"What the hell?" Houston was confused on what happened everything was blackout for a moment like someone ended something 

Suddenly, Houston's  weapon felt heavy, as if held by invisible hands. He struggled to lift it, his muscles straining against an unseen force.

"Damn it, this guy's messing with my head!" Houston spoke as he grit his teeth 

Psycho Mantis's laughter echoed through the chamber as he released his hold on Houston's weapon. The shelves of trinkets began to levitate, circling around Houston like a whirlwind. He focused his energy and lunged forward, using his combat training to strike down the floating objects one by one.

"Impressive, Houston. But can you truly defy the power of my mind?" Mantis spoke as he clap mockingly

The room plunged into darkness, and Houston's senses went haywire. He heard voices – memories from his past – whispering in his ears. Doubts and fears he had buried long ago resurfaced, threatening to overwhelm him.

"No, I won't let you control me!" Houston spoke trying to resist his mind

Summoning all his mental strength, Houston reached deep within himself and pushed back against the psychic assault. The darkness lifted, and Houston found himself standing in an arena of his own making.

 "You... You've broken through my illusions?" Mantis spoke with his eye widening in surprise

"I've dealt with my fair share of mind games, Mantis. Your tricks won't work on me." Houston spoke with a smirk on his face

Enraged, Psycho Mantis unleashed a barrage of telekinetic attacks, hurling debris and energy blasts at Houston. But Houston's combat instincts were finely honed, and he danced through the chaos, evading each assault with precision.

"It's time to end this." Houston spoke wanting to end this fight. 

Hoston closed the distance between them, engaging Psycho Mantis in a furious hand-to-hand battle. Mantis's psychic powers still posed a threat, but Houston's relentless determination proved to be an unbreakable shield. Blow after blow, Houston pushed Mantis to the brink.

"You can't defeat me, Houston. My mind is stronger than yours!" Mantis spoke as he wince in pain

"Your mind might be powerful, but it's no match for a heart that refuses to give up!" Houston yelled as he delivers one final punch to Mantis who was floating in the air. 

With one last resounding strike, Houston knocked Psycho Mantis to the ground. The psychic warrior's power waned, and his defiant laughter faded into a weak cough. The battle was over.

As Houston stood amidst the wreckage of the chamber, he knew he had faced more than just a physical opponent. He had stared down the darkness within his own mind and emerged victorious.

Mantis who is now laying on the ground defeated Houston slowly walked to him as he kneel beside him looking at the strange figure who attacked him. 

"So......You bested me.... I wasn't able to read your future...." Mantis spoke as he slowly breathes. 

"Well a strong man don't his future to be read he make his own.." Houston spoke as he looked at Mantis. 

"Perhaps so..... But I will read you future..... only a little bit..." Mantis spoke as he tries to read Houston future.

While Mantis is reading Houston future Maho who was knocked out slowly get up to her feet as she sees Houston kneeling beside the figure that took control of her mind and made her attack Houston. 

"To get to your friends Houston they are in a small compound in this city a place for high ranking officer for past expiernces but be careful......  it's guarded by a bunch of Fedeartion Womens." Mantis spoke 

"Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?" Houston asked as he looked at Mantis who still lays on the floor. 

Mantis let out a weak chuckle, a faint smile crossing his face as he gazed up at Houston. "Call it... a parting gift. My abilities have brought pain and suffering to many, and I sense that you have a different path ahead of you. A path that challenges fate itself."

Houston's brow furrowed as he listened to Mantis's words, a mix of skepticism and curiosity in his expression. "You're saying that you're helping me because you see something different in my future?"

Mantis nodded slowly, his gaze distant as if he was seeing beyond the present moment. "Indeed. Your actions today, your determination... they've left an impression on me. In your future, I see a chance for redemption, for change. Perhaps I'm simply weary of the path I've walked, and I wish to offer something... different."

Houston studied Mantis for a moment, considering the possibility that this enigmatic figure might be extending a sincere gesture. "If you're truly offering assistance, then tell me more about the compound. And why should I trust what you're saying?"

Mantis let out a small sigh, the effort to speak clearly taking a toll on him. "Trust... is earned through actions, not words. The compound is located to the northeast of here. There's a hidden entrance through the old sewer tunnels. As for why... perhaps this is my way of seeking an end to the cycle of pain I've perpetuated."

Houston exchanged a glance with Maho, who nodded in agreement. It was a risk to trust Mantis's information, but if there was even a chance that he was being sincere, they couldn't ignore it.

