"Present! Fire!" Smoke erupted from the line of yellow, orange, and white. Several meters ahead, men dressed in violet and indigo fell to the ground, clutching various parts of their bodies. Their comrades, now finished reloading, took aim. Just as they fired, an enormous quake shook the ground. Followed by another. And another. Suddenly, as though she had materialized out of nowhere, a beautiful woman was upon them. A beautiful, enormous woman. She was nearly immeasureable, her foot able to crush more than two hundred men. She looked down at the facing regiments, who were now beginning to scatter, with almost a bored expression.
"Yeah," she said into the phone held to her face.
"Oh, no it's nothing. Just some bugs in my kitchen."
She raised her bare foot above the fleeing troops. Slowly, she brought it down on a particularly large cluster. The men looked up and screamed before they were completely snuffed out. The woman stood for a moment, continuing her conversation.
"So are you still going out with us? This Friday. Yeah! Becca will be there too."
With that, she plodded off to some other room of the house, leaving the rest of the combatants to scramble back to their respective cities. Uniforms of both violet and yellow clung to her foot, stuck there by the pulverized remains of the soldiers that once wore them.
"We lost 13 men in combat, 27 to Her, and
5 are missing in action. Another 21 are injured or ill. In total, the number of combat-ready men is 158."
Colonel Breckins looked around at the yellow-clad gentlemen around him. Some looked back expectantly, others looked away, predicting rage. He sighed.
"Go ahead and begin recruitment. If the Truitans
catch us in open conflict again, we may not be
able to hold our own."
"Sir, Colonel Herring of the 5th Rifle Corps is here to see you. Should I let him in?"
Another sigh.
"Yeah, go ahead."
In walked a man also dressed in the same yellow coat and white trousers as the rest of them. However, instead of orange, his jacket was trimmed with the finest green. He twisted his impressive moustache as he surveyed Breckins' office.
"Would you gentlemen mind leaving us?" he asked.
The various aides and officers glanced around nervously before looking askingly at their own colonel. Breckins nodded, and the men filed out of the office. Herring, now twirling his moustache around his finger, waved his hand towards one of the newly available seats.
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
Herring sat down and picked up a bottle and a cup from a nearby table. He poured himself a drink and took a sip. Colonel Breckins watched this from the other side of his desk. He had always held a slight disdain for Herring, who's almost carefree attitude he felt had no place in the Army of the Nation of Benevol. Even now, the man was examining the room with a look on his face that seemed to say, "Is this really your office? This hovel?" However, the decorations that hung from his jacket spokeotherwise; they told of distuingished bravery, excellent leadership, and cunning strategy. There were a few that Breckins had never seen on any other man, causing him to wonder what sort of ability one needed to acquire them. He sighed again, and began rubbing his temples.
"What do you need, Herring?"
"It's not what I need, it's what I hear you need; men. Something about losing more men to Her than in combat."
"So what? Isn't that normal when she comes stomping around?"
Herring shrugged.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "I've never lost a man to Her. But, I do know of a way that will make it so She will become a nonissue."
Breckins was doubtful, but humored him.
"I'm listening."
Just three days ago, Harold Firth had been a
simple cadet on the last leg of his basic training. Now however, he was hiking alongside his comrades, ready to face the dastardly Truitans. A freshly polished rifle hung from his shoulder, and at his left side was a short sabre. On his back was a leather pack, which conatined a canteen and a set of basic supplies. A shiny powder horn hung from his right side; he had been lucky enough to be granted a freshly minted one.
With no warning, his commander held up a series of hand signals. In response, the unit split apart into formation. It was time to skirmish. Harold took position in a wide trench - the space in between two tiles - with three other men. In the distance, he could see the two combat forces lining up. Using the forest of carpet to the left of the kitchen, where the woman sits at a table to eat, the skirmishers had managed to come up behind the Truitan force, though they were still a fair distance away. When the time came, they would swiftly silence the enemey artillery. From that position, they would harass the main force with potshots. The rest of the Benevol forces had wisely chosen to take a defensive position, with their backs to the unclimbable wall that was the giantess' counter.
To Harold, minutes passed like passed like hours. The anticipation of battle turned into anxiousness. Then, he heard a distant explosion, followed by four or five others.
"Our cannons have opened fire," one of the men whispered.
Two of the shots ploughed through a line of purple and indigo, instantly killing all they managed to hit. A closer series of explosions proved that the Truitan artillery had begun firing as well. Harold watched as the two militaries marched towards each other and, when they were close enough, began firing volleys. He thought to himself how glad he was not to be a man of the line.
After several hours of fighting, the skirmishers were ordered forward. They moved quickly, trying to cover as much ground as possible before the artillery guard noticed them. They were almost within firing range when an unearthly thundering sounded in the distance. The ground quaked and within moments, the giantess was upon the battleground. Either unaware, uncaring, or both, she stepped right into the midst of it, her bare feet crushing hundreds of men. A cry of "Retreat!" came from the commander's mouth, but Harold was dumbstruck; this was the first time he had seen Her. Though her clothes were foreign to him, her beauty was rivaled by none of the women he'd known. That was also true of her size. He watched the impossibly large woman pull a package of cookies out of the cabinet above her head. She opened it with a mighty tug, picked out the biggest cookie, and bit into it. Crumbs rained down to the chaos below, further adding to the death toll. She absentmindedly shifted her footing, and curled and uncurled her toes. She finished the cookie and wiped her mouth before choosing another and starting the process again.
Harold was shocked out of his stupor when awayward crumb, propelled when she wiped her mouth, landed only several feet from him. He ran after his comrades, who were instinctually scrambling towards the carpeting. They were quite aware that it offered no actual safety, but they were driven towards it by fear and panic. Harold chanced one look back. The goddess was putting away the remaining cookies. He knew they would not make it to their destination before she was finished. He could feel her take two steps in his direction. Her leg appeared far above and infront of him as she took a step into the carpet. Harold stopped in his tracks and watched her body sail over him. He stared in amazement as she sat on the chair at her dining table, picked up a book, and began to read. Exhausted, Harold slumped to the ground and triedto come to terms with what he had just witnessed.
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is probably the longest chapter I've ever written for anything.
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Chapter End Notes:
In the words of great YouTubers, "Comment, rate, subscribe."
Also, don't copy-paste from Notepad. It's more trouble than it's worth. Just open an actual document editor.
Also, don't copy-paste from Notepad. It's more trouble than it's worth. Just open an actual document editor.