"TRA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA!"
The mad scream into the radio channel from the younger of the Somnia brothers coincided in rhythm with the shots of the heavy machine gun mounted on the Speeder. Sending out huge bullets that looked more like small rockets, the Shorty's contraption was tearing apart an orbital shuttle trying to lift off from the planet.
Nearby, its twin was already burning out, flames bursting from its side, while the sentients who survived the crash were hastily scrambling out, falling under the crossfire of a dozen soldiers.
The Speeder made a sharp turn, and a fighter leaning out of the side door hoisted a launcher onto his shoulder again, sending a little gift into the rear of the fleeing shuttle.
The machine gun didn't stop firing. Dozens of laser beams shot into the sky, striking the mangled wings of the shuttle.
Each new shot tore off pieces of the hull, ripping through the plating and exposing the delicate underside. The Speeder circled the landing pad while the frenzied Helldiver emptied all the expensive rounds into the target. Heating the barrel to a glow, unconcerned with trifles, the Little Brother was turning the handiwork of Corellian engineers into a pile of junk.
Not far from this mad scene, several paratroopers were dragging an old fuel truck. Clad in power armor, nearly two dozen men maddened by the weight were pushing the ancient truck toward the gates of a locked hangar while an explosive charge was being hung directly on the door.
Two crazed sappers, recently recruited into the squad, were frantically connecting wires, constantly looking back and trying not to think about how big the blast would be when the fuel truck was rolled up to the doors.
On the periphery, shots and explosions were heard, interrupted by the screams of paratroopers constantly breaking into mad counterattacks whenever the enemy exhausted themselves in the offensive.
A flight of Shock Troopers flew over the heads of the fighters, dropping their explosive gifts onto the heads of the enemies of democracy. Flying in a steady formation, they mowed down a huge portion of the forest surrounding the secret spaceport on the planet Kashyyyk.
Vile bombs with a mixture of napalm and canister shot scattered over hundreds of meters, coating everything in a foul flammable mixture that burned right through the bodies of the Trandoshan raiders.
Following the flights of assault ships, over the burning forests choking with black smoke, flew Geth Dropships with open sides. A jaunty musical tune blared from the lead craft. Huge audio systems were installed there, while the following craft fired rapid-fire repeaters—releasing hundreds of projectiles every second.
Dozens of beams connected the burning forests and the flight of ships, from which, after a couple of minutes, other paratroopers began jumping out, directly onto the heads of the stunned Trandoshans.
Considering themselves true predators, great hunters, they had expected a relentless and dangerous battle among the jungles and forests. Ambushes, traps, decoys... The entire forest was plowed with thousands of secrets that were supposed to turn the Wookiee army and their helpers into corpses riddled with blaster bolts.
But no one was going to play by their rules.
"This is Pelican lead to Freedom Rider. Giving you a fix," the Geth Dropships made a sharp turn and headed toward the main mass of pirates retreating through the forests, "bomb them into the Stone Age, son!"
Several dozen flares, leaving bright trails in the air, shot into the galaxy-famous forests. For the first few minutes, nothing happened, but then the first shots arrived from orbit.
Ripping through ancient canopies, crushing the strongest bark, the starship guns ironed the planet's surface, killing thousands of Trandoshan raiders who had been plundering Kashyyyk and other neighboring systems for centuries.
The stench of burnt trees, scorched earth, and thousands of singed corpses hit the nose. Covering his snout with a paw, Chieftain Tarfful let out a long howl, staring in shock and a bit of fear at how, in just a couple of hours, a squad of Humans had turned a vast forest into a burning wasteland.
Looking around, the Chieftain tried to find any voice of reason in all this madness... and yet, at first, he had been more pleased than anyone with what was happening.
There, two dozen Helldivers were dumping corpses into a huge pit filled with starship fuel.
Next to them, a couple of fighters were trying to stick a flag into the back of a killed rancor, while the still-living monster feebly crawled away from them using one arm.
Somewhere in the distance, orbital strikes hit again, causing another shockwave and a small mushroom cloud over the forest.
And over Tarfful's head, a cavalcade of Shock Troopers swept by, generously dropping the ammunition the Wookiees had paid for.
Tibanna, rounds, rockets, bombs... Hundreds of kilograms of projectiles rained down on the heads of the hated Trandoshans, who couldn't even really respond and were simply running through the forest.
But Tarfful knew that on the other side, his kinsmen were already waiting for them, the most furious among them—those who had lost loved ones and relatives to the raids of the cursed lizards.
"Wa-a-a-a-a."
"Mmmm... You're right, I love this scent," sticking his chest out, the commander of the crazy unit stood beside him. Hands on his hips, the man, without removing his helmet, pretended to sense the full spectrum of the stench surrounding them on all sides, "I'm so glad you guys turned out to be much better than I thought you were."
"U-a-a-a-a."
Swearing at the foolish human, Tarfful didn't listen to the answer. For Sam didn't know the Wookiee language and arbitrarily made up his own translation, which deeply annoyed the Chieftain's guard and the Chieftain himself, but...
