Toy Soldiers
by K. Stonham
released 2nd July 2011

The revelation to the world of the presence of aliens had been accompanied by the deaths of thousands. Most had been soldiers, naval members at duty on ships traversing the world's oceans.

Most of their bodies had never been recovered.

But the defeat, at least for now, of these destructive enemy forces by allied aliens had helped turn public opinion mostly in favor of the goverments who had been revealed to have been concealing alien presence for years.

Not that there weren't those who wanted them gone at any cost. Humans didn't like aliens of their own species; why should they like any better those who were war machines from another galaxy?

Still, there were enough who welcomed their protectors that the scales were balanced in their favor, at least for now. And human nature being what it was, offers of financial, political, and educational partnerships poured the Autobots' way.

Unaccustomed for a long time to such dealings, it took a while for the aliens to navigate their way among the offers and decide which to accept and which to gently refuse.

Among the partnerships they accepted was one from a toy company headquartered in Rhode Island. They made clever articulated replicas of the aliens that managed (albeit in a simpler way) to also transform into their publicly known vehicle modes.

The enormity of the resulting rush to the stores by the public was actually unexpected. The toy company had to work double, triple time to keep up with the demand. They got rich. So did the Autobots. So did the charities Optimus Prime had chosen to receive part of the toys' profits.

And select individuals, many associated with NEST, others simply close civilian allies, received free iterations of the toys without having to wait in the lines.

A week after Chicago, Lt. Colonel William Lennox finally made it home to his wife and daughter. His plane had gotten in late, and by the time he'd picked up a car and driven out to the farm, it had been night and way past his daughter's bedtime.

He cut the engine in the driveway and looked at the softly glowing lights of the house. His home, his family. Safe.

His whole world, safe.

He got out of the car, closing the door quietly. If Annie was already asleep, he didn't want to wake her.

Walking up to the house on stealthy feet (and how sad was it, he mused, that it was almost impossible for him to walk like a normal man would, anymore), he let himself in, dropping his bag by the door.

He could hear the shower running upstairs, and debated surprising Sarah. Then he thought better of it and wandered into the living room, which had toys and coloring books scattered all over it. It looked like Annabelle had had friends over today. Smiling a little, he knelt down to start cleaning up.

It went well until he found a dark plastic foot extending from under the sofa, and pulled it out.

William Lennox held the toy version of a friend he'd seen killed in front of his eyes not a week ago. Murdered in cold blood by a superior officer he'd trusted.

Will savagely hoped that Sentinel would spend eternity writhing in agony in the lowest levels of the Pit for what he'd done.

One of the toy's arms was twisted backward. With careful, gentle hands, Will righted this, fingers smoothing over the cool plastic, checking it for damages, smoothing away the dust.

Ironhide's remains, such as they were, and Skids' and Mudflap's, had been cleaned up by NEST, treated with respect, placed into storage pending burial, even as the rest of the Autobots had left Earth and been seemingly murdered by the Decepticons.

And after the Autobots had made their point to the world, returning in stealth, after Chicago and all that had gone down there, after a day of recovery and repair and another two of endless debriefings, all else had simply stopped, the motion of the world held back by the immovable force that was Optimus Prime's word, and the funerals had been held.

The memorial service had been private, attended only by friends and colleagues of the Autobots. No politicians or journalists. Optimus, the great orator, had barely been able to choke out a few words. Ratchet, who Will knew had once been a Senator on Cybertron, reknowned for his debating skills, hadn't done much better. Will, who'd spoken as Ironhide's closest human friend, had barely managed a "We'll miss you. Give them hell in the Well."

And now here he was in his living room, with a plastic toy based on his friend.

He found Skids upside down in a planter and Mudflap somewhat surprisingly still in the toybox, and checked and repaired them too. They'd died saving Bumblebee and Mirage, and even though they'd been pains in the aft most of the time, they deserved no less honor than Ironhide. Wheeljack and Mirage were sitting upright, side by side, in an armchair. One had died in an unseen underwater ambush; the other had been decapitated by Starscream.

Will hoped that slagger roasted in fire as well.

The toys in his arms, Will walked toward the den. Well, they called it that but it was really his office at home. Half the time he used it for dealing with taxes and the like, but the phone line was secured and so was the computer. He opened the door and walked in, flicking on the light.

There was a mantel to one side of his desk. A few old books he'd been given by his grandfather stood at one end, held upright by a pair of geode brackets.

The rest of the shelf held toys.

When the offer from Hasbro had come in and been accepted by the Autobots, the decision had been unanimous that the humans should know about the Autobots who had died to protect their world. Will honored them by placing them where he could see them while working. Jazz danced perilously close to the end of the shelf. Ironhide had laughed at that placement, saying it was just like Jazz. Next to him were all three of the Arcee triplets, who hadn't survived Egypt, and Jetfire, who had torn out his own spark to give Optimus a fighting chance. Jolt was there, too; he'd been ripped apart by a 'Con named Rampage barely a year after Egypt.

Will put the five in his arms down on his desk and shifted the toys already on the mantel around, making room. He picked them up again, placing Ironhide's toy at center front, cannons at the ready. The twins he set back just a little, flanking the ancient weapons specialist. Wheeljack was to one side, hand raised as though offering a new invention, and Mirage was half-turned on the other side, seeming to hide in the shadows of the others.

Lt. Colonel William Lennox stood looking at the toys of the fallen for a long, long moment, then he sharply saluted. "It was my honor," he told them, "to have served with you. Godspeed, and Primus bless."

William Lennox turned around, took three steps. He turned off the lights, closed the door behind himself.

Wetness streaking his cheeks, he went to find his wife and daughter and hold them tight.

Step by step
Heart to heart
Left right left
We all fall down
Like toy soldiers.