The moment the speeder bikes closed in, the forward and side-mounted blaster cannons erupted into a continuous, blinding stream of fire.
Blue bolts poured down on the Death Watch camp like a monsoon, aimed squarely at the four heavy machine gun emplacements — the greatest threat in the compound.
Fired at full speed, the shots landed in a wild, lethal spray, whipping across the metal cover like serpents of light — some tearing into makeshift barricades in bursts of smoke and debris, some sparking bright off metal walls, and some finding the gun crews themselves precisely enough to force the gunners, barely recovered from the shock of the assault, back down behind cover.
“Damn it!
New Mandalorian scum!
All hands, defensive positions!” A Death Watch officer’s scream vanished into the shriek of blaster fire and roaring engines as the camp erupted into chaos.
Patrol troopers who’d been dozing on duty scrambled and dove for cover, and gunners fought to swing their heavy weapons around fast enough to bear on the wave of steel bearing down on them.
Ratatatat—!
Death Watch’s rifles and pistols finally answered in force, the mounted guns spitting red bolts, trying to weave a net dense enough to stop the charge.
Crimson fire licked at the front and flanks of the oncoming riders like a serpent’s tongue.
But the New Mandalorians were simply too fast.
Their charge wasn’t a wall — it moved like a wolf pack, scattered but united in purpose, riders weaving and twisting their bikes in dizzying evasive patterns, leaning low to skim past obstacles, then snapping upward to clear a low wall in a single leap.
Bolts screamed past them, scorching black craters into the ground or bursting harmlessly in the empty air behind them.
“Rocket!
Left gun position!” Bart shouted to the rider beside him, weaving through a spray of red fire.
One Mandalorian fighter shot straight up on a jetpack burst, his visor locking the targeting reticle onto a gun position raking fire wildly to the left, and fired.
BOOM!
The rocket streaked in on a trail of white smoke and hit dead center.
“Nice shot!” Kurt’s voice carried real approval as his bike sliced across the open ground in front of the compound’s main gate like a blade, blaster cannon still firing, cutting down every Death Watch trooper who so much as poked his head above cover.
While Kurt led the charge into the compound, a clan chieftain who’d stayed behind inside was reporting to Tor Vizsla.
“Chieftain Tor, the New Mandalorians have breached our last stronghold in Sundari — it’s already fallen.
We’ve lost contact with the strike team sent after Satine Kryze.
I believe the Sundari offensive has failed.”
“I’ll send more men to take our capital, Keldabe.
A young but capable bounty hunter will finish Satine off for us.
Abandon Sundari for now — I’ll teach the New Mandalorians, and those so-called ‘traditionalists’ both, a lesson they won’t forget.” Tor Vizsla had already worked out his next move — striking the capital while New Mandalore’s attention stayed fixed on rebuilding Sundari.
“Understood, Chieftain Tor.” The clan chieftain abandoned his own men where they stood, slipping out through a tunnel while the fighting still raged.
Outside, a Death Watch trooper had just shouldered a rocket launcher, aiming for Kurt, when two precise yellow bolts caught him square in the chest, dropping him with a scream.
“Push in!
Grind them down!” Lisa, riding behind Kurt, wasn’t idle either — pistol drawn, arm braced over Kurt’s shoulder, calmly picking off enemies leaning out from side-building windows, each shot silencing one more window.
The steel flood finally slammed into the compound’s outer perimeter.
The lead bikes never slowed, tearing straight through the flimsy wire fencing and part of the sandbag wall.
Riding the momentum, the riders launched off their bikes into the air as they broke through, jetpacks igniting in short, powerful bursts, sending them leaping like fleas over the stunned Death Watch below, weapons of every kind — blasters, flamethrowers, shock grenades — raining down on the chaos underneath.
The fight on the ground turned instantly savage.
Speed no longer mattered — what mattered now was overwhelming numbers and individual skill, and the New Mandalorians tore through the compound like wolves through a flock.
Bolts crisscrossed the tight space in every direction, metal clashing against metal, explosions, shouting, and the screams of the dying blending into one continuous roar.
Kurt hit the ground rolling the instant he landed, dodging a spray of fire, his Westar-35 moving like an extension of his own arm — every controlled burst dropping another shape.
Caught off guard and badly outnumbered, Death Watch’s brutal instincts still surfaced — they used the compound’s cluttered terrain to fight a desperate holding action, blood-red armor flickering in and out of the firelight, bolts screaming at every moving Mandalorian shape in sight.
A Death Watch squad leader, wielding a vibro-sword, howled and charged straight at Kurt in one last desperate stand.
“Commander!” Lisa’s shout came sharp with alarm.
Kurt’s eyes went hard.
He didn’t retreat — he stepped in, sliding sideways at the exact instant the blade came down, drawing the beskar sword from his back in the same motion, and swept it clean through the man’s neck.
Thud.
A heavy, final sound.
The squad leader’s motion cut off mid-swing, his headless body swaying once before crashing to the ground.
That single stroke broke whatever fight was left in the surviving Death Watch troopers.
Watching their comrades fall around them like wheat under a scythe, watching Kurt stand at the center of it all like something out of legend, armor sprayed with enemy blood, the remaining fighters’ resolve collapsed — some threw down their weapons and raised their hands, others turned and ran deeper into the compound in pure desperation.
“Clear the remainder.” Kurt’s cold voice carried through the ruined compound, marking the total collapse of Death Watch’s last stronghold in the city.
He stood amid burning wreckage and scattered bodies, scanning the battlefield through his visor, confirming the victory was complete.
Over ninety New Mandalorian fighters swept through the compound like an efficient tide, finishing off the last pockets of resistance and demolishing what remained of the facility, explosions rippling one after another, marking the end of Death Watch’s hold on this part of the city for good.
“Everyone dig in.
When the ones from the main battlefield come running, we finish them here.
Let’s give Sundari its peace back.” Kurt gave the order, positioning his people behind the wreckage to wait for the fleeing survivors of the frontal assault.
Back on the main battlefield, the Wraith squadron had shot down every last Death Watch fighter, though three Wraiths had gone down as well, requiring serious repairs — manageable, since Death Watch’s downed fighters could simply be salvaged and hauled back along with everything else.
Qui-Gon led the pursuit of the retreating Death Watch forces from behind, while the technical crews worked to restore communications.