"Thank you for the information," Houston said, his tone cautious but appreciative.

Mantis's smile grew fainter, his energy visibly fading. "Fate... is not set in stone. Remember that, Houston."

As Mantis's presence weakened, Houston and Maho exchanged one final look before turning to leave the chamber. Their thoughts were consumed by the new information they had received, and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

In the end, they couldn't help but wonder if Mantis's words held a glimmer of truth

As Houston followed Mantis's instructions, he carefully lifted one of the sewer lids in Houston, his heart pounding with anticipation. The foul smell of the old sewer tunnels wafted up as he and Maho emerged into the dim light. With calculated precision, they replaced the lid exactly where it had been, concealing their escape route. Maho's gaze swept their surroundings, revealing a formidable presence of guards stationed throughout the compound.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," Maho commented, her voice low and steady, her eyes fixed on the guards.

Houston joined her side, his demeanor focused and resolute. "I can maneuver through their ranks unnoticed. However, I doubt they'd be as lenient with you," he said, a note of concern in his voice.

Maho nodded in agreement, her expression determined. "I understand. Just be careful, Houston," she said, her concern for him evident.

With a nod, Houston disappeared into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness as he skillfully evaded the guards stationed nearby. He moved swiftly and silently, a master of stealth honed by years of experience. With each step, he mentally mapped out the areas where Muller, Jefferson, and Gunther might be held captive. It was a dangerous game, one where time was of the essence.

Finally, he spotted an opportunity. Houston seized a Federation guard, his movements swift and decisive. Pressing a knife against her throat, he made his intentions clear. "You're going to tell me where they're holding my friends," he demanded, his voice firm and unyielding.

The guard's eyes widened in fear, her breath catching in her throat. She weighed her options, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Lower the knife, and I'll talk," she stammered, her voice quivering.

Houston eased the pressure on the guard's throat slightly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Start talking," he urged, his focus unwavering.

As the guard began to reveal the location of his imprisoned friends, Houston listened intently, every word etching a path to their rescue.

Having extracted the crucial information he needed from the guard, Houston's determination remained steadfast. He incapacitated her swiftly, ensuring she wouldn't pose a threat, and continued on his mission to rescue his imprisoned friends. As he approached the location where the Commanders were supposedly being held, an overwhelming stench assaulted his senses, far worse than the odors of the sewer and confinement he had experienced earlier. It was a grim harbinger of the horrors that awaited.

Steeling himself for what lay ahead, Houston entered the building, his heart heavy with dread. The scene that met his eyes was gruesome and heart-wrenching. Lifeless bodies of some of the prisoners from the main group were strewn about, their lives brutally snuffed out. The chilling reality struck him hard – these men had been close to his friends, and their fate cast a chilling shadow over Houston's mission.

Amidst the grim tableau, Houston's focus zeroed in on the three figures who managed to cling to life. Their battered and broken forms told a story of torment and suffering, yet their spirits remained unbroken.

Houston moved swiftly to their side, kneeling down to check on Jefferson first. The man's face was marred with dirt and signs of abuse, his voice frail as he spoke, misunderstanding Houston's intentions due to the trauma he had endured.

"So... You're here to finish it, huh?" Jefferson's voice quivered weakly, resignation coloring his words.

Houston's heart ached at the misunderstanding, and he gently lifted Jefferson's chin, his eyes meeting the Vice Commander's. "No, Jefferson. It's me, Houston. I've come to rescue you guys," he said, his voice firm yet filled with compassion.

Recognition flickered in Jefferson's eyes, a glimmer of hope rekindling in their depths.

"Houston..." Muller's voice was barely audible, his strength waning.

A sense of relief washed over Houston as he heard his Commander's voice. He turned his attention to Gunther, whose weak words echoed their shared sentiment.

"You came... to save us," Gunther managed to say, his voice feeble yet filled with gratitude.

Houston nodded, a determined smile forming on his lips. "You bet I did. We're getting out of here, all of us."

With the bonds severed and the first steps toward freedom taken, Houston's attention turned to Jefferson, whose condition seemed to be the most severe among the three. As he knelt beside the Vice Commander, his hands gentle yet purposeful, Houston assessed the extent of Jefferson's injuries. The signs of abuse were evident, and it was clear that Jefferson's road to recovery would be a challenging one.

