Be Greater Part 2

With the beach secured, as evidenced by the tanks from many schools rolling in, students from Davy Crockett, North High, and Washington Boys' and Girls' Academy infantry units are taking a well-deserved rest after the D-Day scenario that just unfolded.

However, a particular group of Rangers from Davy Crockett, including Hector, Sean, Gus, and Ramirez, were gathered, observing the school news team in action. The team was broadcasting live reports for the school, aiming to transform themselves into a genuine news team. Among them, Sean, Gus, and Hector struggled to contain their laughter as they noticed a fellow student from their school wearing green pants against a green screen backdrop.

"How much you wanna bet he'll freak out?" Hector quipped.

"Twenty bucks," Sean replied in his Irish accent, barely holding back his amusement.

"Hey, what are you guys up to?" Saori, Hana, and Yukari approached the group, curious about what they were watching.

"Shh... You're gonna laugh at this," Gus whispered.

"What do you mean?" Yukari inquired.

The scene then shifted to the young freshman reporter who had recently joined Davy Crockett High School's news team, addressing the camera as it went live.

"Thank you, Ron. And first, I want to wish all our Native American friends a Happy St. Patrick's Day," the young freshman began, oblivious to the fact that the holiday was not yet upon them.

"So, anyway, here's the status of our Tankery team in this—... Where's the status?" The young freshman's confusion was evident as he turned around, realizing that the green screen wasn't displaying what he expected.

"It's right there," Ron's voice came from the background. "Just look at the monitor, it's right there."

"You mean right-- Oh god..." The freshman's eyes widened in fear as he realized he could only see his upper body on the screen, not his legs, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Oh god... Ron, where are my legs?" The freshman's voice trembled with fear.

"Your legs are there," Ron reassured the freshman.

"I don't have any legs, Ron... I don't even know how I'm standing up..." The freshman's panic escalated, and he collapsed to the ground, much to the amusement of the Ranger group watching.

"Kid, your legs are fine... They just match the... screen behind you..." Ron attempted to calm the freshman, watching as he got to his knees, still visibly shaken.

"Ron, I don't even have any legs!" The freshman's panic escalated, tears streaming down his face.

"You're okay, the color of your pants just matches the—" Ron attempted to explain before being abruptly cut off.

"In 93! 93!" The freshman pointed at the green screen of his pants, his confusion and fear evident as he continued to cry uncontrollably.

"Relax..." Ron tried to soothe him, but before he could finish, the freshman let out a piercing scream.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" The freshman shrieked before fainting once again, collapsing onto the floor. Sean, Gus, and Hector burst into fits of laughter at the sight, while Ramirez watched silently, and the girls observed with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"Did you see his face? I haven't laughed that hard in ages!" Sean exclaimed between bouts of laughter.

"He looked like he'd seen a ghost!" Gus added, still chuckling.

Hector nodded in agreement, grinning from ear to ear. "Poor lad, he'll never live this down."

"Hey, gear up. We're moving up to one of the towns we're supposed to secure," Dean, the Sergeant and fifth in command of Davy Crockett High's Tankery team, announced, prompting the Rangers to halt their laughter and snap to attention.

"Orders came from Captain— I mean Commander Red, sir?" Sean inquired.

"Yes, since right now he and his squadron are still currently escorting our Airborne boys to their dropzone," Dean confirmed.

Meanwhile, in the air...

The radio began to play "Blood on the Risers" on one of the Airborne's radios, echoing through the C-47 carriers transporting them to their dropzone. Inside, a group of them sat together, the ten C-47s flying in tight formation with P-51 fighter planes escorting and protecting their airborne carriers.

In one of the P-51s, Red sat in the pilot's seat of his plane, his Walkman playing "Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang" by Silver as he absentmindedly mumbled along to the lyrics, clearly bored.

The P-51s remained in tight formation with the C-47s, providing protection as they flew onward. Meanwhile, the other pilots in their respective P-51s could hear their squadron leader, Red, singing along to the song over the radio.

"Ooh, ooh, baby, you've been so good to me. But please don't make it what it's not," Red sang, his voice audible to the entire squadron.

However, in one of the P-51 planes flying right next to Red's, Prez's youngest sister couldn't hold back her laughter upon hearing her squadron leader singing over the radio. Her amusement was evident to those around her as they continued their mission, trying to stifle their own laughter at the unexpected moment of levity amidst the seriousness of their task.

Prez's youngest sister couldn't contain her laughter any longer, and she spoke up over the radio, her voice breaking through the serious atmosphere.

