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Like Son Part 2

Week 116, Day 6 - 1000

Miles' ceremonial uniform was at its largest already, yet it clung onto him tightly. Despite being a tight fit, it hid his muscles well. Could be the scarlet fabric that blended well with its accents of gold buttons, and white belt matched along with his white gloves. The midnight-blue pants with its red accent stripe definitely put the outfit together; yet the blue puggaree on a Wolsely helmet, with its golden tip, was overkill. Even his ceremonial sword was more modest, and it was included for the sake of the procession. And there were leather shoes too, because what is a formal ceremony without them after all.

Miles kept tugging on the bottoms of his ceremonial tunic, "I think I gained muscles in the last three weeks, man." He said to Adrian who had been busy making sure his helmet was strapped down around his chin.

"For the last time Milesman, you weren't supposed to wash them." He commented, making sure that Miles' chin strap was tight too.

"Yeah yeah, put them in the dryer," he answered. "Thanks, too."

"Windy day today, yeah?" Adrian's words had apparently summoned a gentle howling breeze over them.

"Say," Miles copied his friend's deeper tone. "'Still day today. Not going to rain, but it's not too hot either,' when the marksman training starts. How do you do that anyways?"

"I always keep up with the news, Miles." he fished out his phone which displayed this week's weather report. It read that the next few days of Autumn will be nothing but windy with no chance of rain. That would come next week, or so they predicted.

"I'd rather believe you control the weather." Miles moved his arm around and twisted his body; it wasn't as restrictive anymore, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Hah," he then kept his phone again. Adrian looked off to the long row of bleachers piling up with civilians in thin winter clothing. "Alright then Milesman. Find some of our fellow ex-cadets in the bleachers. One hundred and fifty feet away."

"Like Sierra, and Joseph?" Miles darted his eyes at the audience, for them. There were plenty of canines among them as most of the graduates were too. Some of the outliers were a few leopards, among them could be Christy's parents.

"Well Sierra yes, but Joseph maybe not." Adrian leaned forward and analyzed beside him too with narrowed eyes. He rested his hand on the wolf's shoulder. "That otter's been so busy with road maintenance, y'know."

Then Miles saw familiar faces, "Oh, I see them!" he waved off to the horse and otter sitting at the top left of the right bench. They were closer to the officer's podium. He saw Joseph, who noticed them, nudging Sierra and pointed at them. They waved back in return.

"Good eye Milesman." Adrian chuckled and waved at them too.

Being called that would never get old, especially that his father called him that too on private occasions. Besides that, he would want the company leader to greet her friends. Miles turned to his left. He saw Christy twenty feet afar adjusting her belt, and she also made sure her ceremonial sword was clipped into its sheath. "Yo Christy! Sierra and Joe are on the right bleacher, top left." He pointed at them.

Christy broke formation and joined besides Adrian, "I'll be damned. It is them!" she waved, and Sierra waved back with both arms. Afterwards the horse had made a heart gesture with her hands, and the leopard replied in kind. "Besties." she whispered.

"What's going on here?" A gruff voice approached from behind them, and a prickly muzzle rested on Adrian's hand still held onto Miles. "Who are those two?"

Miles couldn't help but boop the bearded dragon's snoot. In return, he stuck his tongue out. Then Miles explained. "Our old friends who excelled outside the academy." It was a sad thought when a third of their platoon didn't make it two years ago. Christy was passive-aggressive to him for some months. But when a different platoon, with less members, integrated with them then her tone changed.

"That's right." Christy then sighed. "Sorry about giving you the cold shoulder."

"I already said it's fine." Miles crossed his arms, turning towards them. He glanced at Adrian. "Plus it was his advice after all." Inclined his head towards the other canine.

"That's my Adrian alright!" The bearded dragon cheered, arm clung around him. "Wise as he is sharp."

"Oh stop it you." The German Shepherd patted his back. "Miles is sharper than me anyways."

The bronze-scaled bearded dragon was Joel Ezekiel from Platoon 4 following its dissolution. He had a very optimistic attitude when their fragmented platoons needed it most. Occasionally talking to Christy and his own fellow cadets with a meditative gruffed voice, Joel became the heart of Platoon 1. So much so that the once timid Adrian became more talkative during off-duty.

"Yeah but I love you," he said. "Which makes you the sharpest of the two."

"You guys are adorable together," Miles gently jabbed Adrian's other arm.

"Okay guys, brass is here," Christy hurriedly went back into her position. "Back in formation."

And their platoon reorganized themselves. They went back to their positions, with Adrian and Miles behind Joel. And all platoons were behind Christy's lead company squad that bore their flags: the Canadian flag and the Royal Canadian Rifleman Infantry. The latter's flag was two rifles tilted against the other, securing the base of Canada's red maple leaf; it had a wreath beneath it, with a marble plaque embedded into the leaves which read in capital letters: 'Pietas, Servitio, Fides et Veritas'. Latin for 'Compassion, Service, Loyalty, and Truth'.

The civilian chatter had softened as the prestigious officers took their place on the podium. At the center of them all was the General, a male mustang whose army decorations were very colorful and plentiful. He even had an aiguillette strapped around her right shoulder. Despite his higher rank, he was the least imposing of all the staff. A sincere smile that went from cheek to cheek, and glowing eyes that expressed gratitude towards their hard work and sacrifice for Canada.

Miles then searched for his father who stood two officers from the General's left. Compared to his own uniform, his father was dark green, with gold accents. His old man was decorated with medals too, and the beret that matched the outfit sold the sophistication of his position. The other captains with him had the same outfit, with less medals. And the lieutenants wore navy blue, and were even less decorated.

The young aspiring soldier-to-be saw himself initially in the shoes of the lieutenants, then eventually be like his father. Similar to starting his training, however, he had no aspirations to lead the entire thing, and would not see himself as a general. Christy on the other hand though, she could lead them. Maybe Adrian would be captain too, but Joel would definitely work as a Major.

It sounded and looked cool; their current ensemble of Canada's next guardians who would also lead the next generation of soldiers. Quite a colorful thought, added his country's flag waving behind them.

There was excitement building up as the General had organized his sheet of papers. The speakers behind and under the podium reverbed with life, echoed the sound of shuffling papers and even the subtle 'ahem'. The procession was about to start.

