The Mandalorian, armoured and jet-pack equipped, soared almost effortlessly across the scorched sky. Clutching the K-56 battle-rifle close to his chest, Neskar descended from the sky, landing neatly on two feet. The mercenary glared at the fortress ahead of him, and the overall combat scene moving to surround him. Great, fighting. Dropping the aim, he moved the slug-thrower in the direction of the nearest rebel trooper, and squeezed the trigger in a gentle motion. A short fire erupted from the barrel of the rifle, a large flurry of metal slugs skimmed across the air, slamming into the fleshy body of the rebel. A fine red cloud rose into the air, the slugs reducing the poor rebel to a crimson pulp. The wreck of the man flew at least three metres, slamming into some nearby cover, more red mist seeping from the wounds of the now dead man. The other rebels only seemed to be now aware of Neskar, and the rear of their company disengaged from the Fringe's own company, and turned on him. They were ten on one, impossible odds for any mere mortal. Neskar was no mere mortal. He was, after all, a Mandalorian. In an instant, a dozen red flashes went by his head, and Neskar dived next to the red, fleshy pulp, the shots missing his body as he dived. Pulling himself up onto his knee, Neskar placed the barrel of the slug-thrower on the stone cover, aimed at three rebels on the flanks of the company. Deftly squeezing the trigger, a flurry of slugs went their way, striking their thighs and sides. They fell like stones, noiselessly. Seven still stood. Reeling from the loss of their three comrades, the seven fired shot after shot at the stone barrier where Neskar crouched behind. Chips and chunks flew from the barrier, bouncing off of the beskar'gam adorned by Neskar. A few chunks slammed into his buy'ce, the classic Mandalorian helmet with the "T"-shaped visor. He cursed, knowing he could not stay there for long. Tapping a button on his right hand gauntlet, the jet-pack reactivated. The rockets boosted him into the air, a good ten metres. The troopers, caught unaware by the sudden move, tried to shoot him down. It made no difference, for every bolt missed him by a great distance.
Neskar dropped the aim of the slug-thrower and squeezed the trigger again. It shook violently in his hands, due to his instability in the air. The flurry of slugs fell on the group of seven. When he next looked, four were on the floor, clutching wounds and rolling around violently. Three were left. Two saw their seven other comrades, dead and dying and the men broke. They ran, straight to the fortress. The rest of their company, engaged in a firefight with the Fringe company were all but decimated. The two were locked down under suppressing fire from the Fringe company, crumpling under the excessive fire. Meanwhile, Neskar hovered eight metres above the last one, his slug-thrower poised, aimed at the last's head. "Run, you crazy bastard. Tell your friends. I promise I won't shoot you, but I can't vouch for our friends here." he said calmly, gesturing to the Fringe company, moving into positions to cut down the last man. And the man broke. He turned and run, and the company let him run, all the way to the fort. Neskar lowered himself to a metre above the surface, cutting out the jet-pack and landing softly on the ground. This'll be good and easy. And profitable, if the pay's decent enough.
