"Attention, this is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!"
Grabbing a plasma rifle, Frakh Busol, a young militiaman of the Hormai people, raced to his post at full speed, fastening his suit and adjusting his webbing, which was packed to the brim, on the go. Strange thing: as soon as a serious danger appeared on the horizon, the stingy and greedy warehouse manager became generous with the supplies.
Grunting into his still-thin, ginger whiskers, Frakh bared tusks that had only recently begun to grow actively. Running through the corridors and nodding to a few acquaintances, he and his squad rushed forward, hoping to reach their post before the enemy got to them.
And they would get there.
None of the Hormais deluded themselves or tried to believe in miracles like newborn cubs. Everyone who had ever spoken to Traders and representatives of the Outer Rim had heard of the Helldivers and all the incredible wars they had been through.
Pirates, slavers, the Trade Federation, Hutts, and many others. A battle-hardened army that lives only by constantly fighting the bastards surrounding them on all sides... and now they had attacked their world. Why? What for? Too complex questions for a simple soldier who had not long ago finished training.
And though deep in his soul Frakh Busol hoped it was a simple mistake, he didn't let these doubts break through and take over; he simply didn't have time for this useless reflection.
"First platoon to the left, second follow me." Their company commander sent his deputy with the first platoon, while he himself led them to the most difficult section. To the upper floors, near the dome, which were slightly covered in a crust of ice.
The place where their enemies would most likely begin the assault.
Gripping his rifle tighter, Frakh prayed to the spirits of his ancestors and asked forgiveness from his dear father, to whom he had never said aloud that he loved and respected the grumbling old man. Thousands of thoughts raced through the young Hormai's head, and he was only able to tear himself away from them when his unit reached a sort of attic.
Reinforced and thick walls and ceiling. Dozens, if not hundreds of covers, and firing points and supplies being prepared by the technical staff, which they would clearly need.
Half the platoon immediately rushed to the roof to guard the anti-aircraft guns and prepare a warm welcome for the first wave... and at the cost of their lives, give at least a little more time so that each subsequent floor had a chance to prepare better.
Frakh understood that the same fate awaited him—to become a mere obstacle in the path of a terrible enemy so that others had time to take measures. So that they had enough strength to withstand the onslaught and inflict as much damage as possible on the Helldivers, so that the losses would seem too significant for them to continue the invasion.
And then Hort would stand. It would withstand the pressure and the assault, and most importantly—protect all those who could not fight and were now hiding deep under the ice.
Remembering the tearful face of his mother, who had spoken to him via HoloNet half an hour ago, Frakh swallowed the viscous lump in his throat, but again... there was no time for feelings and fears, so slinging his rifle over his shoulder, the Hormai joined in the work with the others, helping to set up additional barricades.
Carrying heavy crates and steel shields, Frakh listened with one ear to the reports sounding from the radio on loudspeaker. Catching scraps of information, he hoped to hear something encouraging, but the longer he "eavesdropped," the worse his mood became.
Suddenly, the guns on the roof spoke. The chatter of heavy automatic and laser cannons, the thumping strikes of turbolasers, and the high-speed rattling of repeaters hit his ears, together creating a cacophony of sounds that made him feel slightly sick.
The shouts and reports on the radio became more chaotic. Someone was constantly shouting something, the connection broke periodically, and the general channel began reporting the first losses among the planet's defenders after a skirmish with the fleet approaching the planet...
A huge fleet, led by a truly Gargantuan ship, which was the only thing his platoon and squad in particular were talking about.
"I'm telling you, I swear by my ancestors, such a ship cannot exist! Why is it even needed? Just imagine how many resources that is!" Their sergeant was ranting, sometimes gasping for breath because he had to talk a lot and carry heavy things. "That monster alone eats as many resources as a full fleet!"
"Well, I wouldn't say that. You heard how the signalmen and gunners panicked when they reported," moving crates of grenades and detonators, the corporal and the sergeant's "first assistant" answered quietly and calmly, as if he had already accepted the fate hanging over the world like a sword of Damocles, "it has already fulfilled one part of its purpose—scaring half our self-defense forces shitless..."
At the last word, the corporal smirked, baring his tusks under wide and stately whiskers. Looking over those gathered to listen, he spotted Frakh and gave him that warm, slightly sarcastic smile, expecting the young Hormai to smile back...
But Frakh didn't have time.
Under the crash of crumpling metal, the roar of flame, and an explosion that threw half the platoon into corners, a deployment pod smashed through the ceiling, falling slightly on its side with a hiss and a crackle.
