NOVEL WEB Chapter 23: Becoming a Helldiver.
2184. Copper 9 Skies. Pelican-1.
N, V, and J sat in the Pelican's hold alongside Jason, the first human they'd worked with in almost a century. It was a strange moment for both sides. Jason found the Drones refreshingly distinct from the Automatons. He couldn't help but wonder if things could have turned out differently if the Automatons had even possessed a fraction of the Drones' capacity for understanding and cooperation. Yet, he shelved the thought—there were more immediate concerns, he held questions about the drones. What chain of events had led to their creation? Why didn't the Ministry of Science try to make more of them?
"It seems like you got along well with your companions in the past," Jason said, his gaze shifting to V. "Do you remember where or how you were made?"
V shook her head with a blank expression. "I don't recall any of that beyond just flashes of memories; I can never put a full picture together," she said, and N and J both nodded, similarly stumped.
"Could be some kind of failsafe within your programming?" Jason suggested thoughtfully. "Maybe it's something we could look into, given the time. Since you've shared some of your past I think it's only fair to tell you a bit about myself, especially if we're going to keep working together." He paused, gauging their reactions. "You ever heard of a Helldiver?"
N tilted his head, gears whirring as he processed the word. "I recall that name… Helldivers were an elite force during the first galactic war, right? They were part of the Super Earth military."
Jason nodded, a hint of respect flickering in his gaze. "You're right. But they're more than just 'elite.' The Helldivers Corps are Super Earth's special strike force. Our job isn't just fighting the enemy—it's dismantling them. We get dropped directly into enemy-held territory, and our objective is to sabotage or destroy whatever they rely on to keep the fight going. We're not sent to win battles; we're there to make sure the enemy loses the war."
He raised his wrist and brought up a holographic image of a towering war machine—a Factory Strider, a colossal Automaton Warmachine that could churn out legions of bots to the battlefield by itself. "Take this thing, for example. Factory Striders are like mobile factories. Taking one down isn't just tough; it's usually a death sentence. And, for a Helldiver, taking down Striders is part of the job, whether we go in alone or as a team of four. That's why they call us the 'tip of the spear.'"
The three Drones stared at the image, captivated by its ominous presence. V finally broke the silence. "You've fought that… alone?"
Jason nodded. "More than once. Dropping into hell and coming out alive is what it means to be a Helldiver. I've taken down dozens of these things, along with more bots than I can count. Sometimes it's Terminids or other hostiles, but the mission's the same: disrupt, destroy, and get out alive."
He turned off the hologram and straightened, his demeanor shifting into something almost impenetrable. "Helldivers aren't for everyone. I didn't just fall into this—I joined voluntarily, trained hard, and because I believed in it. The day I enlisted and began training, it felt like the first time my life made sense. I felt I was there to make a difference." He fondly smiled remembering his first day at boot camp
February 3, 2183. Mars. Helldiver Training Facility.
The Martian sun hung high overhead, casting long shadows over the barren, red landscape. Today was the start of training for Jason and hundreds of others, a day that would mark them all. Mars' terraformed atmosphere made breathing possible, but the air was still thin and harsh, a constant reminder of how unforgiving the environment—and their path forward—would be. Lined up with the other recruits, Jason watched their instructor stride up and down the row.
"I can see some of you lot becoming something more," the instructor's voice echoed, cold and unyielding, "but for many of you, I only see dead meat." His eyes drilled into each recruit as he passed, sizing them up with a look that seemed to cut to their cores.
The words were harsh but expected. From the moment they'd arrived, kindness had been nonexistent. They were here to become Helldivers, the elite strike force of Super Earth—the tip of the spear.
"Listen up! We're going on a little walk to get you into shape," the instructor barked, stepping in front of the assembled recruits. His voice held absolute authority. "This is how it's going to go. You'll load up in full gear and armor, then we're heading to the base of Olympus Mons."
Jason cast a glance down the line of recruits. Most wore expressions of steely determination, though a few faces betrayed worry, even dread. Forty miles to Olympus Mons was no small distance, especially under full weight. But he knew this was more than just a simple hike—it was a trial by fire.
"Now, all of you follow me." Turning, the instructor led them to the edge of the camp, where massive gates loomed. Rows of tables flanked the path, piled high with heavy backpacks, weapons, and armor plates for the chest, shoulders, arms, and legs.
"Everyone, get geared up and armed; we're on a tight schedule. Move your ass!" The instructor's voice was merciless, and at his command, everyone scrambled. The armor pieces were cumbersome and unyielding, and each piece Jason strapped on made the weight of his burden clearer. He noted the absence of helmets—a symbol of the Helldivers alongside the capes granted after boot camp.
"Sir, permission to speak?" one recruit asked, fastening the last piece of armor to his arm.
"You have permission." The instructor's tone was terse, signaling this needed to be quick.
"Where's the helmet?" Helldivers were always seen with helmets—one of the Corps' defining marks alongside the capes.
