Flipping through the pages of all the key players and Commanders of all Japanese schools, Houston sat in his school library, carefully studying their records from previous matches that the Sensha Do teams had faced. Just as he was about to turn to the next page, there was a knock on his table. He looked up to see the school librarian standing in front of him.

"Mister Houston, it's getting late. Aren't you supposed to be going home?" the school librarian asked.

"Huh? Oh... yeah, sorry," Houston replied, realizing that everyone else had already left, leaving him and the librarian alone.

Quickly gathering his things, he got up from his seat and left the library. As he walked to his bike, Houston put on his backpack and turned on his radio, playing "Don't Fear the Reaper" as he drove out of the school parking lot and headed home.

While driving, he sang along to the song, making his way through downtown Houston. When he stopped at a red light, he continued to rock his head back and forth, still wearing his biker helmet.

As the light turned green, he moved on, driving almost to the outskirts of the city. Approaching the mansion gate with the passcode panel in front, Houston leaned over to enter the code. He mumbled along with the song, "All our times have come, here but now they're gone..."

Accidentally, he entered the wrong passcode. "Damn it," he muttered, shaking his head. Concentrating, he mumbled the correct code under his breath while pressing it, "Come on, Houston, get it right... 5-4-3-2-1." Finally, the gate opened, and he drove through.

Finally reaching the driveway of the huge mansion where he lived, Houston turned off his bike, got off, and parked it. He walked inside, opened the large doors, and called out, "Aunt Dee, I'm home."

Hearing nothing in response, he checked the bulletin board near the front door and saw a small note from Aunt Dee saying she would be coming home late from work. Sighing, Houston realized he had the house to himself.

Walking out of the entranceway, he noticed four pieces of mail and picked them up. They were mostly bills and a couple of JC Penney coupons that would expire in two weeks, which Houston didn't really care about. As he was walking along, he felt hungry.

Heading to the kitchen, Houston opened the fridge and found a nicely cooked chicken that Aunt Dee had made. He grabbed some pieces of it and placed them on a plate. Walking to the microwave in the middle of the spacious kitchen, he placed the plate inside and set the timer.

"Damn it... No, not 20 minutes," he muttered as he pressed the clear button and reset the timer to 2 minutes. He waited for his food to heat up, relieved to finally get it right.

After heating up his food it then shows Houston eating his food alone in the dining room enjoying the cooked chicken that his aunt made 

Houston sat alone in the grand dining room, eating his dinner. The room was filled with silence, the only sound being the clinking of his fork against the plate. After finishing his meal, he cleared his place and moved on to his evening routine.

One of his favorite hobbies was watching romance videos. Settling down on the plush couch in the living room, he selected a romantic comedy and began to watch. He chuckled when the two main characters awkwardly confessed their love for each other, shaking his head at the screen. "You guys took forever," he laughed.

After watching a few episodes, he decided to check the weapons his family kept. Houston headed to the large, secured room where the weapons were stored. He selected a pistol and made his way to the shooting gallery in the backyard. The night was calm, the air cool and crisp.

Setting up the dummies, Houston took his position and aimed at the first target. He fired, hitting the dummy squarely in the head. "Gotcha," he muttered with a grin. He moved through each target with precision, his focus unwavering.

Switching to a rifle, he took aim at the farther targets. "Let's see if I still got it," he said to himself, firing and hitting the distant dummy right between the eyes. "Bullseye."

Next, he grabbed a shotgun, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. As he fired at the closer targets, he could feel the powerful recoil. "Boom! Headshot!" he shouted, a smile spreading across his face.

After cycling through every weapon, Houston stood back, admiring the accuracy of his shots. "Not bad, not bad at all," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. He cleaned and stored the weapons carefully, ensuring everything was in place.

Walking past the family pictures placed in the living room where the fireplace was on, Houston looked up at the portraits of his family lineage. It all started with Sam Houston, his great-great-great-grandfather, and continued through to his uncle and father. Finally, the last two portraits hanging on the wall were of him and his little brother, Red.

Seeing Red's picture there made Houston sad. His gaze shifted to the family picture where he was with his father, mother, and little brother. The photo displayed a mix of happiness and seriousness, a stark contrast to the pain he still felt. Despite the smiles in the picture, Houston remembered all the punishments he endured to live up to the family name. He could still feel the phantom pain from the times his father whipped him for small mistakes.

