On projector screens and old televisions, an atmosphere of celebration and optimism shines as a journalist, possessed of infectious enthusiasm, shares exciting details with viewers about the creation of the star fleet "Katana fleet."
This event, which has become a symbol of hope for the Galactic Republic, takes place in dark times when pirate barons can hold much more power and force than official Republic representatives, and marks a confident restoration of the fleet's power necessary to protect peace and tranquility.
The camera pans wide across large space cruisers, gleaming in the light and majestically arrayed on an orbital platform, creating an incredible picture.
Each of the 200 Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, with their streamlined shapes and powerful weaponry, serves as a reminder of the Republic's strength and grandeur, as if speaking of its determination to preserve peace.
The presenter, literally sparkling with joy, describes the ship-building process with childlike wonder, highlighting the innovations and technological achievements made possible through the joint efforts of scientists and engineers.
A new control system, connecting the ships to each other with the rather ambiguous name "Slave Circuit," allowed for a reduction in crew size and improved interaction and synchronization of the fleet at all levels.
She passionately speaks of how this fleet will become the backbone of the Republic's defense in the future, filling the hearts of viewers with confidence in tomorrow.
Almost hopping, the girl rattles off words into the camera; she clearly barely has the restraint not to grab her cameraman and rush into the thick of things with him, to where the chairman of the Defense and Security Committee, along with other prominent figures and representatives of the militarist faction from the Senate, are leisurely conversing, standing on the main podium and enjoying the spectacle.
Laughter and smiles on the faces of those present, joyful exclamations and sighs full of inspiration, create an environment of unity and cooperation. Live reports from future crews and technical specialists, collections of interviews and comments create a multi-layered representation of how important a step the creation of the "Katana fleet" is. The entire report is saturated with a sense of pride and confidence that this fleet will become a reliable shield for the Republic and give a new impetus to the development of the galactic state.
Much is said about the destruction of crime, that peace and order will return to the distant regions, and pirates and their ilk will vanish forever when the full power of this fleet falls upon their heads...
Turning off the omni-tool, I put it in the backpack standing against the wall. Tearing off a large piece of paper, I wipe my ass, then after putting my armor back in place, I exit the toilet, practically kicking the door open.
"Heh-heh-heh... Yeah, right," I toss the backpack over my shoulder and hang the blaster around my neck, rapidly traversing the crowded corridors, hoping to make it to the hangar before the drop begins. I wouldn't want to be late on such an important day. "What a load of crap..."
The old report telling of the fleet's creation had long since become a galactic meme, just like in my very first world. Because they spent fifty times more money on it than it was worth. Half the teams leaked a ton of data to the net, and during construction, there were so many accidents and errors that any corrupt official would be envious.
"Commander!"
"Boss!"
"Sir!"
Nodding a greeting to the soldiers and technicians in my path, I smoothly bypassed the huddling groups of Helldivers or droids hurrying about their business. There were so many people around that simply walking through the ship's corridors was a real challenge.
A flash from a holocamera went off nearby, making me flinch and look around like a crazed veteran who heard not the click of equipment, but a grenade pin being pulled.
The image of Somnia appeared before my eyes, full of contempt and a gaze that could kill. Folding her arms, the girl with the image of a demon behind her back burned me with her eyes...
"Brrr," I jerked my head, looking around fearfully, but caught only a couple of young operators taking photos for the records, "just my imagination... Gloom, pain, and despair..."
Continuing my way, realizing I'd make it just in the nick of time, I quickened my pace, just in case. The rifle bumped against my chest plate, the backpack rattled with supplies and ammo packed for the trip, and underfoot, the various trash dropped by the grunts or the ship's maintenance staff crunched and scraped.
I made it to the hangar with the pods—a huge room where a drum mechanism dropped assault pods into the planet's atmosphere. These weren't converted escape craft—they were solid mechanisms that allowed for much more precise drops, within ten meters of the target.
Just as I reached my own pod, a call came through on my omni-tool from a character I personally found extremely unpleasant.
"Can you hear me?" The voice was trembling; you could practically feel the owner was about to soil himself with fear, which was unsurprising. Pirate scum always feel like kings and winners as long as they're glassing defenseless planets or ganging up on one person. But as soon as our flagship, the Peacemaker, and three more Adjudicator-class ships entered the planet's orbit, their knees started shaking. "Altman, I know you can hear me. The comm channel is stable."
"I hear you, I hear you... Loud and clear. What do you want?" Taking my time, with the help of a couple of droids, I secured ammo, weapons, and various small items inside the pod that might be useful later. For example, the now-scarce bacta, the factory for which had burned down just a couple of weeks ago. "If you want to beg for your life, remember what you told me during our last conversation..."
"That wasn't me! You made it quite clear that I shouldn't mess with your gang's territory..."
