(This Chapter is a sad one also this Houston flashback before he join this small War Game between the League and The Federation)

"Life ending, isn't it beautiful? It's almost tragic..." said Red.

The scene depicts Houston and Red concealed within the ruined remains of a building. Both of them were dressed in Vermont uniforms, with Red slowly bleeding out, a jagged piece of metal rod protruding from his stomach. Houston, wearing his slightly torn Vermont tankery uniform, held Red's trembling hands.

"Don... There's nothing you can do to save me..." Red's voice quivered, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Don't say that! I can still save you!" Houston's voice cracked as he desperately clung to the hope of keeping Red alive.

Through the night to the day

When everything is gone

Carry this soul away from the dry lands

"Older Brother... This could've ended one way or another... At least I managed to convince you..." Red said, managing a faint smile despite the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Brother... Why... Why are we here... Why did the people who organized these matches force us to kill each other... We're just kids... Kids caught up in this senseless war game..."

Houston tightened his grip on Red's hands, his eyes moist with anguish and anger. The distant echoes of explosions and the intermittent rumble of tanks outside served as a haunting backdrop to their conversation.

In the sun we see fighting over lines

All our dreams and wishes we sent home for safe keeping

Fighting for what's right

"I don't know, Red," Houston murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "I wish I had the answers. All I wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe. I never wanted any of this.

"Don... It's up to you now to end this game. You have to head to the Davy Crockett, North High, and Grand Lake High School lines, help them win this game, and put an end to Commander Anderson and this nightmare," Red said, his grip on his older brother's hand tightening.

"I will," Houston vowed, determination etched across his face.

"Older Brother... I have one more request... Please end this pain... Kill me. I won't make it anyway, and I don't want to die at the hands of our old comrades or any of our former team members we left behind," Red pleaded, passing Houston his M1911 pistol.

Holding his younger brother's pistol, Houston turned to Red, confusion and sadness evident in his eyes.

"Your pistol... Why are you giving me this?" Houston questioned, his voice filled with sorrow.

Tears welled up in Red's eyes as he struggled to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't bear the thought of becoming a pawn in this sick game, Don. I want to choose how I go. I want it to be you."

Houston's heart ached as he understood the depth of Red's despair. With a heavy heart, he nodded slowly. "Alright, Red. If that's what you want."

Houston raised the pistol, his hands trembling, and Red closed his eyes, a single tear sliding down his cheek. The room was filled with silence, broken only by the muffled sounds of the ongoing battle outside.

"I really hope Mom and Dad understand why we didn't want to join this team," Red said, his voice fading as he spoke his final words, which Houston listened to with a heavy heart. "We Houstons will never accept defeat nor victory... that's what we fight for, to live for ourselves another day... I love you, Big Brother."

Tears welled up in Houston's eyes as he whispered, "I love you too, Little Brother..."

Silence hung in the air, broken only by the echoing of their heartfelt words.

Then, a deafening gunshot shattered the stillness, signaling the end of Red's pain and suffering. Houston, left alone in the ruined building, felt the weight of their shared burden and the enormity of the task that lay ahead. He knew he had to honor Red's memory by fulfilling their promise to end the cruel game that had torn their lives apart.

Houston gently closed Red's lifeless eyes and placed a final kiss on his forehead. With a heavy heart, he whispered, "Rest in peace, Little Brother."

Houston gently lifted his brother's lifeless body and cradled it in his arms. Red's sacrifice weighed heavily on him, but he was determined to give him a proper farewell. With each step, Houston trudged through the war-torn landscape, his heart heavy with sorrow and his mind filled with memories of happier times.

Finally, he reached a serene hill, untouched by the devastation of the war game. A lone tree stood tall and proud, a symbol of resilience amidst the chaos. It was the perfect place for Red's final rest.

With great care, Houston dug a shallow grave beneath the shade of the tree's branches. He placed Red's lifeless form into the earth, tears streaming down his face as he whispered his final goodbyes.

"You'll rest here, Little Brother, in a place untouched by this cruel game," Houston murmured, his voice trembling with grief. "May you find the peace you deserve."

