Inhaling through my nose, I savored the scent of campfires, army grub, alcohol, fuel, gunpowder, and much more. The main addition was the tart aftertaste of Tibanna that hung everywhere, for blasters were our primary weapon and many of our combat vehicles were armed with them as well.
Looking around, I surveyed the rest of the camp spread out below from the height of my tent.
Though, in what world is this a camp? It's more like a man-made fortress we've erected over a couple of months in this green hell.
I remember in my past life everyone constantly mentioned Malevelon Creek—a horrific little planet where a damn Automaton hid behind every single bush, threatening to skewer you with a power blade or gun down a daydreamer.
Now, however...
The familiar sound of gunfire echoed from the eastern side of the camp. Several Helldivers on patrol opened fire with a repeater, shooting at an unknown enemy in the distance. They were firing into the thick thickets that began two hundred meters across no-man's-land.
"And now, a special song for you! Load 'Targeter'!" The soldiers' spirited shouts drew attention. And when one of the fighters from the ragtag collection of survivors—where they shoved everyone who had lost their squad—hoisted a damn launcher onto his shoulder, people started gathering and encouraging the shooters enthusiastically.
The hiss of launching mechanisms. A flash of smoke, sparks, a pop...
And a shell worth fifteen hundred Credits flies toward the target, after which an explosion rings out on the horizon and a small cloud rises to the heavens.
"Having fun again?" Somnia's sleepy voice came from behind me. I admit I didn't know how to react to her appearance, because yesterday... God, I'm acting like a schoolboy... She kissed me, and more than once. Then, admittedly, she threw up, and then she passed out. So now I was actively pretending nothing had happened, because informing such a woman of such a thing... was not wise, to put it mildly. "How much longer? You should forbid wasting ammunition... We'll still need it. God, my head hurts so much... What were we drinking yesterday?"
"Everything."
Brevity is the soul of wit. And my answer awakened many unpleasant memories in Somnia. Her eyes widening in surprise, the girl pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to hide the smell of stale alcohol, then turned away, her cheeks flushing.
"Sam, this is..."
"It's fine." Smiling softly, I overcame the avalanche of stupid jokes that were bubbling up inside me and spoke in the most positive tone possible, without a hint of snark. "Let's... just forget about it."
For a moment, she lost her train of thought. Biting her lip, the girl tried to say something, but shaking her head, she couldn't bring herself to do it. After which, with an affirmative nod, she retreated to her tent.
"Fine. I'll go get myself together..." she said finally and quickened her pace, as if trying to escape.
"Humans are strange. Many words. Little action." Sitting down casually nearby, the shorty began busily disassembling a grenade... on her knee. In the middle of the camp. With a single screwdriver. Great. "Don't look at me like that. It's just a thermal detonator."
"Right, just a little thing..."
Glancing warily at the weapon in her hands, I slowly take a couple of steps back, but the mocking voice of the Jawa catches up to me.
"Why are you doing this? You're a bit dim, of course, but not that much..."
"Fuck, what a flattering description." Glancing at the Jawa with annoyance, I return and sit back down beside her. "Thanks for the kind words."
"You're welcome, Mr. Helldiver. You are always welcome." For a few minutes, we sat in silence before the shorty spoke again; apparently, having waited for an answer from me in vain, she began the assault herself. "You understand everything. Why not accept her scent?"
"Because... what the hell? Scent?"
"Well, mix the aromas. Exchange dirt. Share water after..."
"Okay, stop. Enough." Holding my hands out in front of me, I massage the bridge of my nose, sensing that this time she isn't playing or mocking, but genuinely doesn't understand my objections. "What kind of sick-in-the-head bastard..."
"The Shamans taught us that way. They said when you find a companion, you must mix your scent with theirs. It is important."
"...Would only dare to refuse such a thing?!"
"It looked pathetic."
"Oh, go to hell."
We sat a bit longer. In silence. The shorty busily reassembled the grenade, then started over, only now she was adding some gadgets to it, clearly creating the equivalent of a V-2 rocket on her knee.
"Damned 'Ork Mek'..."
"Better answer the question. Stop dodging."
Scratching my cheek, I cut my eyes to the side and see a shadow lurking at the edge of the tent. Many things clicked into place. Apparently, the little brat had conspired with my deputy... Ugh, what a headache.
"I don't know." My direct answer knocked the wind out of her. The Jawa turned fully toward me and began to peer intently into my face, clearly suspecting that I was trying to brush her off again. "No, I really... don't know."
"I would believe it if you were your stupid brother." A detonator was poked in my face, which definitely made me more willing to answer questions. "But you are the Commander of the Helldivers. The best warrior. A leader. A friend to many."
"That's the problem. I don't see myself in any other role... and I don't want to. I'm a Helldiver, the one who always fights. Always at the tip of the spear, always in battle..." My pathetic speech was met with mocking silence. Rolling her little yellow eyes, the little pest went back to the detonator with a chuckle. "Fine... I just don't know a damn thing about it..."
