On the main battlefield, with most of Death Watch’s equipment destroyed and no reinforcements coming from the air or armored support from the ground, the armory’s detonation — sitting right beside their barracks — had gutted their numbers.
What survivors remained were run down hard and fast by the frontal assault.
By the time the dust settled, Death Watch’s forces in Sundari had been cut in half.
Seeing the tide had turned for good, many of the surviving troopers surrendered outright, taken into custody for questioning.
Reclaiming the rest of Sundari would be far simpler now — though this only meant New Mandalore could match Death Watch’s remaining forces head-on within the city, nothing more.
An agreement with the traditionalists, and more equipment, were both still urgently needed.
“That was a beautifully executed strike, Kurt.” With the fighting largely over, Satine found the eleven-year-old prodigy amid the wreckage.
Obi-Wan, standing at her side as always, offered his own quiet approval.
“Maybe.
Either way, the outcome speaks for itself.” Kurt scratched the back of his head.
“Now we can finally hold our own against Death Watch on an open field — but we still need more credits and raw material to buy hardware.”
“The council’s already discussed it.
They’ve approved a larger equipment budget.
People saw what the Viking could do out there — the council wants more of them.” The victory had bought Satine and her council’s confidence, and with it, the funding Kurt needed.
“Then I’ll head to Vadiira and bring the hardware back.” Kurt could barely contain his grin — buying “new” equipment with the council’s own credits meant he could sell off what he already had at a markup, then funnel that money straight back into more raw material for building even more Vikings.
He could even bring the Wraiths along to show off — even if nobody bought them outright, it’d still make for good training.
Kurt gathered a group of people he trusted completely — his own family, in every sense that mattered — and boarded a Kom’rk fighter bound for Vadiira.
“Boss, we headed to Vadiira this time?” Omen asked, noting that everyone aboard was their own crew, no New Mandalorians included — an easy guess as to their destination.
“That’s right.
We’re bringing back new hardware for Sundari.
We need to finish liberating the city, and free Concord Dawn’s people too, or they’ll be living under this civil war’s shadow indefinitely.” Kurt laid it out.
“You mean Vikings!” Lei asked, practically vibrating — he’d wanted to fly one for ages.
The machine seemed built for Mandalorians, air combat and ground combat both wrapped into one hull.
“There’s more than just Vikings waiting for you.
You’ll see a new fighter too — it’ll blow your mind.” Kurt mentioned the Wraiths existed without giving anything else away.
Some things were better as a surprise.
“Can the new one transform too?!” Lei couldn’t stop bouncing.
“No.
But it does something else.” Kurt kept it vague, refusing to say more.
“We’re almost there.
You’ll see for yourself.
You really can’t leave anything as a surprise, can you?”
“Fine, fine.”
Before long, Vadiira came into view below them, and the Hyperion’s AI officer opened a channel to Kurt.
“Commander, I’ve transmitted the Hyperion’s coordinates.
Please dock at the starport.”
“Copy that.” The ship settled into automatic landing at the starport, and the moment they stepped off, the whole crew turned into children on a field trip, poking at everything in sight.
“These robots — I’ve never seen anything like them!
Boss even has his own starport!” Lei stared, delighted, at an unmanned SCV working under the AI’s direct control.
“You haven’t even seen this — five Vikings, right here!” Omen shouted, waving the others over.
They really do act like a pack of kids, Kurt thought, watching them, fond and amused.
Oh, wait.
They basically are — middle and high school age, most of them.
And I’m only eleven myself.
He’d almost forgotten he was technically the youngest person in the whole group.
An SCV rolled up beside him.
“Commander, the starport is currently producing new Vikings, but at our current capacity, we can supply a maximum of twelve Vikings and twenty-four Wraiths.
Given the current military situation, that combination represents the optimal loadout.
Additionally, using the design blueprints on file, we could begin development of a Valkyrie-class frigate, adapted to this galaxy’s current technology base.”
“A Valkyrie frigate?
I’ve never even heard of that.” The name meant nothing to Kurt.
“The Valkyrie frigate was originally introduced by the United Earth Directorate.
It was later modified by the Terran Dominion into what became the Liberator gunship-class,” the AI explained.
“So it’s small and outdated, then.” Kurt’s mental image, based on the pre-modification version, wasn’t promising.
“No, Commander.
The Valkyrie frigate measures roughly three hundred meters in length and carries twelve fighters internally.
Paired with this galaxy’s weapons technology, it would become a major asset toward your goal of freeing it.
At current production capacity, construction would take approximately a year.
During that time, I’ll also be expanding the base’s footprint across the entire moon and constructing additional starports and industrial facilities.”
“I’ll leave it in your hands, officer.
The civil war’s not over yet — this has to be your project for now.” Kurt was satisfied with the plan and handed it off entirely.
“Understood, Commander. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Though I’ll need to revise the blueprints first, to bring every vessel in line with this galaxy’s equipment standards.” With that, the AI returned its attention to directing the SCVs, continuing construction and logistics.
“Boss!
We found that new ship you mentioned!
It’s incredible!” Lei came running back, breathless.
“Then let me show you what it can really do.” Kurt climbed straight into a waiting Wraith.
It shot skyward, and from the cockpit, he tapped a control — and the fighter simply vanished, as if it had never existed at all.
“That’s a cloaking system!” Omen shouted.
“With this, we won’t need to sneak inside to plant charges anymore — we can just clear the whole place out directly!” Lei caught the tactical edge of it instantly.
Once he’d demonstrated the Wraith’s capabilities for everyone, Kurt decloaked and brought the fighter back down.
“So?
Tell me this thing isn’t perfect for where we’re standing right now.”
“So all of this is yours, Boss?” Omen asked, still not quite believing it.
“Once the civil war ends, this place becomes home — for all of us.
When New Mandalore wins, we’re leaving Mandalore behind.
The pacifists won’t want us hanging around for long after the fighting stops — our arsenal doesn’t exactly fit their politics.” Kurt laid out his post-war plan for the people closest to him.
“Boss, we’re with you no matter what — but what happens to us after that?
Farming on some moon somewhere?” Omen asked the question everyone else was quietly wondering.
“No.
This will be home.
What you build from there is entirely up to you.
Do whatever you want with your life.
Just remember where home is.” Kurt gave them the choice, freely, to be whoever they wanted to become.
“Doesn’t matter what — I’m with you, Boss!” Lei was the first to answer, and the rest followed without hesitation.
“That’s right — wherever Boss Kurt goes!”
“Pacifists, Death Watch, whatever — long as it’s with Boss Kurt!”
“Now you’re going to make me sentimental, all of you.” Kurt shook his head, something warm and steady settling in his chest.
“I’ll find all of us a real way forward.
For now, you’re all starting flight training.
We’ll drill here a few days, then bring these fighters home — and get the rest of Sundari’s people moved out here too, before this whole war turns the city into a battlefield outright.” He turned to Omen, giving the order.