"For freedom and right, for brotherhood and light,
We'll push back the darkness, our union is might!
Strong together—inspired by the dream,
Helldivers, marching for you!"
Reflexively jabbing a fist to my chest, I felt a relief and lightness not only in my head but in my entire body. As if seeing clearly for a moment, sensing the full weight of my new life, I recite the oath of allegiance to the flag, after which I continue my journey under the Jawa's skeptical gaze.
"!»%;:?!»;№%
"You don't understand a thing. It sounds great," I said, waving a hand at the silly lover of smells rather than good music. I accelerate, climbing a steep dune that was circled by a curve of paw prints and wheel tracks. In some places, characteristic waves created by a speeder's repulsorlift were even visible, and that meant only one thing: I was on the right path. "Besides, I don't remember you singing anything better yourself. Your song sounded like an astromech's drunken limericks."
Climbing the dune, I nonetheless didn't lower my vigilance and constantly tracked everything in the area; therefore, when the characteristic sound of a blaster shot was heard in the distance, I immediately dropped to the ground, simultaneously knocking down the shorty... that sounds a bit wrong, I suppose... I just placed my hand on her head and she fell after me.
Wriggling in the sand, the little Jawa was clearly dousing me in native curses. Having swallowed a mouthful of dust, she grumpily tried to stand back up, but seeing my serious facial expression, she froze like a frightened womp rat.
"Quiet." Placing an index finger to my lips, I was the first to crawl forward, hoping that my hearing had failed me this time, but... "Oh, shit."
Having reached the top, carefully peeking from the crest of the dune, I caught an extremely unpleasant sight. A genuine desert dweller caravan was traveling about three hundred meters away from us. Seated upon their favorite beasts—banthas—the Sand People were moving forward slowly but surely.
Some were riding, some were walking, but most of them—presumably women and children—were rolling on harnessed travois.
There were many of them... very many, and most unpleasantly, in the very center of their caravan, they were leading about a dozen people, among whom miners and residents of local settlements were easily recognized. Were they captives bought from the raiders or the few who survived the raids and couldn't resist a large tribe of Sand People?
I didn't know, but the fact that I could help these people was obvious.
Without even noticing it myself while I watched, I had already managed to unwrap Mizuma's gift and was now looking through the crosshairs of the front sight at the riders at the front of the column.
"Goddamn slave-owners... Animals that have trampled upon great freedom..."
Hissing the words through my teeth, I aimed at the first bastard, preparing to pull the trigger, but then I was pulled by the arm, dragged back behind the dune.
"Shorty, if you don't want to help, then better not meddle..."
Snarling angrily, I was already about to crawl back when the little Jawa blocked the path with her body, pointing a finger somewhere to the side.
"Now what? A new tribe? A krayt dragon, or maybe the raiders have shown up right here so we don't have to look for them... Shit."
Glancing in the indicated direction, I saw most of the above. The "Desert Rules" gang was rushing on riding animals, buggies, and a pair of speeders, fleeing from a massive krayt dragon that was about six times larger than the one that had chased me.
The massive beast opened its maw, revealing such an impressive set of teeth that the largest Terminid bugs would seem like children's toys.
"Let's get out of here."
Swallowing thick saliva, I was the first to run in the opposite direction, but as if at fate's prompting, the bandits turned toward us, and consequently, the krayt dragon rushed here too. With one movement of its tail, the monster swept away a much larger dune than the one we had been sitting on a couple of minutes ago.
"This way, this way, this way!"
"!№%:?;:№%!*"
"I know the Sand People are there! What, is there another option?"
Leaping over the crest, I tumble down head over heels, but even through the rustle of sand trying to get into my ears, I heard the roar of gunfire, the bellow of the approaching dragon, and the characteristic ululation of the desert dwellers as they converged to meet the threat, preparing to take the fight.
And at first, they were doing fine.
Crashing onto my ass, I had to quickly run to the side, covering myself with sand hills and dry rocks while high-caliber laser bolts flew behind my back. The favorite rifles of the natives fired slowly and weren't particularly accurate, but on the other hand, if that behemoth hits you—it's game over.
Diving behind a rock at the last moment, I release the shorty I'd been carrying the whole way.
Glancing at the corner of my cover, I realize with horror that the savages' rifles are gradually destroying the stone.
"Just what kind of caliber do you have anyway?"
Crawling further away, I nearly exposed myself to a shot when the rock behind my back suddenly ended. Fortunately, my hand slipped and I tumbled to the ground, letting a whole wave of green flashes pass over my head, plowing the sand.
But then the main actors stepped onto the stage.
The appearance of the bandits' striking force didn't frighten the Sand People; quite the opposite. Growing excited, they rushed to meet the new enemies. Confident in their victory, they fired at the bandits driving past them, hoping to hit someone, and they even succeeded.
