"Two corvettes slightly damaged, three more permanently disabled and only fit for scrap. Twenty-six fighters destroyed beyond recovery, and half as many bombers. Eight transport vessels, four gunships, and sixty-two drop pods."
Pulling his collar to the side to give himself more air, Brag Fesat continued the report, clearly agitated and sweating profusely, which did not improve my mood.
"Brag, continue, no need to be nervous..."
"Um... Yes, Commander. Sorry... I mean, my apologies." Smiling awkwardly, the Ukian cleared his throat and, swallowing thick saliva, began reading the rest of the damage lines our fleet had sustained. A massive amount of expenses appeared in my head as he moved to the next point. For nearly fifteen minutes, Fesat listed the destroyed resources we had put so much effort into... Fortunately, they had fulfilled their task and helped save as many lives as possible. "As for our flagship, the prognosis here is much more optimistic..."
Pausing for a moment, he looked at Somnia and Shorty for support, receiving encouraging nods in return. The Ukian continued with renewed strength in his voice.
"Less than half of the systems are damaged, so in just two months of unhurried repair, the ship will be back in service."
"I see." My dry response clearly frightened the former civilian, causing him to grip the tablet in his hands harder, until his knuckles turned white. "Send me the full list; I'll review it later... Is there anything I should know right now?"
"M-m-m... Nothing urgent, but..." Asking permission with a look, the Ukian waited until I glanced at him and only then continued. "I've recalculated the statistics and come to a conclusion..."
"Don't drag it out, Brag."
"...Come to the conclusion that we could use our own drones. Not necessarily as expensive and dangerous... and heavy... and complex... But at least a couple of simple pieces of hardware per squad to cover the soldiers or be the first to enter dangerous rooms."
"I hear you. Shorty is already working on that; you'll discuss it with her."
Nodding silently at my words, the little Jawa sitting nearby made an "okay" gesture with her hand, famous even in this world.
Leaning against the table, I suppressed a heavy sigh. Folding my fingers into a lock at face level, I rested my forehead on them, trying to maintain my composure.
"What about casualties?"
Taking the baton from Fesat, the Zabrak brothers nodded to each other, and Einz, rising from his seat, began reading the report.
"They are still being tallied. Some crew members managed to get into pods, and we even found a couple in a damaged shuttle," at my questioning look, the Zabrak explained, "they were repairing it, and when the ship started falling apart, they locked themselves inside and survived."
To everyone's surprise, Einz answered in a detailed and wordy manner. His brother, on the contrary, almost never opened his mouth, as if they shared the ability to speak between the two of them.
"Understood. Give me at least the estimates."
"Hm..." Tapping his finger on the tablet, the Zabrak brought the summaries onto the screen. "Barely half of the Helldivers are left. The soldiers of Hutt Space thinned us out well."
The images on the screen replaced one another. Pictures from helmets showed the bodies of soldiers killed in battle. And in the final frame, even rows of bodies were shown, laid out in the hangar of our Dreadnaught.
"The rest have wounds of varying degrees of severity." Einz recited dryly. The report lines flashed before my eyes, showing the types of wounds and the recovery time for the people. To our surprise, there were very few cripples... Though, the Hutt sycophants didn't take prisoners. "I won't speak about the pilots and those serving on the vessels; something changes there every moment, even now accurate data is unavailable."
"Understood... What about the CSA?"
"They came out of this battle in even worse shape than we did," Somnia took the floor, taking the Zabrak's place, "half the fleet has vanished into oblivion, and the crews of the surviving ships were slaughtered almost by half, if not more. Admiral Conor Tiss also fell in battle, along with all the senior officers who were on the flagship's bridge."
"And who's in charge of them now?"
"It's unclear for now. The Authority representative also died, so now they are waiting for orders from above." Plugging the tablet into the stand, Somnia displayed a mountain of data on the holographic screen. "But it's an ill wind that blows no good..."
We all looked questioningly at the morally and physically exhausted girl. With a band-aid on her forehead, dark circles under her eyes, and pale cheeks that would be the envy of any vampire or medieval aristocrat, Somnia nevertheless smiled a sad smile.