But the most painful memory was from three years ago. It wasn't a mistake. His father left him after the incident, still blaming Houston for his mother's death. When Red was gone, their mother cried so much and, later, took her own life, wanting to be with him, leaving Houston truly alone.

Houston lingered in front of the portraits, his eyes fixed on his mother's smiling face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fireplace. He could feel the weight of his family's legacy pressing down on him, the expectations, the disappointments, and the unbearable grief.

As Houston was staring at the family picture, lost in his thoughts, his family butler Brewster quietly approached him from behind. Suddenly, Brewster spoke up, "Master Houston—"

Startled, Houston instinctively spun around and delivered a swift roundhouse kick, knocking Brewster to the ground. Realizing what he had done, Houston quickly knelt beside the butler, who was sprawled on the floor, looking more surprised than hurt.

"Oh my god, Brewster, I'm so sorry!" Houston exclaimed, helping the older man to his feet. "Are you okay?"

Brewster chuckled, brushing himself off. "Quite alright, Master Houston. It seems I still need to work on my stealth skills," he said with a wink. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Houston shook his head, a sheepish smile on his face. "No, it's my fault. I was just lost in thought. What were you saying?"

"I noticed you were looking at your family picture," Brewster replied, his tone gentle. He glanced at the portraits, then back at Houston. "It's understandable if you're trying to avoid thinking about it."

Houston sighed, attempting to brush off the topic. "It's nothing, really. Just... memories."

Brewster nodded, understanding. "If you ever need to talk, Master Houston, you know where to find me."

Just then, the sound of the front door opening interrupted their conversation. Aunt Dee walked in, her presence filling the room with warmth. "Don, I'm home!" she called out.

"Aunt Dee!" Houston called back, feeling a wave of relief. He turned to Brewster. "Thanks, Brewster. I'll remember that."

Brewster smiled and gave a slight bow. "Very good, Master Houston. I'll go see if Miss Delia needs anything."

Houston watched Brewster leave, then walked over to greet his aunt. "How was your day, Aunt Dee?" he asked, trying to shift his thoughts to the present.

"It was long, but I'm glad to be home," Aunt Dee replied, giving him a hug. "How about you? How was your day?"

"Eventful," Houston said with a grin, thinking back to his unexpected martial arts moment. "But it's good to have you back."

Aunt Dee smiled warmly. "Good to be back, too. Let's sit down and catch up."

As they sat in the living room, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of family made Houston feel a little more at ease. Despite the heavy memories, moments like these reminded him that he wasn't alone.

"Hey, how's school, Don?" Aunt Dee asked, looking at her nephew.

"It's alright..." Houston replied, his voice trailing off.

"So, Don, I heard rumors that the schools in Japan are challenging the schools in the U.S. that have tankery. Mind explaining what's going on?" Aunt Dee raised an eyebrow, clearly curious.

"Yeah, that's a long story," Houston said, rubbing the back of his head.

"I have all the time, dear," Aunt Dee assured him with a smile.

Meanwhile, in the Nishizumi Manor...

Maho Nishizumi, Commander of the Kuromorimine Girls' Academy team, was sitting with her mother, Shiho, in a room adorned with a painting of a Mark V hanging on the sliding door behind them. Maho was engrossed in reading the profiles of the American Commanders, studying their last match stats and strategies. Each page revealed a different Commander, each unknown to her, and she pondered how the Americans selected their Major Commanders and Marshal Commander to represent the American Tanks League.

As she flipped to the next page, Shiho spoke up, placing her tea cup down on the table. "Maho, what do you think of the American teams so far?"

Maho paused, considering her response carefully. "They have a variety of tactics and strategies, Mother. Each Commander has a unique approach. It's clear they take tankery seriously, even if their methods differ from ours."

Shiho nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Do not underestimate them, Maho. Their unpredictability can be their greatest strength. We must be prepared for anything."

Maho nodded in agreement. "I understand, Mother. I'll continue studying their profiles and devise strategies to counter their tactics."

