and tent canopies, along with a number of refugees making their way into the camp. Without delay, the marines began corralling them and filtering them into the camp for treatment and relief. Others disappeared into the nearby woods and dug in, assuming a defensive posture. Before walking into the center of the camp himself, three shuttles flew closely overhead before landing into a clearing. Armor clad men began lifting crates out and placing them under a nearby tent, sheltered from any natural elements that might strike.
Striding further into the fray, he approached the tent and cracked open a crate. They were full of syringes and bottles of who knew what. Medicine was beyond his realm of expertise. Though a soldier through and through, when certain echelons of command were attained, command began to feel like governance, and governance entailed much more than one would think. He needed to knew his men, the structure of his organization inside and out, he needed to know their wants and their needs, what it took to function correctly and at optimum efficiency. Things he didn't know, he delegated, as any good leader should.
Before long, he saw a woman with what appeared to be a personal guard approach another. One of them would be in charge. Without speaking, he approached the two and standed nearby without encroaching on their discussion. He would wait to be addressed, and assuming he was correct in his assessment that one of them were in charge of the operations here, he would assist however he could.