As Houston was going over the list of those who were being hunted down, he noticed that the first names crossed out were his and Jefferson's. Then, Commander Elijah and his Kansas Chief High School Tankery team were shown as crossed out. Confused by this, Houston later realized why they were crossed out.

Next on the list was Commander Muller, except his Tankery team nor his Vice Commander had been crossed out, only him. But following him were different Commanders; they were targeting Graham, Kay, Miho, Darjeeling, Katyusha, Wesley, and finally Maho. Confused as to why they were being targeted, Houston began investigating in the war room inside the main base of Groton High School and its allies, Lake Travis, and Thomas Jefferson High School.

With their leaders busy, Houston watched Emperor Timothe, the leader of the three S Rank schools, leave the base before he infiltrated it. Not knowing their motives for targeting his friends, Houston then heard someone approaching quickly. Looking around the room, all he could find was a cardboard box.

"Do we have the prisoner secured?" a voice said, coming towards the war room.

"Yes, General, but we are currently tracking down the others who have escaped," another voice replied.

"Okay, I want them found now. You know how impatient the Emperor is," the General said.

As he opened the door to the war room, the General was revealed to be General Card, leader of Lake Travis High School Tankery team. Seeing everything as it was, he then walked into the room.

Looking at the map of the matches currently taking place, he began moving the pieces of the school logos on the map around. As he was doing that, Houston, who was hiding underneath a cardboard box, watched. Seeing that he was busy with the war map, Houston slowly began sneaking out, hoping not to make a noise, still underneath the cardboard box.

However, before Houston could leave the room, Card's turned and noticed a cardboard box near the door of the war room. Confused by its presence, Card's approached the box and inspected it, wondering why it was there. After a moment of contemplation, he shrugged it off.

"Huh, just a box," Card's muttered to himself as he returned to his planning.

Unbeknownst to him, Houston had already left the room, still concealed underneath the cardboard box. Once out of the room, Houston discarded the box and chuckled to himself, amazed that the cardboard box trick still worked.

"Glad that this trick still works, even after the Dallas Incident and the Match in Oshima Island," Houston said to himself.

Once in the clear, Houston activated the codec he had on him and spoke into it.

"Jefferson, come pick me up. I've got what we need," Houston said over the radio.

"Copy. I'm bringing the chopper to pick you up," Jefferson replied.

Just as Houston was about to end the transmission, his codec was spotted by a group of Groton High School's infantry boys who were wandering around. Time seemed to slow down as Houston watched one of the guards panic upon spotting him.

As time resumed its normal pace, one of the guards shouted into their radio, "Hostile inbound!"

Without hesitation, Houston quickly aimed his M16 airsoft rifle and fired at the guards. One of them, hit by the shots, pretended to be dead. Moving swiftly outside, Houston noticed it was nighttime and the rain was pouring heavily.

Surveying the base, Houston heard General Card's voice over the intercom amidst the blaring alarm. "All fireteams, this is CP! All units to combat positions! Repeat! All units to combat positions!" General Card's command echoed throughout the base.

As Houston navigated through the rain-soaked darkness, gunfire erupted around him. The base was alive with activity as soldiers from Groton High School's infantry scrambled to their positions. Houston ducked behind a stack of crates, rain pouring down around him, as enemy fire whizzed overhead.

"Keep your heads down! We've got hostiles in the perimeter!" a voice crackled over the enemy radio.

Houston tightened his grip on his airsoft rifle and peered around the crates, spotting enemy soldiers taking cover behind barricades and vehicles. With determination in his eyes, Houston took a deep breath and readied himself for the intense airsoft battle ahead.

"Jefferson, ETA?" Houston spoke into his codec, his voice determined but urgent.

"Almost there, hold tight!" Jefferson's voice crackled back through the static.

Bullets continued to rain down, forcing Houston to stay low and move cautiously. He spotted an enemy soldier advancing towards his position and quickly took aim. With precise shots, he managed to suppress the enemy's fire, forcing them to take cover.

Meanwhile, the enemy radio crackled with frantic communication. "We need reinforcements at Sector 7! They're hitting us hard!"

Houston gritted his teeth, knowing he had to keep moving. He maneuvered through the maze of crates and vehicles, using every ounce of stealth and skill to evade enemy fire. Rain soaked through his clothes, but he remained focused on his mission.

"Jefferson, I need that extraction ASAP!" Houston's voice echoed over the codec, urgency evident in his tone.

Suddenly, a spotlight swept across the area, illuminating Houston's position. Enemy soldiers zeroed in on him, their gunfire intensifying. Houston dove for cover, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he returned fire with precision.

"We've got him pinned down! Take him out!" came the command over the enemy radio.

But Houston refused to back down. With determination and skill, he fought his way through the onslaught of enemy fire, inching closer to his extraction point.

"ETA two minutes, hold on!" Jefferson's voice came through the codec, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

With renewed determination, Houston pushed forward, dodging bullets and returning fire with precision. The firefight raged on, the sound of gunfire and rain mingling in the air. 

As the camera crew spotted the firefight unfolding inside the base of Groton High School and its allies, they quickly switched the feed live. Families who had been watching the S-Rank Match between Davy Crockett High School and its allies versus Groton High School faced off, were now witnessing the unexpected turn of events.