Shiho's gaze softened slightly as she looked at her daughter. "Remember, Maho, tankery is not just about winning. It's about discipline, honor, and the spirit of the warrior. Maintain our family's legacy and uphold the Nishizumi style."

"I will, Mother," Maho replied with determination.

Shiho took a sip of her tea, her eyes narrowing slightly as she set the cup down. "Maho, the way Americans approach tankery is a disgrace to our Sensha Do culture. They lack the discipline, honor, and tradition that we uphold. Their methods are unrefined, often relying on brute force and improvisation rather than strategy and technique."

Maho listened intently, absorbing her mother's words. "I understand, Mother. Their approach is very different from ours."

Shiho nodded, her expression stern. "That difference is what makes them dangerous. They are unpredictable and can be highly resourceful. We must be vigilant and study each of their Commanders thoroughly. Only by understanding their weaknesses can we ensure victory."

As Shiho rose to leave, she added, "Continue your study, Maho. Learn each American Commander's strengths and weaknesses. Do not let their unconventional methods catch you off guard."

"I will, Mother," Maho promised, bowing slightly as Shiho left the room.

Turning back to the stack of profiles, Maho flipped through the pages, studying each Commander carefully. She paused when she came across a particular profile: Commander Don Houston, S-Rank Commander of Davy Crockett High School. The profile detailed his impressive record and the undefeated status of his high school tankery team, as well as their recent second League tournament championship win.

Maho's eyes scanned the page, noting the key points:

Commander Don Houston

Rank: SSchool: Davy Crockett High SchoolTeam Status: UndefeatedRecent Achievement: Winner of the second League tournament championship

She studied his team's tactics, their formation during battles, and the strategies they employed. It was clear that Houston was a formidable opponent. His team was disciplined, precise, and highly effective in combat.

Maho's thoughts raced. "This Commander Houston... he's not like the others. His team shows a level of coordination and strategy that's rare among the American teams."

She continued reading, learning about his leadership style and the training regimen of his team. It was evident that Houston demanded the best from his teammates and pushed them to excel.

"This will be a challenge," Maho murmured to herself. "But we must be prepared. If we can understand his methods and anticipate his moves, we can find a way to counter them."

With renewed determination, Maho made notes and began devising strategies to counter Houston's team. She knew that defeating an undefeated team would not be easy, but with thorough preparation and the unwavering discipline of the Nishizumi style, she believed they could rise to the challenge.

A few days later, back in America...

Houston was sitting on his tank, cleaning the filter inside to get the oil off so it wouldn't cloud the filter. While he was busy with this task, his crew returned, and Grant was holding a folded piece of paper.

"Houston! Houston!" Grant called out, running to the M4A3E8 'Lone Star' Sherman tank.

"What? I'm busy!" Houston shouted from inside the tank.

"Houston, the turnout is here! They revealed what teams are going to face the girls in Japan!" Grant, his tank loader, spoke out excitedly.

As Grant yelled, many crews from different tanks began to gather around 'The Lone Star,' murmuring to one another. Houston climbed out of the tank, oil staining his clothes, and took the folded paper from Grant's hands, reading it to himself. As he read, he saw that the Federation of Japan had chosen five major schools—St. Gloriana, Saunders Girls High, Kuromorimine, Pravda, and Ooarai—as well as some minor schools to join them in this fight to keep Sensha Do sacred from the Americans.

Looking away from the paper, Houston saw his entire team looking at him expectantly. He sighed and spoke up, still holding the paper in his hand.

"So, who are the Japanese sending?" Dean, his third-in-command of the infantry Rangers team, asked.

"They are sending five major schools against us and some of their minor schools as well," Houston replied.

"Five major schools..." members of the M4A1 crew muttered to each other.

"Damn, those girls want to get rid of our sport," another crew member of an M18 tank commented.

"The girls must've selected their Marshal Commander already... I wonder who it's going to be?" mused the crew of an M26 tank as most everyone was talking among themselves. Dean cleared his throat, getting everyone's attention, and let the commander continue speaking.

"And the schools that will be facing them are... Kansas Chief High School, Washington Boys and Girls Academy, North High, Grand Lake High, and finally, the last major school will be us, Davy Crockett High," Houston read off from the paper.

The crews reacted with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "We're up against the best of the best," one of the tank commanders said, looking around at his teammates.

