Killing off the ones he think can't change/be saved, and rewarding ones who show creativity even when they fail. Probably my favorite two Thrawn moments...
Spoiler: Quoted section Chapt 16 Heir to the Empire
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The bridge was uncommonly quiet as Thrawn led the way to the aft stairway and descended into the
starboard crew pit. He walked past the crewers at their consoles, past the officers standing painfully erect behind
them, and came to a halt at the control station for the starboard tractor beams. “Your name,” he said, his voice
excruciatingly calm.
“Cris Pieterson, sir,” the young man seated at the console answered, his eyes wary.
“You were in charge of the tractor beam during our engagement with the starfighter.” It was a statement, not a
question.
“Yes, sir—but what happened wasn’t my fault.”
Thrawn’s eyebrows arched, just a bit. “Explain.”
Pieterson started to gesture to the side, changed his mind in midmotion. “The target did something with his
acceleration compensator that killed his velocity vector—”
“I’m aware of the facts,” Thrawn cut in. “I’m waiting to hear why his escape wasn’t your fault.”
“I was never properly trained for such an occurrence, sir,” Pieterson said, a flicker of defiance touching his
eyes. “The computer lost the lock, but seemed to pick it up again right away. There was no way for me to know it
had really picked up something else until—”
“Until the proton torpedoes detonated against the projector?”
Pieterson held his gaze evenly. “Yes, sir.”
For a long moment Thrawn studied him. “Who is your officer?” he asked at last.
Pieterson’s eyes shifted to the right. “Ensign Colclazure, sir.”
Slowly, deliberately, Thrawn turned to the tall man standing rigidly at attention with his back to the walkway.
“You are in charge of this man?”
Colclazure swallowed visibly. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Was his training also your responsibility?”
“Yes, sir,” Colclazure said again.
“Did you, during that training, run through any scenarios similar to what just happened?”
“I . . . don’t remember, sir,” the ensign admitted. “The standard training package does include scenarios
concerning loss of lock and subsequent reestablishment confirmation.”
Thrawn threw a brief glance back down at Pieterson. “Did you recruit him as well, Ensign?”
“No, sir. He was a conscript.”
“Does that make him less worthy of your training time than a normal enlistee?”
“No, sir.” Colclazure’s eyes flicked to Pieterson. “I’ve always tried to treat my subordinates equally.”
“I see.” Thrawn considered a moment, then half turned to look past Pellaeon’s shoulder. “Rukh.”
Pellaeon started as Rukh brushed silently past him; he hadn’t realized the Noghri had followed them down.
Thrawn waited until Rukh was standing at his side, then turned back to Colclazure. “Do you know the
difference between an error and a mistake, Ensign?”
The entire bridge had gone deathly still. Colclazure swallowed again, his face starting to go pale. “No, sir.”
“Anyone can make an error, Ensign. But that error doesn’t become a mistake until you refuse to correct it.”
He raised a finger— And, almost lazily, pointed. Pellaeon never even saw Rukh move. Pieterson certainly never had
time to scream.
From farther down the crew pit came the sound of someone trying valiantly not to be sick. Thrawn glanced over Pellaeon’s
shoulder again and gestured, and the silence was further broken by the sound of a pair of stormtroopers coming forward.
“Dispose of it,” the Grand Admiral ordered them, turning away from Pieterson’s crumpled body and pinning Colclazure with
a stare. “The error, Ensign,” he told the other softly, “has now been corrected. You may begin training a replacement.”
Spoiler: Spoiler: Quoted section from "The Last Command"
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“That does not mean, however,” Thrawn went on, “that the actions ofthe Chimaera’s crew should be
ignored. Come with me, Captain.”
Pellaeon got to his feet, the tightness returning. “Yes, sir.”
Thrawn led the way to the aft stairway and descended to the starboard crew pit. He walked past the
crewers at their consoles, past the officers standing stiffly behind them, and came to a halt at the control station
for the starboard tractor beams. “Your name,” he said quietly to the young man standing at rigid attention there.
“Ensign Mithel,” the other said, his face pale but composed. The expression of a man facing his death.
“Tell me what happened, Ensign.”
Mithel swallowed. “Sir, I had just established a positive lock on the freighter when it broke up into a cluster of
trac-reflective particles. The targeting system tried to lock on all of them at once and went into a loop
snarl.”
“And what did you do?”
“I—sir, I knew that if I waited for the particles to dissipate normally, the target starfighter would be out of
range. So I tried to dissipate them myself by shifting the tractor beam into sheer-plane mode.”
“It didn’t work.”
A quiet sigh slipped through Mithel’s lips. “No, sir. The target-lock system couldn’t handle it. It froze up
completely.”
“Yes.” Thrawn cocked his head slightly. “You’ve had a few moments now to consider your actions, Ensign.
Can you think of anything you should have done instead?”
The young man’s lip twitched. “No, sir. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I don’t remember anything in the manual that
covers this kind of situation.”
Thrawn nodded. “Correct,” he agreed. “There isn’t anything. Several methods have been suggested over the
past few decades for counteracting the covert shroud gambit, none of which has ever been made practical.
Yours was one of the more innovative attempts, particularly given how little time you had to come up with it.
The fact that it failed does not in any way diminish that.”
A look of cautious disbelief was starting to edge into Mithel’s face. “Sir?”
“The Empire needs quick and creative minds, Ensign,” Thrawn said. “You’re hereby promoted to
lieutenant … and your first assignment is to find a way to break a covert shroud. After their success here,
the Rebellion may try the gambit again.”
One is salvageable. One isn't.