Many parents, resigned to the idea that the match would be paused and continue the next day, began heading home to rest. However, among those preparing to leave was an important figure: Delia Houston, the aunt of Don and Red Houston.

As Delia gathered her belongings, other high-ranking officials of the American Tankery League were also leaving their seats, their attention fixed on the large projector screen displaying the unfolding chaos.

"It's good to see you again, Mrs. Houston," a woman's voice spoke up.

Turning around, Delia spotted Shiho Nishizumi standing beside Chiyoko Shimada, both dressed impeccably in their suits. Chiyo still carried her fan and wore a small French hat, a familiar sight to Delia.

"Shiho and Chiyo, it's good to see you two again..." Delia replied with a sigh.

"It must be difficult for you to see your nephew in the hospital... It would be hard for me if I saw my sweet Alice there," Chiyo sympathized.

"I appreciate your concern... Truly, I do. But I assume you two aren't here just to talk about my nephew Don... How are you both enjoying the match?" Delia inquired.

"Well, seeing how you started off with such chaos, with the infantry teams storming the beach first and the tanks coming in afterward, it's quite different from Sensha-Do," Shiho remarked.

"Indeed, this is unlike anything the other high school girls have faced... Three S-Rank schools competing is rare to see in a match," Chiyo added.

"Indeed, it is. But since it's nighttime and we're all tired, the match will be paused until tomorrow. Once it's daytime again, the match will resume where our kids left off," Delia explained.

As Delia and the others prepared to leave for their respective accommodations, they glanced one last time at the large projector screen, which was now displaying a live feed of the ongoing firefight. The camera crew had managed to capture the intense battle, and the focus was on Don Houston, Delia's nephew.

"Is that... Don?" Delia gasped, her heart racing with concern.

Shiho and Chiyo turned to the screen, their expressions mirroring Delia's worry as they watched the scene unfold.

"It appears so," Shiho replied, her voice tense with apprehension.

"Don is involved in this? But how?" Chiyo wondered aloud, her hand unconsciously clutching her fan tighter.

As they continued to watch, the camera zoomed in on Don, who was navigating through the chaos with determination and skill. Despite the danger surrounding him, he remained focused, his movements calculated as he worked to overcome the enemy forces.

"He's holding his own out there," Delia remarked, a mixture of pride and concern in her voice.

"He's a Houston, after all," Shiho commented, a hint of admiration in her tone.

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted on the screen, causing Delia to gasp in alarm. For a moment, it seemed as though Don was overwhelmed, but then he swiftly retaliated, taking down his assailants with precision.

"He's alright... He's alright," Delia repeated to herself, relief washing over her.

Amidst the chaos of the firefight, the tactical calls echoed through the rain-soaked air. "Two o'clock! Flank him!" One of the Lake Travis boys shouted, attempting to coordinate their maneuvers.

As they moved to flank Houston, they suddenly pretended to be hit by BBs, falling to the ground in mock defeat. "Need cover fire!" Another Lake Travis boy called out, seeking support from his teammates.

Before a response could be given, a Groton High School boy was hit, falling motionless to the ground. "Return fire!" one of the Thomas Jefferson boys shouted in response, rallying their forces.

But the firefight continued to escalate, with General Card's voice booming over the intercom, urging all fireteams to maintain their positions and continue engaging the enemy.

Amidst the confusion, Houston swiftly took cover behind a crate, rain pelting down around him. With precision and determination, he returned fire with his airsoft M16 rifle, targeting the guards of the base he had infiltrated.

Spotting two boys attempting to flank him, Houston reacted quickly, lowering his rifle and rushing towards them. In a blur of movement, he engaged in his renowned close-quarters combat (CQC) style.

With lightning-fast strikes, Houston incapacitated the first boy with a series of punches, knocking him out cold with a final blow to the face. Then, without missing a beat, he swiftly flipped over the second boy, rendering him unconscious with a well-placed strike.

Amidst the chaos of the firefight, Houston quickly assessed the situation and realized he needed backup. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he reached for his radio and shouted urgently into it, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony of gunfire and shouting.

"Jefferson, where are you? I need extraction ASAP!" Houston's voice crackled over the radio, urgency evident in every word.

For a moment, static filled the air, but then Jefferson's response came through, slightly distorted but audible. "I'm inbound, Houston! ETA one minute, hold tight!"

Relief washed over Houston as he heard Jefferson's reassuring words. With renewed determination, he continued to fend off the enemy forces, buying himself precious time until his extraction arrived.

Taking cover behind a crate, Houston kept his rifle trained on the enemy, ready to retaliate against any further attacks. The rain poured down relentlessly, adding to the intensity of the situation as he awaited Jefferson's arrival.

Seconds felt like minutes as Houston remained on high alert, his senses heightened as he scanned the area for any signs of danger. Finally, the sound of approaching rotor blades sliced through the chaos, signaling Jefferson's imminent arrival.

But as the helicopter approached, General Card's voice boomed over the intercom, ordering all fireteams to focus their fire on the incoming chopper.