Amidst the grim circumstances, a small smile graced Jefferson's lips, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and humor. "Commander... You really kept me waiting..."

Houston returned the smile, a mix of relief and concern in his eyes. "We couldn't leave you hanging, Jefferson. We're a team, after all."

While it was apparent that Jefferson wouldn't be able to stand or walk on his own just yet, Houston knew that time was of the essence. With Jefferson temporarily immobilized, Houston turned his attention to Commander Muller and Vice Commander Gunther, who were slowly rising to their feet. Their determination was evident in their movements, their shared resilience a testament to the strength of their bond.

Muller, despite his weakened state, met Houston's gaze with a nod of acknowledgment. Gunther, too, offered a faint smile, his gratitude mirrored in his eyes.

"We're not out of the woods yet," Houston said, his voice carrying a mix of caution and determination. "But we're together, and we'll get through this."

Amid the dire circumstances, the Japanese high school students rallied together, working tirelessly to support the captured boys who were held captive after the Battle of the Alamo. Kay and her group focused on a combination of humanitarian efforts and tactical preparations, smuggling essential supplies to the imprisoned men and repairing the American tanks to ensure their escape.

Katyusha, always strategic and forward-thinking, was meticulously planning the escape route, carefully selecting the safest path to guide them toward American territory. The coordination and dedication of the group were a testament to their unity and unwavering spirit.

As the preparations reached a crucial point, Miho's voice cut through the tension. "Are we ready to move out?"

Kay nodded in confirmation, her resolve evident. "Yes, we are. We need to be gone before any suspicion falls on us."

However, the urgency of their situation shifted as Elijah, dirt-covered and bruised, approached Miho and Kay, his concern for Marshal Commander Houston and Maho palpable. He voiced the sentiment that lingered in everyone's minds – they couldn't abandon their comrades.

Just as his words hung in the air, the group's attention turned to the surprising sight of Houston emerging from the compound, carrying Jefferson on his back, Muller supporting Gunther, and Maho trailing behind them. Relief and astonishment mingled as the trio emerged, battered but alive, a testament to their strength and the success of Houston's daring mission.

Houston carefully assisted Jefferson onto a Patton tank before he approached Elijah, the gravity of their shared experiences hanging heavy in the air. Houston's actions spoke volumes as he handed over three dog tags, a poignant gesture that carried the weight of loss and remembrance.

Elijah, tears streaming down his face, held the dog tags, his voice heavy with emotion. "Why... Why are you giving this to me, Commander Houston..."

Houston turned away, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that had become too immense for tears. His words were simple yet carried a profound depth of feeling. "I'm returning your guys to you."

Elijah's question, "Why," was answered not with words, but with actions. Houston's back turned to him, he stood as a symbol of resilience and unyielding strength. His response carried the heavy truth of a man who had seen too much suffering, who had reached the limits of his emotional capacity.

"Why..." Elijah's voice trembled as he grappled with his own emotions.

"Because... I don't have anymore tears to shed," Houston's words were a revelation, a painful acknowledgment of the trauma that had shaped his journey.

"We need to go now," Houston's voice cut through the air, marking the urgency of their departure from the city of Okata. The escape was underway, a critical moment for everyone involved.

As they made their way out of the city, the Federation forces became aware of the prisoners' escape. However, the unexpected sabotage by Houston earlier had left their tanks immobilized and incapacitated, rendering them helpless to stop the fleeing captives.

Heading east towards the American lines on the island, Houston found himself seated outside Maho's Tiger I tank. In his hands were the blood-stained dog tags of his fallen comrades, a reminder of the sacrifices made during their ordeal. He glanced over at Jefferson, who was still recovering, taking in the sight of the prisoners interacting with the girls. The divide that had once separated them seemed to be melting away, replaced by a sense of camaraderie that had emerged from their shared struggle.

Miho, watching Houston from her older sister's tank, couldn't help but feel a mixture of sympathy and respect for the American Marshal Commander. The toll of the war game was evident in his eyes, and she recognized the weight he carried.

"Hey Miporin, are you alright?" Saori's voice broke through Miho's thoughts.

Miho sighed softly. "Yeah, just thinking about everything... It's been a rough journey."

Saori's concern was genuine, and she shifted the conversation to a more lighthearted topic. "I was wondering what kind of food the boys might like. I want to cook them a good meal since they haven't eaten properly in a while."

Mako chimed in, causing embarrassment for Saori. "She's trying to impress the guys with her cooking skills and even has a list of the cute ones."

