"DON'T SHOOT!!"

  "Someone threw the foot." 

  The foot went sailing through the air and 

  "Give me that.  That is not factual." 

  "Sort of." 

  "We'll meet up with you later," an Army person dubbed Queen of the Female Element pulled the hatch on the transporter closed.  "Do we have to?" Someone asked.  "Log these," she flopped a baggie of bullet casings onto a little metal table.  It clanked an absurd beat seeming to match up with the change in mood.  

  "Not sure why you're surprised Sir." 

  The senior advisor pushed the newspapers away from directly in front of him.  "They said to give them something." 

  "Not sure whoever they are meant actual toys." 

  "What else could we have given them?" 

  "Sir, I'd like you to meet someone." 

  "I'm not ready.  It's too soon." 

  "Not like that.  This person is different.  Has been griping about having been through Vietnam and now not stuck with, but 

  "Stuck with 

  "Feeling like," he looked at a file, then read, "We can't expect things to go exactly as in World War II." 

  The man humphed.  "This is a far cry from that level of conventional and orderly." 

  "See.  That's the start of a conversation I think we all need to have.  Can I bring her in?" 

  He picked up a newspaper and stared at the exploded bag of toys on the street beside dead bodies.