"You have to earn it. Now, get your equipment and weapons." The recruits suited up, donning backpacks laden with supplies and the hefty AR-23 Liberator rifles. Combined with the armor, they each bore an additional 140 pounds. It was clear this would be far from a "simple walk."
"Now, all of you follow me and listen to everything I say. Disobey or fall behind, and you're out. Understood?"
The instructor's tone left no room for argument. All recruits knew Helldiver training could be fatal; injuries were a guarantee. Waving them forward, he led them through the gates. With that first step, each of them left behind their former identities as SEAF soldiers or B-tier Citizens. For Jason and the others, it was the beginning of the worst experience of their lives—a relentless gauntlet that would push them beyond their limits, and, if they endured, transform them into something else entirely.
Thirty Miles from Olympus Mons
The first ten miles from the boot camp had been brutal. Shifting sands and rugged hills tested the recruits, forcing a few to strain just to keep up. Jason kept his focus on the instructor up ahead, who moved with practiced ease across the harsh terrain. It was clear he had done this countless times. Jason's main concern, however, was the looming threat of a Martian sandstorm—an unpredictable hazard that could strike at any moment.
"You lot in the back, keep up! I'll make you crawl back to camp if you keep falling behind!" the instructor barked. His gaze frequently swept over the group as they pushed forward. The intense weight of their gear, combined with the thin atmosphere, was making this test increasingly difficult.
Five miles later, the instructor led them between towering rocky cliffs, opting for a narrow path rather than the easier route to the side. Jason wondered why until as if in answer, the sharp crack of a rifle rang out. An instant later, a force like a sledgehammer slammed into Jason's chest, sending him sprawling onto his back. The group erupted in panic, scanning their surroundings as some recruits glanced anxiously at Jason.
"Where in the name of Super Earth did that come from!?" a recruit shouted, eyes wide. Yet the instructor was unfazed, his expression cold as he strode toward Jason.
"If this were a real combat zone, most of you would be dead by now," he growled, sweeping his gaze over the group. "You're all too relaxed. Do you think this is some kind of game?" Beneath his helmet, his disdain was palpable. "Recruit Jason, get off your ass and on your feet now! Let this be a lesson: if you'd been watching your surroundings, he wouldn't have been hit."
Jason gasped for air, the impact still heavy in his lungs. Though his chest armor had stopped the bullet, the force had knocked the wind out of him. He took deep breaths and struggled to his feet, the pain settling into his core.
"A Helldiver is always aware of his surroundings—above, below, behind, everywhere," the instructor lectured, voice sharp as a blade. "He learns to use the terrain to time attacks and execute ambushes."
High on the cliff's edge, a figure stood, their cape fluttering in the Martian wind, a sleek R-63 Diligence rifle in their hand.
"And he just demonstrated that for you," the instructor continued. "Now you know: we're not alone out here. Stay prepared. Now, move!"
Jason glanced down at his chest plate, noticing the bullet embedded dead-center in his armor. While the Helldiver plating had saved him, the impact still stung like hell.
"And you," the instructor pointed at Jason as the recruits began moving again, "a Helldiver is always ready to get back on his feet. Pain and the fact you've been hit are no excuses. Next time you take that long to stand, you're out. Clear?"
"Yes… sir…" Jason wheezed, working to steady his breathing as he fell in line, this time keeping a constant watch on the heights around them.
Neither he nor the others had anticipated live rounds, knowing only fragments of rumors about recruits being killed in training. Now, he understood: every story was real, and firsthand experience made the possibility of death chillingly tangible.
Five Miles from Olympus Mons
After about thirty-five miles of relentless marching—and sometimes running—the group was nearing collapse. Only the instructor seemed unaffected, striding confidently as they approached the base of Olympus Mons.
"I don't know how much more of this I can take…" one recruit muttered, and Jason silently agreed. Almost forty miles of grueling terrain, constantly scanning for hidden snipers, had exhausted everyone.
"We've got to endure… Super Earth is counting on us," Jason managed to say through labored breaths. But just as the end seemed near, the horizon revealed a new threat.
A massive wall of dust loomed ahead—a Martian dust storm. On Mars, such storms could rage for days, covering vast stretches of land with winds reaching up to sixty miles per hour. Being caught in one was dangerous.
"Ah, it seems Mars has another test for us," the instructor announced, his voice strangely excited. "Helldivers often deploy to worlds with the most extreme weather—from frozen blizzards to endless monsoons. You have to be prepared for anything. Now, keep moving; we're almost there."
At the two-mile mark, the storm struck, and visibility dropped to near zero. The wind howled, whipping sand into the recruits' faces. Communication was impossible over the roaring gusts. Jason lifted his arm to shield his eyes, pressing forward despite the stinging grit that filled the air. For a few moments, he felt completely isolated in the storm, moving forward by sheer will.
As the dust began to settle, he glimpsed the base of Olympus Mons rising before them, a towering, ancient volcano stretching into the Martian sky.