"We'll show them what we're made of," another added, his voice full of determination.

Hearing Houston's teammates cheering at the news, many pumped their fists, excited at the chance to face opponents from outside the States. This wasn't just for fun; it was about protecting their sport from being shut down by the Japanese girls. Houston settled everyone down and spoke up again, still reading from the paper.

"If you see your major or minor school has been selected in this match list, please report to your team hangar as you will be briefed by the American Tankery League official," Houston read.

As he said this, there was a knock on the hangar door. Houston looked at one of his teammates and motioned with his head, signaling for someone to open the door. One of the team members walked over and opened it, letting in the official, who walked towards the team holding a bundle of papers.

"The whole team is here, right?" the American Tankery League official asked, looking around.

"Yeah, we're all here," Houston answered, his arms crossed.

"Good, I can start the briefing..." The official cleared his throat. "Hello, Davy Crockett High School Tankery team. I'm here on behalf of the American Tank League to inform you that your team has been selected for a Conquest matchup against the schools in Japan. The Sensha Do Federation has scheduled a match against us, attempting to shut down our program permanently. But fear not; we have selected great major and high schools who were in the semi-finals and finals of our last second Tournament to defend our tankery program against the Federation teams.

"The wargame will be played on Oshima Island, an uninhabited island close to Japan. This will be a Conquest match. Both the Sensha Do Federation and the American Tankery League have set up control points for teams to capture. You all know how important these control points are. If all points are captured, the enemy can attack your main base. Our organization's base will be located in the city of Habuminato, while the Federation's primary base will be in Motomachi.

"The match will last one whole year. We've coordinated with each school board to give you all the year off for this match. It's complicated regarding your education, but we will sort that out. Regarding the tanks, if your tank becomes inoperable during the fighting, your team can recover or fix it, but it has to be in your territory first. Additionally, both teams can take prisoners of the opposing team. However, strict rules must be followed. If you are taken prisoner after a battle or if the opposing team surrenders, the captives must be fed and cared for. You can have the captives work on your tanks, set up fortifications, or help with maintenance.

"There are several towns and villages that, while not marked as control points, can still be controlled if one side captures them first. We understand that a year away from home can be rough, so those who wish to return home must stay on the island for at least two months before returning to your main bases, after which we can pick up those who want to return home. One last important thing: there will be no referees, teachers, or officials on the island during this match. This prevents anyone from giving you advice. You have to gather all the intelligence you need on your own. The only thing we will do is deliver supplies every month.

"Now, does anyone have any questions?" the American Tankery League official finished.

The room was silent for a moment as everyone processed the information. Houston finally raised his hand and spoke, "How do we communicate with our base for supplies and reinforcements if there are no officials on the island?"

The official nodded. "Good question. Each team will be equipped with a secure communication device that can only be used to contact your respective bases for supply requests and status updates. These devices are to be used strictly for logistical purposes. Any misuse will result in penalties."

Another team member, Jake, spoke up, "What about medical emergencies?"

"There will be a designated medical response team on standby, off-island, ready to respond to any serious injuries or medical emergencies. They can be called through the same secure communication device," the official replied.

No one hasn't raised their hands until one did as it was Houston who sitting on his tank. 

"Yeah I got a question...... The things you just said does it apply to the Federation girls as well?" Houston asked

 "Yes which they must have gone over before I started the briefing now if that's all the questions you boys will be leaving on the island on Friday that gives you two days to spend with your family before we depart..... Good Luck Gentlemen and too, you Commander Houston..." The Offical said 

Houston nods as the team watches the official leaves the hangar once he is out many of the boys start talking about the match and how awesome will it be to get out of school for one whole year. Houston who is still sitting on 'The Lone Star.' He then whistles getting the team's attention. 

 "Alright boys listen up since we have been briefed on what going to happen we need to start forming up is plans and strategies we will be using now, but first we need to take what we need like repair supplies, Ammo, Food, Water, etc. These girls will put up a fight against us, I know for it sure we may not experience it, but we will soon so don't get too cocky once we are on the island am I clear?" Houston spoke out to his team

"Yes sir!" the Davy Crockett boys said as they saluted Houston, who returned the salute.

"Good, you're all dismissed," Houston said.