"Hey, Commander! I didn't know we signed up for a karaoke session up here!" she teased, her tone light and playful.

Her words elicited chuckles and grins from the other pilots, even as they maintained their focus on their mission. Red, caught off guard by the unexpected interruption, couldn't help but laugh along with the rest of his squadron.

"Alright, alright, you caught me," Red replied, his own laughter evident in his voice. "Just trying to pass the time up here, you know how it is."

As they approached the drop zone, the atmosphere tensed as they neared their objective. Suddenly, the tranquility of the airspace was shattered as Lake Travis High School planes appeared, intercepting the formation with hostile intent. Red's instincts kicked in immediately, and he swiftly issued orders over the radio.

"All units, break formation! Lake Travis High School planes incoming, we need to protect our troop carrier planes," Red commanded, his voice firm and authoritative.

The P-51 squadron sprang into action, maneuvering to intercept the enemy planes and provide cover for their C-47 troop carrier planes. The sky erupted into a fierce aerial battle as the two schools clashed in midair, each fighting tooth and nail for control of the airspace.

Despite the chaos and danger, Red remained cool-headed, coordinating his squadron's movements with precision as they engaged the enemy. The sound of gunfire and roaring engines filled the air as the dogfight raged on, with Red leading his pilots with skill and determination.

Inside the C-47 troop carrier planes, tension ran high among the Airborne troops as they approached the drop zone. The dull drone of the aircraft's engines was punctuated by the occasional crackle of the radio, as the pilots communicated with each other and their escorts.

"Check your gear, boys! We're almost there," shouted Sergeant Thompson, his voice booming over the noise of the engines. The troops nodded in response, their faces set in grim determination as they prepared for the imminent drop.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the cabin was shattered by the sound of gunfire and the jolt of the aircraft being hit. Panic rippled through the troops as they realized they were under attack.

"We're taking fire! Brace yourselves!" yelled one of the paratroopers, as the plane rocked violently from the impact of enemy bullets.

Amidst the chaos, the pilots struggled to maintain control of the aircraft, veering and banking to evade the incoming fire. Through the windows, the troops caught glimpses of the aerial dogfight raging outside, with P-51s darting and weaving through the sky in a deadly dance of combat.

"We need cover! Where are our escorts?" shouted another trooper, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

Just then, the roar of engines and the shriek of bullets intensified as Lake Travis High School planes closed in on their position. The Airborne troops braced themselves as the plane rocked and shuddered under the onslaught of enemy fire.

"Stay low, boys! We're almost there!" Sergeant Thompson barked, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them.

With gritted teeth and steely resolve, the Airborne troops hunkered down, their eyes fixed on the approaching drop zone. Despite the ferocity of the enemy's assault, they remained determined to complete their mission and land safely behind enemy lines. For them, failure was not an option.

As the C-47 planes approached the drop zone, Sergeant Thompson rallied the Airborne troops, his voice cutting through the chaos and instilling a sense of determination in his men.

"Who do Davy Crockett High School trust the most?!" the Sergeant bellowed.

"Airborne!" came the resounding reply from the troops, their voices unified and unwavering.

"And who do the ladies love the most?!" the Sergeant continued.

"Airborne!" the troops shouted back, their spirits lifting despite the perilous situation.

The Sergeant's words served to bolster their resolve, reminding them of their purpose and the trust placed in them by their school and their comrades.

"And what does Groton High School fear the most?!" the Sergeant roared, his voice echoing through the cabin.

"Airborne!" the troops roared in response, their confidence soaring as they prepared to jump into the heart of the enemy's territory.

With adrenaline coursing through their veins and determination in their hearts, the Airborne troops stood poised at the open door of the C-47 planes. The deafening roar of the engines and the turbulence of the air did little to deter their focus as they awaited the command to jump.

"Go! Go! Go!" Sergeant Thompson's voice boomed over the din, and one by one, the paratroopers leaped into the unknown abyss below.

The rush of wind whipped past them as they plummeted earthward, their parachutes billowing open with a sharp snap. Suspended in midair, they surveyed the terrain below, their eyes scanning for enemy positions and potential threats.

Despite the chaos of battle raging around them, the Airborne troops remained calm and composed, their training kicking in as they maneuvered their way toward the designated drop zone. With precision and skill, they guided their descent, each soldier landing safely on the ground below.

As they regrouped on the battlefield, the Airborne troops wasted no time in rallying together, their spirits undaunted by the challenges that lay ahead. With their mission clear and their resolve unwavering, they prepared to face whatever obstacles awaited them, knowing that they carried the pride and honor of Davy Crockett High School with them every step of the way.