After thinking for a couple of seconds, I came to the unexpected conclusion that I hadn't even had a girlfriend in the last two lives. Not at all... Somehow I missed that part, and it wasn't that I regretted it. It wasn't that I stopped feeling arousal or attraction toward them, but it was more like the nostalgia of forgotten sensations. And relationships—I had them so long ago, back in my very first life.
"Too many years ago..."
I even tried to remember, at least a face, or were there several?! But instead, only the predatory maws of Terminids and the steel heads of Automatons were before my eyes. The identical faces of teammates who died time after time...
"Sam?"
The shorty's small hand gripped my elbow. Looking trustingly into my eyes from under her eternal hood, the little Jawa stepped closer, placing her second hand on the back of my palm.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have..."
"No, no. It's fine. Just remembered some... unpleasant things." Slapping my knees, I affectionately ruffle her head, not even receiving any grumbling in response. "I've never had a girlfriend, so I don't want to ruin Somnia's life. If I get cut down in the next battle, why would she need that? Besides, I'd be a shitty boyfriend... always on the move."
Smiling, I wave my hand, then hooking my thumbs into the edges of my armor plate, I head toward the headquarters, which stood not too far away.
"Meeting in half an hour." Addressing no one in particular, I say this loudly and clearly so they definitely hear. "Announce it to everyone. It's time to film a new video; recruits for the Second Echelon wouldn't hurt us."
****
A message appeared on numerous holoscreens in the eastern part of the galaxy, suddenly interrupting an advertisement for some shampoo with the flavor of cabbage from Daalang.
Drawing the viewers' attention with a dark blue screen, a dry heading slowly appeared.
"The Department of Truth, Self-Promotion, and Advertising of the Helldivers squad warns:
1. Keep children away from the screens.
2. During the filming of the video, not a single free and law-abiding citizen was harmed."
A bright flash, and a night sky dotted with thousands of stars appears on the screen. Shimmering, the somber colors of the cosmic void draw the eye, when suddenly a meteorite flies past against their backdrop. Slowly burning up in the atmosphere, it begins to fall toward the planet, and the camera gradually pulls back, showing an ordinary family of farmers living in the foothills.
The father holds his five-year-old son in calloused and strong arms. His face is covered with labor wrinkles, and it becomes clear to everyone that this is an ordinary worker, just like the viewer himself. His clothes are simple, and his gaze is full of affection at the behavior of the child, who points a finger at the "falling star."
A young woman with strong arms and a tired look comes out onto the veranda. Hair tied in a bun, no makeup—everyday life in a simple family as it is. In her hands is a towel she is wiping herself with after a long cleaning, and a small handkerchief sticks out of her pocket, which the mother of the family likely uses to cover her hair while working.
The whole farmer family rejoices, smiles, and is content with... perhaps not an easy, but a hones and prosperous life that many could envy.
But then clouds begin to gather, and darkness creeps from beyond the horizon. A ghastly gloom makes its way across the sky, like a drug that has entered the blood; it infects everyone and everything, crawling further and further.
The man frowns with displeasure, and the woman scoops her son into her arms and fearfully covers her wide-open mouth with one hand. Her eyes are in terror, and she looks hopefully at her husband, who nods confidently to her, as if saying that everything will be fine.
Dense jungles stand around the farm; if at first they looked like something exotic and unusual, drawing naive glances and mesmerizing with the mystery of their lush vegetation...
Now they turned into ghastly images from children's fairy tales. Full of thorns, grotesque vines, and vile insects. Gradually, faces terrifying the viewers began to appear on the bark of the trees, and lightning began to strike over the jungle itself; the rhythm increased, the tense music pounded the ears.
Just ten seconds of the video brought tension to many cantinas, homes, and spaceports.
Suddenly, blurred figures appeared behind the trees. One after another, they gathered at the edge, gradually forming a huge crowd. Each of them was uglier than the last. Merging with the shadows, they showed their ghastly, toothy, deformed faces, shook crooked spears, and tried to eat insects off the ground.
All this lawlessness lasted for a couple of seconds before the savages rushed toward the farm, causing the woman to let out a ghastly, panicked scream. Grabbing the toddler, she runs into the house while the man pulls a Blaster and a knife from nowhere—beginning to kill the unknown attackers one by one.
Without mercy, he struck each one, but gradually bruises and blows appeared on his body. Retreating under the onslaught of the ugly savages jumping and screaming around him, the farmer looked warily toward the house when he heard a child's cry from there.
His son was calling for his mother, and as soon as the man tried to rush to help, the savages struck him in the back. Striking with sticks, beating him with clubs in a crowd, they cackled and danced, exulting over his defeat...
Until a beam of light struck from the sky. At first tiny, but with every moment it gained power and volume, gradually beginning to illuminate the entire house.
With a deafening crash, a drop pod of the famous mercenaries slammed into the roof of the house, after which gunfire was heard from within. The sounds of struggle were accompanied by the screams of panicking savages, slowly retreating from the farmer, clearly showing fear.
