Hive mind Beyond the veil

Smoke choked the skies above the shattered ridgeline. What remained of their downed ship was smouldered against the broken slope, blackened plating twisted in unnatural shapes.

Clones CT-301C through CT-312C had formed a perimeter around the burning wreckage, reinforced by CT-100A to CT-106A, who had arrived earlier in armoured APCs. The war above was already lost, they could all see that, but retreat wasn't in the doctrine.

The BCU swarm had moved fast—too fast. Bipedal shapes flitted through the smoke, creating twisted silhouettes. They moved in synchronized bursts, always flanking, always probing to breach their lines.

For every BCU body that falls, two more emerge from the haze. They came with fire and shrieking rage—multiple types of its creations were laying overlapping fields of suppressive fire that was so dense to have pinned them down early.

Assault variants sweeping in flanking arcs, and hulking heavy drones hanging back to launch volleys of bone spikes capable of punching through APC plating from half a kilometre away.

Despite their numbers, the BCU were cautious—only the smallest charged forward. They scuttled or flew forward with explosive intent, limbs twitching as they zeroed in on clone signatures.

"Target the small ones first! If they get close, we lose everything!" CT-106A barked, his voice sharp over the squad comms.

Rail gunfire cracked the air as CT-303C took out a charging beetle mid-sprint, its body detonating in a concussive blast twenty metres short of their trench. Shrapnel peppered the barricade.

"Damn things are using the terrain! They're herding us!" CT-308C growled, reloading behind cover.

Above, three of the enemies' aerial drones descended from the dark clouds, diving hard toward their position, they weren't targeting them but one of their key assets —a group of tracked drones tucked behind a slope, laying down constant support fire with a twin-linked rail battery.

"Protect the support group!" CT-305C shouted into his comms. "That's our fire backbone!"

Six APCs opened up with their autocannons, downing two Mosquitoes in a spray of molten carapace. The defensive drones locked onto the third and blew it out of the air before it could fire at the tracked support group.

"Hit! Enemy air wing destroyed" shouted CT-107A. "Be cautious, we don't know if more are present!"

"There's always more," CT-100A muttered. "They never come with less than a thousand."

The trench line quaked under another impact. A new wave of beetles came in from the left flank, clattering across the rocks.

"Left side breach! Suicide drones incoming!" CT-312C warned.

Rail slugs and drone-mounted lasers tore them apart mid-charge, detonating prematurely and hurling soil into the air. The scent of scorched flesh clung to everything.

"We're barely holding here! Where the hell are the other response units?" CT-106A snapped.

The comms crackled to life.

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[RED ONE RESPONSE GROUP, SECTOR NINE] "We are pinned. Engaged by multi-vector assault. Estimated strength: three to four hundred hostiles. Cannot assist."

[RED FOURTEEN, SECTOR FOUR] "All reaction units engaged or compromised. Sector Command orders stand: contain the breach, prevent planetary spread."

"Copy," CT-100A said flatly. "We're on our own."

Above them, the sky boiled. Two massive BCU ships along with multiple smaller ones had parked themselves in low orbit, partially obscured by atmospheric dust and ash.

"All of this," CT-109A said grimly, "it's coming from those two monsters above. Just a taste of what's still aboard."

The revelation was met with silence. A plasma bolt ripped past the trench and exploded against the far wall. The clone gunners adjusted their elevation and resumed fire.

"Sector Ten, sit rep," CT-100A called.

[SECTOR TEN — RED FIVE] "Holding. Enemy movements are coordinated. They're testing our defences, not committing yet. It's a probing attack."

CT-308C narrowed his eyes. "They're measuring us. Every shot, every fallback, it's all being logged."

"Then let them log this," CT-102A muttered, slamming another slug into his rifle. "Let them remember how much it cost."

Their tracked drones kept firing, rotation adjusted by remote V.I., sending ripples of destruction into BCU formations attempting to advance. A heavy drone launched a volley of spikes—three of which embedded themselves in the trench lip.

One detonated.

CT-311C was torn apart.

"They're trying to bait us into moving. Don't take it," CT-100A warned.

