Girl und Panzer: The Yankee's in Tank

Chapter 32

Silent Corba Part 3

Flashback to the Dallas Incident:

The scene unfolds with two M4A3E8 Shermans disabled, their metal husks sitting helplessly on the battlefield. Houston kneels amidst the chaos, blood trickling down his forehead, gasping for breath, and trying to orient himself in the midst of a treacherous minefield.

"Where am I?" Houston whispered to himself, confusion etched on his face.

A shadowy figure loomed nearby, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Houston as he spoke in a cold, calculated tone. "The perfect ring for our final battle, traitor... It's been a while, Houston. Here we are, old friend, facing each other amidst this minefield. I wish it didn't have to come to this, Don. But you know how Commander Anderson views traitors, especially after you betrayed our Tankery Academy and our squad, leaving me and Anderson as the last survivors."

Houston, his voice tinged with remorse, tried to explain his actions. "The reason I did it is that Red was right... My younger brother hesitated when faced with taking the lives of kids the same age as us. We could've chosen to forfeit this game, to prevent any bloodshed. I don't care about winning, and I don't care about our school being number one in the state. Floyd, you have to understand what the Association is doing to us. They're forcing us into this, forcing us to kill each other. Please, don't make me go through with this."

Floyd's expression remained hardened, but there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I wish I could walk away like you and Red did, but I can't. My duty is clear—to eliminate you and protect our school. It's my mission. Now, I'll show you why they call me the 'Silent Cobra.'" Floyd raised his fist, assuming a fighting stance that indicated their inevitable confrontation. 

Houston rose to his feet, his body tense but his eyes filled with regret. He knew that facing Floyd in battle was now unavoidable, a cruel twist of fate that had them pitted against each other.

As the wind rustled through the grassy field, Houston and Floyd locked eyes, their shared history of friendship and camaraderie weighing heavily on their shoulders. The distant echoes of explosions from the disabled Shermans served as a stark reminder of the violent path they were on.

Floyd, still in his combat stance, made the first move. His nickname, the "Silent Cobra," wasn't given without reason. He was swift and silent, moving with precision and agility as he closed the distance between them. Houston, forced to defend himself, braced for the oncoming assault.

Their battle was a dance of skill and strategy, a clash of emotions that ran deep. Each punch and block was an expression of their conflicting loyalties and the choices they had made. The ground beneath them was littered with the memories of their shared past, and each step was a step further into the unknown.

As their fists collided, the sound of their struggle mingled with the echoes of distant explosions. Houston fought not only for his survival but also for a chance to make Floyd understand the harsh reality they were both trapped in. He yearned for their friendship to bridge the gap between them once more.

Floyd, in his pursuit of duty, sought to bring an end to this tragic confrontation, even if it meant defeating his old friend. But deep within him, the doubts lingered, the nagging feeling that the Association's demands were tearing them apart.

Their battle raged on, the two friends locked in a bitter struggle, and the outcome uncertain. The minefield surrounding them served as a metaphor for the treacherous terrain of their lives, filled with hidden dangers and painful choices. Whether they would find a way to reconcile their past and present, or if they were destined to be casualties of a merciless system, remained to be seen.