The underground corridors of the main Oversight Center were drenched in blood. Featureless corridors, where droids and rare guards used to scurry, had now turned into a bloody bacchanalia of chaos and death.
Dodging a shot, bending almost to the ground, Shabaul—the head of the Order of Gray Paladins—extended his arm at an incredible angle, releasing one well-aimed shot that pierced the hard skull of a Tsurr.
The blue-skinned giant stood for a couple of seconds before collapsing face-first onto the floor, but the nimble Vodran was already running further, being the first to burst into the disorganized ranks of pirates and slave traders, among whom droid guards were also interspersed.
Wielding a pair of powerful blasters, known in the world as hand cannons, Shabaul constantly dodged, evading numerous shots and firing back. For every pull of a trigger in his direction, he responded with one well-aimed strike that was sure to kill the target.
Bending like the cave lizards from his home planet, showing incredible feats of flexibility, the Vodran wedged himself into the enemy formation. Using his thumbs to switch the powerful mode to a weaker, rapid-fire one, he spun in place—erupting in a veritable wave of shots flying in all directions.
But each of them struck its target. The Force guided him. It showed him where to strike and where to retreat, and swaying like a pendulum, Shabaul followed its will, sometimes stepping back or bursting forward even faster, cutting off enemy regrouping in the bud.
Following him ran his loyal paladins, their well-aimed shots striking hundreds of enemies in their path, leaving only corridors piled with corpses. The walls were decorated with multicolored blood. The soot from detonating charges and flickering lamps created a fitting atmosphere.
The stench of hundreds of dead bodies, blood, and shit filled the nose, but the Paladins continued to move forward, destroying anyone who stood in their way.
"Shabaul, we're almost finished. Your boys say there are only a couple of minutes left," Naulo's voice, the red-skinned Twi'lek, sounded in his ear. The transmitter was glitching slightly, occasionally emitting static instead of words, but the general meaning was easily understood, so the Vodran nodded with satisfaction. "So—come back. No new enemies are expected. Our friends from the Helldivers have captured all their attention."
At the last words, a malicious satisfaction was heard in the former slave's voice. Most likely, the leader of the Shackle Breakers was right now watching what was happening in the city in real-time from the surviving surveillance cameras surrounding the building.
True, not many of them are left... Our sabotage, then the storming, and now...
Before he could finish the thought, Shabaul finished off the last Tsurr and then struggled to stay on his feet. A tremor rolled through the entire building, reaching the underground complex—shaking the corridors and forcing all the Paladins to stare tensely at the ceiling, trying to sense danger through the Force.
But seconds passed, and the Force told them nothing, so the head of the order waved his hand commandingly, leading his fighters away from these grim corridors—soaked in death and pain.
***
Blaze Varne grunted with satisfaction when the first signals arrived from their allies. The former slaves and pseudo-Jedi had captured the necessary complex, as well as most of the small relays transmitting signals to detonate the collars.
Yes, not everyone had managed to handle the task, but preparation, personal skill, and an incredible distracting maneuver had done their job.
A grim smile crossed the Nautolan's lips. Raising his rifle, the leader of the Freedom Warriors leaned out of cover and cut down another reptilian hound with a burst—the kind the Tsurr loved so much. The vile creature tripped over its own paws and, with a dying yelp, collapsed into the mud, drenching the area with its stench.
A foul cross between a crocodile, a dog, and who-knows-what, it was a dangerous opponent for simple farmers from distant planets or cowed slaves, but...
Leaning out again, Blaze allowed himself several bursts, killing an entire pack at once. Rushing one after another, the creatures without their handlers turned into useless pieces of meat that simply ran in a straight line.
Taking cover from return fire, Blaze melancholically reloaded his rifle, setting aside the empty Tibanna battery. Around him, his fighters scurried, moving briskly through improvised cover made of bodies, furniture, and piled-up speeders.
The Freedom Warriors held their ground easily and casually under siege, picking off the most arrogant and stupid slave traders who hoped to retake the coveted human plantations. Time and again, some "smart" pirate would be found, and leading the other degenerates behind him, he would find himself lined up with the other bodies after a couple of minutes, which already hid the ground and floor from view.
Lighting a cigarette, the Nautolan allowed himself a few minutes of rest. Blasters whistled around him, and some rocket destroyed their machine-gun nest, which meant only one thing.
They're going to attack again now.
Leaning out again, Blaze was forced to cover his face with his hand, for the horizon was once again lit by the flash of an explosion. The roar reached them after a few dozen seconds, and with it a gust of wind that brought the scents of burning and death.
Having a blast, the crazy bastards.
A bloodthirsty grin crept onto Varne's face as he once again watched the heart-warming sight.
A huge city full of scum. Mangled high-rises, the sounds of explosions, and a series of shots flying into the sky. Smoke rising into the heavens... and thousands of pods and shuttles that, in a single impulse, descended to the ground—toward the enemy.