But following the loud roar of engines came another.
Smashing through a dune with its head, showering us all with a rain of sand, the mighty krayt dragon crushed about a dozen natives with its belly, simultaneously burying a couple of the raiders' vehicles. Swinging its snout, snapping its jaws, it plowed through the front ranks of both groups, easily crushing the flimsy defense.
Panic erupted everywhere, and the few sand warriors left to guard the caravan took off at full speed into the sunset, taking their families away from this monster.
However, they weren't the only ones to act this way. The "cool and dangerous" guys from Sandy Grimm's gang burned the last bit of crap out of their vehicles just to get further away.
True chaos reigned here... But it is precisely in such situations that Helldivers feel best.
Jabbing the rifle at the shorty, I drop my backpack to the ground and, from a low start, gain decent momentum, rapidly approaching the slaves abandoned to the mercy of fate.
Frozen in stupor, bound hand and foot in a single network, they could barely move at a normal pace, let alone escape from a krayt dragon.
"For fuck's sake!"
Dropping to a knee, I slide under a vehicle flying over my head. A spinning buggy was flying by with its chassis to the sky and, lifting my eyes, I met the gaze of a couple of bandits screaming at the top of their lungs and clutching the handrails and steering wheel. Their eyes were bulging. I have never seen so much fear and horror, mixed with utter shock, in my life!
Sliding under the buggy, I jump to my feet, leaning back in time to let the body of one of the Sand People pass in front of me. With shouts in his native language, he hurtled somewhere to the side, slamming into a hill and kicking up a new wave of dust.
One of the bandits lunged toward me, riding a local wonder of fauna—an eopie. A malnourished-looking elephant with a small trunk and scrawny legs. The poor beast was even more frightened than its master, and when it saw me, it bucked its rider to the ground and ran off, emitting amusing gurgling sounds.
The raider didn't appreciate his fall and the vehicle's escape, so he yelled frantically and rushed at me with a mace held high.
Dodging the first two blows, I strike the idiot under the knee, then knock him out with an elbow, leaving him lying face-down in the sand. But I couldn't stay to watch his smooth and slow fall, for I had to run further. The krayt dragon was rampaging or screaming with joy, causing the chaos to grow.
Several banthas, stepping heavily on the sand, ran parallel to me, dragging dead riders behind them. Behind them, one of the bandits was running on all fours, hoping to latch on and escape this hell, but he was clearly losing in speed.
The sand began to settle, and more and more silhouettes became visible around, converging on one spot. It was as if a pack instinct were drawing us to unite against a common threat. But that didn't make us friends, and thus the first desert dweller tried to chop my head off, but instead fell to the sand with a grunt, paralyzed by a blaster shot.
The number of people around was increasing, and everyone was running, fighting each other, or simply screaming in panic.
Several other desert dwellers attacked me, but after catching a couple of cuffs and shots, they stayed to rest on the sand while I fought my way further.
"Phew... Holy freedom, I even missed this a little," falling out of the sand cloud at the slaves' feet, leaning on my own knees, I reached them, spitting out the sand that had clogged my mouth and nose. "Don't be afraid, friends. Democracy is already here."
Pointing a hand at myself, I approach the first slave and, without thinking twice, shoot off the chains from his hands and feet, helping the man—stunned by what was happening—to free himself.
Not really understanding what was going on, he thanked me politely and quietly, then stepped aside and sat on the sand, staring at the battle unfolding nearby. The man was in clear shock, and judging by his content, well-fed appearance and smooth face—he had become a slave quite recently and was likely not prepared for such situations.
Next came other humans and aliens. There were a few Jawas here, a pair of Zabraks, and even some guy looking like a lizard.
Some thanked me, others fell silently to the ground, not believing in their newfound freedom, while still others began searching for any kind of weapon so as not to remain defenseless before their former masters, who were slowly emerging from the shroud toward us.
Truth be told, they didn't look their best. All bruised, covered in blood... their own or their comrades'. Some were dragging the corpses of their tribesmen, and occasionally carrying them on their shoulders.
Slightly to their right, the surviving raiders began to emerge. Fewer than ten people, in not the best condition. And while the desert dwellers helped each other and hauled the bodies of the fallen, these conversely tried to distance themselves and keep all their "comrades" in their field of vision.
Not all of those who escaped the krayt dragon's wrath had weapons. Most made do with knives or the maces so popular in the desert.
And here was the scene.
The sand settles completely. The krayt dragon—having had its fill—leaves, leaving us to deal with all the problems ourselves. And we stand there, divided into three groups.
The Good. The Bad. The Ugly.
Though both terms were applicable to my opponents, but...
Snatching a blaster from my belt, I point it at the bandits as the best-armed group. The former slaves stand beside me, clutching their former chains and other junk they'd managed to find.