"Shit, breaking the extraction, Houston! I'm in hot, stay out of the line of fire!" Jefferson's urgent voice crackled over the radio as he piloted the helicopter low to the ground.

Meanwhile, Houston continued to engage the remaining guards, swiftly disarming and incapacitating one who attempted to rush him. With precise movements, he delivered a series of punches, rendering the guard unconscious.

As Jefferson's helicopter flew overhead, firing chalk rounds to suppress the enemy, Houston remained focused on his task, providing covering fire as best as he could.

"Houston, I'm taking fire!" Jefferson's voice shouted over the radio, urgency evident in his tone.

"I know, I'm currently busy at the moment!" Houston replied tersely as he continued to fire his airsoft rifle, determined to hold off the enemy until they could safely extract from the intense firefight.

As the chopper lifted off, Houston steadied himself, gripping his airsoft rifle tightly as he fired at the enemies on the ground. With Jefferson skillfully maneuvering the helicopter, they swiftly cleared the area and gained altitude.

Once the immediate danger had passed, Houston relaxed slightly, unbuckling his seatbelt and closing the door of the chopper as he settled into the back.

"Whew... Now that was crazy," Houston remarked, relief evident in his voice.

"You could say that again," Jefferson agreed, focusing on piloting the helicopter to safety.

"So now what, Commander? Do we head back to the others?" Jefferson inquired, glancing at Houston.

Houston shook his head. "No, not yet. Something isn't right... The others are still being targeted. The question is why... This match that Timothee started... it raises a lot of questions. I know I've made mistakes in the past, but this feels different. There's something else at play here that we don't understand."

"So what do you think it is?" Jefferson asked, concern etched on his face.

"I don't know," Houston admitted, his brow furrowed in thought. "But we'll have to figure it out on our own. In time."

Meanwhile Back during the Dallas Incident

As the flashback unfolds, Houston is shown in a medical tent during the events of the Dallas Incident. He sits beside a young girl, her fifteenth year of age apparent in her fragile form. Nearby, medics bustle about, attending to the injured from the chaotic events that had transpired.

Houston's attention is drawn to the girl's condition as one of the passing medics notices something unusual on her stomach. Investigating further, they discover a blood stain beneath her shirt, accompanied by a cut hidden beneath bandages.

Concerned, Houston approaches to inspect the situation. "Don Houston, check this out!" calls one of the medics, beckoning him over.

Puzzled, Houston approaches, his eyes widening in shock as he sees the condition of the girl's stomach. "What the hell... Ben!" he calls out urgently.

Ben, another medic covered in blood stains from attending to serious injuries, quickly joins Houston. With a sense of urgency, they examine the girl's abdomen, realizing that she has been rigged with some sort of device.

"She's rigged... Damn it, we were set up! I should've known Anderson would go this far!" Houston exclaims, frustration evident in his voice.

"We've got to get it out," Ben declares, swiftly donning fresh medical gloves and preparing his tools.

With no time for anesthesia, they understand the urgency of the situation. "No time for anesthesia, we have to open her up now," Ben asserts, as Houston and another medic move to hold the girl steady.

Together, they brace themselves for the task ahead, determined to remove the dangerous device from the girl's body and prevent any further harm. In the midst of chaos, they work swiftly and decisively, their focus unwavering as they confront the grim reality of the situation.

With urgency weighing heavily upon them, Ben swiftly prepares his medical equipment, selecting a scalpel and sterile surgical instruments from the nearby tray. He meticulously sterilizes the area over the girl's abdomen, his movements precise and methodical despite the chaos surrounding them.

As Houston and the other medic hold the girl steady, Ben takes a deep breath, his expression grim with determination. With a steady hand, he carefully makes an incision along the girl's abdomen, the scalpel glinting under the harsh glare of the medical tent lights.

The girl stirs, her eyes fluttering open with a groan of pain as she becomes aware of the invasive procedure unfolding before her. A wave of nausea washes over her as she struggles against the pain and disorientation, her limbs trembling weakly against the restraining hands of Houston and the other medic.

Meanwhile, Ben's focus remains unwavering as he delicately navigates through layers of tissue and muscle, his skilled hands working swiftly to expose the hidden threat concealed within the girl's body. With each careful movement, he encounters resistance, the tension in the air palpable as they confront the unknown danger lurking within her.

Suddenly, a tense silence descends upon the medical tent as Ben's hand pauses, his brow furrowed in concentration. With a deft motion, he reaches into the cavity, his fingers grasping onto something foreign and sinister lodged deep within the girl's abdomen.

With a grim determination, Ben extracts the ominous device, its metallic surface gleaming dully in the dim light of the tent. The girl cries out in agony, her body convulsing with pain as the realization of the invasive procedure sets in.

As Ben handed the small package to Houston, both of them froze at the sound of beeping emanating from within. With a sinking feeling in their stomachs, they realized it was indeed a bomb.

"Houston... What the hell is this?" Ben's voice quivered with a mixture of shock and fear as he handed the package over.

Houston's heart raced as he recognized the symbol on the bomb—a peace symbol. It was a sickening irony amidst the chaos and violence surrounding them. Without hesitation, Houston knew they had to act quickly to prevent further harm.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Houston swiftly moved out of the tent, putting as much distance between them and the bomb as possible. With a swift motion, he hurled the explosive device away, his instincts guiding him to protect those nearby.