"Mako!" Saori's voice held a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

Miho and the Panzer IV crew couldn't help but chuckle at the playful banter. The camaraderie between the girls was just as strong as that among the boys they had rescued.

Meanwhile, Miho turned her attention to Jefferson's Patton tank, where two of his Rangers were injured but determined to operate the tank. She leaned in and asked a question that revealed her consideration for their well-being.

"Hey, I have a question for you two. What kind of food do you guys enjoy?" Miho asked

One of the Rangers responded with enthusiasm, his words reflective of his culinary preference. "Homemade Texas Brisket Burger. They're the best, especially with mashed potatoes and potato salad."

"Absolute bullshit," I exclaim, my conviction unwavering. "Ribs are undeniably the best, dude. I'd give anything to savor a piece of those succulent ribs we're blessed with in Texas," another Ranger chimes in. A little later, their banter escalates into a fervent argument, each staunchly defending their favorite Texan delicacy. Amidst the heated debate, Miho, lost in thought, diverts her attention from the conversation. She contemplates the impending future after this match, a future shadowed by her and Maho's defiance against their mother's wishes. This time, it's mostly Maho's doing, orchestrating a daring mission alongside Houston to aid the prisoners and form an alliance. The gravity of their actions leaves Miho anxious, fearing their mother's potential retribution.

Meanwhile, in Japan, Shiho Nishizumi's fury intensifies as she pores over the report detailing the latest island match and its shocking turn of events. The American captives, thanks to Houston's audacious rescue operation, have all managed to escape. However, this isn't what fuels Shiho's rage. It's the news of Maho's defection, her alignment with Houston's cause, that propels Shiho to unleash her wrath upon her office, leaving it in a disheveled state. To think her own daughter would betray her—while Miho's prior transgressions could be attributed to youthful impulsiveness, Shiho never fathomed that Maho, alongside her peers from various Japanese high schools, would join Houston and the opposing commanders.

A voice from beyond her office door breaks the tense atmosphere. "Chairwoman Nishizumi? Um, Chairman Kodama would like to speak with you," a woman conveys tentatively.

Gathering herself with a deep breath and a composed adjustment of her attire, Shiho responds with newfound composure, "I'll be there momentarily."

Back on the island, the scene shifts to Commander Graham and his forces toiling in the act of digging trenches within the confines of his Forward Operating Base situated within the city. Graham wholeheartedly participates alongside his men, their collective efforts synchronized with an unexpected harmony that transcends the laborious task. As shovels bite into the earth, a spontaneous melody erupts.

"In that land of dopy dreams, happy peaceful Philippines, Where the bolo-man is hiking night and day; Where Tagalos steal and lie, where Americanos die, There you hear the soldiers sing this evening lay" a soldier's voice sings out, sparking a musical camaraderie that envelops the group.

"Damn, damn, damn the Filipinos' cross-eyed kakiack ladrones, Underneath our starry flag, civilize 'em with a Krag, And return us to our own beloved homes." the chorus resounds with newfound fervor.

Amid the repetitive rhythm of labor and song, a sudden interruption jolts their concentration. Sergeant Dean, aboard a Chaffee tank, thunders onto the scene.

"Hey, we've spotted a sizable group of Japanese High Schools approaching our line!" Deans urgent voice echoes through the air.

Graham and his men cease their trench-digging efforts and swiftly gather around Dean's location. Graham positions himself next to the Sergeant, and numerous tanks are manned as the soldiers peer through binoculars, confirming Dean's report. Sure enough, a significant formation of Japanese high school tanks is making its way toward their defensive lines.

"Damn it all! Prepare yourselves, men! They're coming in hard, throwing everything they've got at us!" Graham's voice reverberates with a mix of urgency and determination. Just before he can make his way to his tank, he pulls his radio operator aside to issue a crucial command.

"Contact Commander Welsey and the American League Forces unit. Get them over here, now," Graham orders, his tone emphasizing the gravity of the situation.

"Yes, sir!" The radio operator promptly responds, setting to work coordinating with various American FOBs stationed across the cities.

Amidst the mounting tension, Graham mutters under his breath, "God, Houston, where the hell are you..." He hopes for Houston's swift response to his radio call, realizing the dire need for reinforcements.

Meanwhile, the scene shifts to Houston, who is perched atop his Vice Commander Patton tank. Inside the tank, Jefferson, his Vice Commander, is slowly recovering as the driver focuses on maneuvering the tank. The gunner and machine gunner tend to Jefferson's wounds while the loader conveys a message to Houston from outside the hatch.