"The deed is done. The contract is fulfilled, and in the most brutal and best way possible, just as I asked."
The old Chieftain's eyes looked over the destruction with doubt once more, glanced at the satisfied Helldiver, after which he waved a paw—conceding that it was better this way than for the foul slavers to steal any more of his kinsmen for their hides.
"Right, well, the deed is done. Our deal stands," out of nowhere, a hundred of his thugs lined up around Sam, holding their weapons suggestively, though not yet aiming them at the nervous Wookiees, "meds, crystals, furniture... and fruit. Everything as agreed?"
Nodding cautiously, Tarfful waited until he was handed a tablet on which the Chieftain carefully placed his signature. The goods for payment had long been ready and were waiting to be loaded, so everything happening was just a formality...
But the old Wookiee was sure it was worth observing. Before turning to these psychopaths who championed freedom and democracy, he had delicately studied their past exploits, so he knew perfectly well what happened to dishonest clients.
The crazy Helldivers could exert enormous effort, spend many times more energy, time, money, and their own lives, but they would take revenge on anyone who cheated them on a contract.
And Tarfful didn't really want flights of Shock Troopers flying over his home city one day, especially for such a dishonorable and stupid reason.
Given that in a few years this military conflict would be called the Fruit War, because they paid a full-weight fruit for the life of every Trandoshan, the Chieftain didn't want to have anything more to do with the insane sentients at all.
"Excellent, excellent! A pleasure doing business with you..."
Sam's speech was abruptly interrupted, and his SIT glowed blue, emitting a specific signal. Instantly giving a command, he disappeared behind the dense ranks of his men, but the Wookiee's keen hearing helped catch details of the conversation... which, truth be told, caused an even greater sense of shame on the furry face.
"Sam? Are you finished risking your life for melons over there?"
"Melon? MELON?!" Enraged, the mercenary commander gave the fighters the order to disperse and prepare for departure, while he himself began walking back and forth, talking about all the wonders of the fruit he had bartered from the Wookiees for destroying the Trandoshans. "Sun Gemelia is not just a melon..."
Tarfful remembered what a funny expression Sam had on his face when he first tasted the Gemelia. Not that the Chieftain didn't recognize good taste or had anything against it, but...
It was all strange. The Helldivers commander looked like an addict who had gotten to his fix.
This exotic fruit, similar to a melon, is distinguished by a dazzling yellow skin with pearlescent spots. When you cut it open, inside is a juicy pulp saturated with colors with light sparkles, like stars, making the Sun Gemelia look truly magical.
Many aristocrats or wealthy people love desserts prepared using it. But Wookiees don't engage in its sale or cultivation for export; rather, they give it as a gift or simply as a present to people they like personally.
In his time, Tarfful had personally given Master Yoda a fruit the size of his small ship. Something he was justifiably proud of and occasionally told his grandchildren and children about.
And Sam, meanwhile, couldn't settle down.
"...Its taste combines the sweetness of honey and a light hint of lemon, creating an amazing delight. It's believed that 'Sun Gemelia' brings luck and inspiration to those who try it..."
"God, I get it, Boss. You're right, it was worth gathering nearly two thousand of our boys from their contracts to kick some lizard ass in the woods."
"Ahem... Well, yeah," apparently even this crazy human realized how strange all this looked from the outside, "so what happened? Urgent? Or just because?"
"Hm, there's a couple of pieces of news that might interest you," the sound of an incoming message made Tarfful tense up. Sam's figure changed sharply, and in an instant the foolish mercenary vanished, leaving in his place a hound that had caught the scent of blood. Meanwhile, giving her boss time to read, the female voice spoke again, "Interested? I see you are. So finish up and come back; I'll prepare everything in the meantime."
Only three hours later, the small mercenary army loaded onto their ships and blasted off into orbit, from where they hastily began preparing for departure. Standing surrounded by his guard, Tarfful watched his palm for a couple more minutes, which Sam had slapped in a parting gesture, then let out a tired sigh and headed toward his Windrider.
It was time to get to work. The mercenaries had done their part; now it was time for him to drench his fur in blood.
The destruction of the main slaver camp was only the beginning, the most difficult but already completed task. All that remained was to finish off the survivors and the small stragglers hiding in the forests, and then his home would forget about the raiders for at least five to seven years.
****
Another glorious six months passed, and quite recently a beautiful new democratic year began. I was so confused by the different calendars on the planets and in the Republic itself that I just stopped caring, leaving all the important dates for holidays and events to Somnia and the others.
"Move it, boys, I want to get home before my lovely Gemelias spoil."
Grabbing one "melon"—as long as my lovely deputy doesn't find out I call them that too—I nod to Arkam Sula, who has taken command.
Still covered in green blood, smelling of soot and Trandoshan guts, my slightly battle-crazed deputy had only recently returned from the planet's surface.