As Houston retreated to a safe distance, the bomb detonated with a deafening blast, sending shockwaves through the air. The force of the explosion reverberated through the camp, rattling nearby structures and leaving a plume of smoke in its wake.

With the danger averted, Houston returned to the medical tent, his combat suit stained with blood from the ordeal. Ben, too, bore traces of the harrowing experience on his medical attire.

"Okay, breathing is stable and no active bleeding... Okay, she's clean. I'm closing her up," Ben announced, his voice steady despite the chaos that had unfolded moments earlier.

With practiced hands, Ben meticulously closed the incision he had made, reattaching the stitches and ensuring the girl's wound was properly sealed

As Ben sat inside his makeshift medical tent, exhaustion etched into every line of his face, he sipped his coffee wearily. The bags under his eyes spoke volumes about the long hours he'd spent tending to the injuries of those who dared to fake their ailments. It was a frustration he couldn't shake, knowing that his time and expertise were being wasted on those who didn't truly need it.

But amidst the fatigue, Ben's dedication to his duty remained unwavering. He knew that genuine injuries could arise at any moment, especially after a recent battle where the combined forces of Davy Crockett, Ooarai, and Kuromorimine Academies had clashed in a fierce airsoft skirmish. Broken bones and cuts were common among the Rangers' infantry, and Ben was prepared to treat them all.

As he took another sip of his custom coffee blend, Ben's keen eyes caught sight of a Ranger attempting to slip away unnoticed. With a clear of his throat, Ben called out to the young soldier, his tone firm and authoritative.

"Where do you think you're going, Private?" Ben's voice cut through the air, commanding attention and halting the Ranger's escape attempt in its tracks.

The Private froze in his tracks, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to face Ben, his expression sheepish. "I... uh, just needed some fresh air, Doc," he stammered, attempting to come up with an excuse.

Ben raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the feeble attempt at deception. "Nice try, Private. You know the drill," he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. "No one leaves this tent without my approval, especially not with the injuries we've been dealing with lately."

With a resigned sigh, the Private nodded, acknowledging Ben's authority. "Yes, sir," he muttered, shuffling back to his designated area in the tent.

As the Private settled back into his seat, Ben returned his attention to the list of injured soldiers he had been reviewing before the interruption. With practiced efficiency, he scanned the names, mentally prioritizing his treatment plan based on the severity of their injuries.

Outside the medical tent, Koume stood by her Panzer III, her gaze fixed on Ben, the head medic of Davy Crockett High School. Despite the bustling activity around her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of longing as she watched him work.

Memories of their first meeting flooded Koume's mind, taking her back to the battle on Oshima Island. After the fierce clash between their schools, Houston had allowed Davy Crockett's medics to treat the injured Kuromorimine Girls' Academy students. Koume had been among them, hesitant and nervous.

When Ben had approached her, she had expected a cold reception, but instead, he had shown genuine concern, immediately asking about her injuries. Though she had initially denied any pain, he had seen through her facade, insisting on examining her shoulder.

Reluctantly, Koume had revealed the bruise on her shoulder, and Ben had treated it with care, wrapping it in ice and bandages before departing. As he left, Koume had felt her heart flutter with unspoken gratitude and a newfound admiration for the dedicated medic.

Now, in the present, Koume found herself drawn to Ben once again, her desire to thank him and perhaps even strike up a conversation warring with her apprehension of interrupting his work. Seeing the intensity of his focus and the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, she hesitated, deciding against intruding on his duties.

As her friends, Emi and Mauko, approached her, Koume forced a smile, pushing aside her inner turmoil. "Hey, Koume, you doing alright?" Emi asked, concern evident in her voice.

Koume nodded, her gaze drifting back to the medical tent where Ben was stationed. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replied softly, though her thoughts remained preoccupied with the medic who had unknowingly captured her heart.

As Koume attempted to mask her inner turmoil, Emi and Mauko exchanged concerned glances. "You sure you're okay, Koume? You seem a bit distracted," Mauko remarked, her brows furrowed with worry.

Koume forced a smile, trying to brush off their concerns. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about something," she replied, though her mind still lingered on Ben and the urge to speak with him.

Before the conversation could continue, a sudden loud yell from the medical tent startled them all. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!" Ben's voice echoed angrily, causing the girls to jump in surprise.

They exchanged startled looks before rushing over to the medical tent, curious about the source of Ben's outburst. As they approached, they saw Ben storming out of the tent, his expression dark with frustration.

"Ben, what's wrong?" Emi asked, concern evident in her voice.

Ben grumbled something incoherent under his breath, his anger palpable as he scanned the area. His eyes narrowed as he spotted one of the injured boys attempting to sneak away.

Without hesitation, Ben's frustration boiled over, and he marched towards the escaping boy, his voice dripping with anger. "Hey, you! Get back here!" he shouted, his tone laced with fury as he confronted the fleeing soldier.

The boy froze in his tracks, his face turning pale as he realized he had been caught. Ben's anger radiated off him in waves as he berated the boy for attempting to escape his care.

