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.
A mechanical whirring filled the room. It wasn’t an alien. It was the "Cat," a furry titan the size of a skyscraper, prowling the perimeter. The Cat sniffed a Bazooka Joe on the front lines. With one disinterested flick of a massive paw, Joe was sent tumbling into the dark abyss under the sofa. toy-soldiers-complete
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. The Boy tossed them both into the Toy
“Same time tomorrow?” the Alien seemed to ask in the silence. A mechanical whirring filled the room
The soldiers didn't blink—partly because they were molded that way, but mostly because they were disciplined. Corporal "Lefty" (who had lost half an arm to a teething puppy in '24) checked his plastic bayonet. “Movement on the flank, Sir!” Lefty whispered.
“Man down!” Grunt cried silently. “Ignore the beast! Advance!”
The enemy was formidable: the Galactic Raiders, a ragtag group of neon-purple aliens with oversized heads and translucent blasters. They held the strategic high ground of the Ottoman Cliffs.