The unfortunate Hormais were scattered everywhere. Some died instantly when debris and fire reached the detonators and bombs, while others, groaning and moving on the floor, slowly tried to come to their senses.
Frakh tried to stand, feeling pain fill his body, reminding him that he was still alive, but also creating the sensation that he was tearing apart inside.
"Though something inside definitely popped."
He thought with a grim smirk.
Around him were chaotically scattered debris, the remains of what had been home for the past few months. How many times had he stood guard here and practiced drills... and now everything was destroyed, and they hadn't even been given a chance to fight.
He opened his eyes, but they stung from smoke and dust. Frakh tried to see if anyone else was nearby. A faint sound came from the distance, but he couldn't tell if it was related to him or just his imagination.
Loneliness gripped him, sharpening his fear, as if trying to show that everything had changed and nothing would be the same.
Now he was alone in this ruined world. No friends, no hope of returning home. Only cold fear and the horror that life might never return to normal. Every breath was heavy, as if it were his last. His lungs gave off a wheeze, and a nasty wet cough tore out, pushed by the smoke and dust clogging his nose.
Turning on his side, Frakh tried to blink his eyes clear, to see at least something, but instead, a grim shroud and smog filled everything around him, behind which only tongues of fire were visible.
A miraculously surviving radio erupted with a new stream of panic-stricken cries. Through the white noise, the operator reported the start of orbital deployment, of thousands of bright fiery flashes that lit up the sky as if a new day were beginning.
Rising on his elbow, holding a bloody temple from which life-giving fluid was flowing profusely, Frakh was still able to pull himself up and get onto his knees.
Swaying slightly, feeling pain throughout his body, the Hormai looked around, noting with a heavy heart the abundance of corpses of comrades and friends who had died... not even in battle, for this could not be called a battle.
Leaning on everything he could reach with palms slippery with blood and constantly sliding down, leaving a trail of crimson writing on the walls behind him, Private Busol crawled to the radio transmitter, falling beside it... or rather, just collapsing on his side.
His trembling hands reached for the device to establish a connection and report, but then he felt a steel grip on his wrist, followed by the crack of breaking bones echoing through the ruined room.
Tearing a somewhat offended gaze away from the radio, Frakh stared into a terrible, dark mask covered in soot and fresh chips. Through the black slits of the helmet, he felt the gaze of a true monster and killer...
"Helldiver..." A quiet rustle, unlike his own voice, escaped his mouth. Lisping with a torn lip, feeling a chip on his tusk, the Hormai looked intently at the helmet, as if seeing through it. "You bastard..."
Feeling his heart beat faster and the adrenaline push the pain into the background, Frakh tried to take at least one of the bastards with him—to justify himself in his own eyes and do something, anything, for the victory of Hormai.
A lunge with his free hand ended in a fresh surge of pain. Shifting his gaze to his former limb, the Alien watched its fall to the floor with a sort of frenzy. His eyes widened involuntarily, and his breathing suddenly became easier and lighter, as if it had been granted a second chance.
A blade flashed in the reflections of the flames. A sharp vibro-blade sank up to the hilt into the young Hormai's chin, reliably cutting short a life that had barely even begun.
***
"A-a-ah..."
Drawing in a breath, even through the helmet filters, I felt that lovely mixture of soot, shit, Tibanna, gunpowder, and blood. Around me lay the corpses of upright walruses, each already sporting a neat little hole right in the forehead, for these Aliens proved to be remarkably resilient. Especially considering most had been standing at the epicenter of the explosion...
"But Holy Liberty proved stronger than your mechs and massive carcasses." Kicking the body beneath me, I flipped it onto its back, peering with interest at the red-haired Hormai with extinguished eyes.
My gaze slid over his body, examining the wounds and vulnerable spots. I paid particular attention to the arms and stomach, which looked dense and compact, capable of withstanding a lot—especially the gut.
"No real point shooting the stomach; I'd waste too much Tibanna," I said, slinging the Blaster over my shoulder and crouching beside the body to feel the muscles. "Tough, like steel cables... This one could probably wrestle with my armor, heh-heh-heh... Good, very good."
Standing to my full height, I checked my equipment one last time.
Vibro-knife.
The sharp blade had pierced the Hormai's skull without any trouble. A blade as long as my forearm.
Blaster rifle.
Full ammo, polished parts, and the light scent of fireproof lubricant.
An old revolver, a gift from distant Tatooine, which had once been a real rifle for hunting krayt dragons.
And my unhealthy enthusiasm.
"Excellent."