Meanwhile, in the midst of the intense aerial dogfight, the P-51 squadron led by Red continued to engage the enemy planes from Lake Travis High School with precision and determination.

"Stay on their tails, boys! Keep up the pressure!" Red's voice crackled over the radio, his words a rallying cry for his fellow pilots as they fought tooth and nail against their adversaries.

The sky erupted with tracer fire and the thunderous roar of engines as the two schools clashed in a deadly dance of combat. The pilots jockeyed for position, executing daring maneuvers and acrobatic stunts as they sought to gain the upper hand in the battle.

Despite the ferocity of the enemy's assault, Red and his squadron remained steadfast, their skill and expertise shining through as they expertly outmaneuvered their opponents. With every twist and turn, they pushed the limits of their aircraft, their determination unyielding in the face of adversity.

"Keep it up, boys! We've got this!" Red's voice rang out over the radio, his words a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of battle.

However, what was unexpected was when the P-47s of Lake Travis High's planes suddenly began to pull out, leaving the airspace. Red noticed this abrupt change but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Huh, that's weird," one of the pilots in Red Squadron remarked over the radio.

"They all left?" another pilot questioned.

"That isn't normal, right, Commander?" Prez asked as she turned to Red, who was flying right next to her.

"No, it isn't," Red responded, his intuition telling him that something was off.

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, the engines of each P-51 in Red Squadron turned off, the sound of their engines abruptly ceasing. This unexpected development left everyone confused and bewildered.

As the engines of the P-51s ceased, an eerie silence enveloped the squadron. Red quickly scanned his instrument panel, trying to diagnose the issue.

"What the...? Are we losing power?" one pilot exclaimed, the tension palpable in his voice.

"I can't get my engine restarted!" another pilot shouted, panic creeping into his words.

Red's mind raced as he assessed the situation. "Stay calm, everyone. Check your controls and fuel systems," he commanded, his voice steady despite the mounting uncertainty.

But as the pilots frantically attempted to troubleshoot their aircraft, it became clear that this was no ordinary mechanical failure. The P-51s seemed to have been intentionally disabled, leaving them vulnerable and adrift in enemy territory.

"Commander, what's happening? Are we under attack?" Prez asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"I'm not sure, Prez. But we need to stay alert and maintain our situational awareness," Red replied, his eyes scanning the sky for any signs of danger.

As they floated helplessly in the air, surrounded by the enemy's territory, the gravity of their predicament sank in. With their engines incapacitated and the enemy potentially closing in, they faced a dire and uncertain fate.

Trying desperately to regain power to his plane, Red's efforts proved futile. As panic began to spread among the pilots, Red felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. With no other options left, he made a split-second decision.

With a determined grimace, Red slammed his fist against the control panel in frustration. The impact jolted the aircraft, but still, the engines remained silent.

Realizing that drastic measures were necessary, Red quickly surveyed his cockpit. His eyes fell on the parachute stowed nearby, a last resort in dire situations like this.

As the ground loomed closer and the sense of impending doom grew, Red knew what needed to be done. Taking a deep breath, he keyed the radio to address his squadron.

"Everyone listen up, we're going to have to abandon our planes," Red's voice crackled over the radio, his words heavy with urgency and resolve.

With a sense of grim determination, Red led the way as he unbuckled himself from his seat and grabbed his parachute. One by one, the pilots followed suit, each one steeling themselves for the leap into the unknown.

As they approached the open door of their P-51 fighter planes, adrenaline coursed through their veins, mingling with the fear and uncertainty that hung heavy in the air. With a final glance around the cockpit, Red steeled himself for what was to come.

"Remember your training, everyone. We'll get through this together," Red called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

With a deep breath, Red stepped out into the void, the rush of wind roaring in his ears as he plummeted towards the ground below. Around him, his squadron followed suit, their parachutes billowing open as they descended through the skies.

As Red slowly descended toward the ground, he surveyed the landscape below, spotting a vast forest stretching out beneath him. With a practiced hand, he guided his parachute, aiming for a clearing amidst the trees.

Finally reaching the ground, Red braced himself for impact as his parachute threatened to tangle in the dense foliage. With quick reflexes, he detached himself from the harness, landing on the forest floor with a soft thud.

Shaking off the branches and leaves that clung to his uniform, Red wasted no time in shedding his pilot equipment, discarding it to the forest floor. With a determined expression, he scanned his surroundings, aware that his squadron had likely been scattered by the fall.

Grabbing his radio, Red attempted to contact his squadron, but all he received in response was static. Cursing under his breath, he stowed the radio away and reached for his MK.22 tranquilizer pistol, a relic from his older brother Don's arsenal.