"Good day, future soldiers of the Royal Canadian Rifleman Infantry. I am General Harding, Supreme Commander of the Canadian Army." He proclaimed in a very energetic tone. The audience erupted in a cheer, and Miles and his fellow cadets couldn't help but smile. A tear shed down his eye, and his marksman eyes would see his father shedding one too, followed by an approving nod. He went on. "Today is a glorious day as we celebrate the completion of your becoming. For the last two years, all of you have endured the training regimen, undertook bachelor's degrees, specialize in certain fields within the military career, and upheld the morals and values of the Canadian army." His head swiveled side to side. "I am honored to stand in front of these brave men and women today." Followed by another long round of applause.

Miles felt he deserved all this praise. Ever since his youth, back when he and his dad had a picnic all those years ago where he declared his becoming a soldier. All those school nights going to the gym, and those summers training in the dirt had paid off. He definitely felt his father's pride, with his eyes catching the old wolf nudging the officers beside him, and pointed in his direction. His lips were praising him as those officers looked, and nodded him with great approval. Miles then wondered if he would be working with them in the marksman unit.

"It is, without a doubt, that Canada will be safe in the hands and hearts of these future soldiers," the General went on. "And that they will also lend in the effort to combat the darkness of terrorism, anarchy, and inhumanity."

Miles thought those words were somewhat overdoing it, but it did make dramatic flair. Couldn't help but feel giddy seeing himself in Canadian camouflage; a shade of green and dark green DDPAT. Taking down terrorists or safeguarding peace with a loaded rifle, and from afar with his ambition for sharpshooting to be realized soon enough.

"God bless these brave men and women," the General said in closing, followed by more cheers "May the procession begin." And he stepped back. Everyone waited for their signal to stand firm, as they did in rehearsal.

Miles tried his best to suppress the smile as it was his father who would give the orders to the entire company, with all the marching and inspection of their uniform. Their was a melancholic thought for that moment, seeing his father stand behind the podium. I bet mom had a great seat from above. God bless her.

Captain Dexter greeted as he took the podium "Good morning, cadets!"

"Good morning sir!" The entire company answered in perfect sync.

"I would like to say thanks to each and everyone of you who have," And his father shed another tear. "I have witnessed your evolution from regular citizens to the Defenders of Canada, to echo off General Harding." He turned to him and nodded, and the General gave him a thumbs up.

Captain Dexter went on, "I have also witnessed among the company, several specialist nominees who will continue their training soon enough. Step forth when you are called. Starting with the Artillery. Lima..." And so began the formal role call. It was amazing to witness several cadets step up for what they were good for, Miles thought. There were: Artillery, Anti-Terrorism, Combat Engineering, even Logistics, and it went on.

Then it was his turn "Now for Marksman. My son, Miles Fennix, please step forward."

And Miles stepped forward with a metaphorical spotlight on him. He took a deep breath and saluted the officers, the crowd, and most of all his father.

The young wolf kept his posture as Captain Dexter continued, "Adrian Ollson, please step forward."

Then Adrian aligned himself to Miles, with the tip of his shoes to his heels. Followed with a salute, then both aspiring canines said "Sir," with stern but proud faces.

Captain Fennix gladly saluted back, smiling that Miles knew his father had acknowledged him as an official soldier. "Proud of you, son." he whispered, enough for the microphone to pick up. The crowd behind him applauded, and were amazed at this parental feat. Then both young soldiers stepped back, and the role call went on to the Shock Specialist.

And finally, moments after. "Company Salute." Christy gracefully raised her sword, and pointed forward towards the podium. In synchronization, with the same amount of grace, the entire company took a step forward and saluted the brass with firm arms while the flag bearers tilted the flags downward. The prestigious Canadian flag, and Company flag waved towards them. "R.C.R.I. Company, reporting for duty, sir!" they declared in unison.

Miles' heart beat fast with excitement as he watched the brass acknowledge them with a salute. The crowd gave them a standing ovation, and even those who didn't make the cut gave a military salute. And after the cheering had died down, the officers and General put their arms down then the soldiers followed suit with a step back into formation.

"We will now inspect our fellow soldiers." Captain Fennix said, as the other officials, and those of higher rank stepped down from the podium. He joined them and went to the company squad.

Miles couldn't help but glance at their inspection now and then. He would see the General and the officers speak with Christy. They congratulated her, and the flag bearers and ceremonial escorts too. They shook their hands and saluted the other. And after a quick conversation of who knows what, the Brass then made their way to their platoon.

"Platoon One," General Harding greeted, "At ease, all of you." And everyone relaxed their shoulders then saluted the General out of courtesy. The General and his retinue saluted back. He then approached Miles first with an extended hand to shake. "Corporal Fennix, I've heard great things about you."

"Sir, thank you, sir!' Miles reaffirmed his stance, stretched his arms forward and shook the General's hand. His father approached from his side and patted his shoulder.

Captain Fennix spoke greatly, "My son here is the real deal. Already has the soldier in him," he gently smacked his arm. "I bet he takes it after me."

"Yes, and I was hesitant at first to have you train him," General Harding revealed, "To think that a father would even marginally go easy on his child ended up giving him the harsh experience of a lifetime. You will be overseeing future training out of combat, Captain Fennix."

Miles watched his father stand firm and salute the General with less formality than he. "Definitely sir, won't let you down."

Then they turned to Miles, and General Harding asked him, "What were your first thoughts when you realized that it was your father who's going to train you?"

"Sir--"

"Don't worry about the formalities, I'm a family friend right now, Miles." Harding emphasised, "Go on, please."

"Well.." Miles stroked his chin, glancing at his father then the statue. The memory of harsh rain flooded his mind, with cold sticky mud clinged onto him. He vividly remembered his father taking over the training, and that his face was shocked. It was very impactful that he had made the same face then. "...surprised. Really really surprised because I didn't know it was allowed."

"Your father insisted, Miles." he glanced at the chuckling captain. "And I heard that the training he gave you was extreme."

"Five hundred push-ups on the first day," Miles nudged his old man, "just because I could do five hundred back at home."

General Harding looked over his shoulder, "And it made the best soldiers Canada could ask for." then back to him. "Word is you're going to be in the 42nd Marksman Division, once you graduate sharpshooter class."

