"FIRE!" Houston shouted.

The six Sherman tanks of his convoy lined up, synchronizing their shots. The tank rounds either missed or ricocheted off the thick armor of Erika's Tiger II. The Shermans waited for Houston's next command, while he kept his eyes on the spot where Erika was concealed in the snow-covered bushes.

Inside the Tiger II, Erika calmly touched her radio and issued her orders. "Driver, make ready. Load anti-tank round," she commanded.

As the Tiger II began to emerge from its hiding spot, Houston took a deep breath. This was the first time he had faced a Tiger II. He had managed to take out Muller's Tiger I tank back home in the Semi-Finals, but this was a new and formidable challenge. Clearing his throat, he spoke through his radio with determination.

"Alright, all tanks move forward!" Houston yelled out.

The Sherman tanks roared to life, moving forward in unison. The snowy field churned under their treads as they advanced towards the Tiger II. Houston knew they had to close the distance to stand a chance against the powerful enemy tank. As they moved, the crews maintained their focus, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Erika's Tiger II, now fully visible, presented a daunting sight. Its massive cannon was aimed directly at Houston's advancing convoy. Houston, undeterred, continued to lead his tanks forward, knowing that teamwork and strategy would be key to overcoming the Tiger II's superior firepower and armor.

"Stay sharp, everyone. Keep moving and watch your flanks," Houston instructed his crew, his voice steady despite the tension.

The Sherman tanks roared forward, engines growling against the cold air. Houston's heart pounded as he kept his eyes on Erika's Tiger II. The gap between the two forces closed rapidly, each tank crew fully aware of the stakes.

"Stay sharp, everyone. Keep moving and watch your flanks," Houston instructed his crew through the radio, his voice steady despite the tension.

The Tiger II fired first. The powerful 88mm shell tore through the air and slammed into one of the Shermans. The hit was devastating.

"We've been hit! We've been hit!" came the panicked voice over the radio from the stricken Sherman.

"Tank 3, report status!" Houston demanded.

"Engine's out! We're stuck!" the reply crackled back.

"Hold your position and return fire! The rest of you, keep advancing!" Houston ordered.

The Shermans continued to advance, their own guns barking in response. Rounds ricocheted off the Tiger II's armor, but some found their mark, shaking the massive tank.

Inside the Tiger II, Erika was unfazed. "Driver, pivot right. Gunner, target the lead Sherman. Fire when ready," she commanded.

The Tiger II began to turn, lining up its next shot. Houston saw the movement and knew they needed to act fast.

"Grant, load HE! Scott, aim for her treads! We need to slow her down!" Houston called out to his crew.

"On it, Commander!" Grant replied, quickly loading the high-explosive shell.

Scott adjusted the aim, focusing on the Tiger II's vulnerable treads. "Target locked!" he shouted.

"Fire!" Houston ordered.

The Sherman fired, the HE round striking the Tiger II's treads. The explosion sent up a shower of snow and debris, and the Tiger II lurched as the treads on one side were damaged.

"We got her!" Machine cheered from his position.

"Don't celebrate yet, boys. Keep up the pressure!" Houston reminded them, glancing around to ensure his convoy maintained formation.

Erika, feeling the impact, gritted her teeth. "Gunner, switch to APCR. Take out that lead Sherman," she commanded, her voice steely with determination.

The Tiger II's gun swiveled towards Houston's tank. "Incoming! Brace yourselves!" Houston yelled just as the Tiger II fired.

The shot hit the ground just in front of the Lone Star, sending up a plume of snow and earth. The shockwave rocked the Sherman, but it held its ground.

"Scott, return fire! Aim for the turret ring!" Houston barked.

"Firing!" Scott responded, sending another shell hurtling towards the Tiger II.

The shell struck the Tiger II, but the heavy armor absorbed much of the impact. Still, the relentless assault was starting to take its toll on Erika's tank.

"Keep it up! Don't let her recover!" Houston urged his crew.

