A three-fingered limb flexed and, pulling the rest of the body along, lunged forward again, reaching for the wreckage of a tank's repulsor engine. The still-functioning mechanism instantly heated the droid's hand, tinting its smoke-and-dirt-blackened fingers in a crimson glow.
But a moment passed, and the hand moved again. Relentlessly, purposefully advancing toward a point known only to the droid-commander.
A few hours ago, this intelligent droid, unlike many of its brethren, had led a massive army intended to crush the enemies of the Trade Federation.
Flaunting fresh yellow colors on its armor, droid-commander 2648K-1 had been confident in its victory over the organic life forms, whose troop numbers were twenty-four times smaller than its own.
The disproportionate ratio of forces should have brought an easy victory. The open field, with its vast empty spaces devoid of cover or natural obstacles, only simplified the task.
But everything went off-plan.
Viewing the world through cracked oculi, the droid-commander saw everything in shades of red. The program was glitching; habitual recognition of colors and objects was out of the question.
It barely had enough memory and power to simply move, rather than slipping into an infinite reboot in an attempt to restore a system nearly destroyed by a point-blank blaster shot.
Battery power: less than two percent...
At the very beginning of the battle, it had seriously considered whether it was worth spending extra power on recording the fight... But now, this task—draining its small reactor—was the only stimulus to keep functioning.
It had to deliver the data to the TF at any cost. To tell what happened, conduct an analysis, prepare for the next battle... so they wouldn't be overtaken by such a crushing defeat.
Situation analysis: battalion losses at 78%.
Rolling over the body of another fallen brother, 2648K-1 froze for a moment when the droid beneath it stirred. Hope flickered in the processor of the fallen army's commander, but faded just as quickly upon closer inspection.
The droid was sparking and twitching. Its body was short-circuiting, constantly trying to restart, but the damaged systems wouldn't respond, causing the miserable robot to burn out its own circuits.
Not waiting for their enemies to gather at the noise, the droid-commander continued its journey, resuming its race with death.
A timer looming in the corner of its vision suggested that if it didn't find an MTT supply transport with a surviving communications system within ten minutes, this entire "bloody" run would be meaningless.
Looking around and finding only piles of knocked-out armored vehicles and hundreds of dead twins, 2648K-1 tried to contact anyone via internal comms, hoping the problem was with its personal transmitter and not that everyone else had been wiped out.
A few seconds of silent, strained movement bore fruit. Though its speed had noticeably dropped, one of the tacticians answered its request before dying. The beeping of oculi and radio interference gave away the hiding robot, but its loss wasn't in vain—it managed to transmit statistics... It was just a pity they were too dismal and didn't yield the desired results.
Combat effectiveness of the Trade Federation army and allies: 0.12% of initial indicators. Negative dynamics observed in both human and droid contingents.
Before 2648K-1's eyes crawled holophotos of Neimoidians and commanders of Assassins and pirates who were present on the planet at the time of the assault. The images of organics replaced one another, gradually tinting into a transparent black—meaning the unit was dead.
Only six representatives of organic life, out of more than fifty command staff members, were tinted in shades of yellow, signifying they were missing in action. In current realities, this could safely be equated to death.
According to the latest data, only 2,200 out of the remaining 100,000 droids are functioning. This is 0.022%, indicating the inefficiency of the current structure and strategy.
Before 2648K-1's "eyes" flashed the first seconds of the battle, when the steady columns of its brethren marched forward, ready to crush anyone. They did not fear death and were ready to meet it no matter what.
But the army of organics, called the Helldivers, had deceived them. As soon as the first half of the army crossed an invisible line, charges began to detonate underfoot—releasing an underground river that instantly flooded most of the lowlands.
Now the water had already spread across the area, gradually soaking into the soil and revealing the consequences of their decisions.
The observed battlefield is covered with wreckage of allied combat units and droids. Approximately 90% of the remains do not respond to comms requests, indicating a loss of control.
But the river was only the beginning. The landing of shock squads in their rear and in the thick of the formation brought chaos and forced 2648K-1 to split its forces, ordering large detachments to take up a circular defense.
And when the boxes of battle droids began to deploy and reorganize, they were blanketed by mortar fire. EMP grenades mixed with smoke bombs filled the edges of the army, and then they were hit from all sides.
