The Old Man, a Green Great War Veteran
During the events of Army Men ll, Old Man was saved not one, but twice by Sarge and his men. The first time on the Maynard Airfield Tan attack, and them during the assault on Dr. Madd’s Zombie Factory.
The Veteran of Forgotten Wars
He has fought since the days of the Great Grey War, steadfast in his refusal to accept promotion or withdraw from the front lines. A veteran of countless campaigns, he remains a figure of unwavering resolve: a soldier both feared by his enemies and revered by his comrades.
To fight in his presence is regarded as a rare honor, for the mere sight of him amid the smoke and chaos is said to steady the heart and sharpen the aim of every plastic man around him. Many recall the surge of fervor that takes hold when he strides through the ranks, voice rising above the din, standing shoulder to shoulder with the common soldier… not as a commander above them, but as one of their own.
Joining Sarge’s ranks
The smell of burnt plastic lingered in the Maynard airfield like smoke from a memory.
Old Man had seen enough battles to fill ten lifetimes, yet this one felt different. He’d been captured by the Tan during their assault on the base. His rifle shattered, his uniform torn, his faith in victory thinner than the dust under his boots.
When Sarge and his squad arrived, the sky was already dark with tracer fire. The Green Army’s rescue came fast and fierce, cutting through Tan lines until the last machine gun went silent. Old Man was pulled from the wreckage, blinking against the sunlight, clutching his helmet like a relic.
There was no time for reunion.
A Blue Spy had been cornered by Tan troops to the south, and command needed both men for the extraction. Through the trees, over burnt-out airplanes and shattered plastic soldier bodies, Sarge’s team carved a path toward the forest edge. By dusk, they had reached the helipad.
As the rotors spun up and the ground began to fall away, Old Man allowed himself the smallest exhale of relief. Not joy, not triumph, but something quieter. Something that belonged to survivors.
The Return to Headquarters
When they finally reached headquarters, the mood was grim. Reports of missing personnel filled every channel. The Colonel had vanished on a classified mission weeks ago. The Scout, sent to retrieve him, had also disappeared.
Old Man didn’t need the briefing to know what came next… Sarge and his squad would be sent to the islands. That’s what the Green Army did best: they went where others were lost.
The waiting days were long. Old Man repaired weapons, tuned radios, listened to half-cracked transmissions that ended in static. When the call finally came “mission accomplished, Scout recovered, Colonel presumed rogue” he wasn’t surprised. The war had a habit of eating its own.
The Doctor’s Island
Then came the order that would bring Old Man back to the front: Dr. Madd, a name whispered through the barracks like a curse.
Recon reported unnatural activity: What look like dead soldiers, reanimated, twisted, molded from scorched plastic and kept alive by the doctor’s experiments. Sarge’s squad was dispatched once again, but Old Man was sent before them…
The island was eerily quiet when they arrived. Too quiet.
Half-buried in the sand lay the remains of a Green helicopter, its tail section blackened, the insignia barely visible. Nearby, they found a crude trap: a chair bound with rope, bait meant to lure Sarge into an ambush. Old Man was tied to it, bruised but defiant.
“They said you were dead,” Sarge told him.
“I was,” Old Man rasped, his voice like gravel. “Then I changed my mind.”
When the squad cut him free, the jungle came alive.
They swarmed out of the undergrowth… zombies!, grotesque shapes of melted soldiers, the forgotten dead of a dozen campaigns, remade to serve a madman.
Bullets tore through plastic and flame… killing dozens of them, if not a couple of hundred, but… is killing something that is already dead, is killing?.
Every shot sounded like an echo of old wars. The squad pressed forward, following intel that led to a mold factory, where massive generators powered the doctor’s creations.
One by one, they destroyed them. A chain of explosions, lighting the night sky like flares from the past wars. But by the time the final generator fell silent, Dr. Madd was gone, vanished into the shadows of his own madness.
The Old Soldier
Extraction came at dawn.
The squad regrouped at the beach, exhausted, silent, their boots half-buried in cooling ash.
Old Man sat apart from the others, staring at the horizon. The war had changed… the faces, the weapons, even the worlds they fought in… all changed, a lot… but not the cost.
He reached into his pack and pulled out a dented lighter, the last relic from a time when battles still had meaning.
“Guess they’ll need me again soon,” he muttered.
Sarge glanced over, offering a small nod. “They always do. But i want to offer you another job: I need you with my men. What do you think?”
And as the chopper rose into the orange light, the veteran of forgotten wars lit a cigarette, the flame trembling in the wind… a spark of something stubborn that refused to die. But now Old Man has a new home: Sarge’s platoon