"I swear, these kids never learn," Ben muttered under his breath, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to contain his rage. Despite his efforts to maintain composure, the betrayal of trust stung deeply, and Ben's frustration threatened to overwhelm him as he grappled with the disobedience before him.

Watching from the sidelines, Maho Nishizumi, Commander of Kuromorimine Girls' Academy, and her Vice Commander Erika sat by a makeshift table, their Sensha-Do uniforms adorned with the Davy Crockett High School logo on their right shoulder patches. Beside them were Sergeant Dean, the fifth commanding officer of Davy Crockett High School's Ranger's infantry, and Lieutenant Shadow, the fourth commanding officer of both infantry and tankery.

As they observed the scene unfolding with Ben's outburst in the distance, a chuckle escaped Maho's lips. "And that's the reason why Ben is our best medic," Dean remarked proudly.

"So he can yell at them, Sergeant?" Shadow inquired, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Dean nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Exactly. He takes his role as the team's head medic very seriously, especially since the boy medic from Uncle Sam... Um... What was his name... Oh yes, Samuel, took his place as the best medic in the state. You should have seen Ben's reaction when Samuel received the first place award," Dean recalled.

Curious, Maho prompted Dean to elaborate. "What do you mean by that?"

Without a word, Dean retrieved his phone and pulled up a video of the award ceremony. The footage showed one side filled with Davy Crockett High School students, while the opposite side was occupied by students from Uncle Sam High School. As the announcement for the best medic award was made, Samuel was revealed as the recipient, with Ben holding the second-place award.

The video captured Ben's reaction as he sat in his seat, his expression a mix of disappointment and determination. Despite falling short of the top spot, Ben's resolve remained steadfast, a testament to his unwavering dedication to his role as a medic.

As they watched the video, Maho and Erika gained a newfound appreciation for Ben's commitment to excellence, recognizing the resilience and determination that drove him to strive for greatness, even in the face of defeat.

As the video continued to play, Samuel, the recipient of the best medic award, stood up to address the crowd. His words were laced with arrogance, boasting about his achievements and belittling Ben's efforts.

"I am honored to receive this award, and I must say, it comes as no surprise. I have dedicated countless hours to perfecting my craft, and it's clear that my skills far surpass those of my competitors," Samuel declared, his tone dripping with condescension.

Ben's jaw clenched as he listened to Samuel's smug speech, his frustration boiling over at the blatant disrespect. Without a second thought, Ben leaped from his seat, his eyes blazing with fury as he confronted Samuel.

"You think you're better than me, huh? You wouldn't know real dedication if it hit you in the face!" Ben shouted, his voice echoing through the auditorium.

The tension in the room skyrocketed as students from both Davy Crockett High School and Uncle Sam High School surged forward, their anger fueling a brawl that erupted in the midst of the award ceremony.

Watching the video unfold, Dean paused it and then pocketed his phone, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, that was the last time they hosted the best medic award... After they broke up the fight," Dean muttered, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"I see," Maho remarked, her expression thoughtful.

Erika then turned to Dean with a question. "So, Dean, I've been meaning to ask, when do you think Commander Houston will stop smoking? I mean, the real Commander 'Houston'," she added, referencing Don's last name.

Dean chuckled at the question, shaking his head. "Never. The last time we tried to convince him to quit smoking, all he said was this," Dean said, clearing his throat before mimicking Houston's gruff voice, "You all know about science and shit, but what you don't know is how good a cigarette tastes in the morning."

The others couldn't help but laugh at Dean's impression, the familiarity of Houston's stubbornness bringing a sense of camaraderie among them. 

Meanwhile in Maine. 

As the principal of Groton High School watched the Tankery S-Rank match from his office, a sense of satisfaction crept over him at the sight of his boys and Emperor Timothee leading the charge. However, his moment of contentment was short-lived as he was interrupted by a strange noise emanating from the corner of his office.

Curious, he approached the source of the sound, but found nothing amiss. Shrugging off the disturbance, he turned to head back to his desk when he was suddenly startled by the presence of Don Houston standing before him, devoid of his mask.

The principal's heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sight, his mind racing with disbelief. "D-Don Houston? I thought you were in a coma?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

Houston's expression remained unreadable as he casually strolled around the office. "I was, but not anymore," he replied cryptically, sending a chill down the principal's spine.

Fear gnawed at the principal's insides as he braced himself for whatever confrontation lay ahead. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Houston's gaze hardened as he slid a series of photos across the desk, each depicting individuals marked with red crosses. "The hitlist," he stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

The principal's eyes widened in shock as he surveyed the images before him, realization dawning on him. "I want to know why Timothee and the other S-Rank schools like Lake Travis and Thomas Jefferson High Schools are targeting my school," Houston demanded, his voice laced with urgency and determination.

"Well, the reason why they are targeting your friends and you, Houston... They wanted to hurt you," the principal admitted, his voice tinged with regret.

"Hurt me? For what?" Houston questioned, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"For what you did in the past when you were in Vermont Tankery Academy three years ago, before the Dallas Incident. I told them what you did, as your commander ordered you to kill the previous commander and the others, including Les Vipères," the principal recounted, memories of old times flooding back.

