Amanda Comes Knocking by Shaman

Shani’s POV:

“Shani Robertson!”

I remained silent. Not daring to answer my furious mother.

“Where have you been?!”

I could see the tears form in her eyes, both out of fury and relieve. My brother was right behind me in the doorstep when he took off his jacket and threw it on the floor.

“Stop bothering us, mom. Don’t you know we try to help the people? Like our family?” He said.

“I heard on the news about another gathering in front of the harbor. Eleven people died in that chaos. I was worried sick! You were there, weren’t you?!”

I took a step back behind my brother as he defended us against my mother.

“Look, we’re fine. Stop treating us as if we’re children!”

I knew my brother was losing his patience with her. He has always had a short temper. But when our father and uncle both died in volunteer-service several months ago in the same battle he started to resist everything and everyone more radically.

“I want neither one of you involved in any more protests, you hear me?!”

My brother cursed and walked into the living room, slamming the door behind him with such force that the mirror on the wall collapsed on the floor. I crouched down and picked up the broken pieces of glass with my mother.

“I’m sorry about all the stress, honey. I realize how hard it is for you too. But dad died for a noble cause.”

I sighed, and proceeded to throw the broken glass into the bin and looked into the only other mirror still standing. I saw a frightened 23 year-old woman, 5”2. Short bobline and blond dyed hair, blue eyes, light skin and a scar on my left cheek that to my dad looked like a snake. Like my mother, I had a birthmark under my eyes that shaped like Yin and Yan. It was the favorite thing I inherited from my mother. She kissed me on the Buddhist-like mark and left off to the living room.

I shivered at the thought of the Giantesses now only a few miles removed of the city. The same monsters that took away my father would try to enter the city and proceeded with their path of destruction, enslavement, cultural annihilation and genocide.

The tens of thousands of Titans were backed by hundreds of thousands of smaller but still extremely dangerous Behemoths and Amazons. I realized the small possibility of us surviving this. But unlike my mother, I didn’t want to sit still and let them kill me or take me away. I made the decision to become active in the saving of as many human lives as possible.

“Chris?”

My brother was reading a letter covertly at the edge of the dinner table. He looked up and nodded.

“I… I want to help you guys save the citizens.” I whispered.

He looked over his shoulder at mom who was busy counting the food stamps for this month.

“Good, glad to have you on board.” He whispered in return.

“And a perfect timing too. I have a letter for an ally in my hand. I can’t go outside without being searched every minute for being on the watch list. But you’re invisible to them. You can go as you please without interference.”

I looked at the letter. There was a message on the front side, I read: *you’re clear between 08:17 PM and 08:23 PM. It’s the time when the night watchers leave and the day watchers return to the barracks. Only chance.*

And the back showed a schedule and a small roughly drawn map of the interior of what seemed like a military barrack.

“So what’s supposed to happen then?” I asked, not sure if I made the right call by helping him anymore. He had after all gotten quite radical over the weeks of besieging, after all.

“Then she will set off a bomb in three barracks of the watchers.” He said.

“What?! Setting of a b…”

He quickly jumped up and placed his hand on my mouth. My mom got up and shouted that I had to keep it down.

“A bomb!?” I whispered in unbelieve. He hastily responded.

“Yes, but don’t worry. See that timing? Those are the six minutes each day when the barracks are empty. We’ve been narrowing it down for two weeks now. So there probably won’t be anyone inside…”

I cut him off. “Probably?!” I exclaimed.

“Look, don’t worry. You can trust me!” He said, trying to reassure me.

“But why do that in the first place?” I asked, not seeing how terrorizing soldiers is supposed to help the goal of saving the citizens and refugees of Cape Town.

“It’s very simple. You have seen the people in the city stand up against the army and their blockades in the harbor plenty of times to reach the ships. But we simply can’t get through. It’s because the vast majority of people in Cape Town live outside the city, but they aren’t resisting the oppressors.”

“It is easy to figure out that the army is keeping them under their thumb – I mean; the harbor is the only way out. There is no way they would just sit still willingly until the walls fall. That bomb is going to be just one of many. This way we show the proles that they can resist, and we’ll break through the barricades together.”

He sounded more convincing to me.

“So who’s your ally and where do I find ‘her’? I noticed he used ‘she’ when he addressed the ally.

“I dunno her real name, but she calls herself ‘Pamela’. She is the medium between the informators -like me- and the operators, like the person who will plant the bomb. She’ll be wearing a long grey coat, dark hat, sunglasses… blond hair… that’s all I know. I’ve only seen her once, a month ago, so my description’s a little vague. But you’ll find her at an abandoned warehouse she goes to for these operations. It’s under the N1 highway in Kraaifontein.” He explained.