As the Shermans continued their aggressive maneuvers, attempting to outflank Erika's formidable Tiger II. The snowy field became a chaotic theater of war, the sound of cannon fire and the smell of cordite filling the air.

"Troy, keep pressing! Don't let her get a clean shot!" Houston shouted into his radio, his voice tense but focused.

"Roger that, Commander!" Troy responded, his Sherman zigzagging to avoid becoming an easy target.

Davidson and Roy moved to the right, their tanks firing continuously at the Tiger II. The shells bounced off the thick armor, but they managed to keep Erika's crew occupied, preventing them from getting a clear shot at Houston's remaining tanks.

Inside the Lone Star, Houston was a picture of concentration. "Scott, aim for the turret ring again. We need to disable her gun!" he commanded.

"On it, Commander!" Scott replied, adjusting his aim.

"Loading AP!" Grant shouted, readying the armor-piercing round.

"Firing!" Scott announced, sending the shell hurtling towards the Tiger II.

The round struck the turret, causing a visible dent but failing to penetrate. The Tiger II shuddered from the impact, and Erika's crew felt the reverberation inside their tank.

"Keep it steady! Gunner, target the Sherman on the right!" Erika ordered, her voice calm but determined.

The Tiger II's turret slowly rotated, aiming at Davidson's Sherman. "Fire!" Erika commanded.

The 88mm shell roared out of the Tiger II's barrel, striking Davidson's tank with devastating accuracy. The Sherman was knocked out, the crew quickly scrambling out and seeking cover.

"Dammit, we've lost Davidson!" Houston cursed, gripping the edge of the commander's hatch tightly.

"Commander, we're taking heavy fire! We need to do something fast!" Troy's voice came through the radio, urgent and desperate.

Erika knew the Tiger II was slow but also knew it could knock out the Shermans. She ordered her driver to reverse, not wanting Houston and the other Shermans to get behind her tank. The Tiger II fired, taking out the Sherman right next to Lone Star. The other Shermans tank on the left fired, hitting the side armor and making Erika's tank shake a bit. She continued to tell the driver to reverse, trying to prevent Houston from getting to their backside where the engine was.

"Continue reversing! We can't let that Sherman get to our back!" Erika shouted.

"Troy, you got to outrun her gun. Her tank may be powerful, but we are fast as hell!" Houston yelled out.

"I got it, I got it!" Troy yelled as he continued to push the stick forward.

"Scott, shove a 76 millimeter up her ass!" Houston ordered, remaining calm.

"I know where to shoot it!" Scott yelled back.

"You're clear!" Houston shouted.

Firing again, Scott missed the shot by a few inches, prompting Houston to yell at him.

"Damn it, I said in the ass!" Houston yelled.

"It's not that easy, sir!" Scott argued back.

"Troy, when I say back up, you back up on the left stick! Scott, you are now on standby and will fire on my mark!" Houston ordered his guys as he focused on Erika's backside of the Tiger II.

Agreeing with Houston's order, Troy waited. Erika saw what Houston was doing and continued to reverse. The Tiger II fired, only to scratch the top side turret's paint job, which pissed off Houston knowing they spent time painting their tank. As Houston saw the cannon of the Lone Star line up, he shouted, making Scott fire first before Erika could shoot again.

"Now!" Houston shouted.

Hitting where the engine was, they killed it, making Erika's tank still functional but immobile. Houston ordered Scott again.

"Hit it again!" Houston yelled.

"You're clear, Scott! Fuck her up!" Grant yelled as he loaded a new shell.

"On the way!" Scott yelled, taking out the engine of the Tiger II.

Seeing the white flag marking the disabled tank, Houston watched Erika's crew members getting out. One of them pulled out an airsoft pistol and started firing at the tank, but the BBs bounced off harmlessly. Houston pulled out his airsoft Thompson and returned fire, taking the crew members out.

Erika, not wanting to be Houston's prisoner, quickly got out of her tank, firing her Luger airsoft pistol at his tank. Houston aimed carefully and shot her, hitting her with a burst of BBs from his Thompson.

