"The Plastic Men"

The Commander awoke from a dream of blackness and nothing.  He found himself upside down in a tumble of bodies, all rigid and lifeless, and only through force and discipline did he push aside the limbs and faces of the weird figures who shared his confinement.  He climbed to the top of the pile and found himself surrounded by yellow plastic walls.  With a leap he was atop the walls.  With another he was on the floor.

    He stood at one end of a huge empty space.  Two identical plastic containers lay behind him.  He had come from one, and now sounds stirred within both.  One by one the soldiers climbed out from the containers.  They dropped to the ground just as the Commander had done.  They fell into a careful marching order.

    The Commander stood before them.  He realized that he was a Commander.  He was their Commander, and they were his troops.  He turned from the yellow containers and walked out into the open space.  Huge walls closed them in on every side.  High overhead, a flat surface closed off any sight of the sky.

    "Who am I?" The Commander thought.  "Why am I?"

*    *    *

    The Commander had two squads at his disposal.  Seventy-seven men.  He ordered that the vast hall in which they had found themselves be secured.  Along one wall stood

huge shelves lined with equipment.  Already the Commander's men had found a helicopter and jeeps.  They found planes and cannons.

    At the far end of the hall a massive set of stairs led up to levels that the Commander had not seen.  He had surmised them.  He knew that if there was a threat in this place, it would come from up the stairs.

    They lowered the cannons from the plastic containers in which they were found, and positioned them in a defensive formation in the area of the stairs.  Tanks, too, they prepared for defense.  These they put along the wall immediately adjoining the base of the stairs.  From this position they might score several shots on any creature that came down the stairs before it realized the source of the attack.  The tanks, if successful, might buy the Unit time to withdraw from the open floor to the more defensible crannies along the walls.

    The Commander wondered what a giant might do if attacked by cannon.  He wondered too why he was so confident that a giant might be encountered at all.  Of all things, why a giant?

    And if a giant, what sort of giant would it be? 

*    *    *

    The Unit stood stock still as the Commander made his inspection.  The Indians were orange, the Cowboys a ruddy tan.  The Cavalrymen were blue.  The Germans were grey and the GI's green, the Redcoats red as red.

    The Commander rose above such distinctions.  The Commander was red and black, unique among the soldiers of the Unit.  The men were plastic, the Commander metal.  He was the wisest and the bravest, the master of military forethought.  None had ever seen him in action, but all would follow to the death. 

    "I am willing to entertain thoughts from the ranks," the Commander said.  "We have secured our perimeter in this complex, and we have made preliminary explorations into the upper reaches.  This is the sum of our knowledge thus far into the Mission."

    Day Six.

    "This complex is occupied by at least one giant.  We have thus far escaped its detection, having taken every precaution to avoid loss of life.  Our helicopters are in working order and secreted from sight.  Likewise the fighter planes.  We have four tanks, one armored personnel carrier, and three jeeps of varying design.  Our six cannons provide the first defense against attack."