"Yes, sir." Miles nodded, and shot a glance at his dad, "Will he be the one training me then?"

"That's a no, son," his father answered.

General Harding added, "It would be better for Major Carmichael to train you," he glanced at his father. "He's doing tours in Africa. Currently in..." he spun his hands for a response.

"Senegal today sir," Dexter replied. "That 'ol fox is teaching the SWAT teams there a thing or two about marksmanship."

And they both looked back to Miles, Harding then said, "He will be back in a month's time, and it will be more intense training for you, son."

"I'll prep him though," his father added.

"Good man," General Harding then said. "Alright, I'm an officer again. Present arms, corporal."

Miles straightened his back, stomped his foot, and saluted smartly. "Sir."

General Harding and Captain Fennix saluted too, and held for a moment before setting down. Miles followed as-per protocol.

"Carry on," General Harding went to inspect Corporal Ollson beside him, with Captain Fennix repeating similar sentiments regarding his excellent marksmanship skills. Miles listened on how he too had the makings of a soldier, having expressed the adrenaline as he started firing and scoring accurate shots that even outdid Miles. And the concurrent firing exercises further improved their marksmanship, which solidified their opportunity to train with the aforementioned Major Carmichael.

Afterwards the officers inspected the row behind them, with more praises that pertained to their specialty. And after their platoon they went onto the next. Standing there for what seemed like an hour was pretty tame compared to standing in the rain for thrice that time. Fond memories that, despite the exhaustive and tedious exercise, he had fun and would share these with his other friends once he had completed all his training.

The waiting didn't seem long when they all saw the brass return to the podium. One trick Miles picked up was simply wiggling his toes and his tail to keep the blood flowing. Everyone did it too, and the deers had it the easiest. Everyone at the podium had been waiting, some with umbrellas drawn out but desperately clung onto them as the winds were fairly strong.

General Harding then spoke into the microphone, "It was a pleasure to have spoken with all of you, and congratulate you personally on your specialty candidacy. A round of applause, once more." And he started applauding followed by the standing. Some of them even held up banners with names of the other graduates; they must be their friends.

"Come on soldiers, give yourselves a round of applause too." General Harding added. And thus the cadets applauded, some even howled. It was a time of celebrating after all. Miles only clapped but he had let his tail sway with his ears perked up in the excitement. It went on for a minute before the General had urged them to die down. The cadets then stood firm once again, with arms down to their sides. Their tails wagged with much joy, but gently so that the brass wouldn't see.

"And now we will proceed to the final part of the ceremony: The Graduation March." General Harding declared, and the speakers echoed it. As the echoes died down, it was layered over by more cheers and woos.

The General then cleared his throat for the audience to relax. He then started the last proceeding by raising his arms in commemoration, "To officiate their inspection, this march will signify the start of many throughout their life-changing achievement. To reach the far ends of the world and protect Canada and her allies, and extend a helping hand to those in need." Then he paused and looked to Corporal Kaleb, "Company Commander Kaleb, lead the way." And he set his arms down, and gestured to the audience to not cheer yet.

The enigmatic leopard unsheathed her ceremonial sword, and pointed it towards the podium. Corporal Kaleb then shouted much louder than she did at rehearsal, "Company Squad, present colors!"

"Present," the rhino and tiger beside her raised and tilted the flags forward, "arms." And their rifle guard beside each of them performed a synchronized rifle salute.

On cue, when their rifles rested against their bodies, Corporal Kaleb then ordered, "Company, present sabre!"

"Ma'am," the synchronized shout of the three platoons boomed, and echoed throughout the field, "presenting sabre!" And all the corporals unsheathed their blades with near perfection, the sound of metal leaving its casing was attuned well. Then they raised their blades towards the brass and the audience beside them.

Their presentation captivated the audience, which prompted them to take multiple flashed camera shots. All the corporals were unfazed, and none dared to blink to maintain utmost discipline.

The entire brass stepped up on the podium, with General Harding in the middle, and Captain Fennix on his right hand. They saluted together, and the audience took photos of them too.

Miles kept a stoic face but couldn't help shed another tear. His mind raced with excitement, and the bittersweet idea that his mother was definitely watching from above. He was certain his father had the same sentiments too.

"Thank you, mom." he whispered.

And after the General and his retinue had set down their arms, Corporal Kaleb continued. "Company," she ordered, "shoulder sabres."

The platoons then rested their ceremonial swords against their right shoulders, with a faint metallic sound against their uniforms within a moment. Such harmony warranted more applause and flashes from the audience.

"Company," Corporal Kaleb then relayed the next, "left face."

At once the entire company took a step backwards and rotated both heels to the left, then returned to their normal stance. The crowd cheered at a simple movement that they had spent two years perfecting. After another moment, the cheering had died down allowing them to continue.

"Company Squad, carry colors." And the flag bearers rested the poles on their own shoulders. Miles' toes wiggled with excitement as the next part would be his favorite.

"Company squad, slow march." Corporal Kaleb and her squad walked forward with a slow synchronized pace. Miles then awaited her command, as they had practiced days prior.

"Company," and there it was, "slow march." The entire company moved together to the left. Their free arms swung in a wave yet their legs moved at the same time. General Harding gave them a standing ovation, and the audience cheered too. This was Joel's idea, Miles recalled. Even Christy, whose squad was aligned with their platoon's midsection, had the same arm motion as those in the middle. Niche detail that even his father would definitely be impressed.

After a minute had passed, Corporal Kaleb issued her next order, "Company Squad, First Platoon, column left" and the first platoon made a left turn, with Christy's squad turning as the middle of the first platoon did.

"Second platoon, column left," followed after the second platoon had passed the invisible line where the first platoon turned. And was followed by, "Third platoon, column left" which the last platoon had turned too.

Then Corporal Kaleb ordered another turn to the left after the last platoon's row had done so. The loud cheering was outmatched by Christy's orders, and her fellow corporals have grown accustomed to her aggressive voice.

Miles' body then anticipated the next turn as he and his platoon were about to pass the same distance as their first order. He resisted the urge to wag his tail wildly as he did during rehearsals because they were close to his favorite part.

"Company Squad, First Platoon, column left" Corporal Kaleb ordered. Then moments after she issued the same to the platoon that followed and the one after.