Houston's expression darkened as he acknowledged his past actions. "I know it was the worst thing I ever did in the past... But why target my friends? Why attack my school? It's been three years since that happened," he reasoned, seeking understanding.

"Timothee didn't want to forget it... You see, the commander that you and your old Dogs of War group took out was his big brother. You ruined their reputation, including my school's reputation, so I decided to help them," the principal explained, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"So, you just cover their asses whenever they're in trouble? I wouldn't be surprised if you even bailed them out when the League and the authorities tried to arrest them for their attacks," Houston accused, his tone accusatory.

"Of course, I did that. However, I didn't bail them out; I just helped them by providing all the data and information your friends needed. But as of right now, I'm waiting for their results as they're almost defeating your so-called allies' schools in the S-Rank match that's currently happening," the principal admitted, his voice betraying a sense of anticipation.

Houston's suspicion grew as he observed the equipment being used by his adversaries. "There's another question I have... The equipment you're giving them is different. They're not America Tankery League-branded because the equipment you're giving them is military gear, just like U.S. military gear," he pointed out.

"As for the equipment, Houston, you're correct. It's not just military gear; it's advanced weaponry and technology provided by a group I work for," the principal confessed, his tone grave.

Houston's eyes widened in astonishment. "A group? What group?" he demanded, his mind reeling with the implications of the principal's revelation.

The principal hesitated for a moment before answering, "They're an organization known as the Patriots. They've been operating behind the scenes, exerting control over various aspects of society, including the Tankery program in America."

Houston's mind raced as he processed the information. The Patriots, a shadowy organization with seemingly limitless power and influence, pulling the strings behind the scenes. It was a revelation that shook him to his core, exposing the true extent of the manipulation and deception at play.

"But why? What do the Patriots want?" Houston pressed, his voice tinged with urgency.

"The Patriots seek to maintain control over the Tankery program, using it as a means to further their own agenda and maintain their grip on power," the principal explained, his words laden with a sense of resignation.

"The same kind of power that Anderson wanted?" Houston asked, his voice tinged with incredulity.

"Yes, indeed. You know, after what happened in the Dallas Incident, it was hard work for us to dig up your old comrades' graves that you betrayed. Besides, what happened in Dallas was the Patriots' doing... You see, before the match started, it was the Patriots who swapped the fake shells with live ones when the Association was checking them out."

Houston's expression darkened as he absorbed the revelation. "And the dream that your old commander was chasing... Anderson's perfect system that could control all guns and weapons, making no military force able to fight back... So when you defeated Anderson and the others, and left them for dead in Dallas, the Patriots went back and recovered their bodies, reviving them... well, some of them. We told them they could have their revenge against you during the League match on the far island..." the principal explained, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth.

"The Oshima Island Incident..." Houston muttered, his mind racing with the implications of the Patriots' involvement.

"Yes, hoping that Anderson could complete his dream, which didn't happen because of you. You defeated him, and we had no choice but to kill him," the principal admitted, a hint of remorse in his tone.

Houston's thoughts whirled as he pieced together the puzzle of his past encounters with Anderson. "Wait, so the heart attack..." he began, remembering the moment when Anderson had collapsed after their intense battle.

"You're pretty good..." Anderson's voice echoed in his mind, followed by the sudden realization that Anderson's death had not been natural.

"Yes, we had a dead switch on him," the principal confirmed, his words chilling Houston to the core.

"How long have the Patriots been around?" Houston questioned, his voice heavy with disbelief.

The principal's expression turned solemn as he replied, "The Patriots have been operating for longer than you can imagine, Houston. They've been around since before you were even born."

Houston's eyes widened in shock. "Before I was born? But why? What's their ultimate goal?" he pressed, his mind reeling with the implications of the Patriots' longevity.

"The Patriots' ultimate goal is power and control, Houston. They seek to manipulate every aspect of society, from politics to warfare, to further their own agenda," the principal explained, his tone grave.

Houston's mind raced as he absorbed the magnitude of the Patriots' influence. "So, you're saying they've been pulling the strings behind the scenes all this time?" he asked, his voice tinged with incredulity.

The principal nodded gravely. "Yes, and I'm ashamed to admit that I've been a sleeper agent of the Patriots for as long as I can remember. I've been carrying out their orders, manipulating the Tankery program, and ensuring that the cycle of proxy wars and the war economy continues."

Houston's blood ran cold as he realized the full extent of the Patriots' control. "So, the Patriots are essentially controlling the America Tankery League, just like the old Association," he concluded, his voice filled with disgust.

The principal nodded grimly. "Exactly. They're using the Tankery program as a tool to recruit young boys who aspire to join the military after high school, perpetuating the cycle of war and ensuring that the war economy continues to thrive."

"Is Timothee helping them?" Houston inquired, his voice edged with concern.

The principal nodded gravely. "Most likely. Cards, Jimmy, and Timothee have all met with two members of the Patriots, promising to help them recover their lost assets, including something of great importance to Timothee himself."

Houston's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information. "So, Timothee is in league with the Patriots, using their resources to further his own agenda," he concluded, his voice tinged with frustration.

The principal nodded solemnly. "Yes, it seems that way. Timothee is willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals, even if it means aligning himself with such a dangerous organization."