Over the capital of Orvax, hundreds of ships circled in an endless dance. Thousands of fighters clashed with each other, while ground-attack aircraft bombed the pirates' defensive positions without stopping.
"Commander."
The voice of a subordinate distracted Blaze from his admiration, causing the man, unexpectedly even to himself, to click his tongue, but he still turned to one of his lieutenants.
"We've sheltered all the sentients and closed the dome. Left a couple of entrances to carry the wounded, but they're easy to block with a single press of a button."
Demonstrating a small detonator to him, the human lieutenant smiled symmetrically, then tucked the vital device into his pocket and, receiving a dismissive nod, disappeared among the barricades and other soldiers.
"They're advancing." The shout of a sergeant nearby forced him to shake off the momentary lethargy. Tensing his whole body again, the Nautolan cracked his neck, then switched the transmitter channel in his ear to the general one.
Taking one last look at the distant sky over the capital of the slave world, the man inhaled through his nose, closing his eyes.
Alright, rest is over.
"Kill them all!"
Throwing away the cigarette, Blaze adjusted his custom-made helmet, then lunged out from behind cover, switching his firing mode to automatic.
***
Billy Booker made his way through the ruins of the district, along with two dozen other Helldivers. The battle had been going on for more than two hours, and gradually their momentum was weakening, as the numerous guards of Tsurr, droids, and other bandits began to slowly come alive. Restoring their defense, and with it, their morale.
Most had to switch to stimulants, especially those who often ran ahead of the others. The Shock Troopers—doped up on chemistry and adrenaline—now resembled rabid beasts that spared neither the enemy nor themselves.
Shifting the blaster to his left hand, Billy followed "Balance" and jumped over a fallen column from some palace. Landing with a grunt from a height of a couple of meters, he allowed himself to sit for a moment, obeying a non-verbal command from the senior of their small squad.
Looking around at the gathered Helldivers, Billy counted their greatly diminished host with a heavy heart. Of the original hundred, just over twenty remained. Wounded, battered, and with chips in their armor in almost every place.
Losses were present in all squads. Not always lethal, but still...
Apoc had been blown to pieces by a shot from a Tsurr canister shotgun. A massive gun, more suitable for storming bunkers, had left nothing but a wet spot of their comrade...
Some huge beast had torn off Sigma's arm during the fighting for the rich suburbs. No sooner had they entered this vile district soaked in luxury built on the blood of the innocent than slave traders swarmed them from all sides, unleashing huge lizards on them.
He survived, but would likely be forced to huddle in the med-bay for the coming months, if he didn't return to the planet altogether.
The situation was similar for the others, some better, some worse. But there wasn't a single team left without losses.
Nevertheless, the Helldivers were ready to continue their fight.
"Two-minute break, then we move out. There's only a little way left to the Tsurr fortress, and they need our help there." Checking the data on the PDA screen, "Balance" quickly gave orders, then sat down next to him. "Well, how are you, kid? Didn't expect such a clusterfuck?"
"I'm fine... I'm fine..."
Pressing the blaster to his chest, Billy threw his head back toward the sky, feeling the hot sweat running down his back. His body ached from the short but extremely aggressive and active combat. Hand-to-hand combat mixed with firefights. Retreats followed by assaults, and all of this in such a short time.
His legs hurt, and his back was filling with heaviness. It was a good thing a shell hit the repeater's battery and Billy honestly ditched the useless weapon.
"Doesn't look like it," rummaging through his backpack, his senior comrade pulled out a small flask with a special tube that inserted through the filter on the helmet, "here, take a sip... of some Liber-tea."
"M?"
Leaning forward with interest, Billy allowed the veteran to deftly position the tube, after which the rookie took a sip.
The scalding liquid rolled down his esophagus, burning his throat and palate. Coughing, Billy, under the chuckles of his watching comrades, grabbed his helmet and was already prepared to take it off to spit properly, but a light blow to the top of his head stopped him.
"Sit still, kid. Have you completely lost your mind—taking off your helmet in a combat zone?"
"What is that?" The only thing that concerned "Major" now was the rising fire in his body and especially in his brain. "Whoa, I feel..."
For half a minute he writhed in a strange fit, until suddenly his head became clearer and his arms filled with strength again.
"What was that?"
Emotions that had been forgotten for a moment broke through in his voice again, and the ringing laughter at the end of the sentence caused a collective roar of laughter.
"Oh, just a little mix of Rishii monastic moonshine, stimulants, and pain-killing venom from Tatooine snakes."
Apparently, his silence was too expressive, as the team again filled the airwaves with laughter.
"Feel better? Lighter? Freer?"
The insinuating voice of the veteran soldier evoked corresponding associations. And Billy realized that he was ready to climb back into the pods right now—dropping on the heads of those who fought against their ideals.
"Yes, I'm ready to..."
"Quiet, quiet, you hot Mende boy. Why don't you just sit for the remaining minute and..."