“Go there first thing tomorrow morning.” He said, and I turned around to leave.

“Wait, just before you go. You need a covert name for the operations. Think about it while you’re on your way. And another thing: wear something cheap. The proles don’t take too kindly to middle-class city folk.”

I left the house and went to the metro, to meet the woman called ‘Pamela’.

Emanuel’s POV:

“Call.” Marcius rose with five Pounds. “Fuck it. I’m out.” A soldier cried. “Me too.” Another said. “Sigh.” I lamented.

Marcius laughed and swept the £24,85 off the table and into his pocket. The people I sat with were four I felt close to in the 44th British Naval Regiment. Being one of the smallest regiments the navy, consisting only of thirty men and women for quick covert operations, we all knew each other well. But, like in any social occasion, several groups of trusting friends had formed within.

Our group only included me, Maria, Vinson, Felman and my best friend; Marcius. We were playing cards as usual since we were only needed on specific missions, instead of guarding the walls or constant populace control, unless it really got out of hand. But on that poker evening, we got our first assignment since we had reached Cape Town; our first real mission in South-Africa.

Felman

“Can’t wait to get home again. Back to the ol’ farm.”  Felman said, while sipping his scotch and inhaling a cigarette. He carried the group’s melancholy. Often sobbing of old memories from back home and you could usually find him around bars and bad neighborhoods during breaks. Two years ago, the five of us were part of the largest military draft in England, Scotland and Ireland since the Great War had ended, over a century earlier. During those 24 months of service, we had been stationed with about another platoon from the same town. Being amongst the best performing, we were sent here to South Africa as reinforcements for the 44th British Naval Regiment, since most had died in a single battle. Though Felman, being the oldest with 26 years of age, started off optimistic and eager to fight for the lives in Africa, he quickly became tired of the blood and death after the first battles.

There used to be more in this little circle of friends. Jessie collapsed under the weight of a Titan during an ambush – Tess was eaten alive during a retreat and Kevin and Sasha were taken by that very same Titan as spoils of war during the same retreat. The latter two keep us up to this day. Jessie and Tess were both confirmed dead – with Kevin and Sasha we could only hope for the same faith. If not they were already sold off to slavers or still in the Titan’s possession. Now we pass the time playing cards and drinking and smoking, just waiting for the next assignment.

Maria

“Oi, cheer up cunts. Come on, bottoms up!” Felman smiled and drink the last of his scotch with Maria. Maria Sanchez. The product of a caretaking family who was meant to work the crops in Dublin, only to hear at age 20 that she was to be drafted as one of the many reinforcements of the soldiers who died in the, at that time, four year old defensive war. Being scared and alone, she quickly became attached to the already existing group, and has proven to be the positive spirit in our circle of friends. She even came up with the name for the group. “The Horsemen”.

God only knows how she came up with that name, but it has stuck like glue to our identity over the past two years. Aside from being the ‘cheerful type’ of the circle, she proved herself more than capable on the field during the battle of Johannesburg. At the same battle where the three previously mentioned soldiers fell during that infamous retreat, many more would have likely fallen during the Titan attack if she hadn’t been there.

Vinson

“And you’re absolutely sure you haven’t had enough, right?” Vinson Westbrook had taken the group’s role as the responsible one. He would take informal charge when the shit hit the fan, and always with modest wit and cleverness, whether on the field or at checkpoints, stops and camps where there was no immediate danger. It was he who came up with the plan to lure a group of Titans into a minefield, and he sent Maria to do the job, saving many more lives than the hundreds that were lost. But despite his serious attitude most of the time, he was great company.

Marcius and I

“Now let’s not make us look soft in front of the blokes her, alright?” Marcius joked and lit another cigarette. Marcius Abernethy, the only one whom I knew before the assembly of the 44th regiment. He was not just the clown of our group – everyone here knew him. And although I didn’t stand out as much as him, he knew I always had his back and vice versa. I was the group’s stability. The first one to make a step. Unorganized and often vague, but I was well known for pulling a few crazy but effective stunts in my two yearlong service. Whether it was a daring infiltration or an impossible rescue didn’t matter. All everyone knew was that I spearheaded these actions. Though much to the dismay of Vinson who didn’t particularly liked nihilistic, suicidal missions, I even earned his respect.

“To the five Horsemen!”

