My ears were ringing. My head was splitting with pain, but that wretched state quickly left me, and the ringing was replaced by the guttural shouts of the vile pirates and slavers.
Blood dripped from my mouth, hitting the helmet's visor. My heart beat slowly and steadily, frightening in its passive reaction to the collapse and the chance of death.
The transmitter screeched annoyingly, emitting only white noise, through which the voices of my men and the command staff occasionally broke.
Everything around was shrouded in gloom, but then, along with a flickering lantern, the first flickers of light broke through the rubble.
Pale and barely surviving the collapse, they shook in the wind, struggling against the gusts. That meant the roof was gone, and now we were the ones standing at the top of the palace.
"Come on... Get up... Move...".
Prodding myself, I reached with my surviving hand to my belt, where I immediately activated a stim injector. As if in slow motion, I felt the healing liquid course through my veins, driving away the pain and fatigue. The short-term effect was similar to the famous junkie euphoria, but fortunately, just as it appeared, it vanished just as quickly.
With difficulty, I dragged my hands to my chest. My left arm throbbed with the pain of broken bones, but thanks to the power armor and the drugs, I could use it for a few more minutes.
A heavy wheeze escaped my throat as I overcame the pain and fatigue—pressing my right palm into the ground and pushing myself upward.
A crack sounded overhead, and debris from the rubble slid down the sides.
The volume of the shouting increased sharply, which only spurred me to hurry. The voices grew louder, and when I fully emerged from under the rubble, the first slaver had already jumped onto the debris, greedily waving the barrel of his blaster from side to side.
My fingers scrambled across the ground in search of anything. Groping around, I rolled onto my back, drawing the attention of some petty bandit, a lackey in the service of the Tsurr or other prominent slavers.
Wide pupils, hands shaking from a high. This idiot had clearly ingested too much ryll or similar junk to work up the courage to climb up.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he ran right along with the mortar fire... Damned psycho."
Suddenly, one of my soldiers appeared behind the junkie. Holding his armor, which was bloodied and crumpled around the stomach, he rushed forward without fear, slamming his elbow into the back of the pirate's head, shattering the bone in one movement and killing the idiot instantly.
"Commander?"
Staggering, the Helldiver trudged over to me and then collapsed onto the ground beside me. Tilting his helmeted head back, he looked at me one last time through the shattered armored glass, after which his eyes froze forever, staring into the void.
"Rest, Helldiver. Your service is done..."
Patting the guy on the shoulder, overcoming the fatigue and pain in my entire body, I rose to my full height, surveying the destruction. The broken bodies of my Helldivers lay around. Many had died instantly, killed under the rubble or by an unlucky mortar hit on top of the debris.
Others were barely moving, slowly coming to their senses. And to my luck, most of my best men had survived. Thanks to their training, armor, or medical body enhancements.
Gradually, one by one, they stood up nearby, helped their comrades, regained consciousness, or searched for their weapons.
Corpses were dragged aside, stripped of everything that could still be used.
Before my eyes, several soldiers replaced their helmets, while others quickly stripped off gauntlets or belts. This might increase our chances, if only a little.
"They're coming." The Bellicose cries of the Tsurr were becoming very loud. I vividly imagined the horde of these blue-skinned barbarians running here, waving their primitive weapons, flaunting their bare chests. "Get ready, Helldivers... You didn't expect to live forever, did you?"
Setting an example, I snatched a blaster pistol from a dragged-over corpse and thrust it into the sky.
"We will show these brutes that freedom cannot be taken away! And even if you try to destroy it..." Looking at the soldiers gathered around, I yanked the broken helmet from my head, which had finally stopped working. "You will get an answer tenfold! To battle, Helldivers! Show these brutes that democracy still has teeth in this galaxy!"
"YES!"
Raising their rifles, my soldiers ran forward inspired, toward the place where the shelling had created a hole in our defense and an open passage for the Tsurr. A wide strip at the top of the hill formed from the rubble, which the scum and brutes of all kinds were now climbing.
Running after them, I almost stepped on a fallen banner sticking out from under the debris. Quickly dropping to one knee, I pulled out the tattered but still recognizable standard on its broken shaft. It was the pride of our unit, the flag that was supposed to be the symbol of our triumph...
Now, it barely stood taller than me, but I still looked at our emblem with pride. At the thing that struck fear into slavers, pirates, and other scum in this part of the galaxy.
Grabbing the banner with my broken hand, I almost cried out in pain, but nonetheless fixed my wrist in one position and cut the power to the gauntlet so that even in the heat of the fight, I wouldn't let it go.
Stumbling, cursing, and shouting, sometimes sliding on the mountain of trash, we were the first to run out onto the hill formed from the remains of the roof and our floor. Reaching the top, the first Helldivers immediately opened fire, raining a storm of laser fire down on the flickering slavers below.
Running out after the others, I saw the scene unfolding before us.
Destruction. Death. And the chaos of battle. Thousands of advancing pirates and droids, pressing in from all sides, hoping to prey on us, to take our helmets as trophies so they could tell their friends and descendants how they defeated a terrible enemy.
