"Commander, naked is precisely what you are in that uniform!" Jefferson chimed in, unable to contain his amusement.

With his injuries on the mend, Jefferson still sported bandages as he stood alongside Houston. Clad only in pants, he held a clipboard and reviewed the camo index with a serious expression.

"These pants are the same as the jungle fatigues, obviously. But since you're flaunting more skin than a beach vacation, your camo defense index is plummeting faster than a lead balloon. On the plus side, you'll break speed records running in that getup," Jefferson explained with a wry grin.

"Oh, absolutely! A fine opportunity to display those bulging muscles, Commander," Houston chimed in, flexing playfully.

"Hey, Commander, rumor has it you reclaimed your old codename because of a daring shirtless escapade. Any truth to that?" Jefferson asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Don't swallow every tall tale, Jefferson. The reason they called me 'Naked' is because I once jumped into action without gear or provisions. I had to scrounge up everything on the fly," Houston clarified.

"Wait, are you telling me you swooped in for a rescue mission without a pair of pants?! From a plane, 3000 feet above? Sweet Jesus, sir, no wonder they call you the Marshal Commander," Jefferson burst out, barely holding back his laughter.

"You're really giving me a hard time, aren't you, Jefferson?" Houston sighed with a shake of his head.

"Just a tad... alright, maybe a little more than that," Jefferson admitted, his smirk still firmly in place.

"Absolutely hilarious," Houston deadpanned, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Commander at least you have the balls to do it expect The Commanders back in the states like Uncle Sam, Edison High, Montana Tankery, and Virgina Academy I bet they don't have the ball to do it." Jefferson said it with a cocky tone

Meanwhile in King Discord Tankery end story.

"Huh..... I feel like been insulted......" Edward spoke feeling someone just insulted him and the other Commanders

Back to the story

In the charming city of Pottsboro, the atmosphere was pleasant, with two Texas Rangers performing their duties as if they were military police, ensuring safety and harmony. The camaraderie between the boys and girls seemed to be thriving. The scene transitioned to a bustling mess hall, where a diverse group of people had congregated, enjoying meals skillfully prepared by the cooking staff on this rainy day.

As the majority of the students sought shelter indoors, a different sight unfolded on the sandy shores of the beach. A cluster of boys engaged in training, their bodies executing takedowns with the finesse and technique that Commander Houston was known for. This time, their partners were each other, simulating combat moves in an effort to improve. Overseeing this spirited practice were Commander Muller and Graham, their watchful eyes observing the training unfold.

Meanwhile, Houston stood tall, his school commander uniform still impeccably worn despite the active surroundings. Amidst the vigorous activities, a young lad from Davy Crockett High spotted Houston striding towards them. Eager and enthusiastic, he dashed over to his respected Commander.

"Hey boss you wanna have a Sparring match with me?" The trainee asked as he saluted to Houston.

. "Alright then, let's see what you're made of," Houston responded with a confident nod, positioning himself for the bout.

As the group gathered around, curious and eager, the sparring match began. Houston showcased his prowess in hand-to-hand combat, his movements calculated and swift. The trainee attempted to land hits on Houston, displaying determination and grit. However, Houston's skillful defense deflected and parried the strikes effortlessly, leaving the trainee off-balance.

Undeterred, the trainee's resolve shone through. He regained his footing after each knockdown, refusing to concede defeat. The exchange continued, with Houston's technique proving to be a considerable challenge for the trainee to overcome.

But the trainee's determination burned bright. Despite the odds, he persisted, his spirit unwavering. Houston maintained his dominant stance, executing takedowns and counters with finesse. It was a testament to his experience and expertise.

Finally, after a sequence of calculated moves, Houston seized an opportunity. Swiftly grabbing the trainee's right arm, he executed a flawless maneuver that culminated in a skillful toss, causing the trainee to tap out. As the trainee rose from the ground, still visibly fatigued, he stood in front of Houston, offering a salute.

"Thank you, Boss," the trainee uttered, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude in his voice. The exchange had not only been a demonstration of combat skills but also a lesson in resilience and the camaraderie forged between a commander and his trainees.

"Nice effort, kid. Keep honing those close-quarters combat skills. They won't do much against tanks, but if you ever come across a Federation gal looking for a little hand-to-hand action, this training might just give you the upper hand. Keep pushing," Houston remarked, his tone a blend of guidance and camaraderie.

As his words sank in, Houston signaled the conclusion of the training session. With a nod, the trainees dispersed, their steps a mix of fatigue and determination.

"You heard the Marshal Commander. That's a wrap, folks. Dismissed," Muller added, his voice carrying the weight of authority as the trainees absorbed the instruction and began to disband.

"Commander Don "Houston" turned upon hearing his name, his attention drawn to Maho who had called out to him.

"Houston... Commander Houston... C'mon, Maho..." he replied with a faint chuckle, striding toward her.

In the next moment, the scene shifted to the command room where Houston and Maho convened for a debriefing. Just as Houston was about to light a cigarette from his concealed pack, Maho swiftly plucked it from his lips, giving him a stern look. Despite Houston's minor protest, the two delved into the business at hand.