Calling to the night

To dream again in the light

Waiting for a storm to rise

Feel the isolation fleeting

Surrounded by members of Davy Crockett, Grand Lake, and North High School, Houston understood their apprehension. He raised his arms in surrender, showing that he meant no harm.

Jefferson, a Private among them, stepped forward cautiously, his rifle trained on Houston. He assessed the situation and decided to take him in. They had heard of Houston's reputation and weren't sure what to expect.

Houston was subsequently interrogated by Muller and Graham, the Vice Commanders of the alliance. They questioned him closely, trying to ascertain his true intentions. Houston explained his desire to take down the Vermont Academy team and eliminate Commander Anderson, highlighting the urgency of their shared mission.

After a lengthy discussion, Houston managed to convince them of his sincerity. He was willing to do whatever it took to end the senseless war game and bring justice to those who had manipulated them.

With their mutual goals aligning, Houston was welcomed into the ranks of the Davy Crockett team. However, the trust was not immediate. Jefferson, Deans, and Scott remained cautious, not fully convinced of Houston's loyalty until they saw his commitment in the upcoming battles.

Houston knew he had a long road ahead to gain their complete trust, but he was determined to prove himself as a valuable ally and help bring an end to the nightmare that had plagued them all.

Calling to the night

To be or not to be fighting here

Leaving without you, leaving my soul behind

Calling to the night

Colors of kodachrome fade with time

Amidst the chaos and flames of the Vermont Academy HQ, Houston confronted his former squad members, the Dogs of War, one by one. Each clash was a painful reminder of the life he and Red had left behind. With grim determination, he fought his way through the ranks, leaving behind fallen comrades and a trail of painful memories.

Finally, Houston faced Commander Anderson himself. The battle between them was brutal, a physical manifestation of the anger and frustration that had built up over the years. Houston fought valiantly, but the odds were stacked against him. His right arm was broken, his face bruised, and his body scratched and battered from the debris of the burning headquarters.

In a stroke of fate, a piece of burning debris fell from the crumbling structure and struck Commander Anderson, momentarily stunning him. Seizing the opportunity, Houston delivered a final blow, leaving the once-powerful commander incapacitated.

Leaving Anderson to the mercy of the flames, Houston turned away from the burning ruins of his former headquarters. The alliance high school members watched in awe as the once-dreaded Vermont Academy HQ was reduced to ashes. Muller and Graham joined Houston's side, a silent acknowledgment of the victory they had achieved together.

Houston stood alone, a mixture of emotions swirling within him—relief, sorrow, and determination. He had avenged his brother's death and brought an end to the reign of Commander Anderson.

Calling to the night

For us, for every single life

All the ashes of men remain as a perfect memory

Calling to the night

As the match came to an end, a wave of parents, anxious and worried, raced to the scene, their hearts heavy with fear and anticipation. They arrived to find a somber scene, with body bags lined up, a grim reminder of the toll the war game had taken. Some parents couldn't contain their grief and mourned the loss of their sons, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to the cold, lifeless bags that held their children.

Amidst the sorrow, there were also moments of overwhelming relief. Parents embraced their sons who had miraculously survived, tears of joy mingling with the tears of sorrow shed by others. It was a bittersweet reunion, a mixture of happiness and heartache that pervaded the air.

Among the parents searching for their child were Houston's mother and father, accompanied by his aunt and uncle. Their frantic search led them through the crowd, as they anxiously called out for their missing son. Panic surged through their veins as minutes turned into hours, and Houston remained nowhere to be found.

As the parents celebrated their reunions and shared tears of relief, Houston's family felt a growing sense of dread. Where could he be? Their worry deepened, and their search for their son continued amidst the chaotic aftermath of the match. 

But the heart will remain

As a silhouette of time

Hear the ringing echos in the splitting horizon

Calling to the night

Muller and Graham had left the joyful reunion behind, their determination to find Houston propelling them forward. They had a sense of where he might be, having heard about the secluded hill and the makeshift grave that marked Red's final resting place.

As they reached the serene hill, they saw Houston standing there, wearing his battle-worn Davy Crockett uniform. The yellow rose he placed on Red's grave was a poignant symbol of remembrance and respect.