The remains of the palace-fortress had turned into smoking ruins, which were slowly but surely being surrounded, drawing more and more forces toward us.
Sticking the broken shaft into the ground, seeing out of the corner of my eye the Helldivers banner fluttering in the wind, I raised my blaster and began to fire aimed shots at the brutes who were charging toward us with hideous screams.
"FEEL THE TASTE OF FREEDOM!" Shouting at the top of my lungs, I heard the noise of soldiers yelling at full volume rise around me. Sparing neither batteries nor their weapons, they flooded the approaches to the hill with fire, sometimes turning bodies into smoking cinders.
Shifting the barrel from one opponent to another, I heard their dying screams. I heard how my people, losing limbs and lives, continued to fight. How they threw themselves into the line of fire without fear when the tibanna ran low.
Somewhere to the side, a machine gun began to chatter. A Trandoshan modification spat large bullets into the horde of blue-skinned freaks, tearing off their powerful arms and crushing their bony growths.
My people fell around me. Powerful blaster bolts pierced their bodies through or sent them flying back inside the fortress from the inertia.
A powerful blaster cannon tore through the cover of a couple of Helldivers, vaporizing them along with their armor into dust. The shockwave showered us with sand and debris, but no one even flinched. As if enchanted, we continued to fire at the running enemies, forcing them to hide and retreat.
"Commander! Tibanna's running out!"
The decision came to me quickly. Surveying the encroaching crowd, I realized we weren't getting out of here alive. All my thoughts were only on the battle, and the absence of the familiar voice of the comms officer in my ear only exacerbated the situation, pushing me, like the others... into the embrace of battle madness.
"Detonators!" Obeying the command, eight shiny spheres, reflecting the fires, flew down, creating a veritable death strip. Scattering debris and mangling bodies, the explosions cleared the area in front of the hill for a few seconds. "Hand-to-hand!"
Synchronously, like a single organism, they fixed bayonets and, following close on my heels, charged down, sometimes falling under the feet of other Helldivers, struck down by the pirates' precise shots.
"AAAAAA!"
Responding in kind, the Tsurr ran out of their covers, clutching swords and spears in their massive hands. Like savages, they shook them in the air and ran without fear toward my thinned-out squad.
Two screaming, incoherent, and mad crowds rushed at each other, losing comrades and friends along the way. Mines exploded around, blaster cannons fired, laser bolts flew overhead...
With the banner in my hands, I ran ahead of everyone, and when only a couple of meters remained to the enemy, I raised my blaster pistol and emptied the battery into the advancing crowd.
"FREEDOM!"
****
"FREEDOM!"
They heard the screams and explosions. They heard the shouts of the pirates and the death cries of their comrades, who were now dying alone and surrounded by enemies.
Billy, along with the others, ran into the slavers' rear at the exact moment when a small squad of Helldivers under the command of their commander Altman crashed into the ranks of the Tsurr advancing on them.
With the roar of blaster rifles, they toppled the first ranks of the giants, but then a hand-to-hand struggle began from which they could no longer emerge victorious.
"Group nineteen calling, we have reached the objective! Requesting urgent fire support and evacuation. The situation is extremely dire," not wasting time on trifles, all the Helldivers under the command of Centerpoint Station dropped to their knees or fell to the ground, immediately opening a hurricane of fire on the backs of the pirates, who were crazed by their near victory, "Altman is alive, repeat, Altman is alive!"
"Copy that, nineteen," the cold voice of the deputy commander, a terrifying woman who ruled with an iron hand in his absence, came through the speakers. Now there was something else in it besides that icy detachment and command voice, but Billy Booker wasn't someone who understood women well, so he simply tossed the unnecessary thoughts out of his head, "two minutes, nineteen."
"Understood, we'll get it done."
Waving his hand, Centerpoint Station gave the order to use all our supplies.
The last automatic cannon, designed more for destroying light armored vehicles, began to speak. Precious ammunition, saved for a surprise attack by speeders or fighters, was instantly spent on a much more important target.
Hoisting a grenade launcher onto his shoulder, one of the soldiers sent a rocket into the air above the pirate cluster—packed with grapeshot and other crap.
From the explosion, shards scattered for a hundred meters, striking the slavers' ranks and forcing them to divert their attention to a more biting prey.
Several heavy machine guns, having taken positions, swept their predatory barrels in all directions, heating up to a glowing red. Spitting out streams of explosive bullets, they destroyed everything living in their path.
Billy joined them, picking off the blue-skinned freaks with precise bursts; they seemed much more dangerous to him than the rest of the riff-raff and the rare droids.
From behind Centerpoint Station's back, the last drone flew out, equipped with a twin blaster; it opened suppressing fire slightly to the right, cutting off the pirates creeping up on us.
Their small squad erupted in a storm of fire, destroying hundreds of opponents in a matter of seconds...
But it wasn't enough.
Shifting his barrel to the side, Billy saw through the scope of his optical rifle that the squad on the hill was gradually becoming smaller.
Wielding massive swords, spears, and clubs, the Tsurr were disemboweling or literally beating the Helldivers into a bloody pulp. They hit them until the bodies turned into horrific scraps...
"Looks like the brutes got burned a few times...".