There was a sensation of discomfort when Maria announced the number five, as the number had been steadily declining. I toasted and all five of us drank from another glass of whiskey, the last drips of the bottle.

“Hang on, I’m gonna get us another bottle.”

I walked over to another table with ten men and women playing a booze related game. Being a little tipsy already, I nearly fell over a passed down man lying on the floor. I cracked and laughed as I saw another man falling down his chair. Now at the table, I clearly saw a still half-filled bottle of my favored liquor.

“He, you guys gonna drin’ tha’ or wha’?” I muttered, realizing I was closer to being drunk than just buzzed. The soldiers laughed, clearly drunk as well.

“What? You want this bottle?”

A woman sitting on the chair farthest away from me picked the bottle up and threw it against the door. It broke in several pieces and all thirty (drunken) soldiers broke in laughter.

“Go back to your horses, man!” She exclaimed.

Being drunk as well, I found the whole scene as funny as the rest of them. Except for Marcius, whom you could consider a short-tempered drunk, got up and threw a bottle of beer at their table. It didn’t take him long to throw himself on their table and fight one of the men. While the men and women in the barracks were having a blast watching the two drunks fighting, the doors swung open.

Lieutenant Brandis

“What in the name of living hell is going on in here!?”

As fast as everyone got up to see the fight they went back to their seats and hurried to clear as much traces of alcohol being there as possible. Except for Marcius and the other drunk, who didn’t stop their lumpy fight.

“Are all of you drunk? Tell me!” Everybody remained silent.

“Stop that fighting right now soldiers!” The two men looked up at their Lieutenant.

“He… He Lieutenant Brandis! What’s up… mate?”

Marcius muttered and laughed. I realized that this action alone would cost him all his spare time. But the Lieutenant ignored it.

“Look at this mess. Five years ago, when I joined 44 we were the pride of the British military. The bravest men and women made part of it and we didn’t even require any sort of reinforcements for years. And now look at you, the ‘soldiers’ who had been carried this honorable position over by men and women who died in its name. And here you are, smoking and drinking like it’s the fucking holidays. You’re a disgrace.”

We all tightened up, trying to act as sober as we possibly could.

“Well I’ve got news for you. Tomorrow you will embark on your first mission for Cape Town. This isn’t Johannesburg or Botswana, where you helped with the retreats and intelligence. Tomorrow you will learn what it means to be part of the 44th regiment.”

He looked at the past-out man on the flour, and shook his head in disgrace.

“I don’t care how hungover you maggots are at 08:00AM. If you can’t handle it, I’ll have you court martialed - or used as bait if I’m really mad. Let it be a lesson not to fuck around like this.”

Felman, perhaps the most sober of all thirty soldiers thanks to his high tolerance to alcohol (as he was a raging alcoholic), had the clearest head at that point. And so he made sure to speak to the Lieutenant.

“So… what’s gonna happen tomorrow, then?” He asked.

“The details are classified. But you will make preparations for a counter attack. You’re not a direct fighting force, so you will be tasked with setting up a number of turrets. You will venture two miles outside the safety of the wall as the third group so far.” The Lieutenant replied.

“Third?” Felman wondered.

“Yes. Two other small special divisions have been sent outside. They secured the north and south, while you will secure the center. I have met with them, the 40th and 52nd regiment, and they were twice as skilled and disciplined as you pathetic, drunk and Godforsaken bunch and only half of them managed to return. You can imagine my pessimism about your survival odds. I have answered all I care to do. Go to bed and be as rested as you can be.”

And he left with that. The closing of the door sent a shiver down our spines.

“Outside of the wall?” I wondered out loud.

“Well that’s what we’re here for right? Conducting the suicide missions before the military can push in. This is madness.” Felman said.

I picked up the now passed out Marcius and carried him to his bed. The small and specified regiments within the army had the notoriety of needing replacements really quick. All missions that these regiments were sent off to do were practically suicide missions for half of the members. That’s why you were allowed to retire after serving only five years, as a ‘thank you for your suicidal service’ from her majesty.

The previous missions had been dangerous, but they were all already lost battles, in which we were tasked to assist the retreating soldiers. This time, however, we were making ground the assault.

“I hope we can go without any trouble for once… I’d hate to lose you guys too.” Maria mumbled while staring up the ceiling and lying on the bunkbed.

“Well, if I am to die, let it be with a bottle in my hand!” Felman joked (at least I think he joked).

I sighed, and closed my eyes to get some well needed rest. I thought of the mission, and how it was likely that at one moment or another, everything would come down to only half of us making it back.