Finally, the fight stopped. A soldier of the Helldivers, encased in armor, appeared in the doorway, holding the boy in his arms. An intimidated woman in a torn dress and with traces of struggle held him by the elbow, but she was smiling and happy that no one had died.
The Helldiver, without letting go of his rifle, gunned down all the fleeing savages from the hip, those who dared to disturb the peace of free people.
As soon as the last barbarian fell prostrate, the soldier set the child on the ground and was the first to approach the farmer lying on the ground. Looking at the man and demonstratively glancing at the corpses of the savages around, he nodded respectfully, then extended a hand to the farmer.
Looking doubtfully at the extended palm, the man shifted his gaze to his living family, carefully examined the abundance of savage corpses, then resolutely gripped the hand, helping himself up.
"Looks impressive?" Stepping away from the farmer, who was now hugging his family in the background, cheerfully talking with his wife and son, the Helldiver approached the camera. "Every day on the planet Haruun Kal, millions of free farmers expose themselves to such danger... but it is you who can change this!"
The frame changes, and now thousands of bare-assed savages who were trying to violate a grass-trekker raise their heads. They are dirty, ghastly, and visually repulsive to such an extent that some people push their food away from the table. In a single impulse, the savages tear themselves away from their fascinating activity and meet the eyes of the farmer and a dozen similar workers dressed in armor similar to the Helldiver's.
A breastplate, pauldrons, and kneepads. An open helmet and a small backpack, and in their hands, a blaster rifle of an old but reliable model.
"Join the ranks of the Second Echelon of the Helldivers and become the defender of your home!"
The militiamen rush into battle, beginning to kill hundreds of enemies, striking them with everything they can; with fire, blade, and iron fist, they pass through their ranks like a hot knife through fresh butter.
"Save Haruun Kal and your homes! Prevent the catastrophe that could happen to you today!"
The militiamen were shown on different parts of the battlefield. They covered the landing of the Helldivers, protected caravans from attacks in the rear, and drove wild beasts away from remote farms.
Every time something irreparable was about to happen, the fighters of the Second Echelon arrived and protected their homes and land, driving away the ugly savages flashing their bare backsides and bloody mouths.
The last frame showed a huge army of black-skinned freaks attacking a massive fortified city, but the Helldivers come out to meet them. At the tip of the wedge, they burst into the enemy ranks—killing everything that moves—and behind them and on the flanks run the militiamen—covering their backs and protecting them from the foul blows of dishonorable savages.
After the battle flared up quite intensely, the frame freezes, and the slender ranks of the Helldivers begin to appear in the foreground, and right behind them, in the second row, stand the summoned militiamen, who have risen to defend their home from the cursed threat that endangers the entire system, and perhaps the entire sector.
"Join our ranks! Protect your planet, or head toward the stars to carry Managed Democracy everywhere!"
Giving thumbs up, the Helldiver narrator and the farmer from the beginning of the video hugged, then cheerfully high-fived each other against the backdrop of the squad's emblem.
Spitting out his caf with a noise, Jedi Mace Windu miraculously stayed alive, as he had choked and hadn't breathed the entire time he was watching. With stunned eyes, he looked at the other patrons, who began to actively discuss what they had seen, but none of them were outraged or felt indignation or anger! On the contrary, the people praised and wished luck to some costumed idiots.
"What the fuck is going on here?!" Slamming his mug onto the table, Windu drew the attention of the entire bar.
****
Pursing his lips, Senator Sheev Palpatine watched the video strongly recommended to him and didn't even know what to think about it.
His eyelids closed tiredly, and he himself struggled to contain the irritation and anger growing deep inside at the senior representative of the Tarkin family, who was clearly walking on the edge when he begged him to look at... at this!
Massaging his temples, Sheev leaned back in his chair, then shifted his gaze to the holoscreen with the video. Then to the one next to it with Tarkin's letter. Video. Letter. Video. Letter.
"That's it. Enough." Slapping his cheeks, Palpatine stood up from his chair, walked in a circle around the office, then resting his hands on his hips, froze before the panoramic window offering a view of the capital. "Well, it can't be that I'm the only one who doesn't understand why this causes such delight among the military?"
Mentally translating this phrase into simpler language, Sheev repeated it in his head.
"It's not that I'm a fool; it's that they are stupid..."
"Madness, pure madness. So many subtexts and blatant propaganda... Does such a thing really work? No, I'm sure it doesn't." Glancing one last time at the letter, Sheev, with a sigh full of doom, began to write a reply, diplomatically expressing his agreement with the decisive actions and combat spirit of the video's authors. He needed to convey the thought to Tarkin as tolerantly as possible that this was nonsense and would only make things worse for them. "There... well, let's try."
Having sent the letter, Palpatine leaned back in his chair with satisfaction, relaxing his tense back and feeling the throbbing pain in his temples, present since the beginning of the video sequence, begin to fade.
"I should go to the opera. To 'The Fleeting Power of the Ghosts of the Future'—that will definitely lift my mood..." But just as the man began to stand up, he collapsed back into the chair in disappointment. "Right, they left on a tour across the galaxy... Sigh."
***
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