As Houston contemplated the implications of Timothee's alliance with the Patriots, he knew that they faced a formidable adversary. With Timothee and the Patriots working together, the battle ahead would be more challenging than ever before. 

As the principal began to speak further, Houston noticed a sudden change in his demeanor. His expression contorted in pain, and his hand clutched at his chest.

"Are you alright?" Houston asked, his voice laced with concern as he watched the principal's struggle.

But before the principal could respond, his face turned pale, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest in agony. Houston's eyes widened in shock as he watched the scene unfold before him.

"What's happening?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic as he rushed to the principal's side.

But it was too late. The principal's breathing grew shallow, and his body went limp as the life drained from his eyes. Houston could only watch in horror as the principal took his final breath, his heart finally giving out.

Confusion and disbelief clouded Houston's mind as he struggled to process what he had just witnessed. How could this be happening again? Was this another ploy by the Patriots, or was there something more sinister at play?

As he knelt beside the principal's lifeless body, Houston vowed to uncover the truth behind his sudden demise. 

Meanwhile.

"What do you mean we lost a Harrier?!" a voice boomed from the room.

The doors swung open, revealing Doyal Houston, the uncle of the Houston brothers, wearing his Lieutenant Colonel uniform. He was visibly shocked to hear the report of someone stealing a Harrier from one of the United States Marine bases.

"Well, sir, we don't know who stole it, but we are currently searching for it, sir," one of the U.S. professionals reported.

"Well, I want it found now, before one of the Generals finds out what happened," Doyal demanded, causing the man to salute and rush off.

Alone for a moment, Doyal's phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he saw it was Delia, his wife. He answered the phone with a smile.

"Hey, honey, how's the match going?" Doyal asked.

"Going well, as expected from the league. Since it's a new day, everything seems to be going fine on my end. What about you?" Delia asked.

Doyal sighed before responding, "Perfectly fine here..."

"Well, that's good to hear... Anyway, Doyal, I think you might want to come here. I think what you'll see would be shocking," Delia said over the phone.

"What do you mean?" Doyal inquired.

"Just come and see for yourself. You wouldn't believe who just returned," Delia replied before ending the phone call.

Chuckling at his wife's mysterious tease, Doyal exited the base, got into his car, and checked himself out at the guard gate before driving towards where the parents were viewing the match.

While the match was underway, three high school tankery teams approached the town. Dean and the Ranger's Company boys led the way, cautiously holding their airsoft weapons, with tanks like Shermans and Pershings following closely behind. As they entered the town, Davy Crockett's Ranger infantry team moved alongside them.

"Check the buildings and alleyways," Dean ordered, leading his Rangers on foot.

As the Rangers continued to move, scanning their surroundings for any sign of Thomas Jefferson High School's infantry boys, they ventured deeper into the town. One of the Rangers turned to his buddy and asked, "Hey, where do you think the Thomas Jefferson boys are hiding?"

"I don't know. They probably ran when they saw us co—" Before his buddy could finish his sentence, a sniper airsoft shot rang out. The buddy who was hit quickly pretended to be dead, and the rest of the team sought cover.

"Sniper!" one of the Rangers shouted, prompting them to return fire at the building from which the sniper fire originated.

Reacting swiftly to the sniper's shot, Dean directed his Rangers to take cover and return fire. They maneuvered tactically, using the buildings and terrain for cover as they advanced towards the sniper's position.

"Suppress that window! Move up, flank them!" Dean commanded, his voice firm and commanding.

The Ranger's team coordinated their movements seamlessly, with one group providing suppressing fire while another maneuvered to flank the sniper's position. Bullets from their airsoft rifles whizzed through the air, striking the building's walls and windows.

As they closed in on the sniper's location, Dean spotted a glint of sunlight reflecting off a scope from one of the upper windows. Without hesitation, he raised his own rifle, taking careful aim before squeezing the trigger.

A well-aimed shot from Dean's airsoft rifle hit its mark, striking the sniper's rifle and forcing them to retreat. With the threat neutralized, Dean signaled for his team to advance cautiously, ensuring the area was secure.

"Clear the building! Watch for any more surprises," Dean ordered, as his Rangers moved forward to sweep the area, ready for any further encounters.

As they continued moving carefully through the town, Dean motioned for the tanks to keep moving forward. However, their progress was halted when they heard the sound of more airsoft gunfire. The Rangers quickly moved to investigate, entering the town square to find many of the Thomas Jefferson boys lying on the ground, pretending to be defeated.

Perplexed as to who had taken out the opposing team, Dean was about to inquire further when a familiar voice rang out.

"Davy Crockett Airborne is here, Sergeant Dean!" shouted Sergeant Thompson, emerging from cover. Relief washed over Dean as he recognized the fellow soldier.

"Thompson, good to see you," Dean replied, a hint of relief in his voice.

"I could say the same for you," Thompson responded, and the two exchanged a firm handshake, a silent acknowledgment of the camaraderie between them.

As the Davy Crockett Airborne unit emerged from cover, many of the Ranger boys greeted them warmly, relieved to see another infantry unit in good condition.