"Easy there, old man." I had to inject a note of displeasure. The last thing I needed was this bio-waste equating the Helldivers with his lackeys. "We protect Holy Liberty and Democracy... While people like you profit from rare goods and the troubles of the Outer Rim, daring to pose as heroes."
"Don't get cocky, Altman. I have forces behind me that you simply can't imagine..."
Seeing that he would achieve nothing with pleas, my interlocutor switched to threats, which poured out like from a cornucopia. Listening to his chatter with half an ear, I was already climbing into the pod, securing myself and closing the outer armor plate.
"Magnus won't save your ass. You've overstepped, Rico." Final button presses. The light blinks green, then cuts out, and I feel a sharp jolt, after which weightlessness swallows me for a moment, but the next second, weight crushes down on my body. The roar of engines, the thunder of the metal shell shuddering from atmospheric entry—it all birthed a shiver of anticipation and a rush. "The Senate tolerated your games of playing king on backwater planets as long as you paid your taxes and kept your head down, but... you shouldn't have gotten involved in all this shit with chemical weapons and viruses."
I sent him an order from the Galactic Senate, confirmed by the Jedi Order, and for almost a minute listened to the choice curses of an old pirate who had stuck his nose where it didn't belong. The bastard could have lived quietly and not worried about his pension, but Rico wanted more... I get it.
But his actions had drawn our attention. His smuggling deals with Zeta Magnus were easy to track, as the old pirate barely hid them, and every dog on Nar Shaddaa knew about it.
"Listen, Altman! Sam! Let's make a deal? Please! I have money, connections, a fleet... Exactly! The ships, I'll give you everything, just..."
"Sorry, Rico." Checking the time, I estimated the level of resistance and guessed how long it would take to reach the little king's palace on this distant planet. "See you in half an hour, and we'll talk properly."
"You bastard!"
***
From the celestial heights, giant space vessels, covered in thick layers of armor and bristling with a lethal arsenal, slowly loomed over the planet like grim shadows blocking out the sunlight.
Black and gold, covered in white skulls and sharp, straight lines, they exerted psychological pressure on the numerous pirates long before they opened fire.
The hum of their engines, like muffled claps of thunder, echoed across the horizon, creating an atmosphere of mounting fear and anticipation among the city's defenders. These cruisers, each given impressive dimensions and advanced technologies, were preparing for their destructive role in the upcoming battle.
With the very first shot, the planetary shield collapsed, producing a thunderous pop across the area. The blue film vanished into the air, and immediately after, explosions erupted in the illegal ruler's palace from the collision of huge green dots with the defensive line.
When the signal system announced the order to begin the operation, hundreds of fighters and bombers, like a swarm of angry wasps, burst from the depths of these colossi, leaving smoky trails behind them.
Their engines roared, creating a symphony of mechanical thunder that merged seamlessly with the overall hum of the armada. The first wave of attackers was fully trained, coordinated, and ready to sacrifice everything to fulfill the order. Deftly maneuvering through the air, they circled the city, carrying out the first blinding attack, dropping bombs, missiles, and generously spending tibanna batteries without choosing specific targets.
Explosions rang out with a deafening roar as powerful munitions slammed into buildings, turning them into heaps of crumpled concrete and glass shards. Immediately after the first wave, heavy gunships took over; like ruthless hands of death, they began strafing with mounted machine guns, sweeping away everything in their path.
Cadets in fighters, like a flock of falcons, broke through the defenses smoothly and mercilessly, destroying enemy positions and leaving only ash behind. Their shield systems emitted bright flashes, reflecting enemy fire, while fiery lines connected incessantly with the planet's surface, birthing more and more destruction.
From a bird's-eye view, observing the chaos on the ground, one could see the city's residents scurrying in panic, not knowing where to turn for cover as their home plunged into ruins. Slaves and captives, they flocked outside the city, saving their own lives, maliciously cursing their former masters.
Strikes bursting all around caused buildings to shake and collapse like houses of cards, unable to withstand the mounting tension. Through the smoke and noise, screams broke through, calls for help like gray dust rising up and mixing with the debris.
The sky over the planet was pierced by fiery trails as assault pods slammed into the atmosphere with a dull rumble, awakening extreme adrenaline in their passengers.
Helldivers, dressed in heavy armor bearing the marks of hundreds of battles, tightly secured by straps, felt the vibrations of powerful engines rushing toward their goal.
Inside the pods, an atmosphere of tense anticipation reigned; the whispers of commanders mixed with the raspy breathing of soldiers, and then the crackle of the hull resounded as the pods pierced the clouds and rapidly approached the ground.
And the planet beneath the pods was pitted with holes, abandoned and grim, the result of a brief skirmish.
The steel structures of enemy positions loomed against the burning horizon like terrifying statues, surrounded by confused civilians wandering in panic, not knowing what to do. Their faces twisted in fear as the world around them turned into a burning hell.