The enemy clearly used a strategy of force distribution and good coordination. The puddle-like patches of mud formed by the diversion of the underground river to the surface worked effectively, slowing the offensive's progress. Based on available data, droid movement mechanisms can be estimated at 10% of target indicators.
Conclusions were being made constantly. Despite periodic stops and stalling, the droid-commander continued to fulfill its task, sensing the end was near.
Strategy errors: command underestimated the enemy's ability to adapt and improvise. High concentration of organic soldiers (up to 80%) increases the likelihood of independent attacks from different directions. The use of heavy weapons had a significant impact on the stability of positions, which was not accounted for in calculations.
The enemy turned out to have a whole park of armored vehicles of various types. By correctly alternating them and using combat vehicles at the right time on difficult sectors, the enemy commander was able to break the large tank fist at 2648K-1's disposal without significant losses.
Furthermore, the almost total destruction of the headquarters MTT and backup commanders played a major role.
Possible losses in command structure efficiency are being recorded. A complete reorganization of military units is required. In the event of a next encounter, the probability of total destruction under current conditions is estimated at 85%.
The droid's cold mind was not deceived. Given the stunning efficiency, the enemy commander could destroy an army ten times larger if necessary.
An analysis of successful units is needed to rebuild the strategy.
Scrolling through the transmitted statistical data, 2648K-1 felt something akin to organic disappointment. The deeper it delved into the records, the clearer it became that the only effective unit on the battlefield had been itself, as it not only managed to survive but also preserved vital information about the enemy while killing an enemy unit. Even if it had to pay for it with its personal AAT (Armored Assault Tank), a security squad, and its own limbs.
Enemy communication systems operate with a coefficient of 95%, while its own showed only 35% efficiency, and not just due to damage. This creates additional barriers for further operations.
2648K-1 did not know that the entire chain of command, as well as the principle of distributing orders to subordinates in the TF army, was built on the principle of a corporate ladder. And in the event of losing all middle-tier officers, as happened during the battle, none of the ordinary soldiers physically had the ability to contact command and receive new orders.
At the moment, the situation is critical. Less than three minutes remain until total exhaustion of remaining energy. Making a decision on further actions is impossible without access to the command level. Calculation of survival chances under the threat of a full-scale attack is less than 0.05%.
One of the droids grabbed 2648K-1 by the arm. A B1 battle droid stared at it with empty eyes and squeezed the three-fingered limb with all its might, likely assuming it had successfully captured an enemy. The miserable robot only perceived signals via internal comms, as any verbal exhortations proved unsuccessful.
After ten seconds of silent struggle over the comms, 2648K-1 managed to break free from its brother's tight grip and continue its journey...
Data objects recorded. Support did not arrive. Comms node not found. Timeframes expiring. Each additional algorithm is completing its work. Analysis fades, cycles stop. In the area of interaction, one final process remains—to reach a safe point, to save vital information.
Spotting a small ravine barely covered by a fallen tree, 2648K-1 rolled onto its stomach and had already pointed its hand in the right direction when a blow struck its body from the side.
A heavy steel sabaton flipped it onto its back, revealing to its broken oculi a view of the cloudy sky with enemy ships flying across it.
A new blow to the chest finally broke its last limb. The droid's fingers clicked one last time, slipping off the enemy's ankle without causing any harm.
Lifting its head, 2648K-1 pressed its forehead against the muzzle of an assault blaster. The wide opening looked straight at it. The pursuer's foot pressed into its chest, crushing the fragile machinery.
No chance. Failed to save data. Mission failed.
The flash of a laser bolt was the last thing the droid-commander recorded before its death, before the internal remains of its electronics ignited under the pressure of hot plasma.
***
"Listen up, you bastards!" Raising my blaster, I point the rifle muzzle toward the sky while my other hand clenches into a fist. A second passes, and the attention of several thousand Helldivers focuses on the fist held near my chest, after which my soldiers respond with a synchronized movement. "There, in that godforsaken mountain, like rats, are holed up the remnants of the pirates and Traders who dared to attack your homes!"
My words were echoed through the exoskeleton speakers. Standing behind me, AVINA even mimicked my movements, like my second shadow.
"And now, right now! We will burst in there and kill them all! Without mercy! Without doubt!" My voice rolled like an echo across the field of the recent battle. In the outskirts of the enemy fortress, we were met by another large army of droids, though luckily it was just as stupid as the first one. "One thing: I want the TF representative, Viceroy Gunray's cousin, left alive. Is that clear to everyone?"
