The sound of a cassette tape was loaded into a WALKMAN, and someone pressed the play button as the voice spoke up from the old recording:

"I couldn't believe that my older brother Anderson just agreed with my idea... Peace Day was surely about to happen as he told me that he and the rest of his Tankery team were setting up the event. I couldn't fathom the things we'd do... Since my brother and his team had been fighting all the time, however, I managed to convince him to have some days for a break for a week and have peace and relaxation.

Of course, sometimes I wish I didn't want to see my brother fighting at all. It's obvious to me that if there's any problem, they can at least solve it with reasonable discussion. Houston, Vice Commander of my Big Brother of Vermont Tankery academy, thinks so too, including the members of the squad that my brother created, 'The Dogs of War.'

To think that my older brother Anderson shares my dream of peace makes me happy, since it was our father's dream after he was shipped off in the military and didn't come back. But never mind that, somehow Houston suggested that I have to sing about it, and Floyd wrote a song about it which got me embarrassed as they wanted me to sing to them and the rest of Vermont's Tankery boys.

Even though I like to sing, I have never had to perform in front of a crowd before... I do not think I am up to this... But everyone knows in this school seems to be looking forward to it so I guess I would hate to let them down. But I'm ready for this to celebrate this event with everyone after my brother Anderson finished the match in Dallas which I got to say... The match in Dallas would be crazy and I really hope that everyone who in that match would come out all fine..."

The tape then ends as it shows Houston wearing a Davy Crockett Commander uniform, still with his face shaved from the beard he grew, including his mustache that grew during his coma, and cutting his hair short.

He was sitting there still holding the WALKMAN in his hand, thinking about the tape and hearing the last part saying that everyone who was in the Dallas match would come out fine... But however, nobody came out fine.... with 4,500 boys from all schools died and with 500 survived, and Houston the only survivor of the Dogs of War squad as he betrayed them for the bad things they were doing.

Still haunts him as he continues to space off, still holding the WALKMAN in his hand, staring off alone as he sat alone by his table inside of his tent.

"Listening to her tapes, brother?" Red asked, observing Houston with concern as he entered the room, his shirt opened with bandages wrapped around his chest.

"Yes... It's been years since I heard one," Houston replied, turning to face his little brother as Red pulled up a chair, sitting in front of him.

"Yeah, me too... But the question is, why did she leave them mostly to you, Don?" Red inquired.

"There must have been a reason... I've listened to all of them except this last one," Houston said, showing the cassette marked as the fifth journal entry.

"Why don't you play it?" Red suggested.

"I don't know... It's just that at this time, I don't feel like it's the right time to play this one just yet," Houston replied, his expression troubled as he contemplated the cassette in his hand.

Houston hesitated, his gaze fixed on the cassette. Memories flooded his mind, both painful and bittersweet. He remembered Anderson sister's voice, her laughter, and the moments they shared together. Yet, there was also a sense of unease, a lingering apprehension about what secrets the final tape might hold.

"I'll play it when I'm ready," Houston finally said, his voice tinged with determination. "For now, let's focus on what we need to do."

Red nodded understandingly, sensing his brother's reluctance to delve into the past. "Alright, Don. We'll take it one step at a time."

Together, they sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history hanging in the air. But amidst the uncertainty, there was also a bond that transcended words—a bond that anchored them to each other and gave them strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Meanwhile, Ben stood looking over his medical equipment laid out neatly on his desk. Each tool was meticulously organized, but as he reached for the scalpel, a strange sensation washed over him.

Touching the scalpel, he felt a wave of unease envelop him, drowning out the sounds of his surroundings until all he could hear was the rhythm of his own breathing and the steady thump of his heart. Confused by this sudden feeling, he couldn't shake the memory of experiencing something similar during the incident.

Flashback to the Dallas Incident:

After extracting the first bomb from the girl, Houston and Ben, both covered in blood and wearing old Davy Crockett uniforms, stood amidst the chaos. Houston, sensing something amiss, instructed Ben to check the girl again.

"No... No, something is not right... Ben, check her again," Houston ordered, his voice tense with concern.

With blood-stained medical gloves, Ben carefully examined the girl's body, scrutinizing every stitch and incision. His hands moved methodically until he felt a disturbing sensation lower down, near the girl's private area.

"Houston, there's another one..." Ben's voice trailed off, his gaze meeting Houston's with a grim realization.

Houston nodded in understanding, his expression tightening with resolve. Ben took a deep breath, steeling himself as he readied his glove. With Houston holding the girl down, Ben began the delicate task of extracting the second bomb, bracing himself against the girl's screams of agony.

"Ben?" Koume's voice broke through Ben's reverie, bringing him back to the present. He found himself standing alone in the medical tent, still holding the scalpel. Quickly, he stowed it away in his surgery medical bag, a habitual action for him.

"Is there anything you need?" Ben asked, his attention fully on Koume as he began gathering his belongings and placing them into his bag.

"Well, I was wondering, how come you became a medic instead of being a tanker or an infantryman?" Koume queried.

Ben paused, reflecting on his journey to becoming a medic, then settled into a foldable chair before responding.

"It's a long story, you see," he began. "The reason I became a medic is because I was inspired by my father, who was the most famous doctor in our area. He was truly the best of the best, capable of things no other doctor could do. His dedication and skill inspired me and my siblings. From a young age, I knew I wanted to follow in his footsteps, to become a healer for those who were hurt or sick."

Ben continued, recounting his struggles to fulfill his dream during high school.

"When I tried to become a medic for every sports team in Davy Crockett High School, they rejected me. They didn't think I was good enough. I was disheartened, thinking I might have to give up on my dream. But then, I saw an opportunity to join the tankery team as their medic, and I seized it."

He paused, remembering the pivotal moment when he found his place.

"Soon, I found myself a part of the team, and it brought me immense joy. I shared the news with my father, and he was incredibly proud. Even after the Dallas Incident, when so many lives were lost, he remained supportive and proud of the work I was doing."

Ben's voice softened as he recalled his father's encouragement.

"But he always had high expectations. He believed I would one day take his place as a doctor. He wanted me to retire him after high school, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I told him I wanted to open my own clinic, to be my own person," Ben concluded, his gaze fixed on Koume, his expression filled with a mix of determination and nostalgia.

"It sounds like you've had quite the journey," Koume remarked softly, offering a supportive smile.

Ben nodded, a sense of gratitude washing over him for Koume's understanding.

"It has been," he acknowledged, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "But despite the challenges, I wouldn't change a thing. Becoming a medic, being able to help others in their time of need, it's what I was meant to do."

He glanced around the medical tent, filled with a sense of purpose as he remembered the countless lives he had touched and the countless more he hoped to help in the future.

"And now, here we are," Ben continued, gesturing to their surroundings. "In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, but also in a place where we can make a difference, one patient at a time."

Before the two could continue talking, they heard the sound of people rushing outside. Ben and Koume checked to see many of the Rangers, Airborne troops, and tank crews quickly gearing up. Shouting filled the air as chaos ensued. Houston walked alone, heading towards the radio team where Jefferson, wearing his vice commander uniform, was listening to reports.

"Okay, slow down... Alright, I'll inform him about what's happening," Jefferson said into the radio.

"What's going on?" Houston asked Jefferson, who was still on the radio.

"It's Nonna, sir. She's explaining that Pravda High School and North High School are losing ground, and during their recent fighting, Commander Muller of North High stayed behind and has been taken prisoner," Jefferson relayed.

"Muller..." Houston muttered, understanding the gravity of the situation as he recalled the crossed-out photo of Muller from when he infiltrated Groton High School and its allies' base alone.

"Look, Nonna, we've got our guys getting ready. We'll be there soon, don't worry," Jefferson assured.

"Jefferson, wait... Remember the time I infiltrated the enemy base for intel and all I told you through your codec about some of us being crossed out?" Houston asked.

"Yeah, I remember. What are you trying to say, Commander?" Jefferson inquired.

"Jefferson, ask Nonna if they've taken any prisoners yet," Houston instructed. Nonna responded negatively, indicating they hadn't.

"I get it now..." Houston realized.

"What do you mean? What do you get?" Jefferson asked, puzzled.

"Houston, remember the time of the memorial for the Dallas Incident a few years ago, and after our match on Oshima Island?" Houston recalled.

"Yeah, I remember. Why are you... Wait... Shit, you're not saying..." Jefferson slowly realized what Houston was implying.

"That's right. They're capturing those key people who were in the Dallas Incident and those from the Oshima Island match," Houston confirmed.

"That's what Timothee's plan is, but for what and why?" Jefferson wondered.

"I don't know, but I don't like why he's captured Muller. My guess is he won't stop there... Jefferson, who's currently engaging with North and Pravda?" Houston asked.

"Lake Travis High and their Tankery Commander, or General Hudson Cards," Jefferson informed.

"Cards, huh... Well, there are three people who he's trying to capture..." Houston realized.

"Nonna, Katyusha, and Gunther..." Jefferson concluded, now understanding who the targets were.

"We've got to move now... Tell Maho and her team at Kuromorimine to get ready to move, including Miho and the rest of Ooarai Girls' Academy... And get Sergeant Dean here with me," Houston commanded as he walked away, and Jefferson nodded, quickly moving to carry out the orders.

As Houston headed toward his tank, he saw groups of boys quickly gathering their gear. Some Rangers got on their Humvees, while others climbed onto the side armor of the tanks. Before Houston could reach his tank, Dean rushed towards him.

"Commander Houston!" Dean called out, walking beside Houston.

"Dean... I'm commandeering your unit, Sergeant," Houston informed him.

"Yes, sir... All yours, sir," Dean replied.

"Your unit will have to stick by my tank as we go help our allies," Houston directed.

"Yes, sir... Lone Star is a mean bitch, sir," Dean acknowledged.

"We'll walk you in... Right now, Lake Travis is burning through our allies' defenses. We can't let them take our allies' prisoners," Houston stated firmly.

"Just point on the map, sir... We'll take them," Dean assured.

The two of them quickly made their plans as the urgency of the situation demanded swift action.

Meanwhile, at North High School and Pravda High School's location, chaos reigned as infantry boys from North High quickly moved through one of the large towns they were in, still clad in their Wehrmacht uniforms. They hurriedly set up their defenses, with one group of boys assembling a heavy airsoft machine gun and loading it with pellets, while the remaining tanks positioned themselves strategically.

Amidst the commotion, Ludwig, wearing his officer battle uniform, barked orders in German, directing the infantry where to go.

"Lassen Sie Männer im Westen in diesem Gebäude aufstellen!" Ludwig commanded one group of boys before turning to another. "Sammeln Sie, welche Männer Sie brauchen, und gehen Sie, um im Osten zu verteidigen."

The distant sound of mortar fire echoed through the town as Ludwig continued to issue orders, his leadership keeping the troops organized and focused. However, the danger of the battle became all too real when a mortar shell landed dangerously close to his position, prompting Ludwig to swiftly move to a safer location.

Meanwhile, inside one of the buildings serving as their temporary headquarters, Gunther, the Vice Commander of the school's tankery team, raised his voice in urgent German.

"Wir können uns nicht bewegen!" Gunther shouted over the cacophony of mortar fire.

"Wenn ich hier sehr wenig Personal habe, Nonna, wenn ich und mein Team untergehen, liegt es alles an euch Mädels, weiterzukämpfen.... Ich weiß nicht, wann Houston oder die anderen eintreffen, aber sie kommen.... Nun, du kannst Katyusha sagen, dass sie sich das... "Before Gunther could finish his sentence, another mortar shell was about to hit their position. 

"Vizekommandant!"Ludwig's voice rang out as he tackled Gunther to the ground, shielding him from the blast. The explosion sent shockwaves through the area, causing some of the soldiers to feign injuries, their bodies covered in the powder from the mortar impact.

As the dust settled from the explosion, Gunther and Ludwig quickly gathered their wits. Gunther's expression was a mix of gratitude and determination as he rose to his feet, brushing off debris from his uniform.

"Dankeschön, Ludwig," Gunther said, his voice filled with appreciation for his comrade's swift action.

"Ludwig, schnell! We must reinforce the eastern flank!" Gunther shouted, urgency lacing his tone as he assessed the situation.

Ludwig nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger. "Ja, let's move quickly before they regroup."

The two of them darted out of the building, rallying the remaining troops to bolster their defenses on the eastern front. Gunther's voice rang out with authority as he issued commands in German, directing the boys to fortify their positions and prepare for the impending assault.

"Setzt die Barrikaden auf! Wir dürfen sie nicht durchlassen!" Gunther barked orders, his voice carrying over the sounds of gunfire and explosions.

The boys worked frantically, erecting barricades and fortifications to impede the enemy's advance. Their faces were etched with determination as they labored under the weight of their responsibility to defend their school and their comrades.

Meanwhile, Ludwig coordinated with another group of soldiers, organizing a counterattack to push back the enemy forces encroaching on their territory.

"Ludwig, schieß sie zurück! Wir können ihnen keinen Zoll geben!" Gunther shouted across the battlefield, his voice echoing with resolve.

Ludwig nodded grimly, his jaw set with determination. "Verstanden, Gunther! Wir werden sie zurückdrängen, koste es, was es wolle!"

Amidst the chaos of the battle, small groups of North High School boys dashed through the streets, their airsoft pellets whizzing through the air as they sought cover behind debris and sandbags.

"Grenade!" One of the Wehrmacht boys shouted, his voice drowned out by the sounds of gunfire and explosions. He hurled a powder grenade towards an airsoft machine gun emplacement, the explosion covering the crew with a cloud of powder, simulating their demise.

Meanwhile, more Lake Travis boys remained holed up in a nearby building, their rifles trained on the streets below as they awaited the arrival of their tanks. They knew that with the armored support, they could overpower North High School and Pravda High School, securing victory in the battle for the streets.

"Where are our reinforcements!?" cried one of the Wehrmacht boys, his voice strained with urgency as he continued firing his airsoft weapon from his entrenched position.

"Just keep holding this line!" another shouted back, swiftly swapping out the magazine of his airsoft MP-40 as pellets whizzed through the air around them.

With the battle raging on, more Lake Travis boys advanced, their numbers bolstering their confidence as they pressed forward.

"Krauts are falling back, boys!" one of the Lake Travis boys yelled triumphantly, signaling their comrades to push forward and eliminate the retreating enemy.

"Come on, let's eliminate this team so we can focus on the others," another Lake Travis boy urged, rallying his comrades as they pushed aggressively into the city.

Meanwhile, at Davy Crockett, Houston walked alongside Dean, Jefferson, Red, and Shadow, their footsteps echoing against the backdrop of the bustling preparations.

"Hey, Commander? How come you're taking a small squad with you and Sergeant Dean?" Shadow inquired, his curiosity piqued by their unusual deployment.

"Well, Shadow, it's because I've trained them to be the best, and I recruited them after they were transferred from a school in Michigan to ours," Houston explained, his gaze steady as he addressed the group.

"A school from Michigan? Isn't that where some Dutch-Americans are?" Jefferson interjected, seeking clarification.

"Yeah, but this group is the cream of the crop," Houston affirmed, a note of pride evident in his voice.

"I see. How come I've never seen them before?" Red chimed in, intrigued by the clandestine nature of their presence.

"That's because I've kept their files hidden from you and from the league during inspections. Now, Timothee and the others will be wary of the tricks I have up my sleeve. Besides, they've dubbed themselves 'The Bad Batch,'" Houston revealed, a hint of satisfaction tingeing his words as they approached a Sherman Firefly, ready to embark on their mission. 

With the command tank's hatch opened, the tank commander emerged, cracking his knuckles and neck before the other crew members followed suit. The loader stood alongside his tank leader, accompanied by the machine gunner and gunner of the tank, ready for their next mission.

Shadow, Red, Jefferson, and Dean watched in surprise as the group of Dutch-Americans appeared before them. Houston couldn't help but smirk at their reactions as the loader spoke up in Dutch.

"De Calvarieberg is aangekomen!" the loader announced in Dutch.

As the crew member approached them, Houston addressed him with familiarity.

"Sergeant Lex, good to see you again," Houston greeted warmly.

"You too, Commander. Now, sir, what suicide mission do you have for us now?" Lex responded wryly, a hint of humor lacing his words.

"Get your tank ready to move out. I'll brief you along the way," Houston instructed, his tone serious as he prepared to outline the upcoming mission.