Erika stumbled back, clutching her arm where she had been hit. She glared at Houston, her defiance clear even in defeat. Houston climbed out of his tank, Thompson still in hand, and approached her.

"You put up a good fight, Erika," Houston said, lowering his weapon. "But it's over now."

Erika looked around at her disabled tank and the remaining Shermans. She sighed and holstered her airsoft pistol. "You got me this time, Houston," she admitted grudgingly. "But don't think this is the end."

After that, Houston gave orders to his men whose Shermans were disabled to take Erika and her crew as prisoners. He also radioed Vice Commander Jefferson about the incoming prisoners and to arrange for the pickup of the disabled tanks.

Houston then turned to his driver Troy and the other functional Shermans, which there were three left, and gave the command.

"Alright, let's move out," Houston ordered. "We're heading to the town where Commander Muller and the North High School team are waiting."

Troy nodded, steering the Lone Star forward, while the remaining Shermans fell in line behind. As they moved through the snowy field, Houston kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings, ensuring they didn't encounter any more surprises.

A Few Hours later.

Just when Houston arrived where he expected to see a camp or a warzone, he was surprised to see North High and Pravda talking to each other. Some were heading out, seemingly searching for something. Houston ordered the three tanks following the 'Lone Star' to stop.

Getting out of his M4A3E8 Sherman tank, Houston looked around. Nighttime was only a few hours away, and everyone knew that being stuck in the snow overnight could be fatal. Rubbing his hands to stay warm, Houston walked up to Muller, who was talking to the search team with his men and the girls from Pravda. He stood to the side and listened to what Muller was saying.

"Hier und hier... Sie könnten irgendwo in der Gegend sein. Wenn ihr irgendwelche Spuren oder irgendetwas findet, meldet es sofort bei mir oder Katyusha," Muller said as he pointed at the small map he was holding.

"Bist du sicher, dass sie da draußen sind? Es wird eine Weile dauern, sie in diesem Wetter zu finden..." one of Muller's men spoke up in German.

"Wir werden... Wir müssen sie so schnell wie möglich finden. Ich will nicht, dass einer von ihnen in diesem Wetter stirbt, also los," Muller replied in German.

As Kertz spoke in Japanese, translating the plan to the girls who nodded and dispersed with the boys Muller had sent with them, Houston stood nearby observing. After the teams had gone, Houston remained, watching Muller intently until he cleared his throat, startling the German-American commander.

"Was der- Houston! Where did you get here?" Muller exclaimed after recovering from the surprise.

"Just a few moments ago... So, what's going on? Why is everyone out here searching? Is this some kind of scavenger hunt?" Houston asked, injecting a hint of humor into his tone.

Muller motioned for Houston to follow as they walked towards the aftermath of the snowy battlefield.

"We're setting up camp here to establish this small town as our forward operating base, as you instructed. While we were setting up, Pravda had the same idea—they wanted to seize this town from us. So, they launched a surprise attack," Muller explained, his arms crossed.

"I see... But that still doesn't answer my question," Houston pointed out.

"Well, you see, during the chaos, Gunther and the girl Nonna, whom he found during the battle, were on foot. They were trying to find a safe place amidst the fighting," Muller elaborated, gesturing with his hands.

"They weren't hit by any shells, were they?" Houston inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"No, they weren't... They were hit by the shockwave when a shell landed nearby, sending them tumbling down there," Muller replied, pointing towards the hillside where they had fallen.

Houston crouched down, examining the broken branches and the trail in the snow. As he looked around, memories of past battles and camaraderie with Muller flooded his mind. They had been through numerous challenges together, forging a strong bond as commanders.

"I remember when we were back in the States, dealing with those winter maneuvers... Never thought we'd be facing similar conditions out here," Houston remarked, a nostalgic smile crossing his face.

Muller nodded in agreement, recalling their training days and the trials they had overcome. "Indeed, those were tough times. But here we are, navigating through this together."

"Yeah, old friend, here we are," Houston replied warmly, clasping Muller's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity.