Now they all faced the direction of the audience and the brass. Miles caught the peripheral of one of the officers, a red cardinal, standing beside the General who was leaning into the microphone. That avian officer would command their company in active duty. He had less awards than his father, but had a youthful complexion.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," General Harding spoke in a welcoming tone, "may I introduce you to Captain Baxter Cross," gesturing to him, "leader of the 55th R.C.R.I. Company who will observe the pass-in review." and the crowd gave him a welcoming applause as General Harding stepped back, and he stepped up anticipating his new company.

Corporal Kaleb then ordered the turn at the angle closest to the audience and brass. Her squad, alongside the first platoon, approached the stage. She issued the order Miles had been waiting for, "Company Squad and First Platoon, to the right, salute!" And everyone glanced to their right, facing in line of the stage, and saluted with their left arms.

Miles saw his father, alongside the brass, saluting back as they marched. He couldn't hide the big smile, and spotted his father winking at him. The crowds were extending their arms forward, holding onto phones that recorded their finest moment while others cheered on, and held up signs with their name that expressed support.

Corporal Kaleb then went on, "Second platoon, to the right, salute." and afterwards, "Third platoon, to the right, salute."

And after the last row of the third platoon had passed, and the brass had set down their arms, Corporal Kaleb issued her penultimate commands, "Company, eyes straight." And the entire platoon snapped their heads forward, "Return sabres."

Miles then sheathed his blade in sync with his fellow corp mates. The metal sound after was overlapped by distant cheers as they went on and around. Christy ordered another left turn, then another, and one more as they returned to their original positions.

"Company, halt." Corporal Kaleb gave her last orders, "Company Squad, twenty steps, right." And herself, and her squad sidestepped until they were in the middle of the second platoon.

Captain Cross then spoke with an authoritative tone, "Good afternoon, 55th R.C.R.I. Company."

"Good afternoon, sir." The corporals answered in unison.

"I will now assume command." He went on, scanning the entire company, "Similar to what General Harding has mentioned earlier, Canada is proud to have its finest soldiers yet. And I am happy to cooperate with all of you from this day onward. A round of applause." he started clapping. "You may applaud too, corporals."

The 55th R.C.R.I. company was touched by his sentiments, applauding and cheering which Captain Cross had let slide. Even Captain Dexter and General Harding were cheering louder than usual, and it went on for two minutes.

Captain Cross continued. "I'm sure each and everyone of you corporals are excited to return to your social lives, and catch up with friends and families." he glanced at the audiences composed of said friends and families. "I only ask you to memorize the mantra of the 55th: 'Valiance at all costs; unity from camaraderie'."

"Yes, sir." The corporals answered as one.

"God bless all of you, and may Canada be safeguarded." Captain Cross saluted his company.

"Yes, sir!" 55th Company saluted him back with firm and determined arms. After their Captain had put down his arm, they had too.

Finally, Captain Cross then orders, "55th Company, fall out!"

"Yes, sir." Miles said alongside the others in a very melancholic tone. Their training as regular soldiers had finished, and the realization kicked in as he had turned about face for the last time. He then took two steps forward when the entire company had dispersed to finally be with their loved ones.

Adrian embraced Joel, and then introduced each other to their parents. Christy finally met up with her father, who she then introduced to Sierra and Joe. Miles walked towards his father who ran towards him for a tight fatherly embrace.

"Congratulations my boy!" his father shouted as he embraced him too. "You have no idea how painful it is to not hug you so much." he spun him around teary-eyed. He said with a hushed and crumbled voice "I wish Alexa was here to see this."

Miles then started crying intensely with his father, muffled by each other's embrace. "I know she is, dad." he whispered to him. And they silently wept while the others cheered on.

Then his godfather, a panther in full fatigue, walked over and patted his back, and embraced Miles too. "Hey Miles," he greeted, "congrats on making the cut."

And the three soldiers shared a group hug; Miles replied "Thanks mister Quicksilver."

"Nah sonny, call me Chase," he patted him in the back, "you've earned it."

Dexter sniffled and weakly greeted him too, "Hey Chase, thanks for being here man." He shifted his arms to shake hands with the panther.

"Of course dude, I wouldn't miss my godson's graduation after all." And they all stood back up, with the two wolves wiping their faces clean. Chase then touched the fabric of Miles' ceremonial uniform. "When your father and I graduated, these used to be very thick and hot."

Dexter patted him in the back as Miles grabbed the hem and felt the thin fabric too. His father added, "Yep, I think it was because of the three graduations ago when someone fainted. And there was another regiment who had to wear bearcaps." he emphasized, with a grabbing gesture over his head "bearcaps dude."

"Wasn't that 22nd Regiment?" Chase clarified, which Dexter nodded.

Dexter then shared, "And didn't Carmichael faint during our ceremony?"

Chase, and even Miles, giggled as the former tapped the graduate's helmet. "Yeah, because he tightly put on these things."

And Miles immediately loosened and took off the helmet only to realize that it had been slightly limiting blood circulation around his head. He felt the flow resume around his forehead, and fimly clung onto his father and godfather as it had made him dizzy.

"We got you, son." Dexter chuckled and rubbed his head, while supporting his arm.

"Let's hope it's just Carmichael's skills he gets, hah!" Chase zinged, to which Dexter laughed heartily and Miles chuckled.

"Is my dad better than him?" Miles asked as he stood up properly.

His father immediately replied, "Of course I am," he beated his own chest, "even stronger too."

"Lies," Chase retorted as he shook his head, "well the first part is. Last range showdown you only got 87, and he got 94." And even Miles smirked, glancing at his father with smug doubt.

Miles suggested with crossed arms, "Maybe I can do better than my dad." and they all had a good laugh.

His father, ever so competitive, said, "That's my boy alright." And he had a proposition, "Winner doesn't do house chores for a year." that his father then offered his hand.

It was a good deal, Miles thought. Not having to deal with dishes, mopping or car cleaning for an entire year? Too good to pass. "Sure, dad." he gladly shook his hand.

Chase clapped, "He does take after you, Dex. Maybe I should tell him the other--"

"No," Dexter covered the muffling panther's mouth, "enough stories from you."

