The Boy tossed them both into the Toy Chest—a cavernous, wooden sanctuary where the war always ended. As the lid closed, Grunt looked at the Alien Commander. The enmity of the battlefield faded in the warmth of the pile of stuffed animals.
“Same time tomorrow?” the Alien seemed to ask in the silence. toy-soldiers-complete
Huge fingers descended from the heavens. The Boy scooped up the remote, but in his haste, he knocked the Alien Commander and General Grunt together. For a brief moment, they were jammed into the Boy's pocket, shoulder to molded shoulder. The Boy tossed them both into the Toy
The infantry moved with stiff-legged precision. They used marbles as cover and a discarded sock as a trench. As they reached the base of the Ottoman Cliffs, the Galactic Raiders opened fire—at least, they would have, if their spring-loaded missiles hadn't been lost behind the radiator years ago. Instead, they relied on their terrifying presence and the fact that they glowed in the dark. “Charge!” Grunt signaled. “Same time tomorrow
The battle for the living room floor began at 0300 hours under the shadow of the mahogany coffee table. General Ulysses S. Grunt, a three-inch plastic soldier cast in a permanent mid-stride sprint, stared across the vast expanse of the beige shag carpet. To a human, it was a rug. To the 1st Plastic Infantry, it was the High Grass of the Forbidden Zone.
“Listen up!” Grunt hissed, his voice a tiny vibration in the air. “The Great Thumb has been gone for two sunsets. If we don’t secure the Battery Pack from the TV remote by dawn, we’ll be stuck in the dark when the Vacuum Beast awakes.”