Part 1
A heavy snowfall made reconnaissance difficult for the Allied forces situated to the west of the Ardennes, and air-support was entirely out of the question. Nevertheless, the Germans had been routed from France, and spirits were high among the troops. Christmas was fast approaching, and while they knew that the war wouldn't be over by then, they had little reason to doubt that final victory was but a few short months away.
"It's just going to be smooth sailing from here on in." said a young private as he struggled to open a can of rationed meat. There was no one within the group of soldiers who disagreed with that statement. "Shicklegrubber's scrapping the bottom of the barrel, and I reckon he's going to aim what he has left at the Russians." he added.
"Oh yeah! Comrade Joe ain't liable to be as forgiving as we are. In fact, don't be surprised if that commie turns on us after the war is over." said another soldier, as he sipped on a mug of brewed chicory.
Someone shouted: "Hey guys! Do you hear something?" Everyone quieted down and began to listen, half expecting rifles to open up at any second. But there was nothing but the howl of wind in an otherwise silent forest.
"Must have just been the wind, or maybe you're hearing stuff Jake!" One of them shouted.
"Yeah, nothing out there but trees and snow," said the man with the mug of chicory. He was about to take another sip of the hot brew, when suddenly he noticed ripples spread across the surface of the liquid, as if there was artillery fire off in the distance. "Wait! Hold on guys, I think there might be something to it." he said.
Once more, they began to listen and this time they could hear something heavy rumbling through the forest off to the East. The ground also began to tremble, as if something massive was on the move. "The Jerries are up to something!" Someone shouted. "Quick, take up defensive positions!" shouted the commander.
The soldiers rushed to put out their fires and hunker down as the trembling grew more intense, and the sounds of wood splintering and snow crunching became louder and clearer. Something was definitely headed towards them, but what could it be? The Germans definitely had some impressive tanks, and Hitler had even dabbled with the construction of gigantic mega-tanks. Could it be that this was the sort of thing they were now up against? What else could crush through full-grown trees so quickly and easily?
There wasn't a single G.I. that didn't feel some consternation at the unseen mass that crashed towards them, unimpeded by the difficult terrain. Although many of these men were veterans of the D-day invasion and other operations, none of them had ever heard anything like this. Whatever was coming at them was big, really big.
***
Jeremy peeked out from the make-shift trench with his standard issue M1 Carbine rifle pressed firmly into his soldier. He had been lucky a few months earlier when he successfully splattered a Panzer commander's brains as a column of Tiger tanks made it's way through the French country-side. Maybe this time wouldn't be any different; bigger tanks? undoubtedly, but the men driving them couldn't be any larger than he was - or so he thought. As it turned out, he couldn't be more wrong; none of them could.
Through the obscurity of trees and falling snow, he made out a colossal form crashing through towards him. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought this was a dinosaur or woolly monstrosity from the Ice Age, but instead it slowly materialized in the all to familiar silhouette of a soldier of the Wehrmacht! Jeremy rubbed his eyes, as they nearly burst out of his cranium. Aside from the fact the German was 50 feet tall, he appeared exactly the same as would be expected, with distinct Stahlhelm and field grey uniform.
The colossal German must have by now discovered their encampment, for he raised up his StG44 (which was proportionately as large as he was) and aimed at a group of parked transport vehicles, and before any of the Americans could snap out of the shock at what they were seeing, the German squeezed down on the trigger and sprayed the vehicles with bullets the size of artillery shells. The defenseless vehicles were no match for firepower of this caliber, and soon exploded into a massive fireball which engulfed some of the defenders in an inferno of flames. Shrieks of horror came from these men as they burned to death. The German soldier then shouted something loudly in his native language, perhaps to notify his comrades of his discovery.
Seeing what had just occurred, some men simply dropped their weapons and ran as fast and as far as their legs would carry them. A few, however, were able to recover themselves enough to fire their own weapons. The insignificant small arms fire struck the Field Grey uniform like grains of sand carried by a desert wind, and did no visible damage. Some men had anti-tank bazookas, but their nervousness caused one of the rockets to impact the snow, and another went wild and actually fell on the mess-tent, producing screams of agony from the men inside. However, one rocket did find it's mark against the black leather heel of the German's Jack boot. Being designed to punch through the armor of a tank, the rocket had no trouble working it's way through leather, no matter how large or thick, and exploded itself within. This hit produced a terrible shriek from the German, who collapsed to the snow clutching his injured leg as a torrent of blood gushed forth, turning the snow a bright crimson.
For the first time, Jeremy had a good look at the face of his foe, as the injured Wehrmacht soldier fell only perhaps 30 yards from where he lay. At this distance, the German's enormous features were as easy to make out as if he were a normal sized man standing right next to him. He could now see the German as an individual person, rather than a soulless killing machine. He even felt a bit sorry for him; as a fellow soldier he knew that war is hell and things like this happen sometimes. A tear streaked down the giant's cheek and splashed onto the snow below, Jeremy had seen many grown men do the same thing countless times in this God-forsaken war; but in this case, the German was not even a grown man yet. In recent months of fighting, it became apparent that in desperation Hitler had been drafting elderly men and teenage boys to fight his war for him; in this soldier's case, he was obviously the latter. The poor kid's smooth skin had never felt the touch of a razor (or a bullet), and it was a shame it had come to this. But how in the world had he become so enormous?
None of the Allied soldiers seemed quite sure what to do now. Another bazooka hit in a critical area would end the enemy's life, and in this injured condition he was not much of a threat. But how could they take a 50ft Giant as a prisoner? And even if they could, how could they treat his wounds? There were many questions that Allied command would like to know the answer to, and he would be useful if he could be properly interrogated.
For a moment no one did anything, because no one was quite sure what to do next. The area became eerily quiet once more, with no sound to be heard but the howling wind and the whimperings of pain from the wounded.
Giantess World
