It was dark already by the time I arrived at the old country house and even in the dark, with the lights dimmed, I had a sense of being overwhelmed. At the door I was greeted by a footman -- his request for my coat took me by surprise, having thought that the concept of a house servant had been long abolished by the Republic of Chernarus and most definetely by the Soviets before them. Evidently not. I had hoped to get a sight of Evelyna or anyone else, but I was quickly ushered upstairs, past busts of older, more renowned family members and paintings of events long gone that this family had found themselves entwined most gloriously in.

I was left at a mahogany door and it was now my turn to be bold and brave. I knocked twice and felt the butterflies run up from my stomach to my mouth. Breath deep, Alexsandr. Deep. A bark came from within, as rigid as the door itself: "Enter."

I found myself face to face with Fleet Captain Vaclav Stepanovych Cernik, Chernarussian Defense Forces Maritime Forces. Sitting behind his desk he was an imposing figure, taller and broader than me despite being thirty or more years older. He was dressed in full uniform and I was glad that I had bothered to do the same, although when he stood up I noticed that the only thing that we had in common was the wide riding breeches that every officer wore. "Drink, Kozak?" he asked quite nicely. It didn't put me off guard: this was going to be a meeting of a lifetime.

"Sir." I replied. He took a bottle of scotch from the drawer and ran it through his hands.

"Finnesons Pedigree." I almost winced. Did he have to do that? He poured it into two crystal glasses. No ice, no soda. He pushed the glass over the table towards me. "Sit down Lieutenant." I did. He waited for me to take the first sip. I touched the glass and his eyes ran over me, looking for something, some lack of pedigree or class that he could pick up on. I took what I thought was a decent amount and handled it fairly well. He didn't say anything and then drained his own glass and poured another. "You see, Kozak, this is very embarrassing. My daughter with child, and by a LEFT-enant SECond GRAde." I felt like a sabre had cut through me: already I was inadequate. The niceties were over. I had thought that these old aristocratic families had been annihilated by the Revolution, but apparently not - they were still there, and still held the same old prejudices. "And of the PARAchute corps. Yes, very embarrassing indeed."

I didn't say anything. Even if I had anything to say, I took from this an overwhelming sense that I wouldn't be able to say it anyway.

"I'm not quite sure what to do about this. I think I am still in shock." He kept his sharp eyes on me all the time, not leaning forwards or backwards, perfectly straight. He had a bushy gray moustache that wobbled and could have featured in a comedy film. I smiled a little and immediately retracted it. "Yes, I'm sure the gravity strikes you less than it does I. I've read your files. Father: butcher. Mother: secretary. School: State comprehensive. Family history: worthless. Let's get to the details, Lieutenant. My daughter will not marry you."

I was expecting that. "UNLESS," he continued, "You firstly make something of yourself. I have personally detailed you to the 77th Gorka Battalion's deployment to Takistan. This is the deal that I propose to you. If you come back, alive, decorated and blooded, I shall have you promoted. Then you might -- just might, be fit to enter our family. If you don't make it back alive, my daughter will marry someone worthy of the name - I'm working on that, don't worry about it. If you come back disgraced..." he turned up his nose and looked at me, taking in all my features; my brown hair, my boring jawline and common nose "Do not come back at all."

We sat in silence for a time.

"Do I make myself clear?"

I stood up and saluted. "Sir."

And that's how I met the Commodore.