"Immediately after the battle, a peace proposal came from the Hutt Cartel. And with it, a photograph," displaying it on the screen, the girl stepped aside, letting us fully enjoy what we saw. It depicted the severed head of Zorba the Hutt. Having a rare defect in the form of abundant hair over his entire body, this slug looked even more disgusting than his vile son. "As you can see, we have fulfilled the task we set for ourselves."
"Well, fuck..."
"Yeah," apparently the girl herself had already managed to burn out and swear her fill, as she reacted more calmly than anyone else in the room, "apparently the Cartel was counting on that. Most of the forces under Zorba's control are destroyed, his troops in the Sector also perished—after which they got rid of him and have surely already divided up all the property. We, on the other hand, received a good slap that restored our slightly shaken authority. Given that our war was specifically with the Desilijic kajidic, there's no more point for them to spend money on a confrontation with the Helldivers."
Rubbing my forehead in a futile attempt to get rid of a headache, I lowered my eyelids, trying to detach myself from the abundance of news. We ourselves wanted to do everything my deputy described, so it's not surprising that the Hutts thought of such a solution.
Only now, they will have the advantage in negotiations, and I don't even know what they will ask for in exchange for peace.
"Ah... Shit. Alright, let's end it there. We'll meet in ten hours for a re-calculation of everything. Don't forget to get some sleep; they can count the bodies and damage without you... You look like living corpses."
Being the first to stand up from the table, I waved to my comrades and left the briefing room.
***
Our little war with the Cartel had come to an end. Just like that, quickly and extremely bloodily.
Practically decapitating, or at least contributing to it, the Desilijic kajidic by depriving it of its most influential and powerful members. We created quite a stir in Hutt Space, where greedy slugs began to divide the fallen bear, merrily gutting its carcass while still managing to fight among themselves.
Several clans were literally tearing the remnants of the Desilijic kajidic to pieces, killing Jabba's brothers, uncles, and nephews. His other relatives, to their own regret, did not possess the same wealth and power as their deceased kinsman and his father.
Pirates from all over the galaxy flocked to the Space to enter the service of the richest Hutt and have a good time digging through golden palaces and stealing slug goods.
One could even say that for a moment... for just a brief moment, we made the galaxy absolutely safe from piracy. It's funny, of course, because after that, the real horror began. The galaxy was shaking. Our little war for Tatooine led to a redistribution of influence in many spheres of power, and the powerful of the world today were actively measuring their tools, proving who was better.
The Galactic Republic also found itself affected by these ripples on the water. Watching all this fuss with wariness, calculating the losses and profits that the redistribution of power among the Hutts would bring. Many senators were instantly left out in the cold. Having lost a huge source of illegal income, they quickly lost their positions, which caused a real dogfight in the Senate of the Republic, where factions redistributed power in a new way, drowning everyone who was connected with the Desilijic kajidic.
Changes also affected the surrounding worlds, as well as those sectors that happened to be near Hutt Space during this difficult time for everyone.
While the latter were naturally suffering from the influx of pirates and the weakness of the Judicial Forces, which simply didn't have time to repel the attacks of the entire horde of space bastards. Hundreds of planets around the slugs' territory were attacked. Bored thugs entertained themselves as best they could, and we were partly to blame for this.
But the worlds that had suffered from Jabba and Zorba, on the contrary, rose like a phoenix from the ashes. Supporters of Democracy, those suffering from pirates and Hutts, simply concerned sentients... Dozens, if not hundreds of worlds around Tatooine tried to contact us. After all, following the fall of "Jabba's empire," they no longer wanted to be under the heel of the slugs or their ilk.
On Rishi and neighboring systems, local "barons" and "kings" of the endless expanses—as this carrion proudly likes to call itself—also tried to act tough. But, inspired by our success, the rulers of the planets began to help the Helldivers even more actively—providing us with simply incredible opportunities.
It only took a couple of dozen slaughtered crews, whose heads we sent back with the sole survivor, for them to leave us alone.