By rights, he should go wash up and rest, but I've studied the Mandalorian well... and he was just like me. So now, instead of rest and solitude, it was better for him to occupy himself with a simple and important task that would gradually calm his hot blood, stirred up by our little war.
Casting a final glance at Kashyyyk, I blow the planet a kiss, then head down the corridor in the center of the ship toward my cabin.
"Eh, another six months gone, and so much has managed to happen."
Nodding to passing fighters and techs, I soon reached the coveted deck, from where I walked briskly toward my room. The melon in my hands was burning my palms with impatience; I wanted to taste this sweet and wonderful fruit as soon as possible.
"M, m, m..."
Humming to myself, I walked along the long decks of the Dreadnaught, which I had requisitioned from Somnia for this operation. The huge ship had served us excellently in the task of crushing the raider-slavers, so when I got lost in thought and affectionately ran my palm along the wall, many responded with understanding smiles.
Even though this war for fruit was idiotic and simple, the Dreadnaught on our side immediately played its role—destroying the pirate tubs like little fish scattering and trying to escape.
"Shame a third of the ships got away, we could have counted on a bonus... but what's done is done."
Entering the cabin, I immediately set about carving it up, while simultaneously bringing the information sent by Somnia onto the large screen. A huge map of the galaxy was projected across the entire wall. Thousands of lights of various colors, notes, clarifications, our branches, ships, and PSS bases, the Cartel, the Trade Federation, Syndicates, and many others—all the important players on the world stage surrounding us on all sides.
"Plenty of players, but hardly any allies."
Biting into the pulp of the fruit, I stifle a moan of pleasure, then hop into the chair, throwing my legs up on a small coffee table. The comfortable cabin had long since become a part of me, and I didn't want to change it for anything else.
It was like a studio apartment. MY! Studio apartment, and that was the most important thing... Yes, yes, I know I have thousands of people and hundreds of ships under my command, but this—this is my little corner where I let no one in. My man-cave where I can relax and unwind, and sometimes do business in the silence...
But back to the map. Moving the image to the southeast, I open the part of the galaxy where we mainly do business. Kashyyyk and Mandalore were rare exceptions that I handled personally, but the bulk of the Helldivers is concentrated around Rishi and Tatooine, as well as the planets surrounding them.
Gradually we were expanding further east, toward Ryloth and the Smuggler's Run, gaining influence in neighboring worlds.
And also to the northwest toward the Core, but not too aggressively so as not to disturb the powers that be, toward Christophsis along the Corellian route.
To the north, the worlds of Hutt Space awaited us, with whom relations were, to put it mildly... well, they were shit. And neither side was moving toward a peace treaty. The slugs considered us second-class humans and upstarts. They had no problem robbing our vessels or killing the guards from among our boys and girls.
We, in turn, considered them slave-owning bags of shit, which I once said to one of them when a pirate spice-smuggling station was stormed and dropped into the nearest star.
In short, we nipped at each other in small ways, without crossing certain invisible boundaries.
To the south were truly wild planets that held little interest for the big players, but for us, they were excellent pieces. Defenseless against pirates and slavers, constantly in trouble and attacked by aggressive neighbors or states from the Unknown Regions.
Such planets were quickly brought under the Helldivers banner, generously paying for our services and supplying thousands of volunteers and useful resources to the ranks of my fighters.
To the southwest, however, there was a sharp shift in the border, and there the Outer Rim where we mainly operated ended and the Mid Rim began. The single attempt to squeeze in there was met with misunderstanding from too many, so we had to temper our ambitions and stick to our backwater... Just kidding, it's no backwater; they're just stuck-up in the Core. Mende and Ord Pardron were fine; planets of that type were ignored by everyone, and the Baobab Merchant Fleet didn't mind us hanging around their territory... Overall, I think it was thanks to them that we weren't touched immediately; they just watched to see who these wealthy traders had found for themselves.
"I'm starting to think like a true regional resident, progress."
Smirking at the simple joke, I had already finished half the melon when Somnia's data finally loaded, and three planets "that should pique my interest" lit up on the map.
"Well, I should think so..."
Planet Ando. Home to the Bellicose, spider-like Aqualish. The dictatorial metropole drove its colonies to such a state that they ignited a civil war. Somnia indicated that the colonies are supported by the Republic and generally have far more ties to the galactic superpower than the isolationist capital planet.
Melida/Daan. An endless meat grinder between two factions, the Melida and the Daan, each of whom considers themselves the rightful masters of the planet. No sooner does a new generation grow up than these two states start a war... And I wouldn't care at all if the Daan faction hadn't declared free presidential DEMOCRATIC elections, steering their course toward rapprochement with the Republic.
The final straw was Orvax IV—a horrific slave planet, full of markets and pens for sentient beings of all kinds. I had long dreamed of burning this cursed place and was looking for allies for the task. And now, after nearly four years, we managed to find those who dared to participate in the liberation of thousands, perhaps millions of slaves.
"The choice is obvious..."
***
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