Before Houston could step down from his tank, one of the Sherman crew members spoke up. "Wait, Houston, who will be our Marshal Commander?"

"That's for me and the other Commanders to figure out. Don't worry, I'll let you all know who it is," Houston said as he left the team hangar.

Timeskip: Houston's Home

Sitting in his room, Houston was on his laptop watching replays of the Sensha Do girls' finals of their 64th tournament. He observed how Ooarai High defeated their opponent, taking notes and analyzing their strategies. As he was engrossed in the film, he was interrupted by a video call from Commander Elijah.

"Of course, what does he want now?" Houston muttered as he put down his pencil and clicked to answer the call.

Answering the call, Houston turned on his video camera and saw Elijah on the screen.

"Elijah, any reason why you called me?" Houston asked, crossing his arms.

"Just something we all need to discuss with the others once they join us," Elijah replied.

"You invited them in here?" Houston asked.

Just as Houston said that, the Commander from North High joined the call, followed by Washington's Academy Commander, and finally Grand Lake High's Commander joined last. Seeing that they were all together, Houston addressed the young German-American North High Commander.

"Commander Muller, good to see you, my German friend," Houston smiled, happy to see Muller and Graham again.

"Ja, it is good to see you as well, Commander Houston," Muller spoke in German, also pleased to see his old friends.

"That's true. How are things over there in Washington and Louisiana, Commander Wesley and Commander Graham?" Houston asked.

"Things are fine here in Louisiana," Graham answered as he leaned back, running a hand through his Hollywood-styled hair.

"Same here for Washington," Wesley spoke in his English accent, taking a sip of his tea.

"Alright, glad to hear everyone is doing well," Houston said. "So, what's this all about, Elijah?"

Elijah leaned forward, his expression serious. "We've all been selected to face the best of the best from Japan. We need to discuss our strategy and, more importantly, decide on our Marshal Commander."

The group nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"I suggest we each bring forward a candidate and then vote on who would be the best to lead us," Wesley proposed.

"Agreed," Muller said. "We need someone who not only understands tactics but can inspire and unify our diverse teams."

 "Right, so, gentlemen, in order to choose our Marshal Commander, have we given the voting papers to our men?" Elijah asked, looking at his fellow commanders.

They all nodded as Wesley spoke up, pulling up the voting results.

"Well, I've got the results from my team, and they voted for Houston to be our Marshal Commander," Wesley said, holding his team's votes.

"Me?" Houston asked, a bit surprised.

"Yeah, same goes for me. You got 54% of the votes from my team, while the other 46% went to Muller," Graham said, also holding his voting cast.

"Huh? I didn't know I was being nominated as well. But anyways, the same goes for you, Houston. My team voted for you. Over 67% chose you while 33% went to Elijah," Muller said.

"Same for mine, so are we all in agreement on Houston being our Marshal Commander?" Elijah pointed out, holding his team vote.

"Wait, wait, now hold on for a moment... Why me? Why did your teams choose me and not you guys? I mean, you guys are better than me and all. I just don't understand why your teams chose me to lead them," Houston asked.

"Houston, you're one of the best commanders we've ever faced. In the Semi-Finals, remember our match? Your Sherman against my Tiger II. You took the risk with your men, knowing your tanks could be eliminated. As I cut down your tanks one by one, you were the last one left. We tried to flank each other until you bested me. My men and I knew you were someone who could take a risk, even when things looked bad," Muller answered.

"The same goes for me. Remember our Finals? You waited for me to make a mistake, then launched an attack on my unprepared forces. You took out half of my tanks, leaving my tank alive as we launched a counterattack. Thinking we had you, you still waited until I made another mistake, taking the last control point until your muddy tank ambushed me, causing me to lose the Finals," Elijah pointed out.

"Houston, you're the one who can lead us to a win in this match. So, what do you say?" Wesley said.

Houston thought about it for a moment, taking a deep breath. He looked at his computer camera. "Very well... I'll be our Marshal Commander," Houston answered with a small smile.

"It will be great to have you as my Kommandant des Marschalls (Marshal Commander)," Muller said.

"Washington Boys and Girls Academy is at your disposal, Houston," Wesley said, saluting through his camera.

