Amanda Comes Knocking by Shaman

Chapter 2 story

9 months later

Emanuel’s POV:

Standard form #166

Date: ______________08.10.2257______________

Private serial number: _421164________________

Location: ___________Cape Town Bravo________

Regiment: __________44th British Army Regiment_

Name:_____________ Emanuel Hawthorne______

Date of birth:________03.16.2237______________

Please mark your request in red:

• Request for extra rations (General’s authority serial code required)

• Request for relieve of military surface in case of injury (Medic serial code required)

• Request for resupply military standard inventory (General’s authority serial code required)

Authorization serial Code: ________________

“Shit.” I thought. “Forgot about the damn authorization code.” I looked up at the quartermaster, who in turn looked tired and annoyed.

“You forgot your authorization serial code?” He asked very slowly, tiredly and sarcastically as if he tried to care.

“Uh... Yes, I did.” I said.

But I didn’t really forget the serial code he asked for. I had lost my rifle, and in the fear of the harsh consequences come with damaged or lost equipment, I tried to acquire one from the quartermaster.

Thing is: I had forgotten that I needed the approval code from the same General that would give me the consequences to resupply. The quartermaster rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Look. Me’ shift’s almost over. Come back tomorrow with the code and I’ll give you whatever you need.”

I looked around. From what I could see, most people had returned to their homes before the sun would set.

“Maybe we could make a deal, right? I can pay you twice the amount…”

Then he abruptly stood up and walked away with his head forward, shoulders down and a cup of coffee in his hand out of his office. I took that as a firm ‘no’.

I cursed, thinking what the General would do to me. The boys are probably setting bets on what it’ll be. Scrubbing the toilets at the barracks with a toothbrush for a week? Standing watch through the nights for a month? Guarding the Giantess prisoners?

I walked out of the office and was greeted by my friend and fellow Private from England: Marcius Abernathy.

“He, what’ya doing out here?” I asked my friend.

“I was just looking for you, Emanuel!” He responded.

“We found your gun, don’t worry.” I sighed from relieve.

Marcius told me I had left it next to the spyglass up on the wall of the fort.

“Let’s have a look across before the night shift takes over.” He suggested, and I gladly accepted the offer.

“What are we looking at this time?” I asked.

“See them camps over there?”

He pointed at a colony of three dozen large tents three miles northeast. I nodded.

“That’s one of the Behemoth platoons. I noticed they’re getting closer by the day. And over there are over twenty Titan tents. But they’re all just out of range for our mortars and cannons. But the number of Giantesses assembling closer and closer to the artillery range-limit is astounding!”

I took a peak with another spyglass that sat on the edge of the wall. As we were at that day stationed on the central-eastside, I had a clear view on two of the several fallen cities turned into camps for the Giantesses as they moved south. Wellington and Paarl. Some parts were still on fire, even after a week had passed since they fell.

Likely all humans that hadn’t reached Cape Town had either died or had been enslaved at that point, which gave the Imperial army enough space and supplies to patiently set up shop there. Indeed, the numbers were increasing from all sizes alike. In half an hour I counted as many as ten thousand Amazons and half that number of Behemoths.

The thing that made me a bid nervous were the few hundred hundred Titans – and they were only the ones visible. I could only imagine how many there must be in the other cities surrounding Cape Town. The mere sight of those hundred foot tall monsters made armies flee.

Inside most of the camps were many human prisoners, counting from dozens to even many thousands per camp, to serve as entertainment and “comfort toys” for the soldiers to keep the morale up – often the surviving (un)lucky bunch ended as Titan food. Most of these camps counted more Giantesses than humans so the large number rarely lasted more than a few weeks until they died a perverted death.

“I heard tales of soldiers who had survived battles in other major cities. They talked about marching hordes and swarms of Giantesses in the hundreds of thousands. One shell-shocked soldier muttered he was the sole survivor of a Titan onslaught at Lagos where thousands Titans attacked in a single wave and slaughtered everyone left.” He said.

I had trouble believing that he or the storyteller didn’t exaggerate at least a little, but the numbers I could see were freighting of themselves.

“But they’re not going to break through this wall, are they?” I asked.

Marcius shook his head reassuringly, but then turned to me with a serious look on his face.

“Unless they unleash… the Colossal!”

He tried to scare me, as he always did with his stories. I was only twenty-one - and very gullible - and hadn’t ever heard of a ‘Colossal’ before.

“A Colossal?”

I humored him and asked him with a clear sense of amusement. He nodded. “They are the real big ones. Bigger than the Titans – twice as big they say!” He exclaimed.

“They are the warlords and politicians and the general upper class citizens of the Empire – and if one of them ever decides to assist and we would miss her while trying to grasp what’s happening… She’ll get through this wall in seconds…”

 His serious face quickly turned to a mocking one when he grasped my concern and started to laugh.

“Hahaha, don’t worry. Just a story from the soldiers who didn’t want to admit they lost a fight against Behemoths, or Amazons even.”

We laughed and just when we went to the barracks, we got confronted by the General of the British army. General Marsh.

“Abernathy. Hawthorne. What the HELL are you two doing on the observatory!? You’re supposed to join your platoon in controlling the crowds at the port!”

We were supposed to help our platoon in controlling the masses who were rioting north at the harbor. There are twenty-five ships stationed there, and the people want to be evacuated to the safety of Robben Island, where they will temporarily stay, only to migrate to Australia and New Zealand, where there is enough space to sustain this many people. But the English and Scottish navies were still refusing to start the evacuations, which has caused many riots over the months.

“Get your pathetic asses inside the next metro and get a move on!”

Shani’s POV:

“Tyrants! -  Safe us! – They’ll break through and you know it! – Why won’t you pity us?! – They’ll kill us all! – You fascists!” 

Tens of thousands of scared rioters had gathered near the harbor and were protesting like every other day since the Giantesses marched into South Africa and sieged and attacked the first cities nine months ago. The masses had increased when the politicians were given the approval to leave to the safety of Robben Island.

All the while the 800.000 inhabitants of Cape Town and its 300.000 (counted for) refugees were forced to sit still, claustrophobically trapped inside a fishbowl and forced trust that the Allied army and navy would keep us safe and sound. Tensions reached a peak when the mayor of this city set foot with four other parliament members on a ship that would fit hundreds of men, women and children.

My older brother had participated in these protests since the beginning, and I wanted to be part of it together with him. I stood quietly behind him as he threw a rock at some guy in a suit on the ship that was about to leave the harbor.

“Let’s give them a gift to remember us!” He said, trying to get his friends to throw objects at them.

Then he gave me a sharp-looking rock.

“Come on.” He said and gave me a reassuring wink as he threw a brick just inches from one of the sailors.

I always tried to gain my brother’s approval. And so I aimed for one of the politicians. The rock flew through the air and descended upon the man’s forehead. He was thrown back and knocked out for several seconds. As he tried to stand up he was immediately helped by a medic to stop the bleeding.

“She hit him! She hit him!” The crowd laughed and booed and joined the bombarding in masses against the now even more panicking dozen on the ship who desperately ran down the deck. The crowd cheered when the ship finally set off as they did have some form of payback for the cowardliness and backstabbing of their government.

I felt a rush of adrenaline when my brother lifted me on his shoulders in pride and the few who saw me throw the projectile all cheered my name. But then the mood turned dramatically in just a few seconds. The soldiers who were blocking the docks and surrounding the crowd had started to fire warning shots and the crowd quickly went to despair.

People panicked and trampled over one another. My brother grabbed me by the arm and pushed us through the dispatching rioters.