"Hmm… seems we lost a few," the instructor observed, perched on a rock jutting from the sand. "If they don't find their way here in half an hour, they've failed."
Jason rubbed the grit from his eyes and looked back. Several recruits had strayed during the storm, now struggling to reorient themselves. Some were wandering in the wrong direction, while others stumbled toward the group, sand crusting their gear and faces.
"We… we made it…" panted a recruit, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath, believing the worst was over.
"Not done yet," the instructor announced, pointing toward a set of rods protruding from a metal platform built into the cliffside at the base. "We're climbing to the top of Olympus Mons."
"Sir… Are you serious?" one recruit asked, incredulous.
"Did I stutter? Get up that wall now!" The instructor's voice brooked no argument.
Though it seemed impossible, they all knew failure wasn't an option if they wanted to become Helldivers. Reluctantly, they approached the wall, some starting the climb with steely determination. Jason joined, gripping the rods as he ascended. This final test would decide their future as Helldivers—or their defeat.
"Move it! We're on a schedule!" The instructor barked from below, scaling the wall alongside them.
Halfway up, a rod suddenly retracted, nearly sending one recruit plummeting. Every step was a reminder that death lurked, waiting to claim any misstep. But luck was with them that day; one by one, they clawed their way to the top, often pulling each other up in a rare moment of unity.
"Good," the instructor remarked as they reached the summit. "You've learned an important lesson. Helldivers rely on each other. Even if you're assigned solo missions, you may one day need to depend on your team." His voice held a rare note of approval as he watched their cooperation.
Jason finally hoisted himself over the edge, collapsing on his back to catch his breath under the Martian sky.
"Not done yet," the instructor reminded them, walking through the weary group. "We still need to reach the top. Then you can rest."
With the instructor's signal, Jason and the remaining recruits rose, following him the last few feet to the peak. And on that day, Jason, along with about half the recruits, reached the summit of Olympus Mons. It marked the beginning of their journey toward earning the name Helldiver.
September 2184. Copper 9 Skies. Pelican-1
The three Combat Drones stared at Jason, wide-eyed, stunned by his story. His first week of Helldiver training had been brutal, a trial by fire, and it left them speechless. If Jason could endure all of that as part of his initiation, then what were the limits of his capabilities?
"So… when the war started, you got sent in as one of these Helldivers," N said, watching Jason carefully. "And I'm guessing those Terminids weren't completely quarantined?"
Jason nodded, his face grim. "You're right. The Terminids have been growing stronger and deadlier. And then there's the Gloom—our biggest fear. It's a massive spore cloud spreading across multiple star systems, covering entire sectors. Last reports say it's engulfed around thirteen planets. No probe or ship we've sent in has ever come back or sent any data. The theory is that entire worlds under the Gloom are turning into super-colonies, accelerating the Terminids' evolution. Whatever's growing in there… it could threaten Super Earth itself."
A heavy silence fell over the group. This was the nightmare haunting every Helldiver and SEAF officer—the uncertainty of what might emerge from the Gloom. It had been months since the cloud appeared, yet nothing had come out, and the absence of information was terrifying.
J broke the silence, her voice steady but tense. "While we're on the topic of Bugs… how do we fight them? I've run into a few on patrols, but I've got a feeling they were small fries."
"Martin told us to stay clear of the tunnels they crawl out of," V added. "N and I have taken down a few, but none of them seemed too serious."
Jason nodded, his gaze distant. "There's a difference, but not much. The Bugs will have the advantage of numbers. But this mission isn't about wiping them out. If possible, we're to avoid contact altogether. The Bugs are essential for fuel production; their bodies break down into E-710, which we refine into fuel. So we need them alive, but we can't risk having the more dangerous subspecies around."
V looked at him intently. "What subspecies should we be watching for?"
"There are two we need to make sure aren't here. The good news is this planet doesn't seem to be overrun with them—likely due to limited food and water. But the two subspecies to watch for are Hive Lords and Brood Commanders. Hive Lords are huge, impossible to miss. They dig and create the tunnel networks for a Bug nest, and they can honeycomb a planet's crust fast. Brood Commanders, on the other hand, are like generals. They organize the Bugs, making them a much deadlier force. SEAF archives have some information on them, but it's been over a century since we last fought them. And after a hundred years… we can't be sure how reliable that data is."
"Sir, we're approaching the target. I see some ruined structures and large holes," the pilot announced as the Pelican shifted into VTOL mode, engines humming as it prepared to land.
Jason turned to the others. "We'll talk more later. Right now, it's time to get you ready for what's down there."
The ramp lowered, and icy wind whipped through, carrying snow and grit. Jason led the way down, with N, V, and J close behind, their eyes fixed on the crumbling facility ahead. As he took in the desolate landscape, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that something far worse than the Bugs waited below, hidden in the shadows.
Edited thanks to ELE73CH.