Afterwards the two experienced soldiers nudged each other, and Miles decided to take a look around and take in the celebration. Their new CO, Captain Cross, was chatting with several corporals from different platoons. It seemed their conversation was more casual as they laughed after the other. His other platoon mates were conversing with family they hadn't seen for years; Christy talking with her parents and introducing them to Sierra and Joe, probably sharing the time when they were cadets. And Adrian and Joel approached them.

Upon seeing his father and uncle, Adrian and Joel conducted themselves accordingly. They stood firm next to Miles and saluted, "Sir, permission to speak to Miles." Miles then stood firm and saluted his father too.

Chase laughed, and nudged at Dexter who answered with an informal salute. The older wolf then said, "At ease, all of you. And no formalities, my son just graduated so have some fun, y'know."

"Well, sir," Adrian said out of respect for his age, "I was wondering if we could have a good 'ol platoon photo with our friends who excelled in other ways."

Miles commented, "Good way of putting it."

"Sure," Dexter replied and got his phone out, "I'll also take one as well."

The corporals' faces brightened, "Give us a minute, please." Miles said to him, before he turned and they went on their way.

They were heading towards the audience platform where Miles saw her chatting with their old platoon mates. Miles spun the helmet in his hand, while Adrian and Joel were holding each other's.

"So Miles, hun," Joel wondered, "when will your marksman training start?"

The two would-be marksmen exchanged looks for a moment, with Miles nodding to Adrian who said, "In a month, right?"

Miles nodded again, "Major Carmichael is currently in Africa, it's what brass said." Then he had something fun to tell them, "Oh right, dad and I had a bet: during a shooting exercise, the guy with a higher score is free from doing chores."

Adrian and Joel chuckled, the former nudging his partner, "How about it? Loser buys dinner?"

"I'd rather cook you dinner instead." Joel nudged back, and it left Adrian speechless.

Then Miles clarified the bearded dragon, "And your specialty is Field Medicine, right?"

"Yep, so please don't give me too much work out there okay?" he snipped back, chuckling.

"I'll make sure you won't, hun." Adrian put his arm around him.

Christy was having selfies with Sierra, Joe, and her parents. Then she noticed and immediately embraced Joel, "Hey Joel," she leaned back and shook his hand, "good call on the marching wave." She gestured to her waving parents, one of who wore a uniform similar to Dexter's, "They were impressed by it, especially mom. She wished they did that during her ceremony."

"Thanks, heh," Joel gave a thumbs up, and smirked.

Afterwards, Sierra's mother, Mrs. Kaleb approached Miles and offered her hand, "You must be Dexter's son, Miles." The older leopard was very pleased to meet him

The young wolf gladly shook her hand, "Yes, ma'am. Do you know my dad?"

"I did," she looked in Dexter's general direction. "He was at the clinic for a while because he sprained his arm carrying a lot of rifles at one point."

"Oh," Miles was surprised to learn that his dad had accidents too. It wasn't unexpected, but to the point that he incurred an injury was just interesting and cool. "And you helped him because you're a field doctor, right?"

Joel took interest and listened in; Mrs. Kaleb replied, "Combat medic, but I trained with field surgeons in the clinic too." She noticed the sparkle in the bearded dragon's eyes, "You'll do well, Christy's told me great things about you."

"Wow, thanks," Joel's tail wagged, with a wide grin on his face.

Then she turned back to Miles, "And you and Adrian will make fine marksmen. Carmichael's a crackshot."

Miles nodded, "Thanks," he smiled, and saluted to her. She saluted back. Then Miles went to Adrian who had been chatting with the others.

They finished their conversation with a fit of laughter, and when the German Shepherd had noticed Miles and Joel joining in, he said, "Oh right I wanted us to have a good 'ol platoon photo with you guys. Were there any others who were also with you?"

"Nope, it's just Joe and I," Sierra answered.

"Alright," he turned to Christy, "how about you call the platoon together one more time?"

They all looked up to Christy who had a grin across her face, and even her mom in the background watched. The young leopard then hounded, "Platoon one, on me!" and there was a quick silence followed by the encroachment of several corporals to them. Most of which were familiar faces to Sierra and Joe.

Amidst the returning noise, the two caught up with some of their cadets. Christy explained to the other members that they were their classmates who pursued better suited careers outside the military.

Adrian then spoke, "Come on guys, huddle up," and so they did in a big circle with arms clasped over each other's shoulders. "We'll have a group photo with Captain Fennix, okay?"

"Yes," they answered, some did with similar responses.

Adrian turned to Sierra and Joe, "Both of you take my position and Miles' at the front, okay?"

"Yes, sir," they answered together. Though Joe mentioned, "I miss you guys."

"And it's nice to meet you," Joel answered.

Christy then ordered, "Alright guys, fall in." And they all got into formation reminiscent of their early training days, and even Miles and Adrian were in the rear. "Follow my lead everyone," she said afterwards.

They all marched towards Captain Fennix, with the other graduates and their families making space for them. Some of the other platoon leaders were inspired, then called their own platoons with the same intention.

Captain Fennix then saw his platoon past all the other corporals falling into their own platoon. He was awed, and strongly placed his clenched fist on his chest, "Platoon one, fall in." Chase stepped behind him as if he were his retinue. The other families had caught up with the platoon's members and began taking momentos.

Everyone then dispersed from Christy's formation, and regrouped in front of the Captain in their same positions as the first week. Miles could barely see his father from the other corporals but he always knew and heard his father regardless.

The now-corporal wolf was filled with nostalgia for being in the rear of the formation again. During a time when he disregarded the concerns of his then fellow cadets; when five hundred push-ups was the most he could do; and when he was virtually alone as his father was someone else to him during harsh training days.

He grasped the total experience he had had in the training facility, the drills, the firing range, the classes and the overall camaraderie. All those ups and downs had strengthened his character, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Adrian asked after glancing at him, "I guess you were reminiscing about our first weeks huh?"

"Yeah," Miles replied, "and how far we've gotten."

"Well you've got memories flowing down your cheeks," he pointed out.

Miles shut his eyes and felt the tears flowing down his eyelids, though he couldn't do anything about it while in formation, he then smiled.

Captain Fennix then yelled, "From what I heard, you all want one more platoon photo." He glanced left and right, "Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," they all responded loud and cheerful, even Sierra and Joe still had the voices in them.

"Well," Captain Fennix smiled, "civilians are to be front and center, then arrange yourselves by height. Tall corporals are to crouch in front of the sanding shorter guys; makes everyone seem tall," he then laughed. And the rest of the platoon laughed too, some of the taller cadets nudging their shorter counterparts.

Their captain then clapped hands, "Get to it in ten counts. Two," he started.

"Four," everyone had broken off and began lining up shoulder to shoulder.

"Six," Sierra and Joe found themselves at the center crouched down.

"Eight," Miles was to the left of his father who passed a camera to Chase behind him.

"Nine and a half," Christy was beside Miles, Adrian and Joel were crouched in front of them, and everyone was doing last minute swaps.

"Ten," even though most of corporals' parents had been taking photos already, Chase then went behind them and started taking photos too.

"At ease, corporals," Captain Fennix said, stretching his arms out and resting them over Miles' and another corporal's back. Miles instinctively leaned towards his father while the other cadets were putting up different wholesome gestures. He saw, from his peripheral, Christy and Sierra making hearts with their hands, and Adrian and Joel holding each other's.

"Miss ya, dad," Miles whispered to his old man.

"Miss you too, son," his father answered back.

"Picnic at home later? Like old times?"

"Yeah, I'd love that. Take out?"

"Take out."

After the different informal photoshoots between corporals with their friends and family, they began saying their farewells to one another just before their specialization training. Personal bags laid next to each of the corporals saying goodbye to each other.

Miles embraced Christy prior to him leaving with his father. "You are the best leader I could ever ask for," he said, patting her back, "you're bound for success, Christy." he beamed.

And she replied in a similar tone, "And you and Adrian are going to kick ass as marksmen," she added, "I'll feel safe knowing you're around."

Miles blushed then shook her hand, "I'll do my best," he embraced her again. Then he turned to Adrian who gave Joel a parting kiss. The young wolf then embraced his good friend.

Adrian turned to him, and embraced with an arm as he noogied him, "We both know we don't need a lengthy goodbye, Milesman."

Miles chuckled, tapping his arm to ease off the noogie which he did, "Yeah, I'll see ya in a week alright?"

"Yep," Adrian patted his shoulder. "We should enjoy it while we still can because we're not getting another break like this."

Miles patted his shoulder too, "Yeah, I'll be spending it with my dad. You?"

Adrian turned to Joel who was saying farewell to Christy and the other corporals, "Date with him, and a roadtrip with my folks."

"Congrats on both of you again, you deserve each other," Miles smiled in solitude.

Adrian then embraced him too, "Okay, you got me there. That was sweet." he chuckled.

Miles returned the hug, and patted his back too. It went on for another moment, then he shook his hand and got his bag. The two canines gave each other an informal salute, then the young wolf went to his father, who had been chatting with Chase outside their car.

Dexter turned to his approaching son, "Alright, here he is," he opened the rear door for Chase. "We'll go to the mall for takeout, and we'll drop off Chase there too."

"Yes, sir," Miles answered, opening the car's back door and stowed his bag.

Dexter laughed, "Enough with the 'sir', I want you to call me dad. That's an order," and they shared a laugh as Miles shut the door. He went around to hug his father again, and Dexter rubbed his head.

"I know, dad."

Dexter sighed, "I miss you, son," he gave him a fatherly kiss on the forehead. "Let's go." He went around to the driver's seat as Miles rode shotgun.

"Miles, what does it feel like being in the military for two years?" Chase asked, leaning forward past the seats. Dexter revved up the engine.

The old wolf looked at them, "Don't forget seatbelts, both of you."

Miles put his on and heard Chase do the same, then he answered his question, "Very challenging, but fun. At times it didn't even feel like two years because I grew up like that."

"Right, Dex here making you do a hundred pull-ups when you were fourteen," Chase had a follow up question, "Least favorite exercise?"

Dexter's ears perked, already driving towards the exit, "Yeah, son? I'm curious too."

Miles leaned against the window, watching the barracks and university pass by. He then saw the distant flagpole and immediately knew his answer, "Anything that has mud in it. I never liked those."

Dexter and Chase laughed together, his father commenting, "I still remember your face when you saw me. The other cadets would've shit themselves when they saw the resemblance."

"Heh," Miles chuckled, "it's a good thing they didn't give me a hard time because of it."

"They better not," his father remarked, "you're my son after all." Then his tone shifted, driving past the gates.

Miles turned around watching the military base disappear behind the hilly roads and trees.

Chase noticed his melancholic look, "That's how I felt too, leaving for the first time not for military purposes. Even if you know you're coming back in days."

Dexter chimed in, "That's the look of a soldier leaving his home." He lamented, "I raised my son right."

Miles then looked to his father who had the confident smug of a proud parent. He smiled, and his father smiled too, winking at him. He rested against his chair with a mellow feeling in him that helped him relax properly. "Has anything changed in the last two years?"

Dexter answered, "Mmmm, new restaurants in the mall. Also a new firing range."

"Civilian?" Miles wondered.

"Yep, but it's mostly the reservists who go there. Chase also goes there too."

Chase nodded, "Mhm, decent selection for civilian firearms. Even an AR-15 in their armory. Their equipment is second rate though."

Dexter made the turn into Langford, "Yeah, I've seen ranges in Ottawa with headsets comfier than the M.A.'s."

Miles then sat up, refamiliarizing himself with the locale, "But you can train freely in the shooting range, right?" It was coming back to him, these streets. There were signs new to him, and other stores still the same to him. Then he recalled that he was near the mall he signed his recruitment.

"Oh for sure," his father assured, "and there's a hefty discount if the range is owned by alumni. We were actually talking about Carmichael's in Ottawa."

"Showing the folks there how to have a proper shooting range," Chase quipped. Dexter laughed again as they turned into the mall's outside parking. "We're here Chase." he stopped the car in front of the same old mall entrance.

"Thanks for the lift, Dex. Congrats again, Miles," Chase stepped out and gave him a quick salute. Miles replied in kind, then the panther closed the door.

Dexter drove further and around the corner, "What do you want to have for our picnic? My treat again."

"I miss French bread, Poutine, and iced tea." Miles' stared at every restaurant they were passing. His stomach grumbled, followed by his dad chuckling.

"What, MREs not enough for ya sonny?" his father chuckled, parking near a mall restaurant.

Miles unbuckled his seatbelt, "I miss having cooked food."

"Well, Samantha's," Dexter gestured to the home-looking restaurant entrance in front of him, "has your requests. A lot of the officers kept talking about this place." Dexter stepped out of the car, and Miles did too. He then locked the car.

Homey was a proper description because the entrance was like a patio into a woodland home. Miles was impressed because the bush and grass decorations were authentic and could smell the dew. He and father went in. The insides looked like an inn minus the alcohol and beer kegs. Instead they had solo seats at the front bar, with lumberjack uniform waiters going around with orders, meals or empty plates. And there was a satisfying smell of maple, cooked bacon, and freshly brewed coffee.

"I'm getting hungry," Dexter walked up towards the front, "I can see why the guys love it."

Miles followed, looking around and taking in the unfamiliar scenery. There were a handful of corporals who were celebrating at the far side of the restaurant, but they were all from a different platoon.

"Name's Sam, co-owner of Samantha's." An ecstatic beaver greeted them, "Congratulations on graduating corporal..." he offered his hand.

Miles shook it, "Corporal Miles."

"Corporal Miles," he poured him a glass of orange juice from behind the bar, "on the house. I saw some of your company celebrating in the back there." Then he pulled out a menu and opened it in front of them.

He accepted the drink, "They're not with me, and I'd rather celebrate at home with dad." Then took a good sip of the drink; pulpy and citric with a dash of honey to sweeten it. "This is good," he lamented.

"Glad ya like it, and alright guys what're your orders?" he pulled out a pen and pad.

"Well, son?" Dexter nudged him and showed the menu contents, but it nearly spilled his drink. "Sorry."

Miles gave him a thumbs up, then looked at the beaver, "Do you have French toast, poutine, and a bottle of this amazing orange juice?"

"Yes, yes, and yes my good sir," he jotted down his orders quickly. "How about for the officer?" The pen pointed towards Dexter.

"The guys keep recommending the 'Special' with a side of pie; what's that?" Dexter kept going through the menu.

"It's off-menu, and worth fifteen CAD; a large bison burger served with a small side of fish and vegetable pie. Officers get it five off."

"If that's the case, I'm Captain Dexter, and I'd have one."

"Alright, what about your drink?"

"I'll try the orange juice too, a bottle of that please."

"Alright," he repeated their orders and they nodded without additions, "give us ten."

Dexter then turned to his son, "So when we get home, you get the plates and utensils alright, son?"

"Sure, dad," he finished his orange juice down to the last drop. Then he asked him a question, "How'd you celebrate your graduation?"

The older wolf chuckled, then glanced at the corporals in the back as he reminisced, "We went to a bar and had a lot to drink that evening. But you youngsters aren't into that nowadays, are you?"

Miles explained, setting down his glass on the bar table, "I'm not, but Christy and Joel say they've missed it. Adrian wouldn't because he's a marksman. I just don't like the taste of it."

"I suppose, but it does help the camaraderie further, son."

"I guess I'll keep that in mind in two years then, after specialization."

"Damn right. And the boys and I are heavy drinkers, so have your driver's license ready then," his father laughed heartily again.

Miles chuckled, and glanced around again for anything else interesting about this place, or the mall through its windows. It had more visitors than before, and much more store variety. Then he asked his father, "Is the recruitment station still here?"

"Not anymore, it's been moved further north because it was too close to the academy already."

"Is Staff Sergeant Gonzales still in charge of the office?" Miles looked in the mall's direction, imagining that the recruitment center was at the end of it. Recalling that he was at that old burger joint before.

"No," Dexter shook his head, with Miles sighing, "Master Sergeant Gonzales," which livened up the young wolf, "is now drill sergeant in the military academy in Toronto."

"That's great, can't wait to meet him again and show him how far I've come."

"We could tomorrow if you want."

"Sure," Miles smiled, already eager to meet the jaguar who helped officiate his becoming.

And after several more minutes of waiting, their orders came in a large cloth bag, with thick paper-based containers inside and two glass bottles.

"That'll be 17 CAD then," Sam offered an open bill booklet with the receipt.

Dexter got out his wallet, and fished a 20 CAD, "Keep the change," as he exchanged the bill for the receipt. Miles took the bag with him, and the Fennixes went to their residential home.

Upon arriving, Miles stared in awe at his home. It hadn't changed except for a few new plants on the foyer and some cleaning. His dad would probably have him apply a new paint job and clean the chimney. Better than scrubbing with a toothbrush at least, or maybe he would.

"Home sweet home, eh?" his father nudged, parking at the street in front of their home.

Even though it had only been two years, it already felt like he was going into a stranger's home. Miles had flashbacks upon getting out of the car with the food bag in hand. There were memories of his childhood seeing his father exercise; the backyard picnic they had where he proclaimed his desire to become a soldier; and his father training and motivating him towards that goal.

His father then patted his shoulder as he went past him, key in hand, "Welcome home, sonny."

Miles jested, "But I thought the base was my home." And he laughed to himself, because his father was touched. "Thanks, dad," he said.

"Thank you too," Dexter unlocked the door and opened it for Miles. He followed after then shut the door, "I'll go get the picnic blanket, alright?"

"Sure, dad," he felt nostalgic. Miles recalled standing on the doormat, tying his soldier boots prior to his departure. It was early in the morning, and he caught one more glimpse of his old life. The portraits of his parents, him and his father, and the 42nd Marksman Division that led to their bedrooms. A distant light source from the kitchen where he enjoyed his last homecooked breakfast, even recalled it to be an omelette with bacon. Though he snapped back to reality with a grumbling stomach, he went towards the kitchen.

Along the way, Miles caught a glimpse of his father's gim, next to the entrance. There he recalled a shorter, younger Miles who asked his father what it took to be a soldier. Then came the months where he spent his late afternoons exercising, and meeting daily quotas that surely helped him get to where he was now. "Can't believe it's been two years," Miles thought because it felt like five to him.

The kitchen was still the same, except with more plants to liven up the place. A new one on the table, another by the sink, and a tall one next to the backyard entrance. Miles placed the bag on the table and went over to the kitchenware cabinet beside the sink and next to the fridge. He got two somewhat dusty plates, utensils and glasses, so he gave it a quick wash.

Another memory came to him; the picnic he had with his father several years ago. He recalled gathering the plates and utensils too, while his father did the cooking. It filled him with joy as he would have one more picnic before his last training. Only then he would live up to his father's standards, or so he felt.

His father then walked into the kitchen with a neatly folded blanket in hand, "It's a good thing you washed them because I only come here to water the plants." Then Dexter unlocked the backyard doors and stepped out. "C'mon, while the food is hot."

Miles stepped out with the plates, utensils and glasses first. The warm summer breeze swirled around their backyard. Then he saw the forested mountainside view with the sun still high but always set behind them. Memories of going downhill to trek the nearby wilderness with his father, and even gone camping late into the night. He gazed at the light orange hue that washed over the landscape with a distant Canadian jay flying high above. That had to be symbolism, the young wolf thought.

"Maybe we should go trekking again," his father looked below the crest. Miles was still mesmerized to answer as he stepped down into the backyard. His father held the unfolded blanket as he searched for something to hold it down. There were rocks scattered about, and even a large chunk he effortlessly heaved with his free arm.

"Tomorrow, I'd rather rest for today," Miles then placed the kitchenware on the spread out picnic blanket, while his father placed rocks on its corners. He then went back and fetched their takeout. His stomach grumbled again as he stepped into the kitchen. Then he felt glad to have had takeout because he doubted there was food in the fridge, given the condition their house was in. He'd probably go to the grocery later to sustain their weeklong stay, and their little outing tomorrow.

"Hey dad," he stepped out with the takeout bag in hand, "let's get some groceries later."

Dexter answered with a quick nod, "Was thinking that too. Even wanted to grill some sausages later, how's that sound?" He and Miles glanced at the leaf-piled grill besides the steps.

"I'll clean it after lunch then," Miles offered, placing their late lunch down.

"I'll do it; I want you to enjoy the day you deserve, son," his father remarked and started unpacking their orders. The aroma of their orders were savory with a homey tinge of maple which blended well with the forest scent. They sat down in front of their plates with Miles pouring honey-infused orange juice into their glasses, while his father cutted the 'special order' into four portions.

"Thanks, dad," Miles then inhaled the smokey and spiced bison burger; a large bison patty with its medium-rare color, topped with cheddar, tomatoes, pickles, and grilled onions. No wonder it's the special order, he thought. Then the baked fish and vegetable pie had a lemony mouth-watering scent, when cut open revealed large portions of trout in a bed of creamy asparagus. The steamy poutine had soft fries smothered in gravy and plenty of cheese curds; a beaut that he had not seen in what felt like decades. His order of french toast was thick, drenched in maple and glazed with butter, and berry jam.

Dexter clasped his hands together, "Now let's not forget to say grace and be thankful." He closed his eyes, with Miles mimicking him. They let a silent moment pass then the wind blew over them. And after a jay's distant chirp his father said, "Grace."

And his father start giving him his portions of the burger and pie, while Miles went and sipped the sweet juice he had come to love. He then asked, "So how does specialization training differ from regular training?"

Dexter chewed on his burger with a pleased expression before downing it with a sip of juice that he too enjoyed. He burped then cleared his throat, "More time at the range, some classes, weapon maintenance and distribution like those guys at the range," he took another sip, "and weekends off."

Miles' tail wagged upon hearing that. As fun as the initial training was, he did miss being able to go out and socialize. Then it occurred to him, "Those officers who prepped the range, they were undergoing specialization training too?" Followed by taking those savory fries and stuffing them down his mouth.

"Yep," Dexter chewed on the creamed trout. "This is good," he swallowed after then cleared his throat again, "but they weren't marksmen. They're from spec-ops who were looking for prospects."

"Did I make the cut?" he wiped his gravy lips with some tissues from the bag.

His father had a concerned expression, "Yep, but you have to undergo an additional six months if you want to join their group. That's completely up to you."

"You don't like the idea?"

"Their training is very very unusual." Dexter provided examples, "You have to be fluent in multiple languages, endure rigorous torture, and survive bleak scenarios just to name a few."

"Dang, but maybe you could try again?" Miles raised a brow.

"Nah, I have to be at a certain age and I'm well past that son," his father chuckled. Though he reached over and inspired the young wolf through holding his shoulder, "Make it or not, you've already made me proud. And I'm very confident you will go through marksman training with flying colors."

Miles held his father's hand and smiled, "Thanks, dad." They had their moment last a minute, then they kept indulging themselves in good soul food. Then they enjoyed their tart yet sweet French toast then washed it all down with cold refreshing juice.

Then his father procured something from his pocket; a small gift box with a red ribbon. He placed it just before his son's plate.Miles was cleaning his canines with a toothpick when he was allured by it, "What's that?"

"Something every soldier has, but it wouldn't fit with your ceremonial shirt," he implored, taking his own officer's jacket off. "Besides, what's a soldier who's never been shirtless?"

Miles did the same thing. Having a clue of what the gift was, he took his shirt off too. Plus he was colored impressed that their lunch did not stain their somewhat restrictive outfits. Then the wind gently blew against his bare fur with muscles more pronounced than two years ago. He picked it up then pulled the string which unwrapped itself.

"You've earned it, son," his father said, having gone shirtless too.

Miles then looked down as he opened the box: inside were Canadian dogtags. It did not have the rubber casing that Americans did, and it was welded together horizontally. The chain lanyard was tied between the two upper holes on each side of the upper tag.

The engravings on the steel of the upper tag was:

M23 009 021

MI FENNIX

BC O/RH/POS

CDN FORCES CDN

Whereas the bottom tag did not contain his blood type.

And Miles immediately unclipped the chain then wringed it around his neck where he reconnected them. His heart thumped as this small ID completed his identity as a soldier. Teary-eyed, he looked to his father who also weeped while giving him a thumbs up.

Dexter then leaned forward to embrace his son, whispering "You're a true soldier now son."

"Thanks dad, for raising me to be the best of the best," Miles whispered back. Then his father gently pushed him back as he pecked him on the forehead.

"Thanks for being a great son to raise," his father remarked.

Miles looked at his father and kissed his cheek, then he leaned back and inspected his new dogtag. In the next year, he hoped to see 'CDN MRKSMN CDN' instead. And that ambition strengthened his resolve.