"Same for mine. Grand Lake High is ready for your command," Graham said with a smile.

"You can count on me and my team to get it done," Elijah said.

As Elijah and Wesley left the call, it was only Graham, Muller, and Houston remaining. The three old friends began to reminisce.

"You know, it's been a while since we worked together ever since the incident," Graham said.

"Yeah, the Dallas Incident..." Houston said, still remembering how badly that match had gone three years ago, before the league was established.

"I still remember the battles we had there... It wasn't fun. We were all Vice Commanders at the time, and you, Houston, were our enemy. Before you were in Davy Crockett, you were the second most deadly vice commander of Vermont Tankery Academy. Until you betrayed your old school, killing your Dogs of War squad and burning your HQ, leaving Commander Anderson to burn there," Muller said.

"Yeah, I can still hear the echoes of him cursing at me as I left him to die. Even though 5,000 boys joined that match, I only managed to save 500 lives as 4,500 died. I still don't get why the old association didn't recheck the ammunition that we were given," Houston said, a somber tone in his voice.

"Either way, Houston, you saved us, and we became the Big Three Heroes of the Dallas Incident. During last year's memorial of it with the League, they named you the 'Hero of the Dallas Incident,'" Graham said.

Houston sighed, a mix of pride and regret in his expression. "It feels strange being called a hero when so many lives were lost. I did what I had to do, but the cost was immense."

"That's precisely why you were chosen to lead us," Muller said. "You understand the weight of command and the responsibility that comes with it. You've been through the worst and came out stronger."

Graham nodded in agreement. "We're about to face another intense challenge, but this time, we're united. We need that strength and resolve you showed back then."

Houston looked at his friends, feeling the weight of their trust. "Alright, let's focus on the task at hand. We need to prepare our teams, understand our opponents, and plan our strategies meticulously."

Meanwhile in Japan, at the Sensha-Do Federation meeting, the atmosphere was a mix of determination and excitement. The briefing had just concluded, and the students were rising from their seats, engaging in animated conversations. Confidence radiated from the groups, eager to take on the American teams. However, Miho Nishizumi stood slightly apart, a hint of conflict evident on her face. While she agreed with the goal of shutting down American Tankery, the prospect of spending a whole year on an island in a Sensha-Do match against the Americans was intimidating. More than that, she wondered if it was truly worth shutting down a sport enjoyed by both boys and girls.

"So, what do you think, Miporin?" Saori asked, snapping Miho out of her thoughts.

"Huh... Oh, I guess we should prepare. If you all are okay with what you're doing, that is," Miho replied, trying to muster enthusiasm.

"I'm going! This is going to be a crazy and awesome match against the Americans!" Yukari said, her voice brimming with excitement.

"No school for a year? I'm in," Mako added in her typically tired tone, though a hint of happiness crept in at the thought of a year without school.

"I can't imagine spending an entire year in tankery, fighting against the Americans," Hana said, her voice tinged with both curiosity and apprehension.

"Well, we're all set. We're going to war," Saori joked, her tone light but with an underlying seriousness.

Miho laughed a bit, thinking Saori's comment was silly, but deep down, she knew that this would be more like a war than just a match. The presentation and briefing had made it clear that every school present was preparing for a prolonged and intense confrontation. Her older sister Maho, who had been named the Marshal Commander for their team, exuded confidence and resolve, which inspired the other students but also added to the pressure Miho felt.

As the students dispersed to prepare, Miho's mind kept wandering back to the ethics of their mission. She approached her sister Maho, who was speaking with other commanders.

"Maho, can I talk to you for a moment?" Miho asked, her voice low.

Maho turned, her stern expression softening slightly at the sight of her younger sister. "Of course, Miho. What's on your mind?"

"It's just... this match against the Americans. I understand the objective, but... do you really think it's right to shut down their tankery program? So many students enjoy it, just like we do," Miho said, her voice tinged with concern.

Maho sighed, considering her sister's words. "Miho, the Sensha-Do Federation believes that American tankery lacks the discipline and respect that our tradition upholds. This match is as much about preserving our culture as it is about competition. However, I do understand your concerns. It's a complicated situation, but sometimes difficult decisions have to be made to protect what we value."

