He was still tinkering when the soldiers came in. While they lined up along the wall, he put Molly's head back on her neck.
She gaped coyly at the new arrivals. "Hello, boys," she simpered. "Looking for a good time?"
Roddie slapped her to silence, reflecting briefly that there were many things he didn't know about Molly. But there was work to be done. Carefully he framed the ritual words she'd taught him: "Soldiers, come to attention and report!"
There were eleven of them, six feet tall, with four limbs and eight extremities. They stood uniformly, the thumbs on each pair of hands touching along the center line of the legs, front feet turned out at an angle of forty-five degrees, rear feet turned inward at thirty degrees.
"Sir," they chorused, "we have met the enemy and he is ours."
He inspected them. All were scratched and dented, but one in particular seemed badly damaged. His left arm was almost severed at the shoulder.
"Come here, fellow," Roddie said. "Let's see if I can fix that."
The soldier took a step forward, lurched suddenly, stopped, and whipped out a bayonet.
"Death to Invaders!" he yelled, and charged crazily.