"YES, sir!"
"Now, bring me that noseless bastard!"
"HUA!"
Another strike of thousands of fists against the metal on their chests. A roar rose so loud that my ears rang for a moment, and the armor system started whining about a noise attack and danger.
But I just brushed off its intrusive messages. Given that AVINA now controlled most of my armor, I didn't care about these constant warnings. Let the stubborn AI keep throwing them at me whenever the chance arose.
Spinning on my heels, I step onto the hand offered by the titan and find myself at a height of three meters, from where I can clearly see the first ranks of my psychotic bastards already closing in on the fortress.
The few turrets, towers, and firing points were burning in fresh fires, lighting up the evening Twilight. The bodies of pirates and droids fell from the walls time and again, while the approaching wave of Helldivers rushed inside, sweeping away everything in their path, preparing a corridor for the assault squads.
"Sam, it's time." A female mechanical voice sounded from the cockpit behind me. "Our forces have already reached the hermetic gates. I think they'll blow them in a couple of minutes..."
"Yeah, let's go."
Sitting in the cockpit of my titan, I feel the massive machine rise. Seatbelts and tight leather straps crawl over my body, hugging me tightly and giving me confidence in my own safety... Though, do Helldivers even need it?
Every detail of the cockpit is familiar and yet striking in its complexity. I activate the system, and indicators begin to flash across the shimmering instrument panels.
The reactor begins its spool-up as I take the first step. Vibrations race from head to toe, sending thousands of goosebumps down my spine.
My heart beats faster, blood boils, as if AVINA is reacting to my excitement. I connect to her, feeling neuro-impulses pass through me like electrical discharges, awakening every cell.
As the Shorty explained to me, it's somewhat like attaching a prosthesis, only instead of a lost limb, you gain a long-forgotten and squandered body.
At first, I only follow instructions, mechanically pressing buttons and pulling levers, but then, when the machine starts up, everything changes.
I feel every limb of the titan become a part of me. The left arm servo moves in unison with my wrist, and the right leg with a slight turn of my foot. It's an incredible sensation, as if I've gained new muscles and skin that protect me from the world. Only instead of soft meat, they are made of ship-grade durasteel with a coating of much stronger alloys in vulnerable spots.
I stop being just a pilot—I become a part of this combat machine, its heart and mind.
All this time, my eyes are closed. AVINA learned the whole process long ago, and I wait for her signal, staying in the darkness until the last moment.
The titan's cameras activate, connecting with the screens and sensors in my helmet. A moment of abstraction, and the bright light from outside hits my eyes. A view filled with detail opens before me. I see everything at once—every corner, every inch of the environment, as if I had multiple eyes giving me the ability to control absolutely everything. At first, I feel a slight dizziness; too much information at once—it always happens since I started using all of AVINA's capabilities. But then I focus, accept it, allowing my mind to adapt.
A wave of energy arises as I activate the weapons, and they respond in rhythm with my thoughts. I hear a dull crackle as they prepare for action, and every step the titan takes creates powerful vibrations that pass through me like an electric shock.
This beast is under my control. Its power, its speed, its terrifying grace—all of it becomes a part of me.
The titan opens its communication systems, and I hear a voice begin to hum inside me, whispering commands and warnings. For a moment, it drowns out the shouts over the squad's internal comms, thousands of voices reporting everything happening on the battlefield every second.
But that moment passes, and instead of whispers and distant voices, the noise of battle takes over with the roar of repeaters and the explosion of hundreds of missiles.
"Ready?"
"Of course, Sam." AVINA's quiet, sweet voice oozes with anticipation. "Always ready to bring the taste of Holy Liberty to any enemy of Democracy!"
The titan and I are one. Where does my personality end and its power begin? There is no answer to that question, and this madness fills me with delight. I look at the battlefield through the helmet screens and feel a rush of adrenaline. Every opponent, every threat, every opportunity to act. In this moment, fears recede; only resolve and the drive for victory remain.
Exactly the feelings the Helldivers glorify. Exactly the sensations I love so much.
I am the pilot, I am the combat machine, and we are ready to move mountains. Every time I connect, the realization comes that together we can defeat any enemy.
"Then let's begin."
***
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