Their collaboration was seamless, a result of countless missions and shared responsibilities. Together, Houston and Maho orchestrated their efforts not only in opposition to the Federation but in tandem with their combined forces. The dual leadership of the League and Federation Marshal Commanders had become a harmonious arrangement, the Major's Commanders concurring on its effectiveness.

"My Rangers reported that they've taken out a small Federation tank patrol in the southeast sector. They're attempting to breach our lines for reconnaissance. Additionally, Elijah's scouting team has identified a Federation unit near our supply drop-off. Can't let them control our supplies," Houston reported.

Maho inquired, "Which units should we deploy then?"

Houston responded decisively, "My boys and I will handle this. Besides, it's about time the 'Lone Stars' got some exercise."

Maho proposed, "How about Commander Welsey accompanies you? He's been itching for some action, and you know how challenging it can be to contain him and his Scottish Commando unit."

"Fair enough. They'll come along," Houston agreed, his patience tested slightly as Maho continued to address him formally.

"And just so you know, you've asked me to call you Houston a total of thirty-one times," Maho grinned, and Houston sighed while massaging his forehead.

"Right... How's morale holding up?" Houston inquired.

"Steady for now, but there have been instances of odd looks exchanged among the troops. Some staring, some blushing... seems like there's an undercurrent of tension building," Maho revealed.

Houston's realization dawned, and he facepalmed, "Ah, got it... we'll address that later."

"For now, it's all about securing the city we're stationed in. Guard duty takes priority," Maho instructed.

"Commander Muller should be up next for guard duty since Welsey already had his shift last week," Houston suggested.

After their meeting concluded, the scene transitioned to Houston's crew making their way toward the mess hall, sans Scott. As Tory, Grant, and Machine conversed, searching for Scott's whereabouts, they encountered Kay, the Major Commander of Saunders from Japan.

"Hey, guys. Mind if I join you?" Kay asked, inserting herself into their conversation.

"Sure thing, Kay. We're headed to the mess hall for some food and to track down our Gunner, Scott," Graham responded.

"So tell me, boys, before you guys took the city of Sweskia Scott your guy's gunner shot at Naomi's tank nearly making it disable?" Kay asked

"Yeah, Scott is like our seasoned gunner, much like Houston who's a pro at leading us," Grant responded.

Kay nodded in understanding, "I get it."

The conversation then shifted, and Tory chimed in, "Speaking of Naomi, have any of you seen her? Scott's been acting pretty mysterious, always wanting to talk to her ever since we joined forces."

Kay replied, "I haven't spotted Naomi recently. She's been quite distant, especially after your tank accidentally hit her. It seems like she's keeping to herself."

"True, Scott might be an ace gunner, but he's definitely not a chatterbox. We asked him once how he got so good at it, and he barely uttered a word. He's more on the quiet side. I have no idea how Commander Houston manages to tolerate him," Machine added.

As they continued discussing their friends' whereabouts, a noise caught their attention from a janitor's closet. With cautious steps, they approached the closet, hearing movement within. Grant slowly opened the door, and his eyes widened in amusement.

Inside, they found Scott sitting on a foldable chair, his jacket and shirt discarded on the floor. He was wearing just his pants. But what really caught their attention was Naomi, her jacket off and her shirt unbuttoned, revealing her bra. The two of them were fully engrossed in a passionate kiss, lost in their own world.

Suppressing laughter, Grant pulled out his phone, while Kay, Tory, and Machine observed the scene. They watched in astonishment as Scott and Naomi continued their amorous exchange, blissfully unaware of their audience.

Grant managed to take a picture with the flash on, capturing the moment perfectly.

A short while later...

"Hey, man," one of the Texas Rangers stationed nearby started a conversation with his buddy.

"Yeah?" his friend responded.

"Who do you think's gonna make it to the Super Bowl this year in the NFL?" the first Texas Ranger asked.

"I don't know, the Cowboys maybe?" his friend replied.

"Yeah, that's my guess, t-" Before they could continue, their conversation was cut short by an ear-piercing scream.

"AHH!! AH!!!" Grant's voice echoed through the air as he sprinted for dear life, with Scott hot on his heels.

"DELETE IT!!!" Scott's voice boomed as he chased after Grant.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

(What inspired me of writing that ending)

A/n so apparently King Discord started reading this story which I have to say I'm happy that he enjoys I didn't not totally picture that he would do this to me

Also Short Chapter for now That's all I have to say and hopefully I see you all later..

-Tom out

Meanwhile

The phone rang, and an unidentified individual answered the call.

"Yes, sir... The three Commanders who survived the Dallas incident have arrived... The Vector? Indeed, they still hold the belief that the Federation girls smuggled live ammunition onto the island... No, sir, they are unaware of my presence... Houston is in for a surprise when he sees me again, along with the old comrades he fought alongside... Yes, some of the ATL officials may recognize us, but we will ensure their silence... Commander Chiaki may think herself inferior, but she will soon discover that we are the ones everyone on the island will come to fear... Yes, sir... I will convey your message to them."

As the conversation wrapped up, the mysterious individual respectfully addressed someone on the other end:

"Mr. Director."

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]