So days passed, and then weeks, and the little war in Hutt Space gained momentum... Although, it was hard to call it a war, rather gangster showdowns and intrigues, during which a budget equivalent to the taxes from the Core Worlds of the Galactic Republic was being tossed around.
It was as if everyone had forgotten about us, but I suspected it wouldn't be for long, so I threw all our strength into making the Helldivers the dominant force in this part of the galaxy.
We set about vigorously healing our wounds and raking in everything we could. Ships were sent out, recruits were trained, orders were accepted, and new recruitment points with forward bases were founded on different planets.
****
A young blond guy, straightening his back, stood up to his full height, surveying the surroundings. Adjusting his straw hat, he patted an old agricultural tractor on its plating.
Dressed in simple work clothes, he seemed like the most ordinary and simple human, of which there are billions across the galaxy. A smiling face, hands covered in calluses, a fit body, and the look of a man content with his life, who had found his own happiness.
Affectionately running his hand over the brand-new paint, the man waved to a pair of drones flying past that were spraying the endless fields from the air.
Beeping something in their own language, the busy machines went on their way, bringing a smile to the young man's face.
Surveying the area, he inhaled the air, enjoying the approaching dawn, which announced the end of work better than any clock or alarm.
Somewhere in the distance, workers were also rising, finishing their shift in the fields, and from the direction of the city, located a couple of kilometers away, the sounds of music began to drift. Night was coming into its own, and the only settlement in the entire area was slowly lit up by hundreds of lights, to which, like moths, laborers and farmers flocked, wanting to get home and rest as soon as possible.
Walking along the road, the man carelessly put his hands in his pockets, looking at the night sky full of stars. He imagined ships flying there and for a moment even imagined himself in the role of a brave Captain, giving orders to hundreds of soldiers from the bridge.
"Oh come on, that's nonsense," smiling, the guy spat out a straw and his eyes dropped to the ground. Stopping for a moment, he realized he had stepped on some piece of paper and without thinking long, leaning to the ground, he picked up a crumpled booklet that had clearly flown out of a trash can, "Okay... Now that's real nonsense."
Looking at the colorful brochure, which depicted soldiers in the bluish uniform of his home planet, Ord Pardron.
"Join the self-defense forces, protect our home."
The boy spat demonstratively to the side, then crumpled the paper and with a deft flick of his hand threw it into a trash can left by the road.
Having already covered half the way, he was still quietly laughing and joking about naive soldiers who dreamed of sucking onto the state budget.
"And why do we need so many soldiers? What stupidity. Better to buy new tractors..."
But the guy couldn't finish, because at that very moment new, strange lights lit up over the city.
Squinting his eyes, he peered into the bright crimson beams flying from orbit, and only when they almost collided with the roofs of the houses did he realize what it was.
A crushing blow fell upon the city. In a host of beams, pirate barges and shuttles fell from the sky, vomiting thugs, bastards, and Cannibals onto the streets of the defenseless town. Like faceless spirits, they rushed through the streets, killing everyone and everything, and some even began to devour flesh right then and there.
The rest were led away into slavery, and their miserable faces seemed to look straight into his soul. It seemed that no walls and no distance could break their penetrating gaze.
On leaden legs, the guy ran into the city, and as soon as he crossed the invisible line, his strength left him. Falling to his knees, dropping salty tears on the ground, he watched his home perish. In the glow of the fires, his face was painted in red and yellow colors.
Dropping his hands, he whispered something under his breath, and at that moment exactly the same crumpled piece of paper he had thrown away on the road flew into his chest.
Suddenly the picture stopped.
An "18+" icon appeared in the corner of the screen, and the same shaggy guy in the straw hat stepped into the foreground. Looking at himself with contempt, he looked right into the camera.
Smiling sardonically and sadly at the same time, the guy began to speak.
"Sound familiar? But this could happen to any of you." Inhaling the air, as if plunging into memories, the young man closed his eyes at the end of the phrase. "Every day, hundreds and thousands of worlds are attacked by pirates, slave traders, and other filth from Unknown Space. And your home could be next."
Abruptly opening his eyes, he took a step forward, raising his right hand higher and clenching his fingers into a fist.