Miho nodded, still feeling uneasy but also somewhat reassured by her sister's words. "I guess we'll just have to do our best and see what happens."

"That's the spirit," Maho said, placing a hand on Miho's shoulder. "Remember, we're all in this together. Let's make sure we represent our schools and our tradition with honor."

With a renewed sense of purpose, Miho rejoined her friends, ready to prepare for the monumental task ahead. The year-long match against the American teams would be a test of their skills, resilience, and unity. She was determined to lead her team with the same dedication and spirit that had brought them victory before.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Washington D.C., at the American Tankery League Headquarters, a tense discussion was underway. The officials gathered in the conference room were debating the upcoming match against the Sensha-Do Federation, expressing various concerns and opinions.

"Do you believe what we're doing is right?" one official asked, his voice filled with doubt.

"Yeah, it's about protecting our tankery history. I mean, does the Federation know what the boys went through after the old Battle Reenactment Association? The Dallas Incident, for instance," another official responded, referencing the tragic event that had scarred many young tankery enthusiasts.

"Well, those boys who survived that incident knew what they were fighting for. Now, with the Federation threatening to shut down our program, we have no choice but to accept their challenge," a third official stated firmly.

"But still, I think this is wrong," a fourth official interjected, his voice tinged with unease.

"Wrong, you say?" a new voice spoke, causing everyone to turn and see who had joined the conversation. The person who spoke was Lieutenant Colonel Doyle Houston, the uncle of Don Houston.

"Lieutenant Colonel Houston," one of the officials called out, acknowledging his presence.

"Listen, I know your concerns about sending kids to this match, but let's be real here. This country has a history of sending children to war, like the Vietnam War. I was young, naive, and stupid joining the army back then. Even though I spent time fighting, I didn't know what I was fighting for until I got back home. I was happy with what I fought for when my wife, Delia, had my firstborn son. I still miss him to this day. God rest his soul," Doyle said, his voice heavy with emotion and conviction.

The room fell silent as the officials absorbed Doyle's words. His presence and experience commanded respect, and his personal story resonated deeply with them.

"Lieutenant Colonel, what do you suggest we do?" one of the officials finally asked.

"We need to support these boys and girls. They're not just fighting for a sport; they're fighting for a tradition, for their comrades, and for the future of tankery in America. We must ensure they have everything they need to succeed. Training, resources, and most importantly, our unwavering support," Doyle stated, his voice filled with determination.

One of the league officials, still standing near Doyle, cleared his throat and spoke up, drawing everyone's attention.

"Lieutenant Colonel Houston, we all know your nephew Don Houston is an exceptional tank commander, but some of us have concerns about his unconventional skills and methods," the official said cautiously.

Doyle raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Unconventional skills? What are you referring to?"

The official nodded to a technician at the back of the room, who quickly brought up a series of video clips on a large screen. "We've been reviewing some old training tapes and footage from various exercises. Take a look."

The screen flickered to life, displaying grainy but intense footage of a young Don Houston in action. The first clip showed him engaging in close-quarters combat (CQC) training. With fluid, precise movements, he threw an opponent to the ground effortlessly, then transitioned to disarming another. His speed and efficiency were impressive, and he demonstrated a clear mastery of hand-to-hand combat.

Another clip showed Don sneaking through dense underbrush during a field exercise. His movements were silent, almost ghost-like, as he approached a group of unsuspecting enemies. In a blur, he subdued the first guard, then quickly took out the next two with a combination of stealth and lethal efficiency. The remaining guards were disoriented and panicked, unable to react before Don had them all either incapacitated or held at knifepoint.

The most striking footage was from a training scenario where Don, despite being only eighteen at the time, took on a group of fully trained military personnel alone. Using a blend of stealth tactics and close-quarters combat, he systematically dismantled the entire group. At one point, he cornered an opponent, holding a knife to his throat with a calm but deadly precision, forcing the terrified man to spill vital information.

As the clips played, the room was silent, the officials watching with a mix of awe and apprehension.

Doyle smiled slightly, a hint of pride in his expression. "That's my nephew. He's always had a knack for this sort of thing. Adaptable, resourceful, and relentless. He's not just a tank commander; he's a warrior."