*****
"Close the doors! Don't let him break through—aghr!" The small Hormai's shout was cut short by a shot to the head. Somersaulting over the back of his dead kinsman, I lunged close to the walrus, pressed the muzzle against the loud-mouthed bastard's chin, and pulled the trigger, incinerating his skull with a charge from a plasma rifle scavenged from one of my enemies' corpses.
A jump to the side saved me from a vibro-axe strike. The massive blade sank into the dead body beneath me with a squelch, hacking through it to the floor and scattering the dead Hormai's innards across the area.
Spinning on my heels, I unleashed a burst from my Blaster, while my other hand leveled the plasma rifle, pointing the muzzle exactly between the eyes of a walrus charging at me. With a surprised squeak, the Alien froze for a fraction of a second, terrified sweat pouring down his hideous face, only to be blown back an instant later with a gaping hole where half his head used to be.
The smoking corpse hadn't even hit the ground before I parried a bayoneted rifle thrust with my own weapon. The blade slid just above my shoulder, grazing my pauldron, but the Hormai stumbled forward, losing his balance.
My armored knee slammed into the walrus's solar plexus, lifting him slightly into the air. Tossing my rifle up, I grabbed the heavy plasma gun with both hands and smashed the butt into the back of the whimpering walrus's head, killing the bastard instantly.
A hail of shots whistled from the side, forcing me to duck and weave. Shielding my helmet with my left hand, I tossed the bent rifle aside and, catching my own rifle as it fell to chest level, mowed down a couple of Hormai who had lunged from cover.
"Forwa-a-ard... Kha!"
A laser bolt burned through the shouter's throat. Clutching his neck, he fell to his knees, forcing his comrades to skirt around him—an opening I exploited by charging into their ranks.
I leaped onto a walrus's shoulder mid-run, drawing my vibro-blade and driving it into the suffocating alien's eye. He wheezed, twitching, likely spilling a mess of his foul-smelling, fatty blood everywhere...
But I didn't see it. Pushing off the dying walrus's shoulder, I jumped feet-first into the nearest freak, unloading the entire Blaster charge into the crowd running behind him. The rifle beeped, its barrel glowing red with overheat, the weapon vibrating indignantly, demanding gentler treatment... I didn't care.
I rolled away from another vibro-axe strike, this one with an antique flair. The weapon's handle was adorned with amulets and animal bones. Several ancestral fangs hung from the axe's pommel...
I ripped them off in one motion, provoking a furious roar from the owner of the ancient blade. A roar that was cut short when the carved walrus tusks were driven into his temple; with eyes rolling back, the Alien collapsed onto his massive gut, burying some wounded wretch beneath him.
A blow landed from the left. I had been too distracted, and in an instant, I was pinned against the wall by a fat carcass in a spacesuit that moved its limbs with surprising speed.
The Hormai used everything; wrestling with each other, we employed any means necessary to get rid of our opponent...
Tilting his head back, the prick even tried to sink his tusks into me, but wrenching my hand free, I shoved it straight into his maw, grabbed his tongue, and started pulling.
The fear in his cry of pain and despair was far more vivid than anything else.
My second hand was free again, and a thermal detonator ended up in the retreating Alien's mouth. He was so desperate to break away that when his jaws snapped shut, I didn't stop him—in fact, I gave him a shove with both feet.
Flying back into the crowd of his kinsmen, the walrus tried to pull the detonator from his throat, but suffocating, he only managed to claw his own mouth and lips before his head disintegrated in a plasma explosion.
"That's it... Yes... YES!" The rifle went onto its magnetic lock. Picking up the vibro-knife and drawing the modified revolver, I charged into the thick of the hulking aliens, who were hindering each other more than they were helping deal with me.
Spacesuits and fat were sliced open in a single motion. Bloodied fur fell at my feet, while a single shot from the large-caliber armor-piercing explosive round was enough to turn a large Hormai into a piece of useless meat, splattering his entire squad with his remains.
Another series of skirmishes and fights. I fought my way to the next floor, leaving behind ruined corridors filled with hundreds of corpses. Charred, shot, or gutted.
Killed by their own weapons, pinned to walls by the tusks of their brothers, or gunned down into smoking remains.
Lamps blinked crimson, and the cold from the street seeped into the building, freezing the blood into macabre patterns. Sparks from severed wires flared, accompanied by white noise from monitor screens.
Wrecked turrets hung from the ceilings, and human-sized breaches were punched through the barricades.
Every second, the building shuddered from impacts. The siren wailed incessantly, for from the roof, following in my wake, came the stomp of heavy sabatons. My Helldivers were already here, and it looked like I had very little time left before the fun ended.
***
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