Silently, they watched as Houston stood with his brother's pistol in his hand. His battered body and the cast on his left arm bore witness to the battles he had fought. The wind ruffled his hair, and the tears in his eyes glistened as he fixed his gaze on the horizon.

Houston's final salute was a solemn gesture, a tribute to his brother and a promise to carry on their mission. Muller and Graham stood in respectful silence, their hearts heavy with the weight of the moment.

When Houston's hand finally lowered, a single tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his cheek. It was a tear-filled with the pain of loss, the resolve to honor Red's memory, and the determination to put an end to the nightmare they had all endured.

"It's been three years since I saw my little brother's grave," he continued, speaking to the silent hillside. "Before the American Tankery League became a thing, there was another sport that supported Tankery and other small war games—an organization called Battle Reenactment Association America. Many schools recruited kids from high schools all over, including us."

Houston's eyes glistened with emotion as he recalled their innocent beginnings. "We thought it was all for fun, a chance to compete. But it turned into something else entirely. We were trained to be weapons, child soldiers under the command of Anderson, with me as the Vice Commander."

He paused, the weight of his memories pressing down on him. "Then they sent us to Dallas, our home state. We hadn't been there in so long. We believed the ammunition they provided was fake or dummy rounds, meant to keep us from getting killed. But we were wrong."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on Houston as he remembered the brutal Dallas match. "Out of 5,000 high schoolers who entered, only 500 of us made it out alive."

"After the Dallas match ended, the Association faced severe backlash from the public," he explained. "Many of the staff involved in the organization were arrested for the crimes they had committed, including harming all of us. The judges who had overseen the match and allowed it to go on without intervention faced criticism as well."

Returning home, Houston had expected relief and support, but instead, he faced a family torn apart by grief, guilt, and anger.

"My aunt and uncle were relieved I was okay, but my parents..." He paused, the pain of those memories still fresh. "My dad blamed me for not protecting Red. He even struck me once. My uncle had to step in and hold my dad back. My mom blamed herself for letting my dad send us to Vermont and allowing us to participate in the Dallas match. She couldn't stop crying."

As he spoke, Houston's voice grew heavier with sorrow. "In time, my dad left us, becoming a drunk and an alcoholic, never forgiving me for Red's death. My mom couldn't bear the pain either and took her own life, wanting to be with my little brother. I was left alone, suffering from PTSD and the weight of what had transpired."

Houston continued his narrative, recounting the pivotal role his Aunt and Uncle played in his life during those difficult times.

"Thankfully, my Aunt and Uncle took me in as if I were their own child," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "My Uncle was often occupied with his job, but my Aunt later became the Chairwoman of the newly reformed American Tankery League after the Association shut down."

His Aunt's involvement in the League had brought new opportunities and challenges into Houston's life. She cared deeply for him, and her concern for his well-being was evident.

"When the League began offering high schools the chance to join their new tankery sport, my Aunt tried to dissuade me from participating," Houston admitted. "She was worried that it might resurrect the painful memories of what happened in Dallas, which we referred to as the Dallas Incident."

Houston's decision to embrace tankery once more marked a turning point in his life, a choice driven by a desire to honor his little brother's memory and to make a positive impact on the sport. As he stepped into the tank hangar of Davy Crockett High School, he was met with an unexpected and heartwarming welcome from his new teammates, survivors of the Dallas Incident.

The applause and cheers that greeted his return were a testament to the camaraderie they had formed during their ordeal in Dallas. Houston's leadership and determination had left a lasting impression on them.

With the team gathering to decide on their leadership roles, the consensus was clear: Houston was the natural choice for Commander. His experience, resilience, and dedication to their cause made him the ideal candidate. He, in turn, selected Kazutaka Jefferson as his Vice Commander and Dean Morgan as his First Sergeant.

As the team's leadership roles were established, one of the Davy Crockett boys saluted Houston and spoke for the group, declaring their unwavering support. Houston couldn't help but smile at their loyalty and camaraderie.

"Some called me Commander," Houston mused, "but what they mostly called me was Boss... Vic Boss... which I've got to say kind of fits me."

https://youtu.be/nDtj-2qnTXk