More beetles charged the right flank. This time they were staggered, moving in pairs. A barrage of fire from the APCs and a nearby drone caught them mid-dash, detonating their bodies and gouging fresh craters.

"Resupply drones are delayed. Ammo counts are red across the board," CT-303C reported. "We can't keep this up."

"Push the fallback drones forward. They're slower but armoured—use them as bait," CT-105A said. "Force the larger BCU to commit."

The plan worked—partially. As the decoy drones moved forward, the larger BCU battle drones broke cover to fire. That exposed them long enough for concentrated fire to punch through their bodies.

"Direct hit on battle drone cluster! Four down!" CT-301C reported.

But the relief was short-lived.

Then came the shriek.

Descending missiles streaked down—from orbit, faster than the eye could track.

The first missile slammed into the southern ridge. The blast was less explosive and more corrosive—a pressure wave of hissing chemicals burst outward in a radial pattern. Armour began to sizzle as rock melted like wax.

"Get out of that zone! It's acid-based! Pull out now!" CT-106A bellowed.

A second missile hit near the crater's lip. Green fog burst from the point of impact, followed by a delayed downpour of bubbling gel.

CT-304C was caught in it. His screams cut through the comms until they went silent.

"Command, multiple acid vectors confirmed! They're saturating our fallback routes." CT-102A said.

"Cut south tunnel and shift fallback west," CT-100A ordered. "We don't let them trap us. Not here."

Drones moved quickly to redeploy, their treads slick with melted soil. One APC took a direct spray from the cloud, and the left side of its armour began to cave inward, hissing and steaming.

"That's industrial-grade tissue-melt," CT-305C muttered, eyes wide. "We stay in that fog, we're dead in less than thirty seconds."

CT-308C fired at a heavy drone closing in through the smoke. "If we don't move, it won't matter anyway."

More acid strikes followed, blanketing the field with spreading chemical burns. The horrid screams of other clones echoed through everyone's comms. Drones shut down. The edges of their defensive zone narrowed like a noose.

CT-312C looked up through cracked optics before sighing he checked his ammo count, finding it empty, he looked around and realized they already lost "CT-100A call it in. We can't hold the line."

CT-100A stood at the edge of the crater, body half-burnt, his left arm no longer responding. His HUD showed scattered clone signals, all of them blinking, he knew they were dying.

A whisper left his lips.

"Protocol Terminus. Code: Blue Dawn."

He input the override manually. The V.I. confirmed with a cold chime.

Tactical payload armed.

A low vibration shuddered through the broken ground. A hidden warhead, long buried beneath the fallback node, began its arming cycle.

CT-100A dropped to one knee.

Across the crater, the BCU broke into a full charge, he could see how the acid didn't even affect them.

"We are the Overseer's warriors," he muttered.

Distant rail gun fire echoed. He knew those were the last defiant stands of his brothers.

"We are the last line of defence."

His visor fully cracked. One lens went dark.

"We will burn our own to hold the line."

He could hear when the BCU horrors leapt through the acid into his trench line, one pulling him up his helmet fell off, and he gazed into its black eyes.

He smiled and struggled to say his last words, "It is the last line….to ever hold."

The detonation swallowed the valley.

———

I let out a low sigh as I reviewed the final moments of the offensive. These clones were fanatical, unlike any resistance I'd encountered before. They sounded more like a cult.

Still, the engagement proved useful. Hexapods and Striders had little value on this battlefield. Their bulk made them liabilities, and biomass hungry.

No, it would fall to the other variants supported by direct missile support to hold the line during the next phase of my probing attempts.

I picked up a fresh slate and began sketching tactical adjustments. This campaign couldn't continue as a straight-line assault. It would need to become a regional-hopping offensive, focusing pressure on weak zones before shifting entirely.

I might need to introduce a larger variant of the Mosquito—something capable of carrying Heavy drones across the planet at speed.

Possibly making an agile sky-lifters with stealth profiles. That could tip momentum in my favour.

"We are the Overseer's warriors."

It really was a good creed. Catchy. I made a note to ask Aegirarch for tips—maybe when I get around to designing a flag of my own. The thought made me chuckle.

I was going to need more Neskars.

And a hell of a lot more biomass to keep this invasion fed.