With the town now secured, a forward operating base (FOB) was established for the joint high school team. Ben, Koume, and Rabbit team worked together to treat the injured, while another group of Rangers ensured that the prisoners remained secured with assistance from the Mallard team.

Inside the command building, Miho and Momo of Ooarai Girls' Academy, along with Maho, Erika, Shadow, Dean, and Thompson, discussed the recent events.

"We were constantly under attack by forces from Gorton High School and Thomas Jefferson High School as soon as my boys and I landed in the town. Groton sent in two of their operators, Fortune and Mistral," Thompson reported.

"Fortune managed to escape, but Mistral wasn't so lucky. Commander Red captured her," Thompson continued.

"Wait, Red captured one of Les Vipères?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Indeed he did," Thompson confirmed.

"But I thought Red was in the air just moments ago," Miho interjected.

"He was, but their plane lost power, and they had to eject. Red managed to regroup with us after locating his squadron," Thompson explained.

With the situation assessed, Shadow turned to Dean. "What's our plan, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure. We need to figure out our next move."

"We'll wait here until we receive word from the other schools," Maho suggested.

"Fair enough. I can work with that. Speaking of which, where is Red?" Dean inquired, turning to Thompson for an answer.

"He's currently busy at the moment..." Thompson replied.

The scene then cuts to Red walking alone in a part of the town, seeking solace from the chaos. He hoped for a moment of peace to clear his mind from the mounting stress. As he walked, still clad in his older brother's uniform, he heard the sound of a helicopter flying overhead. Assuming it was a League official recording the events, he waved it off, preferring not to be caught on camera.

Lost in his thoughts, Red was startled by the sight of a young boy wearing a large cloak, leaning against a building wall and staring at him. The boy then spoke up, claiming he had been waiting for Red.

Suspicious, Red questioned the boy's identity, asking if he was a member of Les Vipères.

"No, I'm not part of that group," the boy replied cryptically. "I'm the only person who could surpass you."

As the boy stepped into the light, revealing his face, Red was taken aback. "Don Houston!" the boy declared.

"No! That's not Don Houston!" Don shouted in the distance

Just then, Red heard his real older brother's voice. He turned to see Don in a helicopter with the door open, holding a real rifle. The helicopter slowly approached, bringing Don closer to the scene.

"It's good to see our small family reunion here, my dear brothers..." the imposter said with a smirk.

"Save it! You're no family of mine!" Houston shouted from his spot in the helicopter.

"Don't say you've forgotten me... Don..." the boy retorted, still staring up at the helicopter.

"Don, what the hell is he talking about?!" Red asked, confused by the unfolding situation.

"Red, take cover!" Houston shouted as he fired a couple of rounds at the boy. The boy quickly moved, creating a trail of fire as he slid, burning away his cloak to reveal a suit underneath.

"Stop impersonating us!" Houston yelled as he continued firing more bullets. The boy deflected them with his wrist, showcasing his enhanced abilities.

"Brothers, I'm a whole different game from Sienna..." the boy said, mentioning their deceased half-sister. With that, his suit enhanced his body, making him more flexible as he turned to face Houston.

Houston quickly loaded a grenade into the launcher attached to the rifle underbarrel and fired it. The boy dodged, jumping onto a rooftop. The helicopter followed, prompting the boy to chuckle.

"Is that the best you can do, brother?" the boy taunted.

Houston loaded another grenade and fired, causing the boy to fall off the roof. Houston hoped he had gotten him, but to his surprise, the boy was standing on top of the stolen Harrier.

"Ah, shit... Jefferson, we're in trouble! It's the Harrier!" Houston yelled to Jefferson, who was piloting the chopper, quickly maneuvering to a different position.

As the boy made his way to the second seat of the jet, he ejected the enhancements off his body. He then shouted to Red, on the ground, and to Don, still in the helicopter.

"The world needs only one Houston standing! And I'll be the one standing!" the boy declared defiantly.

Entering the cockpit of the Harrier and taking his seat, the boy spoke into the intercom, his voice filled with determination.

"I'll kill you both so I can take that spot!" he shouted.

Firing a missile toward the helicopter, the boy watched as it swiftly moved out of the way, causing the rocket to hit a building and trigger an explosion. Switching off hover mode, the Harrier quickly flew away, preparing for another attack.

Meanwhile, the helicopter headed toward Red's position. Seeing his older brother stand up and grab a large case, Red caught it as Houston tossed it to him, along with the ammo.

"Red! I'm giving you this – it's a Stinger missile launcher that I stole," Houston shouted, explaining hastily. "This chopper can't stand up to the Harrier! You have to shoot the Harrier down! I'll do what I can in the air!"

"Commander, we've got company!" Jefferson called out from his pilot seat as he spotted the Harrier reappearing. The helicopter swiftly maneuvered away.

Before departing, Houston turned to Red, a sense of urgency in his voice. "I'm counting on you, Red!" he said.

With a nod of determination, Red quickly prepared the Stinger missile launcher, his hands trembling with adrenaline and the weight of the situation. As the Harrier approached once more, he aimed carefully, the crosshairs aligning with the fast-moving aircraft.

"Here goes nothing," Red muttered to himself, his heart racing as he squeezed the trigger.

To Be Continue.... On 'The Great Hunt.'