Rousing themselves, the raiders spread out in a wide front, trying to keep everyone in their sights, while the desert dwellers remained standing in place, burning me with their gaze.
"Shoot... Kill them."
Someone was whispering behind me. The voice was clearly male and, to my surprise, strong and calm, as if he hadn't just been pulled from slavery.
"People might get hurt... Better not to risk it." Everyone was clearly listening to my words, and then, as soon as I saw smiles on the bandits' faces and heard a sigh of disappointment behind my back, I opened fire. Four laser bolts traversed the distance separating us in an instant. The first two knocked weapons from hands; another two shot through the legs of those holding maces. Falling to the ground, they erupted in screams, begging for help. "Phew, that's better."
Without putting away the blaster, I continue to track the reaction of all my opponents, and it seems I was understood correctly. Both the desert dwellers and the raiders threw away their sticks, knives, maces, or even rifles. Watching my reaction closely.
But then a commotion started behind me; throwing a quick glance back, I saw a couple of Zabraks tackling some red-haired man. One of them had pinned the redhead face-down in the sand, pressing a knee between his shoulder blades.
Not dwelling on it, I turn back, where both teams tried to regain their weapons. My first shot cut short the life of a desert dweller. Dressed in rags like all his kinsmen, he was already picking up a rifle from the sand, reloading it on the move.
My blaster bolt hit him right between the eyes, throwing his head back and causing his body to fall flat. Sprawled on the sand, he continued to twitch in convulsions for a couple of seconds until the tremors throughout his body stopped.
Shifting the barrel of the pistol to the next armed opponent, I met the gaze of a bandit high on adrenaline who was aiming crookedly in my direction. He could hit one of the slaves, so I pulled the trigger without hesitation, but I was too late.
A thunderous shot rang out across the area, and the unfortunate raider's body was blown to smithereens, covering the sand in a bloody blotch. The anti-personnel rifle cartridge with an explosive bullet didn't leave the poor soul even a chance for survival.
Somewhere in the distance, on the dune from which I had started my descent into this theater of madness, clouds of sand rose into the air. Along with the indignant squeaks of the shorty, who was having trouble holding my rifle in her hands. Apparently, the shot had thrown her back a good four meters.
Closing my eyes, I pass a hand over my face, wiping away the drops of blood that had flown a good ten meters.
"Mizuma, for fuck's sake... what kind of hand-cannon did you build me?"
***
I didn't kill the desert dwellers and the raiders—I simply didn't have time. As soon as the echoes of panic subsided, the militantly inclined Zabraks led their comrades in misfortune against the enemy.
I thought about stopping them, but then I looked more closely at the bodies of the former slaves, tortured by abuse... and turned away. Wheezing and groans were heard behind my back as two dozen captives strangled their enslavers with their own chains.
The execution didn't last even a couple of minutes before the last desert dweller fell dead, trampled into the ground by angry sentients wanting more than just the death of a couple of bastards.
But fortunately, the Zabrak brothers were able to pacify the unfortunate ones, and both came to me, preventing a lynch mob against the raiders as well, which, by the way, told me a lot about the desert dwellers' slaves.
"We are grateful."
"Indeed."
Though they spoke in turns, the impression wasn't the most pleasant, as if chatting with robots. The intonation, the speed, even the stresses... everything was so identical that if I hadn't seen them moving their lips, I'd have thought it was one person. And their speech was measured and calm, though I clearly remember the expressions on their hellish faces when they stood slightly behind me in the three-way confrontation.
They looked extremely striking. Tall, broad-shouldered with brown skin. Lean bodies, corded with muscles not from an easy life. And most importantly, the eyes—calm and heavy, like a boundless sea.
"How can we repay you?"
"How can we help?"
"Ma-a-a..." Scratching the back of my head, I break away from cleaning the rifle, which was entirely clogged with sand. It turns out the shorty hadn't flown anywhere; it was the rifle itself that had flown out of her hands, nearly getting stuck in the dune. "I don't really need anything."
"Supporters..."
"Helpers."
"No, no, guys. I travel alone," as if on command, the two brothers turned toward the shorty, who was currently listening to her kinsmen who had been in captivity with a self-important look, "well, almost alone."
"We can watch your back."
"There's plenty of weapons."
"Well, yeah..." The conversation was becoming surprisingly awkward. And I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and continue following the bandits' trail.
"Although... I should interrogate a couple first, in case this is all a decoy and they're somewhere else."
Nodding decisively, I listen to most of what the Zabraks say. Rising to my feet, I walk through our improvised camp, hoping that while I was busy with my gear, they hadn't finished off the raiders yet... or rather, what was left of their impressive squad.
Walking around the people huddling together, I reached the bandits sitting on their knees, who were staring blankly at the battlefield.