And then, before Billy's eyes, exactly what he was thinking happened.
A Helldiver, pierced through by a spear, snatched a spare set of tibanna batteries from his belt and, shooting it with a blaster, blew them both up, lighting up the hill with a bright flash.
A giant wielding nearby, intending to finish off a soldier crawling toward him with a club, covered himself with his hand for a moment, which proved to be a fatal mistake. Reaching his target, the crazed soldier whipped a knife from his belt and began stabbing it into the blue-skin's crotch like a madman, slicing the freak's junk into kebabs.
Howling like a wounded animal, the brute collapsed to the ground, where a Helldiver with broken legs was already waiting for him. Pouncing on his victim, he vigorously disemboweled his opponent with a knife, drenching himself from head to toe in blue blood.
Rifle butts were used. Bayonets. Grenades. Their own bodies and helmets.
Overcoming, fighting with everything they could, they fought off the Tsurr, selling their lives dearly and generously soaking the ground with more than just red blood.
Continuing to fire, Billy noted all this out of the corner of his eye while his hands performed their task with the same precision. Every pull of the trigger meant someone's death.
Then Major's scope caught the commander of their entire mercenary band—though it would be more accurate to say the sector army that protected honest and free people.
Sam Altman...
Fully justified his title as the first Helldiver and the head of their army.
With a non-working left arm, wielding the banner and a blaster, he killed the Tsurr pressing in on him, maiming their large bodies with a kind of frenzied delight and throwing the corpses down.
A veritable pile of blue bodies, in various states of wholeness, formed around him. Deftly alternating the broken shaft like a spear, he managed to tuck his blaster into its holster, then pull it out in time to put holes in the heads of enemies sneaking up from behind.
Circling around, shouting something to his men, he set an example, and the Helldivers did not dare to surrender.
Then, through the crowd, a particularly large alien began to approach Commander Altman, forcing the others to step aside and surround him from all sides. A massive Tsurr, with a bone crown on his head, standing out even against the background of his unusual kin.
In the bastard's left palm was gripped a massive two-handed sword, which he held with one hand. His exposed body was decorated with thousands of scars, each of which could surely tell a gruesome story of how it was earned.
Grinning hideously, he towered a good meter over his small, wounded opponent, and therefore felt no doubt about his own victory.
Pointing the sword at Altman, he then brought the blade to his chest and demonstratively ran it across his body. Extending his free hand forward, he began to say something to the commander...
At that moment, Billy realized this was his chance to do something remarkable, and so, switching his blaster to high-power mode, Booker began to aim at the alien Warchief, carefully calculating the distance so as not to hit his boss.
Not a couple of seconds passed before Billy was about to pull the trigger, and the massive Tsurr cast aside words and brazenly walked toward his target, ignoring the Helldivers trying to break through to him.
However, things didn't go according to his plan. To the roar of engines, a combat shuttle for emergency evacuation descended from the heavens. Spraying everything around with blasters and heavy bullets. New Helldivers began to descend on cables, drawing the Warchief's guard into a bloody fight, where fresh soldiers with full ammunition mowed down the damned slaver-savages, not giving them a chance.
Cursing, Billy mentally scolded himself for his slowness and then opened fire...
"Huh?" Only his blaster shot hit the head of the already sagging Warchief. Dropping his sword, the brute looked forward in surprise, but Billy couldn't understand what had killed him. "Well... at least that's something."
***
A minute earlier.
We continued to fight. We were dying, fighting to the end, showing these vile xenos where they belonged. Obeying my command, the boys gunned down the most aggressive ones running ahead of the rest of the crowd, after which we met in hand-to-hand combat.
The fight was bloody. Heavy and disgusting. After all, fighting barbarians with their foul methods was not at all what Super Earth had taught me, even if I knew how to do it.
Everything was going to hell. We were dying. One by one, the fighters I had selected for my personal squad were dying, and the enemies weren't getting any fewer.
Preparing to sell my life dearly, I was already about to toss aside the blaster with its last couple of charges when my eyes fell on the local Warchief.
A massive beast, with branching horns on its head. Wrapped in steel muscles, with a heavy and seemingly sluggish gait, the main Tsurr came straight to me, pointing his monstrous sword at me.
"Your head is mine, chief..."
Slicing his chest and threatening to take my skull as a trophy, the xeno moved forward, falling into the beam of a searchlight that forced him to stop.
Shots struck from the sky. Shell casings showered down on my head, and the air once again smelled of gunpowder and tibanna, which had temporarily displaced guts and shit.
The roar was deafening, but I didn't dare be distracted, watching the "mountain of meat" in front of me with both eyes.
Already prepared to put a laser bolt in his head, I heard with a shudder the shot from my own weapon, the gift that hung in my cabin.
Shattering bones, tearing muscles, an anti-personnel rifle round with an explosive bullet created a massive hole in the Tsurr's chest.
Just in case, I aimed my blaster at him, but...
From the side, a laser bolt simultaneously hit the alien's head—leaving a neat hole in the temple.
"Excellent shot. I hope it wasn't accidental...".
Aloud, I said something slightly different.
"What the hell?"
***
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