"Make the decision that will change your life forever!"
The image of the destroyed city in the background disappeared, and instead, a huge blue flag with a schematic representation of the galaxy with the Republic coat of arms in the very center opened across the entire screen.
The guy himself had also changed drastically. His head was shaved bald, and his farmer's clothes were replaced by massive body armor. Holding a helmet in both hands, no longer seeming so carefree and funny, the guy put it on his head.
"Get the power and the opportunity to protect Democracy and your freedom. Join... the Helldivers!"
The frame abruptly changes and a huge Dreadnaught, shooting down pirate tubs, fires boarding pods that pierce through the flimsy little vessels and continue on toward the planet.
A voice-over begins to read the text, soulfully and insinuatingly telling about all the advantages of joining the ranks of the fighters for Democracy.
"Join the best army in the entire galaxy!"
A shaky camera from the shoulder of one of the Helldivers showed how a dozen of these crazy soldiers burst into the spacious hangar of a pirate station and began to destroy everything living around them.
"Learn to resist aggressive life forms."
Several Helldivers grabbed a huge mantis by its legs and claws, then pulled in different directions—tearing them out by the roots. To the death scream of the sentient insect, the limbless body flopped to the ground, and the soldiers standing around threw down the mantis legs and began giving each other high-fives.
"And help spread the winds of Managed Democracy across the galaxy! So that other citizens of the Republic can feel safe too."
The famous shot of Jabba the Hutt's body flashed on the screen. The miserable crushed carcass was frequently dropped until it was finally secured to some pole.
The camera rose higher and higher until it showed a huge flag waving in the wind. Parallel frames changed, demonstrating the heroism of the Helldivers and hundreds of grateful inhabitants of the galaxy greeting their saviors.
"Become a hero!"
Several freed female slaves hugged a soldier while a Zygerrian slave trader, whose entire body was covered in slave collars with blinking detonators, suffered under his feet. As soon as the camera turned away from the moaning slave trader, an explosion occurred, and the Helldiver in the frame gave a "thumbs up."
"Become a legend!"
Dozens of shots from different planets showed thousands of children surrounding the Helldivers. A pair of soldiers stood against the background of a heavy machine gun, handing out bullets the size of a palm to the children and saying that there are enough seeds of freedom for everyone. Behind them, the Judicial Forces led a pirate gang in shackles.
"Become a Helldiver!"
Standing in the orbit of a small moon, a soldier in armor thrust his fist upward, and hundreds and thousands of others followed suit, performing a military salute in a single impulse. Various ships with black and yellow symbols flew in space above them, and behind the entire fleet, armies, and planets—the flag of the Helldivers waved proudly.
The entire video was accompanied by pathetic music. A bright and easily remembered motif fit the video sequence perfectly. One only had to start humming, and images of the video watched would instantly arise in the head.
The last chord struck and the screen went dark. At the end, a soldier appeared on the HoloNet screens, pointing a finger at the audience. A series of inscriptions with general information, contact details, and addresses of planets where Helldiver recruitment points are located quickly ran from top to bottom.
As soon as the credits ended, an inscription dropped from above, under the image of the soldier:
"We need you for the Helldivers."
Turning off the screen, the head of the Council of First Knowledge turned to his comrades and colleagues.
"I'm afraid we can't wait any longer, Master. This is all starting to get out of control and gain momentum. Dozens, maybe already hundreds of planets. Entire sectors... I have failed."
This admission was reacted to in different ways, but no one uttered a word, allowing the Grand Master of the Order to make a decision.
"Hmm," amusingly twitching his ears, the green-skinned shorty smacked his lips like an old man, then opened one eye, "Afraid, are you? Worried. To fear, the way you give."
"You are right," the head of the Shadows confessed, "my softness led to this... I'm afraid I made a major mistake... and it will be my last in this post."
"Hm, hm... I see. Everything already decided, you have," opening his second eye, Master Yoda looked around at the present masters, "A successor then, we should choose for you. The question... that bothers you so—a proven one will handle, my friend. A student who wisdom has found. Cope, he should."
***
Read early on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan