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It's like when you get called the principal's office in elementary school. At first, everyone looks at you like you're some damned soul sentenced to hang by the neck for some terrible crime you committed. On the long walk down that hallway, your mind races for answers. You think about what the hell you could've done to merit this unpleasant invitation.

That's how I felt on my way to the Major's office. The whole base had heard the announcement, so I got compassionate looks from my comrades. They could tell that I was in deep shit. But, you always hope on your walk to that office that maybe you were being rewarded for something instead of being punished.

I approached the wing that held the chief officers' offices. Virgil's was all the way at the end, only giving me more time to imagine what kind of oblivion awaited my arrival. The golden plaque on the door read in menacing letters "Base Commander: Major Virgil". Virgil was his first name. The reason his last name wasn't listed was simple: No one knew it. He chose to keep it a secret for some strange reason. The Major had every right to privacy, but it was odd for someone to just not have a last name. Not that we ever needed to use it. We usually just called him 'sir'.

I reached the end of the hallway and I felt like I had just climbed a mountain. Summoning up the courage to enter, I grabbed the knob and turned. It was if I was unlocking an ancient crypt, that's how loud it was. The door swung open for me and I walked into the fore room. Virgil's secretary, the only female on our base, greeted me with a warm smile. The girl told me to go ahead into the office and wait. The Major was attending to some errands on the base and would be with me shortly. I did as I was told and went into Virgil's office.

It beat the shit out of mine, I'll tell you that much. His office was bigger than the president's for God's sake! Lush red carpets and satin curtains hung about, creating a very militaristic feel. The fireplace crackled softly and the small radio played "Deutschland über alles". An oak desk sat proudly in the back, covered with tiny flags and miniatures. On the walls hung pictures of the Major's idols: Herman Göring, Heinrich Himmler and, of course, Adolph Hitler.

His fetish for Nazi Socialism was really out of place: This is a democratic country, after all. I've heard him go on and on in meetings about how we need to be more like the Waffen SS and quote from Mein Kampf as if it were Scripture. He thinks that the Third Reich is still alive and kicking in South America and that the world would be a better place if we learned to be more like Hitler (a man who is believed to have been using narcotics and whose men tried to kill him before he finally committed suicide in a bunker in Berlin.) His obsession was further displayed by the miniatures on his desk, which I took time to examine.

There were models of a King Tiger Tank and a German Stuka Fighter Plane, both military machines used during the Second World War. Several books lay perched on his book shelf glouriously, as if they were the Ten Commandments. One of which was Mein Kampf, the other, Origin of Species.

You can learn a lot about someone from what they read and this led me to believe that Virgil was, indeed, a psychotic nutjob. Social Darwinism and Nazism go hand in hand. Wouldn't you believe it? Engraved on his desk is the poem "White Man's Burden". Still, the sadistic prick was my commander and superior, so I held my tongue throughout his shenanigans.

I took a seat and waited for the Major's return. But my curiosity got the best of me. I noticed that there was a framed photo on his desk. I picked it up and studied it for a few moments. At first I thought it was just a regular family portrait, but I noticed something was terribly frightening about this photograph.

There were two adults and two children. I could immediately recognize the adults as Virgil's parents. Same species, same distinct markings. Black wolf, white hair. The child who would grow up to be my commander stood next to a figure of equal height and weight, but it seems I would never find out who this third stranger was. His face had been ripped off, just a hole where the head of the second child should've been. Whoever that was, it was obvious Virgil did not want him to be known.

The young image of Virgil, however, was obvious. He stood there wearing an ROTC uniform and saluting. Not in the crisp hand-to-forehead manner, however. His salute was the Nazi salute, arm straight out, and angled at the sky. I was just about to put it down when I heard the door swing open.

I put the photo down quickly: quick enough where as I thought that it was obvious that I was looking at it. But as footsteps grew toward me, I could tell that my commander did not notice my prying.

I didn't turn around. I did stand up, however. I knew that Virgil had walked in and was standing about twenty feet behind me. Close enough. I snapped to attention and saluted; the invitation did not excuse me from showing my respect. I held my hand to my eyebrow for what seemed like eternity, until Virgil had circled around me and sat behind his desk. As he sat down, he muttered, "As you were."

I dropped my salute with great relief. He did not sound angry but that didn't mean we were friends just yet. He motioned for me to sit down and I did. Virgil, not looking or speaking to me, pulled a stack of papers out of his desk and placed them on the desktop. Then, he reached into another drawer and pulled out another box.

He opened it and produced a Cuban cigar. He put into the mini-guillotine cigar-cutter to take off the wrapping on one end. He looked me in the eye for the first time during our meeting. "Lieutenant! Good of you to make it so soon! I apologize for my tardiness! Here, have a smoke!"

His enthusiasm surprised me; I didn't expect him to be so cheerful. Nevertheless, I thanked him for the rare delicacy and he lit it for me. He also produced a small flask of scotch from the wet bar and poured a few fingers of it into a glass for me. I could tell that he was trying to build up to something big. He had just offered me a fine smoke and very well aged liquor, something was up.

"Lieutenant, I have something I need to ask you."

I knew it, here it comes.

"The Brass has been talking to me as of late about a promotion. With the recent sporadic uprising in the western part of the country, the bigwigs in the capital are short on manpower. They want the military to pick up the slack, putting our top officials in as politicians. The Brass wants me to be the head of Slave Labor Affairs. They're also asking that I appoint a few capable men with me to carry out camp inspections and such, but other than that, it's simply a desk job.

"My promotion to Lieutenant Colonel is just about here and I'll be moving off the base as of next month. So I guess the question is this: Feel like tagging along? There's a bigger paycheck for you and you don't need to stay in a barracks anymore, you'll have your own flat in the capital."

Whoa, he had laid it on thick. He was basically asking me if I wanted a better job. I admit I gave it some thought. I mean, I wanted to marry Rachel once my service ended in three years and we wouldn't want to be living in her Dad's place. Also, if we chose to have any offspring, we would need more money than an exotic dancer and a Lieutenant could provide.

On the other hand, it was a job that required a lot more dedication. Right now, all I did was watch people guard a gate. This job would mean working in the Capital Building and touring all the bases in the country for inspections. I didn't think that the decision was solely mine to make, so I planned to ask Rachel what she thought the next time I saw her.

"Sir, I am extremely grateful that you would consider me for such a proposition, but I will need to give it some thought."

Virgil, despite my expectations, didn't lose that smile. "By all means! I know that this was somewhat...sudden, so take as much time as you need to consider your options. I will need an answer by some time next month, however. So think fast!"

He laughed at his own joke. I chuckled out of politeness. "Well, just make sure you give it a lot of thought and come see me when you feel you've reached a decision. Now, go own, you're probably about to go into town with the recruits. Have a good time, future Major!"

I was kind of shocked; he had just told me that if I decided to go with him, I would be promoted to Major. I saluted crisply, trying to be professional despite the intimacy of our conversation. He dismissed me and I strode out that office quicker than a racehorse. It wasn't just the Major's creepiness that pushed me onward; it was my awaiting girlfriend that seemed to make my legs move faster.

I caught the halftrack into Maxim and walked to Rachel's house, planning on asking her if she thought that my promotion would help us save for the future. When I arrived at her house, I knocked on the door and expected her to come running, but she didn't. In fact, it wasn't her at all.

Her father looked at me through the screen door with steely eyes. I said "Hello, Mr. Axelridge, how are you today?" He didn't reply right away, which was fine. It must've been weird to realize that his daughter's love interest was furless. He stared me down, as if he were trying to knock me over with his stare. He didn't return my greeting; he just looked at my jacket. He spotted the gold bars on my jacket's epaulets. "Lieutenant? Well, at least my daughter has an eye for authority."

I was surprised. Most average citizens can't tell General from Sergeant. He opened the screen door and invited me to follow him into the living room. I did so, but remained standing; I was trying to prove to the old timer that I was a good egg. He offered me a drink, which I could tell was a test. "Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Axelridge, I don't start drinking so early in the day." This was a lie, but seeing as how he chuckled at it, I decided it was better than telling the truth.

"You know, back in my day, us green collars never refused a drink, but I'm glad my daughter's friend knows how to manage his alcohol."

That shocked me. Mr. Axelridge was a military man.

I asked, not to be impolite, but just out of curiosity, where Rachel was. I was careful not to mention "work", not wishing to break my promise. He told me that she was running some errands, details of which he did not specify. He instructed me to sit down on the couch, and I did.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at me as if I was his son. "Now, boy, let me tell you something. There is nothing more important to me than my daughter. I never had a son, but raising Rachel was more rewarding than I could ever have imagined. I was an infantryman in the army when she was born. I was wounded in battle, so she had to grow up without me ever being able to teach her how to ride a bike or bounce her on my knee. Rachel's mother, God rest her soul, put up with me despite my injury. But it made life hard on us. I just want you to know, before you rush headlong into anything serious, think of my daughter. For her sake, and the sake of any children you two may have together, cherish every single moment you have together.

"She's my only child, and all I want is for her to be happy. To be honest, I wasn't sure why she picked you, because there are a hell of a lot more renards than there are humans, I tell you that. But now I think I see it. There's a lot of...confidence in those eyes. Soldier or no, you've seen a lot. Am I right?"

I felt like Mr. Axelridge was talking to me as if I were the son he never had. The old man was right, though. I had been through some stuff I don't like to admit, but it makes me all the more grateful I have Rachel. To reassure the man, I said this:

"Mr. Axelridge, let me just say that I'm honored that you think I'm right for Rachel. I never had a family of my own, so Rachel is all that more important to me. I know it's only been a week since I met her, but I can tell that your daughter is a very special girl. She means everything to me. I plan on taking good care of her."

As if on cue, the door swung open with a whine. Rachel, my beautiful buxom babe, came striding in with a bagful of groceries under her arm. She quickly set them down and scrambled over to me.

"Keith! It's so good to see you!" she finished her sentence by giving me a peck on the cheek, getting her lipstick on my face. She was the affectionate one, alright. Her father cleared his throat with an exaggerated vigor, as if to say, "Okay, that's enough." I'm sure that he didn't want me putting my hands on his daughter while we were in front of him.

"Hi, Daddy. Good to see that you met, Keith." She gave him a kiss on the cheek too. It surprised me at how much she loved her father. Then again, I had never really known my father, so it seemed wrong of me to judge. "I'll put dinner on," I heard her say.

I heard my stomach growl; I had skipped the evening meal at base to come see Rachel. Mr. Axelridge caught the look on my face and laughed, "Whatsa matter? They don't feed you good in the army anymore?"

"I'm willing to bet that your daughter can cook better than any chef in the service, Mr. Axelridge."

Rachel, who was tending to a put of boiling water, beamed at me. I'm sure she appreciated the compliment. I gave her a wild look, trying eagerly to show her how much I loved her. Here's hoping that she'd love me back.

"Oh! I forgot to mention, I'm getting promoted!" I said, eager to share my success.

Rachel whirled, totally forgetting about the pot. "That's great, honey!"

I elaborated on my success, "Yeah, I'm going to be getting my own apartment in the capital and a bigger salary to boot. The Major wants me to become a military representative with him."

Rachel came over to me and gave me another kiss, this time on the lips. It felt so good to be the object of her affections. I relished every second of that kiss. Mr. Axelridge, unfortunately, had seen enough.

"What Major?"

"Virgil" I said. For once in my life, I was proud of my commanding officer.

Mr. Axelridge froze but said nothing. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but then Rachel asked me to set the table for dinner. I let Mr. Axelridge sit there, leaving him to his thoughts.

To be concluded...