"Commander Houston... Vice Commander's condition is worsening, sir... Without medical attention, he might not make it..." The loader's voice trembles, revealing the genuine fear for their comrade's life.

"Do whatever you can," Houston replies somberly, the weight of the situation evident in his voice. With the situation growing increasingly dire, Houston seizes his radio and contacts Maho, who is leading the advancing group.

"Maho, can I have a word?" he asks over the radio.

"What is it, Commander Don?" Maho responds.

"For once, could you just call me by my last name, Houston? Damn it..." Houston exhales audibly, his frustration evident. He then continues, "Listen, we have a serious issue with my Vice Commander's condition."

"What's wrong with him?" Maho inquires, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Given the beating he's taken and his injuries, the constant jostling is only making things worse. Without proper medical attention, I'm afraid I'll lose my Vice Commander—someone I don't want to see die right in front of me," Houston reveals, the weight of his emotions evident.

"What can we do?" Maho's voice carries a tone of determination.

"We need to head to the city of Pottsboro, where Commander Graham and his forces are stationed. He has access to the medical equipment we need," Houston explains.

"Understood," Maho acknowledges before adjusting her radio frequencies to address the entire group. "Attention, everyone. We're redirecting to Pottsboro. Vice Commander Jefferson's condition is deteriorating, and he needs immediate medical attention. For those who can't operate tanks and are hitching a ride, Pravda's and Kuromorimine's heavy tanks will protect you. Their safety is our top priority."

"Affirmative, ma'am," the unified response echoes over the radio.

Hearing the collective response, Houston can't help but chuckle softly as Commander Muller's Tiger I tank pulls up alongside Jefferson's Patton tank. The two old comrades exchange words, reflecting on their shared experiences.

"I now understand why the Federation chose her as their Marshal Commander," Houston remarks to his old friend.

"Ja, I agree. Tell me, Houston, ever since that incident, do the women of the Federation who treated me and the other men who defended the Alamo... do they make you feel reminiscent of Dallas? After all that happened..." Muller's voice carries a deep sense of scarred recollection.

"Yeah, it does remind me of seeing guys like that... You know, what happened in Dallas. I regret it all," Houston admits with a tinge of regret.

"Me too, Houston... Me too," Muller's response holds a sense of shared remorse.

As their conversation trails off, the echoes of past screams and the haunting scenes of Dallas replay in their minds, both commanders grappling with the lingering PTSD from those fateful events two years prior.

After a long and tense journey of two hours, the group finally approaches the outskirts of the city of Pottsboro. Skyscrapers loom in the distance, signaling their proximity. As they near the city limits, Commander Welsey, Elijah's Vice Commander, Muller's Captain, Commander Graham, and Sergeant Dean, with the rest of Houston's men prepare for an impending engagement. Welsey, stationed in his Conqueror tank, peeks out from his commander's hatch.

"You're sure the Japanese schools are headed this way?" Welsey inquires.

"Yes, I'm certain," Graham confirms. He grabs his radio and addresses Dean, seeking an update from the other side.

"Sergeant Dean, how's the situation on your end?" Graham's voice queries over the radio.

"Good, the Rangers are in positions, and we are waiting for them to come in," Dean's voice responds through the radio.

As the two opposing groups slowly draw closer, Houston becomes acutely aware of the tense standoff as the units on his side point their tanks towards the oncoming school units. In response to this perilous situation, Houston acts swiftly. He seizes the radio and urgently contacts Maho and the other Japanese tanks.

"EVERYONE STOP!! STOP!!!" Houston's voice pierces through the air, his urgency palpable. Following his command, he hastily dismounts from Jefferson's Patton tank and dashes forward, frantically waving his arms. His voice resonates over the radio waves, now broadcasting on the American school's frequency.

"All units, stand down! I repeat, stand down!" Houston's voice resounds with authority. Charging towards the front lines, he continues to shout through the radio, "Hold your fire! Cease fire!"

The sight of Houston's frantic sprint and the intensity of his pleas are enough to stir Graham into immediate action. Graham grabs his radio, his voice cutting through the airwaves with a desperate warning to all defensive units in the area.

"Whoa! Hold your fire! Hold your fire! We're about to open fire on our own Marshal Commander!" Graham's voice conveys alarm over the radio, echoing Houston's plea to prevent an impending catastrophe of friendly fire.