The light from the fires reflected in their eyes, a reminder of the inevitable horror. They pressed themselves against the walls of collapsed houses, their hearts pounding from the sounds of the growing chaos of war.
Suddenly, the pods burst open, and the Helldivers surged into the thick of the fight. Explosions thundered; it seemed the very ground beneath their feet was shaking.
Thick plumes of smoke shrouded the area, hiding both friend and foe from view. The smell of scorched metal and burning rubber filled the air, mingling with the sharp scent of chemicals—traces of ammunition and burning drug warehouses.
Fiery whirlwinds rose to the sky, piercing it with their tongues, tearing the gloomy twilight apart. A continuous bombardment was carried out from ships in orbit, destroying any attempt at resistance.
The loud bass of explosions repeatedly made the broken ruins jump and fly apart; each blast left behind a trail of destruction and confusion.
Stone fragments flew into the air, creating a noise that resonated in the ears like a warning to those who had not yet managed to grab a weapon. Screams and commands mingled with the constant hum of fire and the endless clang of metal.
Every step toward enemy positions became an unstoppable assault. The enemies tried to take cover behind shields, but their unprotected flanks opened up to the ruthless onslaught of the Helldivers.
At times torn apart by bare hands, the pirates fled in fear, pounding their fists against the gates of the shuddering palace, hoping to find salvation there.
With every passing moment, the terrain transformed; the flaming remains of buildings now served as cover for brave soldiers using the debris as a bridgehead for attack. Walls, once proud of their strength, cracked and fell, creating new obstacles and potential ambushes. The sky continued to glow crimson, as if a personal curse ruled the atmosphere, bringing hopes and fears, all mixed beyond recognition.
****
"Three, two, one... Go!"
The explosion thundered at the count of two, and when Salco jumped out from around the corner, swinging his arm for a throw toward the breach in the wall, the dust had not yet settled, and the tongues of flame were only beginning to flare up.
A real slaughter was taking place around them as the superior forces of the Helldivers fell with all their might upon yet another pirate kinglet who had thought too much of himself.
The throw. Sharous tossed the detonator exactly on target, just as they had practiced in boot camp. Granted, back then they threw a local vegetable instead of real detonators, but even so...
Returning to his position, the Jabiimite froze for a moment, listening to the panicked screams inside the bunker, and only after the explosion and the subsequent wails did he rush back into the breach, switching his blaster to rapid-fire mode on the move.
Being the first to run into the passage, Salco immediately opened fire, though there was no particular need for it. The pirates, who didn't care for armor, had mostly died off, and the fate of those who survived after a thermal in such a narrow and low room... was not even worth mentioning.
Behind Sharous, his squad was already forming up, led by the Commander of their entire unit. Performing finishing shots, they fanned out through the bunker until they reached the last door, behind which their target was supposed to be hiding.
That was exactly where Captain Rico sat—fleet commander, king, businessman, and many other things, though in fact just an ordinary pirate.
"Clear." Nodding to Sam Altman, Salco was the first to run to the door and began, along with Booker, to set a new charge, only this time they didn't want to blow a hole with a bunch of shrapnel and a shock effect inside the room, but rather the opposite. They had to open the door without killing the idiot hiding behind it, who knew what he was counting on.
"Pff, not the first, not the last. The Commander is right."
There will always be fools who consider themselves above others, the law, and society. And so Rico, as soon as he reached his goal, began to make mistakes, driven mad by permissiveness, wealth, and influence in his old age.
"Old fool. If he'd sat quietly, we would never have known about him in our lives... His own fault."
Sharous didn't feel sorry for the pirate; quite the opposite. But the Jabiimite didn't understand how one could blunder so badly and expose themselves to the Helldivers. To brazenly operate in sectors protected by Assassins, and even cooperate with our enemies... And everyone knows about the enmity, and everyone understands that in the search for the bastard Magnus, the Helldivers will stop at nothing to kill that crazy carrion who desires the collapse of Liberty and Democracy.
"Ready," slapping Booker on the helmet, Salco ran around the corner, standing next to the Commander, "three, two, one..."
A hiss and a quiet pop, which—against the background of explosions from orbital guns and aerial bombs—didn't look like much at all.... But it did its job.
Choking and coughing, a short, dryish man tumbled out of his refuge, wiping his face with some kind of gilded napkin. Dressed in the latest fashion, he fell to his knees, spitting out the contents of his stomach.
"Damn... Concussed. I hope he can talk, otherwise they'll rot me in guard duty."
Sharous thought to himself, being the first to lunge at the target and taking him in a hold while his boys created a defensive perimeter. It all took less than a couple of seconds, and now a battered but still sane and living Rico stood before their Commander.
"Well, hello, your majesty." Grabbing the pirate by the ear and pulling hard to the side, making the latter scream, Sam Altman crouched down, tilting his head to the same level as the prisoner. "Tell me, where did you take Zeta Magnus?"
***
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