"You remember that Dallas Incident Match?" Muller began, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and seriousness.

Houston nodded, his expression turning more solemn. "Yeah, that was a rough one. I was just a freshman back then, serving as vice commander under a ruthless commander. The guy was all about using real ammunition, pushing us to the limits."

Muller listened intently, recalling the intensity of those days. "I heard stories about that commander. He wasn't exactly known for his subtlety."

Houston chuckled wryly. "Subtlety wasn't in his vocabulary. But you know how it was back then—survival of the fittest, they said. We had to toughen up fast."

"Must've been a hell of an experience," Muller remarked, sympathy in his voice.

"It was. But it taught me a lot about leadership, about making tough calls," Houston replied, his gaze distant as he remembered the challenges they had faced.

Muller nodded in understanding. "And now look at us, still in the thick of it. Different battles, same determination."

"Yeah, some things never change," Houston agreed, a flicker of pride in his eyes.

As they walked through the snowy terrain, their footsteps crunching softly, they shared stories of camaraderie, of the bonds forged in the heat of battle and the cold of training grounds. They knew that their experiences had shaped them into the commanders they were today—resilient, adaptable, and fiercely loyal to their teams.

"And here we are, dealing with another snowy battlefield," Muller remarked, breaking the momentary silence.

"Always a new challenge," Houston replied with a grin. "But we've always managed to come out on top, haven't we?"

Muller nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "That we have, my friend. That we have."

"Hmm... What is Pravda doing right now?" Houston asked, still gazing at the hill.

"They are helping us. We made an agreement of a temporary ceasefire since no one is trying to take over this small town while everyone is participating in this search... Speaking of everyone, what happened to your convoy? I thought you were bringing six of your Sherman tanks, but you only brought three?" Muller asked.

"Just had some... Tiger II to deal with..." Houston replied, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

Before Houston could say anything more to Muller, one of Muller's men approached them, saluting crisply.

"Commander Muller, Commander Houston, Commander Katyusha wishes to speak with you," the crew member said, indicating Katyusha and another girl behind him.

"I didn't know you spoke Japanese, Ivan," Muller remarked, surprised.

"I don't, sir. But Klara here speaks Russian like I do, as well as Japanese. We can interpret between you three," Ivan explained, with the blonde-haired girl nodding in agreement.

"Right... Anyway, glad to see you again here, Katyusha. I must apologize for recent events," Houston said, bowing slightly.

"Marshal Commander Houston, it's nice to see you, but forgive my directness. We need to focus on finding our teammates in this snow," Katyusha replied firmly.

"That's understandable. We need to find them quickly, before this weather takes its toll and we risk losing them to the cold," Houston agreed.

"Right," Katyusha affirmed.

"Is there any specific area you want to search first, Katyusha?" Houston inquired.

"I want to check the area where Muller's men fell. We should split our teams to cover more ground and increase our chances of finding them," Katyusha suggested.

"That could work. Meanwhile, I can try to track their movements. I've had experience tracking from hunting with my uncle," Houston offered. "We should move quickly. The longer we wait here, the worse the weather will get, and tracking will become impossible. Let's go, everyone."

Meanwhile, Gunther lay on the bed, shivering despite the blanket and jacket barely keeping him warm. Nonna, wrapped in her own blanket, also struggled against the cold, watching over Gunther as he rested, still injured from their fall.

"Verdammt, this storm won't let up..." Gunther muttered under the blanket, his teeth chattering.

Nonna nodded in agreement, silently enduring the biting cold.

Breaking the silence, Gunther cleared his throat, turning to Nonna who was keeping vigil.

"Thank you... for what you did," Gunther said in Japanese.

"No, I should be thanking you for saving me back there when we fell from the hill... Can I ask you something?" Nonna replied.

"Of course," Gunther answered.

"Why did you come back for me in that battle? You could've just left me there," Nonna asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"Well... the main reason is that I would have felt guilty if something had happened to you—hurt or worse. I would blame myself for not saving you," Gunther explained earnestly.