Amidst the swirling tension, the standoff eases as both sides heed the urgent calls of Houston and Graham. The tanks' barrels lower, the potential calamity gradually defusing as the weight of the situation becomes clear.

Houston's determined dash leads him to the forefront of the standstill, where he continues waving his arms to signal the cessation of hostilities. The fraught moment hangs in the balance, waiting for the dust to settle and for further instructions to guide their next steps.

Houston's fervent run and the radio exchanges prompt Commander Welsey to react, stepping out of his tank and moving to join Houston on the front lines. Not far behind, Commander Graham also exits his tank and rushes to the scene, driven by the urgency of the situation.

"Commander! Jesus, man, I've been trying to reach you for a while. What the hell happened?" Graham inquires, his gaze fixed on Houston.

"Long story, Graham. I went radio silent while I was infiltrating the Federation's main city HQ," Houston explains, his breathing still labored from the sprint.

"So why are you riding alongside the girls? What's going on, sir?" Welsey asks, seeking clarity.

"Quick version: Federation women treated our guys, who were defending the Alamo, like crap, and now the Japanese high school teams are on our side... Apart from that, Graham, do you have any medics?" Houston's desperation becomes evident.

"Yeah, we do. What's the matter?" Graham responds.

"I've got multiple wounded, including Commander Muller, Elijah, and several of their men, along with some of Jefferson's and your Vice Commander Joey's men. Additionally, Jefferson is critically wounded and needs treatment immediately," Houston imparts urgently.

"Right, we'll get on that immediately, sir," Graham swiftly turns to his men, directing them to provide medical attention to the injured boys and prisoners. Amidst the organized chaos, the critically wounded Jefferson is carefully extracted from his tank and placed on a stretcher. Medical personnel transport him to a nearby medical building, where they immediately set to work on his treatment, prioritizing his critical condition.

A few minutes pass as Grand Lake High School's students witness their fellow countrymen—once prisoners—sigh in relief. Houston reunites with his school units, the boys quickly saluting him. Houston waves them off, signaling them to stand at ease, while his crew from his M4A3E8 Sherman Tank 'Lone Star' remains intact, offering him warm hugs as they see him safe.

Following heartwarming reunions and ensuring the wounded are attended to, various girl's school mechanics dive into repairing and maintaining their tanks. Welsey's engineering teams also lend a hand, facilitating repairs for their countrymen and newly allied school units.

In a makeshift war room, Houston, Graham, Welsey, Muller, and Elijah gather on the right side of the room, while Maho, Katyusha, Darjeeling, Kay, and Miho assemble on the left.

"We lost the city of Chorley, sir. We managed to fend off ten waves of enemy tanks, but the assault was overwhelming. We had no choice but to abandon the city," Welsey speaks up, delivering a report on their recent engagement.

"That's unfortunate, but the safety of your men comes first. Did all your units make it here safely?" Houston inquires.

"Yes, we did. The Federation has severely disrupted our communications with the American League tank units. When Graham attempted to contact them, we received no signal or response," Welsey adds, highlighting the challenges they face.

"Very well. Is there anything else that needs to be discussed here?" Houston opens the floor for further input.

"I do. I have a question for all of you commanders: what kind of units did your school start with?" Maho queries, seeking to understand the strengths of their respective forces.

"For us, it's Ranger support. My guys are battle-hardened and trained to face tanks head-on," Houston responds.

"In my school, we focus on Commando, Artillery, and Engineering. I personally emphasize Commando training. I have them ready in case things get messy," Welsey chimes in.

"Our school runs Blitzkrieg and Defensive Doctrine. We've mostly employed Blitzkrieg to overrun our enemies, which has been effective in the past and present," Muller shares.

"I emphasize Armor and Medical support. It will take some time for my heavy tanks to enter the fray, but our medical troops are well-prepared to tend to the wounded," Graham adds.

"As for my school, we emphasize Scouting and Guerrilla warfare. I've trained my units to blend in with the wilderness and launch surprise attacks when the enemy lowers their guard," Elijah contributes.

"Before we delve further into our school backgrounds, can we revisit the issue of how the Federation treated you and Muller, Elijah? We need to bring this to the attention of the league officials," Welsey interjects, addressing a concerning matter.

"Welsey, remember the rules: the officials for this match cannot provide assistance or intervene, except for supplying us with provisions every month," Houston reminds them of the restrictions.