The head official turned to Doyle, concern etched on his face. "But Lieutenant Colonel, don't you think this level of aggression and these methods might be... controversial? Especially in a sporting context?"

Doyle shook his head. "War is war, whether it's fought with tanks on a battlefield or in a controlled environment like this. The Japanese girls are fierce and skilled. We need someone who can think outside the box, who can adapt and overcome. Don's skills give us an edge. He's a product of his experiences, and those experiences have made him into the leader we need right now."

The officials murmured among themselves, the tension in the room palpable. Finally, one of them spoke up, voicing what many were thinking. "We understand your point, Lieutenant Colonel. And you're right, we do need every advantage we can get. Don Houston's skills might just be what tips the balance in our favor."

Doyle nodded. "Exactly. Trust in his abilities. He's ready for this challenge, and he'll do whatever it takes to ensure we succeed."

The head official sighed, then straightened up, addressing the room. "Very well. Let's move forward with full confidence in our teams and our commanders. We have a lot of work ahead of us to prepare for this match."

Two days later, Houston stood in his Marshal Commander uniform, placing a goodbye letter on the nightstand in Aunt Dee's room. He gently kissed her forehead, then left the manor, saying his goodbye to Brewster before walking out the front door. He took a deep breath, wrapped a bandana around his forehead, placed a Ranger helmet over his head, and stowed his belongings on his bike. He drove off late into the night.

Aunt Dee, awakened by the closing of the front door, got up and went outside. Seeing that her nephew had left, she spoke softly, looking in the direction Houston had gone.

"Be careful," Aunt Dee said, gazing down the dark road.

Reaching his school's tankery yard at around five in the morning, still dark, Houston stood alone, holding his Airsoft Thompson and his bag. He had many thoughts racing through his mind. Placing down his duffle bag, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a habit both his uncle and aunt were unaware of. He selected one, placed it on his lip, and began smoking.

While enjoying his cigarette, he smiled slightly as he saw someone walking towards him. It was Dean, wearing his infantry Ranger uniform with his helmet on, followed by his Vice Commander, Jefferson, similarly attired.

Holding their duffle bags, Houston smiled at his command chain. As they stood in the middle of the tankery yard, a convoy of school buses pulled up next to them. Houston and Jefferson parted ways, heading to their tanks.

Many of the infantry team members quickly ran out of their barracks or dorms, fully geared up and clutching their airsoft weapons. The sound of their boots echoed as they quickly marched, forming lines to board the buses. Meanwhile, Houston and the other tankers climbed onto their tanks. Houston boarded his M4A3E8 'Lone Star,' and Jefferson got onto his Patton tank.

As the crew members settled into their respective positions, Houston called out to his men.

"Alright, listen up!" Houston shouted, his voice cutting through the early morning stillness. "This is not just another match. We're representing our country and defending our sport. I want everyone focused and ready."

Dean nodded, his expression serious. "We've trained for this. We're ready, Houston."

Jefferson, already inside his Patton tank, called out over the radio. "Remember, stick to your training and follow the plan. We'll come out on top."

As the last of the infantry boarded the buses, the convoy began to move. Houston took a final drag from his cigarette before crushing it under his boot. He climbed into his Sherman, adjusting his helmet and checking the controls.

"All units, prepare to move out," Houston ordered over the radio.

The sound of engines roared to life as the tanks followed the buses, heading towards the departure point. The convoy moved steadily, the weight of the mission heavy on everyone's minds.

Dean, sitting next to Houston, glanced over. "You ready for this, Commander?"

Houston took a deep breath, his eyes focused ahead. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's show them what we're made of."

The journey to the departure point was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the occasional radio chatter. As they arrived, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the assembled forces.

"Alright, men," Houston said, climbing out of his tank to address his team one last time before boarding the transport. "This is it. Stay sharp, stay together, and we'll make it through this. We fight not just for ourselves, but for every tanker back home. Dismissed."

The crew members saluted, determination etched on their faces. They boarded the transport, ready to face the challenge ahead.

As the transport began to move, Houston looked out the window, the familiar landscape of home fading away. His thoughts drifted to Aunt Dee and the life he was leaving behind, if only for a year. He silently promised to return victorious, to make them all proud.

"Here we go," Houston murmured to himself, steeling his resolve. "Let's win this."