As a strong gust of wind suddenly blew, one of the windows in the shack flew open. Nonna quickly jumped up to close it, struggling against the wind. Seeing her struggle, Gunther carefully got up from the bed, wincing in pain, and joined her to close the window, determined to keep the cold out. Together, they managed to shut it, returning to their blankets to warm themselves.

Nonna glanced at Gunther, noticing the scratches on his face from the branches and the custom arm brace she had fashioned for him. They sat apart, but close enough to feel each other's presence.

"How's your arm feeling?" Nonna asked, concerned.

"It still hurts... but don't worry, I'll be fine. This isn't the first time I've broken my arm," Gunther reassured her with a faint smile.

"Really? How many times have you broken it?" Nonna inquired with curiosity.

"Three times... The first was when I was a kid. I was obsessed with WWE matches, and one day, while wrestling with my stuffed toy, I attempted an elbow drop from the couch. I missed the toy and landed on the floor, breaking my arm," Gunther explained with a chuckle.

Nonna couldn't help but laugh softly, amused by Gunther's childhood antics. Hearing his stories lightened the heavy atmosphere in the shack. Despite the circumstances, she found herself appreciating Gunther's sense of humor and the connection it brought between them.

Gunther nodded thoughtfully, contemplating the question as he recalled the conversations he'd had with his fellow commanders.

"You know, Commander Muller, Commander Graham from Grand Lake High, and even Commander Houston from Davy Crockett High—each of them has their own reasons. But deep down, they all share a common desire: to protect the tradition and spirit of Tankery in America," Gunther began, his voice tinged with admiration for his comrades.

"Muller is steadfast in his commitment to preserving our team's honor and the lessons learned from our ancestors. Graham, with his strategic mind and unwavering dedication, sees Tankery as a way to unite our community and uphold our values. And Houston... well, he's like a force of nature. He fights not just for victory, but to ensure that Tankery remains a testament to courage and skill," Gunther continued, reflecting on the qualities that defined each commander.

"As for Marshal Commander Houston, who leads the American Tankery League, he's driven by a deep-rooted belief that Tankery is more than just a sport—it's a legacy. He fights tirelessly to defend our right to compete on the international stage, to honor those who came before us, and to inspire future generations," Gunther added, his words carrying a sense of pride and determination.

"Three years ago, four schools faced off against one S-Rank School in a Tankery match," Gunther began, his voice carrying the weight of the memories. "It was meant to be a 3v1 battle: North High, Grand Lake High, and Davy Crockett High versus Vermont Tankery Academy."

He paused, collecting his thoughts as he recalled the somber details. "But what happened was beyond anyone's expectations. Over four days of intense battle, only 500 boys survived out of thousands who had entered the match. The doors opened to reveal 4,500 body bags, each one a stark reminder of the price paid in that match."

Gunther shook his head, his gaze distant as he remembered the horror that had unfolded. "Commander Muller explained it to me later. He said surviving that match was a nightmare. The loss of so many lives... it's something he carries with him every day."

Nonna's eyes widened in shock and sorrow, her heart heavy with the weight of the revelation. "That's... unimaginable," she murmured, struggling to find words adequate to convey her feelings.

"It's why Tankery is more than just a sport for us," Gunther continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "It's a way to honor those who were lost, to remember their bravery and sacrifice. We fight not just for victory, but to ensure that such a tragedy never happens again."

"Why do Commander Muller and Commander Graham trust Houston so much?" Nonna asked softly, her eyes searching Gunther's face for answers.

Gunther sighed, his breath forming mist in the cold air as he considered how to explain. "Muller told me once," Gunther began slowly, "that Houston earned their trust through sacrifice. He said Houston saved their lives, despite being their enemy at the time."

"He gave up everything," Gunther continued, his voice low with solemnity. "His legacy, his identity, his ideals—everything he had in Vermont Tankery Academy, he betrayed it all. No one knows exactly why Houston did it, but his actions spoke louder than words."