Here, "Balance's" voice was interrupted by an incoming call. A wave of his hand and all the Helldivers froze like statues, while the sentries moved the muzzles of their rifles even more actively around the area.
Placing a finger to his helmet, "Balance" listened to the transmission for a couple of seconds, then thrust his fist vertically upward, at chest level.
"Will be done, sir." Looking around, the veteran demonstratively reloaded his weapon, after which his voice was heard in the helmet speakers. "Rest is over, boys, we're moving out."
Jumping up first, "Balance" gave orders to the sentries and the lead pair, who without question darted off to the sides, covering more space.
Immediately switching to a light run, the sergeant beckoned everyone to follow him—lining them up in two columns.
As soon as they picked up the pace, "Balance" became generous with information, apparently feeling the burning stares at his back.
"Urgent order. We're moving to the main Tsurr fortress right now." Without breaking his breath, he ran ahead of everyone, easily overcoming obstacles and construction debris left over from the rich houses of the slave traders. "Our people managed to break inside, but reinforcements arrived for the creatures and all the Helldivers were pinned in a circle. We'll help break the gap and get our boys and girls out."
For a couple of minutes they ran in silence, but then, when the fortress loomed on the horizon, "Balance" spoke again.
"Watch where you're shooting. Commander Altman is there too."
The last words caused a flurry of whispers among the running Helldivers. Glancing at each other, we unconsciously quickened our pace, trying to reach the surrounded as quickly as possible.
***
"HOLD!"
Picking up a "Trandoshan" machine gun that had fallen from the hands of a dead fighter, I began to spray the approaching ranks of enemies from the hip. With a roar and a stream of sparks, massive bullets flew out of the muzzle, cutting swathes through the waves of enemies.
Shrapnel struck my armor, a couple of blaster shots hit my chest, but I continued to stand, spraying the enemy without stopping until the cursed weapon jammed, showing the bottom of the ammunition supply.
One of the last gunships covering us flew overhead. Banking its wings, it masterfully sent a fan of bombs downward, only to lose a wing in the next instant.
A blaster cannon struck our bird with a precise shot, sending the burning machine straight into the no-man's land that had formed between us and the arriving pirate reinforcements.
Everything had turned out in an extremely strange way.
As soon as we breached the palace defenses and fought our way inside the high walls, the enemy began to retreat feverishly, luring the young and daring after them. The simplest trap worked exactly as intended, and within a couple of minutes, it snapped shut—cutting us off from the rest of the world.
In the center of the ruined fortress, with the defenses destroyed by us and the retreating Tsurr, we found ourselves surrounded by enemies pressing in on us—like machines.
I suspected what was going on, and it made my soul feel even more disgusted.
"Someone sold me out. Gave away our landing coordinates and directions; it couldn't be any other way."
I had studied the ideology of the Tsurr. Their way of life, culture, and lifestyle... And so, better than anyone else, I understood that the Warchief of these blue-skinned whelps would try to take my head at any cost, even to the detriment of a full victory in the battle.
Shells struck from the sky, interrupting my thoughts. The blue-skinned bastards' mortars fired crookedly and inaccurately, but there were so many of those freaks that they didn't even need to worry about precision, simply burying our positions under a mountain of shells.
The palace was still holding, but with every passing second, I felt its roof and sturdy walls were on their last legs. They groaned under the strain, constantly shedding remnants of wiring, paint, and a semblance of plaster, showering us with debris.
The lights had long since gone out, but the abundance of fires from incendiary bombs was enough, and there were plenty of laser beams to go around. Nearby, a machine gun began to chatter. The large-caliber beast, left without its tripod, had been crudely propped up on the remains of an embrasure, and now a soldier was firing off the last rounds that still allowed us to keep the Tsurr at a distance.
With rare, precise bursts, he fired at the advancing enemy, but it was obvious to everyone... Soon, it would be time for hand-to-hand combat.
The bone armor of the Tsurr, their strength, power, and wild, almost animal instincts allowed them to survive the most horrific wounds. And so, they would charge into the assault without fear, taking blaster shots to the chest...
"And we will feed them their fill."
Nodding resolutely to the machine gunner who looked back, I reloaded my rifle and then turned to the others. Our standard-bearer stood beside me; he was supposed to plunge the flag into the body of the Tsurr Warchief, but it seemed we would have to decorate it with our own bodies instead.
"MINES!"
At that moment, the slavers fired another volley, only this time the ceiling finally gave way and began to collapse downward with a screech, burying us beneath it.
Riddled with shots, full of holes and broken, it nevertheless crashed down with a roar, pinning everyone to the floor.
My arm snapped unpleasantly. Debris hammered against my helmet, and the blaster beneath me bent, taking the full weight. Roughly the same happened to the others, but through the dust rising into the air, I only managed to see the Helldivers standing closest to the walls leaping aside.
***
Read early on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan