There Could only be one Final Part

Before the activation of the P-1000 A.I. tank, the sound of a cassette tape being loaded was heard. As the person pressed play on the Walkman, the voice on the tape spoke up:

"Peace Day never came. Every morning I wake up expecting it to come, but it is always three days away. That can't be it. I haven't woken up at all! It is just a dream. It is all a dream. I am in it, and you are in it too. I am the dreamer, but you are having my dream. Do you get it now? You do, don't you? Peace Day... never... came. With three days left, I followed you from the day we met and launched the operation. I sacrificed myself, I fought you, I lost, and was thrown into the ocean. I survived, but was captured by my brother. How happy I would have been if they'd let me die then and there... Our wishes do not come true. We cling to our dreams, our phantoms. Mine and yours. But I think this one is coming to an end... After all, you've figured it out now. You can kill my brother, Anderson, murder the other Dog of War, slaughter everyone... Burn the whole world down, and it still won't bring me back. Me or any of the dead. And that was our business. War. We bought our daily bread with money paid to us for killing. Maybe us getting killed was just balancing the scales. You know, Vermont was never the heaven we wanted it to be, but I was still happy to have lived with everyone there. It was a short time. Such a hypocritical peace. But while I was at Vermont Tankery Academy, I was happy. So I hope I'm not the only one who looks back on those days with happiness. There's more to remember than hatred and rage. But of course, this is you, thinking that I should think that. It is no mystery now. I am just a phantom, a fragment of the mind you have lost. The real me died a long time ago. But even so... more so... I can tell you what you are really feeling. The real emotion that is locked away at the bottom of your heart. Let it fly out. Let it guide you. Live. I think it's my job to tell you that. That is why I exist. So this tape is the last one. Once you are done listening to it, I am one phantom limb that will be gone for good. My flesh, my bones, joining the silt on the ocean floor. But do not forget... As long as you remember me, I will always live within you. Not a phantom limb or a phantom anything. As part of your heart. I will always be your angel of peace. So I know exactly how to finish. Say peace!" The girl's voice ended as the tape finished.

The person holding the Walkman, Don Houston, removed the tape and looked at the last and final recording of his first love. Placing the tape away, Houston cleared his throat, took one sniff, rubbed his nose, and got up to leave the Command Tent, leaving the Walkman and tape behind.

Back to the present:

The scene then shows the League office after the match on Galveston Island between Davy Crockett and Groton High School. Delia, the chairwoman of the America Tankery League, is giving a tour to Shiho Nishizumi, Chiyo Shimada, Ami Chono, and the director of Federation Sensha-Do, Shichiro Kodama.

As they enter the monitor room, it shows many League officials at work, monitoring every high school in every state, keeping up with the latest status of their Tankery activities.

"And in this room, this is how we keep tabs on every high school in the state, monitoring them. Since we're dealing with teenagers, we make sure they aren't engaging in reckless practices and such," Delia said.

"Wow, I have a question, Mrs. Houston. Since your league allows boys to be part of the infantry, how do they get their training?" Ami asked, curious about why infantry fight alongside the Tankery teams.

"Well, it is about building teamwork, communication, and leadership. Plus, how we train them is by asking professionals like the U.S. military to send some personnel to teach the young boys and girls how to train like infantry," Delia explained.

"Impressive," Shiho Nishizumi said, her expression stern but respectful. "Incorporating infantry tactics into Tankery is an innovative approach. How has it affected the overall performance and morale of the teams?"

Delia smiled, appreciative of the insightful question. "Integrating infantry tactics has significantly improved the performance and morale of our teams. The boys and girls learn to trust each other more deeply, understanding that their success depends on mutual support and coordination. It's not just about the tanks; it's about the people operating them and those supporting them on the ground. This holistic approach has led to stronger, more cohesive units."

Chiyo Shimada, with her usual warmth, nodded in agreement. "Building that kind of camaraderie is crucial. I can see why your teams are so effective. But I wonder, how do you manage the safety concerns, given the added complexity of infantry training?"

"Safety is our top priority," Delia responded earnestly. "We have rigorous safety protocols in place. All training exercises are supervised by experienced military personnel, and we use non-lethal simulation rounds during training sessions. Additionally, we emphasize the importance of communication and situational awareness to prevent accidents."

Ami Chono, always enthusiastic, leaned in with interest. "That sounds thorough. But what about the educational aspect? How do these experiences impact their academic responsibilities?"

Delia chuckled softly. "We balance their training with academic requirements. Our students are expected to maintain good grades to participate in Tankery. We believe that discipline in one area translates to discipline in another. Plus, the skills they learn—leadership, strategy, teamwork—are invaluable in their studies and future careers."

Shichiro Kodama, known for his analytical mind, observed the monitors intently before speaking. "It's an impressive system, Mrs. Houston. However, I'm curious about the psychological aspect. How do you ensure that these young students handle the stress and pressure of such intense training?"

Delia nodded, acknowledging the importance of the question. "We have a comprehensive support system that includes counselors, psychologists, and peer support groups. We regularly monitor the students' mental health and provide them with the resources they need to cope with stress. Our aim is to build not just strong Tankery teams, but well-rounded individuals who can handle pressure and thrive in challenging environments."

Shiho, Chiyo, Ami, and Shichiro exchanged approving glances. Shiho, speaking for the group, said, "Your approach is commendable, Delia. It's clear that you care deeply about these students, not just as Tankery participants, but as individuals. Thank you for sharing your insights with us."

Delia smiled warmly. "Thank you. It's an honor to share our program with such esteemed guests. If you have any more questions or would like to see more, please let me know."

As they continued their tour, the group delved deeper into the intricacies of the American Tankery League, exchanging ideas and learning from each other's experiences. The visit underscored the mutual respect and shared passion for Tankery that transcended borders and traditions.

While Delia was about to explain something else important, one of the league officials ran up to her, breathing heavily. He tried to speak, but only stuttering sounds came out of his mouth. Delia sighed and crossed her arms.

"What's wrong?" Delia asked.

"C-C-Code Red! Your husband called in a Code Red! You need to check this out now!" the worker said.

Confused about what he meant and understanding the seriousness of a Code Red, Delia followed the official. The others, equally confused about what was happening, followed along as they returned to the monitor room. This time, the main screen displayed a live news broadcast.

"We interrupt this broadcast with an important announcement. Hi, I'm Dan Adams with ABC News. We have incoming reports from the memorial site of the old Dallas Tankery arena, where U.S. Armed Forces are currently engaging an unknown machine tank. What we are about to show you is live footage captured by our news chopper. Be advised, viewer discretion is advised," the reporter said.

The screen then shifted to live footage showing the U.S. Army engaging the A.I. P-1000 tank. Three AH-64 Apache attack helicopters were flying in as one of the helicopters began firing its machine gun. The giant tank responded by firing its 128mm anti-aircraft gun, taking out one of the helicopters.

The scene on the monitor room screen showed chaos unfolding in real-time. The remaining two Apache helicopters circled the massive P-1000 tank, trying to find an angle to strike without being targeted by its formidable anti-aircraft weaponry.

"This is Apache One, we're going in for another run. Stay tight, Apache Two," the pilot of the lead helicopter radioed to his wingman.

"Roger that, Apache One. We need to hit it hard and fast. That thing took out Green Six like it was nothing," replied the pilot of the second helicopter.

Apache One swooped down, its 30mm chain gun blazing as it targeted the P-1000's tracks, attempting to immobilize the behemoth. The shells bounced off the tank's reinforced armor, barely leaving a scratch.

"Apache One, this is Command. Focus your fire on the sensor array on the top. It's got to have a weak spot somewhere," crackled the voice from the command center.

"Copy that, Command. Adjusting target," Apache One's pilot acknowledged, steering his helicopter to align for a shot at the tank's sensor array.

Meanwhile, Apache Two fired a barrage of rockets, hoping to overwhelm the tank's defenses. Several rockets exploded against the P-1000's hull, creating a cloud of smoke and fire. But as the smoke cleared, the tank emerged virtually unscathed, its turret swinging to lock onto Apache Two.

"Look out, Apache Two, it's targeting you!" shouted Apache One's pilot.

"I see it! Evasive maneuvers!" Apache Two's pilot yelled, pulling hard on the stick to dodge the incoming fire. The P-1000 fired its 128mm gun, the shell streaking through the air and narrowly missing Apache Two, which banked sharply to avoid it.

"That was too close! Command, we need backup here!" Apache Two's pilot called out, panic creeping into his voice.

"Hang in there, Apache Two. Reinforcements are en route. Keep that thing busy," Command responded.

Apache One managed to get a clear shot at the sensor array and unleashed a stream of 30mm rounds. Several rounds hit the target, causing sparks and smoke to pour from the array.

"Direct hit! We've got it smoking!" Apache One's pilot cheered.

But their celebration was short-lived. The P-1000 retaliated with a fury, firing another anti-aircraft shell. This time, the shell struck Apache One directly, causing a massive explosion.

"Apache One is hit! Going down!" the pilot's last transmission crackled before the helicopter spiraled out of control, crashing into the ground below.

"Apache One is down! Apache One is down!" Apache Two's pilot shouted. "Command, this thing is tearing us apart!"

"Stay focused, Apache Two. Keep moving, keep firing. Help is almost there," Command urged.

Apache Two continued its desperate maneuvers, dodging the P-1000's relentless attacks while trying to find another weak spot. The pilot's hands were steady, but his voice betrayed the tension he felt.

"Come on, you monster. Let's see what you've got," he muttered, launching another salvo of rockets.

Just then, a formation of F-16 fighter jets appeared on the horizon, streaking towards the battlefield. The reinforcements had arrived.

"This is Falcon Lead. We're engaging the target. Apache Two, fall back and provide cover," the lead fighter pilot radioed.

"Roger that, Falcon Lead. Falling back," Apache Two's pilot replied, relief evident in his voice.

As the F-16s swooped in, launching their own barrage of missiles at the P-1000, the tide of the battle began to turn. The combined firepower of the Apaches and the fighter jets might just be enough to take down the seemingly invincible tank.

In the monitor room, Delia and the others watched intently, the tension palpable as they awaited the outcome of this high-stakes confrontation.

The F-16s launched their missiles at the P-1000, but the massive tank seemed to absorb the impacts with little effect. Its anti-aircraft guns swung into action, firing rapidly and accurately. One by one, the fighter jets were hit, spiraling out of control and crashing to the ground in fiery explosions.

"Falcon Lead is hit! We're going down!" came the frantic voice of the lead fighter pilot over the radio.

"This is Falcon Two! Mayday, mayday! We're going—" another transmission cut off abruptly as the second jet exploded mid-air.

On the ground, Doyal Houston, Delia's husband, was taking cover behind a ruined structure with his second-in-command, Major McKenzie. The situation was dire, and Doyal knew they needed a game-changer.

"McKenzie, get me Warthog One on the line, now!" Doyal shouted over the din of battle.

Major McKenzie, crouching beside him, managed to get through to the A-10 Warthog pilot. "Warthog One, this is Major McKenzie. We need immediate close air support on the P-1000. You're our last hope!"

"Warthog One, roger that. Coming in hot," the pilot of the A-10 responded. The distinct roar of the Warthog's engines grew louder as it approached the battlefield.

"Warthog One is inbound," Doyal informed his men. "Stay sharp and keep that thing busy!"

As the A-10 Warthog swooped in, it unleashed its 30mm GAU-8 Avenger cannon, the sound of the gunfire echoing across the battlefield. The rounds pounded the P-1000, causing visible damage as chunks of armor were blasted off the tank's exterior. The tank's movements became more erratic, suggesting that the sustained fire was having an effect.

"Direct hit! It's working!" Major McKenzie yelled, his face lighting up with hope.

The P-1000 retaliated with its anti-aircraft gun, desperately trying to target the agile Warthog. The A-10 pilot maneuvered skillfully, avoiding the initial salvoes while continuing to pepper the tank with rounds and rockets.

"This is Warthog One, I've got a clear shot at the turret. Going for it," the pilot radioed, lining up for a precision strike.

As Warthog One made its attack run, the P-1000 managed to fire another anti-aircraft shell. This time, the shot clipped the Warthog's wing, sending it into a spiraling descent.

"Warthog One is hit! I'm going down!" the pilot's voice was strained but controlled as he struggled with the controls.

"Warthog One, eject! Eject!" Doyal yelled into the radio, watching in horror as the aircraft plummeted towards the ground.

The A-10 pilot ejected just in time, his parachute deploying as the Warthog crashed in a ball of fire. On the ground, Doyal and McKenzie looked on, the wreckage of the aircraft adding to the destruction around them.

"This thing is unstoppable," Major McKenzie muttered, his face pale with tension.

"No, it's not," Doyal replied, determination in his voice. "We've hit it hard, and it's taking damage. We just need to keep pushing."

He grabbed the radio again. "All units, this is Colonel Houston. Regroup and prepare for a coordinated strike. We have to bring this monster down."

In the monitor room, Delia and the others watched the live feed, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them. Shiho Nishizumi, Chiyo Shimada, Ami Chono, and Shichiro Kodama were silent, their expressions reflecting a mix of shock and admiration for the bravery of the soldiers fighting below.

"Delia, if there's anything we can do to help..." Shiho began, but Delia shook her head.

"Right now, we need to trust our people on the ground," Delia said, her voice steady despite the chaos. "They know what they're doing. We just have to hope it's enough."

As the battle raged on, the high schoolers and commanders watched in shock and disbelief at the power of the P-1000. Vice Commander Jefferson, Lieutenant Shadow, and Sergeant Dean from Davy Crockett High School stood transfixed, witnessing the devastation caused by the massive tank. Commander Muller from North High lowered his hat in shock, while Commander Graham from Grand Lake High slowly removed his Hollywood sunglasses, stunned by the overwhelming display of force. Commander Wesley of Washington Boys and Girls Academy muttered something in his English accent, unable to comprehend that Groton High School had built such a formidable machine. Maho, Miho, Kay, Katyusha, and Darjeeling also expressed their own feelings about the unfolding chaos.

Amidst the chaos, one of the Rangers of Davy Crockett called out to Vice Commander Jefferson.

"Vice Commander, I think you need to see this," Sean shouted in his Irish accent, handing binoculars to Jefferson.

"Why?" Jefferson asked, taking the binoculars.

"It's about the 'Boss,' look!" Sean replied urgently.

As Jefferson peered through the binoculars, he spotted Don Houston slowly walking toward the undamaged jeep. Concern gripped the group as Jefferson grabbed his radio, using the same frequency as Houston's channel.

"Boss, get out of there!" Jefferson shouted into the radio, his voice laced with urgency.

Hearing his Vice Commander's concern, Houston carefully climbed into the jeep, noticing the keys still in the ignition. He started the engine, but the sound somehow alerted the P-1000 to his presence.

"Shit!" Houston cursed as he floored the gas pedal, speeding away from the tank.

As Houston drove, thoughts raced through his mind. He remembered what Timothee had said about the potential consequences of the P-1000 being revealed to the world. Fear gripped him as he realized that if the tank's existence became public knowledge, it would unleash chaos and terror upon the world.

As Houston put distance between himself and the tank, it suddenly stopped and raised its 128mm naval gun, predicting his trajectory. Without warning, it fired, the shell hitting the jeep and causing it to flip over. Everything went black as Doyal, who had just witnessed his nephew's escape attempt, screamed in fear. Delia, watching the events unfold live, also screamed, calling out her nephew's name in panicked disbelief.

"Boss!!" Jefferson shouted over the radio, his voice filled with dread and concern.

As the dust settled, revealing the wreckage of the overturned jeep, a figure emerged from the debris. It was Don Houston, bruised and shaken but miraculously alive. He slowly rose to his feet, his mind reeling from the close encounter with the P-1000.

Time seemed to slow as Houston turned his gaze towards the towering tank, its massive form looming ominously in the distance. He realized with a sinking feeling that the P-1000 was indeed after him, its relentless pursuit evident in the way it had targeted him without hesitation.

"It's after you? You have to stop it, Boss!" Vice Commander Jefferson's urgent voice crackled over the radio, jolting Houston out of his daze.

Houston's mind raced as he assessed the situation. He knew he couldn't outrun or outgun the P-1000 on his own. But he also knew that he couldn't just stand by and let the tank wreak havoc unchecked.

Taking a deep breath, Houston steadied himself, his resolve hardening. He knew what he had to do.

"I won't let it terrorize anyone else," Houston replied, his voice firm and determined. "I'll do whatever it takes to stop it."

As Houston swiftly moved, his heart pounding with adrenaline, he grabbed the Milkor-MGL grenade launcher from a fallen soldier's equipment, along with as much ammo as he could carry. He slung the AT4 launcher across his back, ready for action.

Loading the grenade launcher with explosive rounds, Houston aimed at the exposed armor of the P-1000 and unleashed a barrage of grenades. The explosions rocked the battlefield, causing significant damage to the tank's exterior.

But the P-1000 quickly retaliated, switching to its machine gun and raining bullets down on Houston's position. With lightning-fast reflexes, Houston dodged and weaved, narrowly avoiding the deadly hail of gunfire.

With a swift motion, Houston switched to the AT4 rocket launcher and fired, the rocket streaking towards the P-1000 and striking it with explosive force. The impact caused visible damage to the tank, eliciting a cheer from Dean over the radio.

"Great job, Houston!" Dean's voice crackled over the radio, echoing Houston's success.

Undeterred, Houston swiftly moved to another position, reloading the Milkor-MGL grenade launcher with another round of grenades. With precise aim, he unleashed another volley of explosive rounds at the P-1000, further weakening its defenses and inching closer to victory.

The battle raged on, escalating into a relentless showdown between Don Houston and the formidable P-1000. With each explosive round fired from the Milkor-MGL grenade launcher, Houston chipped away at the tank's armor, determined to bring it down. But the P-1000, like a relentless juggernaut, pressed forward, its massive frame undeterred by the onslaught.

As Houston sought cover behind the remnants of a crumbling structure, the P-1000 unleashed a barrage of firepower, its machine guns rattling the earth around him. Bullets whizzed past, sending plumes of dust and debris into the air as Houston dodged and ducked, narrowly avoiding certain death.

Gritting his teeth against the overwhelming odds, Houston calculated his next move. With unwavering resolve, he emerged from cover, AT4 rocket launcher at the ready. With a steady hand and a sharp eye, he locked onto the P-1000's looming silhouette and fired.

The rocket streaked through the air, a fiery comet aimed at the heart of the mechanical beast. Impacting with explosive force, the blast reverberated across the battlefield, sending shockwaves rippling through the ground. The P-1000 staggered, its armor dented and smoking, but still standing.

Undeterred by the tank's resilience, Houston pressed on, his movements fluid and decisive. With each step, he closed the distance between himself and the P-1000, determination burning in his eyes. He knew that victory was within reach, but the battle was far from over.

As the P-1000 unleashed another barrage of gunfire, Houston danced through the chaos, his movements a symphony of agility and precision. He ducked, dodged, and weaved, evading the onslaught with grace and finesse. With nerves of steel, he seized every opportunity to strike back, firing round after round from the Milkor-MGL grenade launcher with deadly accuracy.

As the intense battle between Don Houston and the P-1000 unfolded, the new chopper capturing every moment of the conflict transmitted the live footage to the America Tankery League main headquarters. Delia, watching from the monitor room, felt a surge of pride and concern as she witnessed her nephew's bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.

"He's doing it," Delia murmured to herself, her eyes glued to the screen. "He's really taking on that monster all by himself."

At the same time, Doyal stood alongside his men, their eyes fixed on the live broadcast of the battle. The tension in the air was palpable as they watched their nephew and comrade-in-arms face off against the P-1000.

"We trained him well," Doyal remarked, his voice filled with both pride and apprehension. "But this...this is something else entirely."

As Houston sprinted across the battlefield, the P-1000's machine guns raked the ground around him, bullets whizzing past perilously close as he reloaded his weapon. Suddenly, a voice crackled over the radio, breaking through the chaos.

"Red Ace is in hot! Find cover, brother!" shouted Red, piloting a Black Hawk helicopter armed with missiles and machine guns.

Houston looked up, a smile breaking across his face as he recognized his younger brother's voice. Red had somehow managed to commandeer one of their uncle's helicopters, and now he was flying solo into the fray.

Red circled the helicopter around, his keen eyes tracking Houston as he dove to the ground, narrowly avoiding the blast from the P-1000's main cannon. Dust and debris filled the air as Houston scrambled to his feet, AT4 launcher at the ready. He aimed and fired, the rocket streaking toward the P-1000 and impacting with a resounding explosion, further damaging the colossal tank.

The P-1000 retaliated, its machine guns spitting fire as it tracked Houston's movements. Red, piloting the Black Hawk with remarkable skill, maneuvered the helicopter to provide cover for his brother.

"I'm in hot, watch out, Don!" Red called over the radio.

He unleashed a torrent of machine-gun fire from the helicopter, the bullets striking the P-1000's armor with precision. The tank's attention was momentarily diverted, giving Houston a crucial window of opportunity.

With Red providing aerial support, Houston moved with renewed determination. He darted from cover to cover, reloading his Milkor-MGL grenade launcher. With practiced efficiency, he fired another volley of explosive rounds at the P-1000, each blast chipping away at the tank's defenses.

Red's Black Hawk swooped in low, missiles locked onto the P-1000. He unleashed a salvo, the missiles streaking through the air and slamming into the tank with devastating force. The combined assault from both ground and air was taking its toll on the P-1000, its once-impenetrable armor now showing signs of significant damage.

The P-1000 roared in defiance, its main cannon swiveling toward the Black Hawk. Red pulled up sharply, the shell missing by mere feet as the helicopter ascended rapidly.

"Nice try, tin can!" Red taunted, bringing the Black Hawk around for another pass.

Houston, seizing the moment, sprinted to a new position, reloading the AT4 launcher. He took aim once more, his hands steady and his resolve unshakable. With a deep breath, he fired, the rocket streaking toward its target.

The rocket hit the P-1000 squarely in a weakened section of its armor, the explosion rocking the massive tank. Smoke and flames erupted from the impact site, and the P-1000's movements began to falter.

Delia, watching the live broadcast from the America Tankery League headquarters, clutched her hands together, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. Doyal, standing with his men, let out a cheer, his voice echoing the sentiments of those watching around the world.

"That's it, Houston! Keep it up!" Jefferson's voice came over the radio, filled with encouragement.

As the battle raged on, the President of the United States, watching the live feed, leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the screen.

"He's doing it," the President whispered, awe and admiration in his voice. "That boy is really doing it."

As the battle between Don Houston and the P-1000 raged on, the high schoolers watching from various locations were in a state of disbelief. The intense conflict was being broadcast live, capturing every dramatic moment. Among the students, one in particular was documenting the fight in his own way.

"Are you seriously recording this, Graham?!" Muller exclaimed, looking incredulously at his friend.

"Of course! Who wouldn't record this?! I mean seriously, Albert, what Houston is doing is basically straight out of a movie," Graham replied, his phone held steadily to capture the action.

"It's not a film set, it's real!" Muller insisted.

"I know that, but just imagine how perfect it would be if we recreated this part in a film set," Graham countered, his mind already spinning with Hollywood visions.

As Muller and Graham debated, others around them were equally engrossed in the unfolding spectacle. Commander Welsey, from Washington Boys' and Girls' Academy, couldn't hide his astonishment.

"At first, when we faced Houston during the league's second tournament, I never thought he was this good!" Welsey exclaimed in his English accent.

"Well, you forget, Welsey, that he was the former Vermont Vice Commander three years ago," Colton interjected, also speaking in an English accent.

"And part of the Dogs of War squad," Archie chimed in with his Scottish accent.

"I know that, it's just... I wish I could do what he's doing," Welsey admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of jealousy.

Meanwhile, Kay from Saunders Girls High School was watching the battle with Alisa and Naomi, a bucket of popcorn in hand. The three of them were glued to the screen, each piece of popcorn a testament to their fascination.

"Wow... I never thought this would be so intense," Kay said, chewing thoughtfully.

Over at St. Gloriana, Darjeeling, Assam, and Orange Pekoe were seated inside their Churchill tank, watching the battle unfold on a portable screen. They were in awe, struggling to reconcile the sight of a human being taking on an A.I. machine.

"This is beyond belief," Assam murmured, her eyes wide.

"Indeed. It shows the indomitable spirit of a true commander," Darjeeling remarked, sipping her tea thoughtfully.

At Pravda Girls High School, Katyusha stood with Nonna and Klara, her eyes fixed on the screen. She was astounded by Houston's tenacity and skill, despite the overwhelming odds.

"This is insane. I've never seen anything like it," Katyusha said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Houston is the most insane person I have ever met."

As Houston continued to fight, his brother Red provided aerial support from the Black Hawk helicopter, circling the P-1000 and firing bursts of machine-gun fire to keep the tank's attention divided.

"I'm coming around again! Watch out, Don!" Red's voice crackled over the radio.

Houston dived behind cover as the P-1000 unleashed another volley of machine-gun fire. He reloaded his Milkor-MGL grenade launcher and aimed carefully, unleashing another round of explosive grenades that struck the tank's weakened armor, causing significant damage.

From the headquarters of the America Tankery League, Delia watched with bated breath. "Come on, Don. You can do this," she whispered, her heart pounding.

Doyal, standing with his men, clenched his fists in anticipation. "Show them what you're made of, nephew," he muttered under his breath.

The President of the United States, also watching the live feed, was transfixed. "That boy... he's something else," he said, shaking his head in awe. "We need to support him. Get me the Pentagon on the line. I want everything we have ready to back him up."

While Maho and the other girls from Kuromorimine Girls Academy watched, Maho's thoughts drifted to her past conversations with Houston, especially during their time on Oshima Island for the match between the America Tankery League and the Sensha-Do Federation. She remembered the fall of the Alamo and how they had joined forces with Houston and the other boys against Commander Chaiki of the Federation. Those memories, particularly of Houston's care and protection, flooded her mind. She recalled the harrowing escape from Anderson's torture, when Houston carried her through the forest after she was left mentally broken and unable to move or speak.

"Commander, are you okay?" Erika asked, snapping Maho out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... worried for Don," Maho admitted.

"He'll be fine. Look at him. He's doing great," Erika reassured, pointing to Houston as he deftly dodged incoming fire, rolling to the side with practiced ease.

Over at Ooarai Girls Academy, the girls were equally mesmerized by the battle. The Rabbit Team watched in amazement, unable to believe their eyes. It felt like they were watching a movie, but the reality of the situation kept their excitement grounded in concern.

The Duck Team, standing outside their tank, were shocked by Houston's endurance and relentless movement. They watched as he continued to evade and counter the P-1000's attacks without showing any signs of fatigue.

The Anteater Team, led by Nekota, discussed how Houston's actions mirrored scenes from the Metal Gear games they had played, given to them by Jefferson during their time on Oshima Island. They marveled at how Houston seemed almost like a real-life version of the game's protagonist.

The Shark Team, on the other hand, was in awe. Murakami, who had previously doubted Houston's capabilities and authority, was now silent, her eyes wide with shock. She recalled the time she got into a fight with one of Houston's boys and how Houston had intervened, inviting them to learn proper fighting techniques from him.

"Wow... When I just had a feeling about the Yankee... I never thought he would be this skilled," Ogin said, her eyes glued to the screen.

The Anglerfish Team, led by Miho, was focused on Red. Watching him pilot the chopper solo and provide crucial support to his brother filled her with admiration. She saw the determination and skill both brothers displayed in the heat of battle.

Miho's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the battle. Seeing Red flying the Black Hawk, dodging enemy fire, and providing crucial support to his brother filled her with a mix of pride and worry. She knew how skilled and determined he was, but the danger he was in was palpable.

Her friends, sensing her anxiety, tried to comfort her. Saori put a reassuring hand on Miho's shoulder. "Don't worry, Miho. Red is amazing. He's got this," she said, her voice filled with confidence.

"Yeah, he's a great pilot and fighter. He knows what he's doing," Hana added, giving Miho a supportive smile.

Yukari, always enthusiastic about military matters, nodded vigorously. "Red and Houston are both incredibly skilled. They'll take down that P-1000, no doubt about it!"

Miho managed a small smile, appreciating her friends' efforts to comfort her. "I know, but it's hard not to worry. This is such a dangerous situation."

As they continued to watch, Houston fired another round at the P-1000, but when he reached for more ammo, he realized he was out. The gravity of the situation sank in, and Miho's worry deepened.

Just then, Jefferson's voice crackled over the radio. "Supplies are being dropped!"

All eyes turned to the sky as a single cardboard box, strapped to a parachute, descended toward the battlefield. It landed with a thud near Houston's position. Without wasting a moment, Houston dashed toward the supply drop, grabbing the box and quickly opening it to find fresh ammo for his grenade launcher and AT4.

"Perfect timing," Houston muttered, reloading his weapons with the newfound supplies.

Red's voice came over the radio again. "I'm making another pass. Keep it up, Don!"

Miho felt a surge of relief and pride. Red was not only helping his brother but also ensuring that Houston had the supplies he needed to continue the fight. She watched as Red expertly maneuvered the Black Hawk, providing covering fire and drawing the P-1000's attention away from Houston.

Houston, now rearmed, resumed his assault on the P-1000. He fired a salvo of grenades, each explosion further weakening the tank's armor. The P-1000's movements became more sluggish, its systems struggling to cope with the sustained damage.

Red circled overhead, his machine-gun fire cutting through the air and keeping the tank's defenses occupied. "Hang in there, Don! We're almost there!"

Miho clenched her fists, silently cheering for both Houston and Red. Her friends continued to offer words of encouragement, their support helping to ease her worry.

"Come on, Red. You can do this," Miho whispered, her eyes never leaving the screen.

The battle raged on, the high schoolers from various academies watching in awe as Houston and Red continued their relentless attack. The P-1000, despite its formidable firepower, was being pushed to its limits. With each explosion and burst of gunfire, the odds seemed to tilt further in favor of the brothers.

As Houston reloaded his grenade launcher and prepared for another volley.

Just as Houston prepared to fire again, the P-1000 maneuvered into position, its massive 28 cm naval gun tracking him with deadly precision. Sensing the imminent danger, Houston sprinted for cover, diving behind a pile of rubble just as the heavy cannon roared to life. The explosion shook the ground, debris flying everywhere as the shockwave rolled through the battlefield.

Breathing heavily, Houston peeked out from behind his cover, seeing the P-1000 reloading its main cannon. He seized the opportunity, darting to a new position while quickly reloading his grenade launcher. As he finished loading the last round, he aimed and fired, the grenades hurtling toward the massive tank. The explosions rocked the P-1000, but then it did something unexpected—it surged forward with alarming speed, closing the distance between them.

Time seemed to slow for Houston as he saw the tank bearing down on him, all its weapons systems zeroing in on his position. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let fear take hold. With quick, precise movements, he fired a series of grenades, each one finding its mark on the P-1000's weakened armor. The explosions staggered the giant machine, its systems struggling to cope with the damage.

Red's voice crackled over the radio, urgency clear in his tone. "Hang in there, Don! I'm coming around again!"

Houston didn't have time to respond. The P-1000's machine guns roared to life, bullets tearing up the ground around him. He ducked and rolled, evading the lethal barrage by mere inches. With his last grenade loaded, he took aim at a critical weak point exposed by the previous explosions.

"This has to work," he muttered to himself, pulling the trigger.

The grenade shot forward, hitting the exact spot Houston had targeted. The resulting explosion was massive, a fireball engulfing the P-1000. The tank shuddered, smoke billowing from its internals, but still, it remained operational, its systems refusing to give up.

Red swooped in with the Black Hawk, unleashing a hail of machine-gun fire and rockets at the tank. "Don, keep moving! It's almost down!"

Houston nodded, though Red couldn't see him, and dashed to another piece of cover. He grabbed his radio. "Jefferson, I need more supplies! This thing just won't quit!"

"Already on it, Boss! Supplies incoming!" Jefferson's voice was calm, but Houston could hear the underlying tension.

A cargo plane roared overhead, and Houston saw another supply crate descending under a parachute. He sprinted towards it, knowing he needed more firepower to finish the job. The P-1000, however, had other plans. It aimed its secondary cannons and opened fire, the shells exploding all around Houston.

He dove, rolled, and kept moving, adrenaline fueling his every step. The supply crate hit the ground, and Houston skidded to a stop beside it, ripping it open. Inside were more grenades, another AT4 launcher, and crucially, high-explosive rounds.

"Perfect," he breathed, quickly reloading his grenade launcher with the new rounds.

The P-1000, visibly damaged but still deadly, reoriented itself towards Houston. Its systems were clearly struggling, but it aimed its naval gun at him once more. Houston knew this was his last chance. With Red providing cover from above, he took aim and fired the high-explosive rounds directly at the tank's most damaged area.

The explosions were devastating. Each round hit with pinpoint accuracy, tearing through the P-1000's armor and internal systems. The tank shuddered violently, sparks and flames erupting from its hull. It tried to fire back, but its systems were too compromised. The massive machine finally ground to a halt, smoke billowing from its chassis as its power systems failed.

Houston stood there, breathing heavily, watching as the behemoth finally succumbed to the damage. Red's voice broke through the silence. "You did it, Don! You took it down!"

As Houston stood in the distance, watching the final explosion of the P-1000, he reflected on what had just transpired. The once-mighty AI tank was now a smoldering wreck, its threat neutralized. He stood there, absorbing the weight of his victory.

Around him, the survivors from Groton High School and Thomas Jefferson High School emerged from their hiding places, their expressions a mix of shock and awe.

"He beat the P-1000..." a French boy from Groton High School murmured, unable to believe his eyes.

"The P-1000 done in by a flesh and blood human being..." another student echoed, still in disbelief.

"So he truly is Vic Boss..." a boy from Thomas Jefferson High School whispered, acknowledging Houston's prowess.

"It's all over. What General Jimmy and Emperor Timothee promised us will never come..." another student lamented, realizing the futility of their leaders' grand plans.

Slowly, one by one, the boys from Groton High School and Thomas Jefferson High School began dropping their airsoft weapons, signaling their surrender to Doyal's men. The tension in the air began to dissipate as Doyal's forces moved in to secure the area and accept their surrender.

The other high school students, witnessing the end of the battle, began making their way towards Houston. His Vice Commander, Jefferson, was the first to reach him, concern etched on his face.

"Boss, you hurt?" Jefferson asked, his voice full of worry.

Houston shook his head, a tired but triumphant smile on his face. "I'm fine..."

At that moment, Maho slowly walked up to him. She had always wondered why the others called Don 'Boss' or 'Vic Boss,' as she had always known him by his first name. But seeing his bravery and leadership today, she felt it was fitting to address him by the name his comrades used.

"Vic Boss," Maho said softly, her voice filled with respect and admiration.

Hearing Maho, the students from the various high schools, including Kuromorimine Girls Academy, Ooarai Girls Academy, St. Gloriana Girls High School, Saunders Girls High School, and Pravda Girls High School, began to chant in unison.

"Vic Boss! Vic Boss! Vic Boss!"

The chant grew louder and more fervent, echoing across the battlefield. Houston looked around, seeing the faces of students from different schools, united in their admiration and respect for him. Despite their differences and the intense rivalry, they recognized his courage and leadership.

As the chant continued, Red landed the Black Hawk nearby, hopping out and rushing to his brother's side. "That was incredible, Don!" he exclaimed, giving Houston a quick, relieved hug.

Houston nodded, still taking in the magnitude of what had just happened. "Couldn't have done it without you, Red."

The two brothers stood side by side, surrounded by the cheering students. Delia, watching the scene unfold from the monitor room at the America Tankery League headquarters, felt a swell of pride and relief. Doyal, on the ground, shared a similar sentiment as he watched his nephew celebrated as a hero.

The president of the United States, having been briefed on the situation and now watching the live broadcast, was equally impressed. "That young man... he just might be the bravest person I've ever seen," he said to his advisors.

After the battle with the P-1000, Houston began making his way toward the last known location of Timothee and Jimmy. As he walked through the battlefield, he saw small fires scattered everywhere and the remnants of destruction. His eyes locked onto the flipped over jeep and some debris where he spotted Timothee, bloodied and pinned under the rubble.

Timothee, despite his injuries, clutched a container tightly. As Houston approached, he took the container from Timothee's grasp and opened it. Inside were three slots for vials, but only two were occupied.

"There were three... Where's the other?" Houston demanded, his voice stern.

Timothee coughed, his breathing labored. "Very close... to you..." he whispered, slowly raising his right hand toward Houston.

Houston's eyes widened in realization. He grabbed one of the vials, understanding the immense danger they posed. Without hesitation, he turned and threw the vial into the burning wreckage of the jeep, destroying two of the remaining vials of the Vocal virus in a small but significant explosion.

Timothee watched with a mix of pain and resignation. "You think... you can stop it... but it's already... begun..." he muttered, his voice weakening.

Houston's face hardened. "What do you mean? Where's the last vial?" he pressed, urgency in his tone.

Timothee let out a weak chuckle, blood bubbling at his lips. "Closer... than you think..." he whispered.

As Jefferson and Dean joined Houston by Timothee's side, the three listened as Timothee spoke, his voice weak but urgent.

"Kill me..." Timothee's plea hung in the air, his gaze fixed on the trio.

Jefferson, his anger palpable, moved Timothee's right arm with his foot, revealing two patches on the ground beneath him. One bore the insignia of Timothee's former squad, the Vipers, while the other displayed the emblem of the old Vermont Tankery Academy, the Dog's of War.

Houston's mind flashed back to the events leading up to this moment. He remembered the rivalry between Groton High, Lake Travis, and Thomas Jefferson three years ago, the fall of their schools, and the tragic loss of Jefferson's older brother, Timothee's connection to it all becoming clearer.

Timothee's desire for revenge against Houston was rooted in that history, fueled by the pain of loss and betrayal.

As Timothee's request hung in the air, Houston remained silent, grappling with the weight of the situation. But it was Jefferson who spoke first, his voice dripping with anger and disdain.

"Do it yourself, Vermont scum," Jefferson spat out the words, his emotions raw and unfiltered.

With those words, the trio turned and walked away, leaving Timothee behind. The echoes of their footsteps mixed with the crackling of flames, the scene a testament to the complexities of war and the lingering scars it leaves behind.

As Houston, Jefferson, Dean, and the others exited the old Dallas Arena, the memorial site for the thousands who had lost their lives during the infamous one versus three match against Vermont Tankery Academy three years prior, they were met with a solemn atmosphere. Shadow, the Lieutenant of their school, and Red, their captain, were there to reassure their comrades, their presence a comforting sight.

As Houston emerged, the Davy Crockett boys and girls, representing various units, made way for him, saluting as he passed by. It was a gesture of respect for their commander, who had led them through the intense battle against the P-1000.

Commander Muller and Commander Graham approached Houston, relieved to see him safe and unharmed. Together, they stood before a small statue depicting their poses during the Dallas Incident, labeled "The three Dallas Incident Heroes."

Taking a moment to reflect on their past selves immortalized in bronze, Houston felt a mixture of emotions wash over him. But his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy helicopters, lifting the broken parts of the P-1000 into the air. Doyal's decision to scrap the monstrous tank was a symbolic act, signaling the end of a dark chapter.

As they watched the dismantling of the P-1000, Jefferson's voice broke the silence, his words laden with reflection and melancholy.

"Anyone can give up the fight by laying down arms. But the feeling of holding a gun... that we'll never forget, like our lost limbs, the sensation lingers. We hold our rifles in missing hands, we stand tall on missing legs, we stride forward on the bones of our fallen... Then and only then are we truly alive. This pain you tried to fight is ours and no one else's... The secret weapon you destroyed is now out of sight. We will be stronger than ever, for our peace that we are currently fighting for... 'The P-1000 will unleash that thirst unto the future.' Those were the words Timothee said to you, boss... I gotta say, pretentious to the end... Still, it feels like this isn't over... And I fear that some of us will never be whole again."

Houston listened to Jefferson's words, the weight of their meaning sinking in. 

Meanwhile, in the Houston Manor, it shows Vince Houston, the father of Red and Don, after watching how his first son, Don, destroyed the P-1000 AI. Vince felt relief, still observing the news reporter team and camera crew attempting to question him as he turned off the TV.

Vince sighed until the door of the front manor opened and closed, and the person walking into the living room was Doyal Houston.

"Brother," Vince said.

"Brother..." Doyal replied.

As Vince walked towards his older brother, the two hugged for a short while until they broke apart, and Vince looked at his older brother.

"What made you come see me, Doyal?" Vince asked.

"It's about our family legacy... The Houston legacy... Remember how our father both wanted us to follow the dream that our great-grandfather, Sam Houston, had?" Doyal said.

Vince nodded in agreement with Doyal's sentiment about their great-grandfather's vision. "Sam Houston was a visionary. He dreamed of a better future for our family, one built on hard work, integrity, and resilience. He believed in the power of perseverance and the importance of standing up for what you believe in."

Doyal's expression softened as he reminisced about their grandfather. "And our grandfather, he carried on that legacy. He wanted us to continue the work that Sam started, to strive for greatness and leave a lasting impact on the world."

"Exactly," Vince replied, a sense of pride evident in his voice. "And now, seeing Don out there, fighting for what he believes in, it's like he's channeling that same spirit. He's forging his own path, but he's doing it with the same determination and passion that our ancestors had."

Doyal nodded thoughtfully. "Don's way may be different from ours, but that doesn't make it any less valid. He's a product of his time, just as we were products of ours."

As they continued their conversation, Doyal's tone grew more serious. "One day, the age of Don's children will arrive. They'll likely want to settle the score with him. We have to shape that age. And we will have roles to play in the future when it comes."

Vince understood the weight of Doyal's words. "You're right, Doyal. As stewards of the Houston legacy, it's our duty to guide the next generation, to ensure that they carry on our family's values and traditions. And together, we'll help shape the future of the Houston name."

Doyal's words hung in the air, carrying a weighty significance as he continued, "You know... Sooner or later there will be only one Boss... There's only room for one Houston. His children are fated to face their father someday too."

Vince nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of Doyal's observation. "It's the cycle of life, Doyal. Just as we looked up to our father, Don's children will look up to him. They'll inherit his legacy, for better or for worse."

"It's a legacy that carries both honor and burden," Doyal added, his expression reflecting a mixture of pride and concern. "And it's our responsibility to ensure that they're prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead."

Vince placed a reassuring hand on Doyal's shoulder. "We'll be there for them, just as our father was there for us. We'll guide them, support them, and help them navigate the complexities of being a Houston."

As a few days passed, the United States President gathered the America Tankery League officials and its owners for a small award ceremony in the Oval Office. People in the Oval Office were engaged in conversation when the door opened, revealing Don wearing the Davy Crockett Commander officer uniform with a dark green beret atop his head. As soon as he entered the room, many of the America Tankery League officials, including his aunt, watched and clapped their hands upon seeing Don.

Beside them were the Vice President, the Cabinet members, and various military officials, all joining in the applause as Don made his way up to the President of the United States. Don didn't say anything but gave a salute to him. As Don lowered his arm, the President reached for the medal from the side and spoke up, pinning the medal onto Don's right chest.

"You're above even the Emperor... I hereby award you the title of Big Boss," the President of the United States said, finishing pinning the medal to his chest. He spoke again, "You are a true patriot for your country," the President said.

As the President raised his hand to Don, he looked at the President's hand and began shaking it. Once they shook hands, many of the photographers began taking pictures of this moment as the people in the room began clapping their hands.

However, one of the military officers raised his hand, wanting to shake Don's hand, but Don politely refused. As the officer walked away, visibly shocked, he sighed, letting Don go. Then, an Army chief walked by the military officer and spoke.

"You know, we could use an infiltration unit like him in the Army... Someone like him to handle our top-secret sneaking missions for us... A man who combines the qualities of a soldier and an agent," the Army chief said to the military officer.

As Don was leaving, he looked at his aunt, giving her a small smile before walking away out of the Oval Office.

"At-ten-tion!!" Jefferson's voice boomed, commanding the attention of the Rangers, Tankers, Airborne, and Pilots. They snapped to attention, their gaze fixed on the podium as the sounds of reconstruction echoed in the background, signaling the efforts to rebuild Davy Crockett High School.

"Rangers and others! Even though we saved our school from closure at the demands of Groton High School, our brothers remain unavenged for those injured in the surprise attack that occurred a month ago. The phantom pain inflicted by our enemy lingers..." Jefferson's voice carried a weight of determination.

"However, those who seek to avenge the Emperor have infiltrated us, planting spies or parasites among us. Watch the man to your left and to your right. Assume nothing. Report everything. It's the only way to safeguard our way of Tankery and ourselves... From here on out," Jefferson continued, his words emphasizing the gravity of the situation.

"You will be my eyes... Our enemy is right here in our midst," Jefferson declared, removing his sunglasses to reveal his piercing light blue eyes to the assembled crowd. After a moment, he replaced his sunglasses and spoke again, his arms crossed firmly.

"And they will receive no mercy if they betray us," Jefferson concluded, his tone leaving no room for doubt about the consequences of disloyalty.

After Jefferson's speech, Don Houston made his way back to his tent camp to catch up on the reports he had missed. However, before he could enter, someone called out his name.

"Don...," Maho's voice rang out.

Turning at the sound of his name, Houston saw Maho approaching him. A smile spread across his face as they slowly walked toward each other and embraced. The reunion was filled with happiness, but Houston couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He noticed Maho trembling slightly and grew concerned.

"Maho, my love? What's wrong? Why are you shaking?" Houston asked, his voice laced with worry.

"Don... Something wonderful has happened to us... Don... I'm pregnant," Maho revealed, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

As Maho shared the news of her pregnancy, Don's initial concern melted away, replaced by overwhelming joy. He pulled her into a tight embrace, feeling an indescribable rush of emotions coursing through him.

"Maho, that's incredible!" Don exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "We're going to have a baby."

Maho smiled, her eyes shining with happiness and relief. "Yes, Don. A new chapter in our lives is beginning."

They stood there together for a moment, basking in the joy of their shared news. The prospect of becoming parents filled them both with a sense of wonder and excitement.

"We'll take care of each other, Maho," Don said, placing a gentle hand on her stomach where their child was growing. "And we'll raise our child with all the love and support we have to give."

As the scene unfolded at the nearby hospital, Timothee lay on his medical bed, his body wrapped in bandages and his legs encased in casts. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling of his hospital room, lost in thought.

Standing beside him were his classmates from Groton High School, their expressions reflecting concern and worry. One of his officers approached Timothee and addressed him in French, voicing the collective unease among their ranks.

"Sire... What shall we do... With our defeat against Davy Crockett, many of our comrades have lost heart and are considering quitting tankery. What should we do, sire?" the officer inquired.

Timothee remained silent for a moment, contemplating his response. With a heavy heart, he turned his head to gaze out of the window before replying in French, his tone tinged with sadness.

"There's nothing we can do..." Timothee's words hung in the air, a somber acknowledgment of the harsh reality they faced in the wake of their defeat.

https://youtu.be/7Sq6ookE6nA

A/N: WOOO!!!!! Finally the sequel is finished thank you all for sticking by I know this story was short but let just say some of the idea of having this story long was scrapped thank you all and I will se- Wait hold..... Huh? What do you mean there more?..... Oh.....Okay....

Coming up Next in the upcoming Chapters... In this story

"I won't scatter your sorrow in this heartless sea or grave.... I won't see you end as ashes," Houston's voice echoes, accompanied by the image of him and a group of former Vermont Tankery boys standing behind him, watching something burn in front of them. Jefferson walks alongside his commander, exchanging words.

The next scene unfolds with Houston at a funeral, holding a pot of ashes and rubbing them across his face, a gesture laden with significance. It transitions to Houston walking down a bloody hallway, the walls smeared with blood, hinting at the horrors he's witnessed.

Graham presents a captured spy to Houston, implicating them in the attack. Jefferson questions the spy's motives, hinting at a complex web of allegiances and betrayals.

A tense confrontation ensues between Red and the clone brother, George, as they face off with swords drawn, revealing deep-seated conflicts and familial tensions.

"I'll go alone," Houston declares, determined to confront a dangerous threat, but his vice commander intervenes, expressing concern for his safety.

"We can't afford to lose anyone else, Jefferson," Houston asserts, underscoring the high stakes of their mission.

The scenes intensify, showing Houston resorting to drastic measures, including lethal force and the sacrifice of loyal comrades. The imagery is visceral, capturing the anguish and turmoil of Houston's journey as he grapples with loss, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of justice.

It then showed a group of them being burned alive, their screams echoing in pain. Finally, it showed Houston on the floor of the bloody hallway, on his knees, screaming in sorrow.

To Be Continued..... On the next Chapter Arc......

...Peace...