Gunther paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the grim details. "Houston... he killed each of the people he was friends with in Vermont. His old squad, his commander... everyone who knew him before he came to Davy Crockett. It was like he had to sever every tie to his past in order to start anew."

Nonna's brow furrowed in concern, grappling with the weight of what Gunther was revealing. "That's... unimaginable," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's what made Muller and Graham respect him," Gunther explained, his tone tinged with admiration despite the gravity of Houston's actions. "To sacrifice so much for a new beginning, to prove his loyalty... It's not something easily forgotten."

Nonna's question hung in the air, echoing softly in the dimly lit shack. "Gunther," she asked, her voice gentle but probing, "what do you think Houston is loyal to? His country, or himself?"

Gunther's brow furrowed slightly as he pondered her question. Memories stirred within him, memories of a conversation with Houston not too long ago. He sighed softly before speaking, his voice tinged with reminiscence.

"I once asked Houston that same question," Gunther began slowly, his eyes distant as he recalled the moment. "I asked him, 'What are you loyal to?'"

He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "And Houston, he looked at me with that serious look he sometimes gets, and he said..." Gunther's voice trailed off briefly as he recalled Houston's words.

"'Loyalty to the end... Do you know what that means?'" Gunther quoted Houston, his voice steady with the weight of Houston's conviction.

Nonna listened intently, her curiosity deepening with each word.

"Houston explained to me," Gunther continued, "that times change. People's values change, and so do the leaders of a country. There's no such thing as an enemy in absolute terms. The enemies we fight are only relative, constantly shifting with the times."

He sighed softly, reflecting on Houston's words. "He believes in loyalty to principles that transcend fleeting allegiances. Loyalty to ideals that withstand the test of time, regardless of who or what they stand against."

Nonna nodded thoughtfully, absorbing Gunther's explanation. "So, he's loyal to something greater than himself or any one country," she mused aloud.

"Yes," Gunther agreed, a faint smile touching his lips. "Houston's loyalty lies in a deeper sense of duty. It's about honor, about doing what's right, even if it means sacrificing everything else."

Nonna looked at Gunther with curiosity, sensing there was more to his story. "But did Houston ever say what he's truly loyal to?" she asked, her voice soft with genuine interest.

Gunther shifted slightly on the bed, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he considered Nonna's question. "No," he admitted after a moment, his voice thoughtful. "He never quite gave a direct answer to that."

He glanced at Nonna, meeting her gaze briefly before looking away. "Houston's a complex man," Gunther continued, his tone carrying a mix of respect and uncertainty. "He's seen things and done things that most of us can't fathom. Sometimes, I think even he struggles to define where his loyalties truly lie."

Nonna nodded in understanding, her expression thoughtful. "It must be difficult," she mused softly, "to carry that burden of uncertainty."

"It is," Gunther agreed quietly. "But despite everything, Houston remains steadfast in his convictions. He leads with a clarity of purpose that commands respect, even from those who might oppose him."

As he spoke, memories of their battles and discussions with Houston flashed through Gunther's mind. Each encounter revealed a different facet of Houston's character, leaving Gunther both intrigued and wary of the depths beneath his commander's calm exterior.

"He's loyal to his principles," Gunther concluded finally, his voice firm with conviction. "To justice, to duty, and to the unwavering belief that what he fights for is worth the sacrifices."

Nonna nodded again, absorbing Gunther's words. "Thank you for sharing that, Gunther," she said softly, a gentle sincerity in her voice.

Standing at the spot where Gunther and Nonna landed, Houston inspects the snow while his men stand behind him, shivering in the cold, trying to keep warm.

"Found anything, Commander?" one of Houston's men speaks up.

"Yeah, their tracks are barely fresh, which means they're nearby... We must hurry," Houston replies, getting off his knees and starting to move.

"Why's that?" another asks.

Houston points to the left, showing fresh wolf tracks.

"That's why," he says, leading the group.

As Houston and his men press on through the harsh winter, searching for Gunther and Nonna, little do they know that a small pack of wolves is heading towards where Gunther and Nonna are.