"Oh, so it's alright for you to call in a favor from your old friend, especially since your younger b—" Welsey's sentence is cut off as Graham intervenes.

"Welsey, that's enough. Houston is right. The officials can't help us. We're on our own," Graham asserts, aligning with Houston's perspective.

"I might be able to contribute here. Some of my teammates took pictures of how the boys were treated in Okata throughout the past month. We have enough evidence to expose the Federation's actions," Maho offers, suggesting a way to address the situation.

"For now, we'll have to wait. But while we wait, what's our game plan?" Muller inquires, focusing on the practical steps ahead.

"Rest would be the best starting point. Your boys are malnourished and need time to recover. Moreover, all of the girls are fatigued from the continuous driving. We should be safe here in the city we've occupied," Kay suggests, emphasizing the importance of recovery.

"Alright. Since we're all here, I'm going to send my best rangers to secure the frontier. Sergeant Dean will lead the group. I can't rely too heavily on Welsey's Commando units," Houston states, outlining his immediate plan.

"We'll provide any assistance we can. It's the least we can do for providing refuge," Maho affirms.

"Any friend of Houston's is a friend of mine. My guys should have quarters ready for your girls. Now, go get some rest. Right now, Houston, Muller, and I have something to discuss," Graham adds.

"Alright, this meeting is concluded. You're all dismissed," Houston concludes, effectively ending the meeting.

As the girls' commanders, Welsey, and Elijah leave the room, the three experienced commanders remain in the war room. With a swift motion, Graham locks the door, signifying the confidentiality of their conversation. The room buzzes with anticipation as Graham's and Muller's expressions reveal a shared understanding of the task at hand.

"So... it's true that the Federation has smuggled live ammunition onto this island, Houston?" Graham's voice carries a weight of concern as he seeks confirmation.

Houston nods solemnly, the weight of truth hanging heavy in the air. "Yes, it's true," he responds, his voice heavy with the burden of the revelation.

The room falls into a somber silence as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Muller, his face etched with a mix of shock and dread, speaks up, "Mein Gott... This could be reminiscent of the Dallas Incident all over again."

The memories of that grim event cast a long shadow over the room. Houston's voice is tinged with a mixture of pain and sorrow as he adds, "Yeah... Back then, five thousand of us entered that match, but only five hundred of us witnessed its end."

The weight of their shared traumatic memories continues to linger heavily in the room, a palpable presence that hangs in the air. It's a mixture of pain, fear, and a haunting realization that the past could be resurfacing in a new and terrifying form. The commanders are united in their understanding of the horrors they've experienced and the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

After spending some time in the war room, the three commanders eventually retreat to their private quarters. Houston enters his room and changes into his sleepwear before lying down in bed, attempting to find some rest. However, his attempts are thwarted as he begins to toss and turn, restlessly trapped in the grip of his own nightmares.

Suddenly, he finds himself transported back to the muddy battlefield of Dallas, surrounded by chaos and destruction. His old commander's urgent voice breaks through, snapping Houston back to attention. He's pulled to his feet by his old commander, a sense of urgency hanging in the air.

Standing amid the devastation, Houston's surroundings are a grim reminder of the horrors of that past battle. Destroyed tanks litter the field, and high school boys are locked in brutal combat. The brutality unfolds before his eyes: one boy beats another to death with a shovel, and yet another is viciously stabbed with a bayonet.

The grim scenes replay in front of him, and the shock and horror of that day return with a vengeance. Houston feels the grip of panic tightening around him as he's thrust back into those nightmarish moments he'd hoped to forget. The raw and unfiltered memories of the violence, chaos, and death wash over him.

As the nightmarish scenes continue, Houston's breathing quickens, and his heart races. The relentless onslaught of memories becomes overwhelming, and he struggles to maintain his composure. The past that he had tried to bury resurfaces with unrelenting force, plunging him into the depths of his trauma.

Gasping for air, Houston's eyes snap open. He finds himself back in his own room, drenched in sweat. The relief of being away from the battlefield is palpable, but the emotional aftermath lingers. The room is quiet, and Houston is left alone with his racing thoughts, grappling with the haunting impact of his past experiences.

"Damn it... God damn it..." The words escape his lips in a frustrated whisper, a raw expression of the turmoil he's experiencing. Houston's voice trembles with a mixture of anger, fear, and helplessness as he grapples with the vivid memories that his dream has brought to the forefront of his mind.