Carefully navigating through the dense jungle, Red spent hours trekking through the wilderness, his senses on high alert for any sign of his comrades. Eventually, he stumbled upon a small town, one of the objectives his airborne squad was supposed to secure.

However, his attention was drawn away by the sound of airsoft weapons firing nearby. Curious, Red cautiously made his way toward the source of the noise, discovering two of Davy Crockett High School's airborne troops engaged in a skirmish with a lone figure from Groton High School.

"What the hell?" Red muttered to himself, perplexed by the scene unfolding before him.

https://youtu.be/rF9wqQkGRHk

(You like Jazz?)

"Come on, try and hit me," the girl taunted the airborne troops, her trench coat billowing around her as she stood unaffected by the barrage of airsoft BBs.

"This is impossible... Nothing is hitting her!" one of the airborne troops exclaimed in frustration.

"Is she one of Les vipères?" his companion wondered aloud as they ceased firing, their confusion evident.

As Red observed the standoff, uncertainty gnawed at him. Little did he know, this encounter would lead him down a path fraught with danger and intrigue.

"Look, reinforcements!" one of the airborne soldiers exclaimed, pointing to more of their comrades approaching.

"We've got to get this town secured... Private, hand me the powder grenade," the squad leader ordered, and the private quickly handed him a fake hand grenade.

Pulling the pin and tossing it toward the girl, the squad leader watched in dismay as the grenade failed to detonate, leaving them all surprised.

"A dud?!" the squad leader exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice. Motioning for his squad to surround the girl, they moved in cautiously, expecting resistance.

But as they closed in, the girl let out a sigh and addressed them calmly.

"Today isn't your lucky day," she said, pulling out one of her airsoft weapons and effortlessly taking down each member of the airborne squad one by one.

As the squad lay "dead" on the ground, pretending to have been hit by the airsoft BBs, the girl turned her attention to the sky, where pigeons circled overhead.

"I'm so sorry, my beauties... But I'll see you again someday," she murmured softly before walking away, leaving the stunned airborne soldiers in her wake.

Watching from his hiding spot, Red couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. A single girl, seemingly unarmed, had managed to take down an entire squad of trained airborne soldiers with ease.

"What the hell just happened... This... is something else," Red muttered to himself, his mind reeling with disbelief as he tried to make sense of the extraordinary encounter.

Meanwhile.

In a hospital room in Houston, Texas, a nurse prepared to attend to Don Houston, who had been in a coma with no signs of improvement. As she entered the room, ready to give him a sponge bath, she was met with an unexpected sight. The bed was empty, and all the medical equipment lay unused, the heart monitor displaying a flatline.

Shocked and bewildered, the nurse rushed out of the room to alert her colleagues and the doctors, unable to comprehend how Houston had vanished without a trace.

Meanwhile, in an empty parking lot, two teenagers stood, discussing recent events.

"Wow, you're back on your feet so quickly... That gene serum from Vermont Tankery Academy really did the trick," one of them remarked.

"Yeah, and being in the non-smoking ward... If I'd known what the doctors were saying while I was in a coma, I might've preferred to stay asleep," the other replied with a wry smile.

"But now we need to join our friends and assist Shadow, Dean, and Red," the first teenager continued.

"I know, but about Red..." the second teenager hesitated.

"In case you didn't know, he's already taken your place. He's following the operation you set up for him. Right now, he's 'Commander Houston.' And we both know Groton High School, Lake Travis High School, and Thomas Jefferson High School want your head," the first teenager explained.

"I'm aware of that, but there's one thing I'm sure of: Red is trying to be better than me, and I'm glad to hear it," the second teenager admitted.

"Since we're done talking, shall we join them?" the first teenager suggested.

"Not so fast. Aren't you forgetting something?" the second teenager asked, prompting a chuckle from the first teenager. He retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the car and handed it to the other teenager, who selected one and lit it, savoring the smoke.

After a moment's pause, Jefferson, revealed to be one of the teenagers, got into his car and drove off, while the other teenager, sitting on a motorcycle, continued to enjoy his cigarette, contemplating the events to come.

As the engine of the motorcycle roared to life, the sun cast its warm rays upon the boy's face, illuminating his features. In that moment, Don Houston, finally awake from his coma, felt the rejuvenating touch of sunlight on his skin.

With a determined expression, Don removed the kickstand holding the bike in place and revved the engine, eager to embark on his journey. The rumble of the motorcycle echoed through the empty parking lot as he accelerated onto the open road.