Work has started on the third installment of the adventures of Captain Brett Savage and mathematical savant / drunk Zora Matthews. Readers who were wondering what happened after the end of the second book will be pleased to know that the answer to that question is something. Definitely something.
Those not familiar with the series might first want to check out the first chapters of Military Discipline Book One, and Military Discipline Book Two at the links embedded in the text. Those who want to see what probably happens at the beginning of Military Discipline Book Three are invited to read a bit of this draft. Please note, it is a draft, so don’t hate my face if I’ve spliced commas or accidentally left a recipe for brownies in it or something like that.
Also, on a side note, it tickles me immensely that if you go to Amazon.com and type ‘Military Discipline’ into the search bar, Savage’s Recruit is the first result – right above actual non-fiction novels written by serious military types about actual military discipline. But I digress.
Oh, but just before we start, it occurs to me that the title of this post could be construed to mean that the title of the next Military Discipline Book will be Military Discipline Book Three: Sneak Preview. I would love to title it that, but I’d never get away with it.
The sneak preview begins… now!
Freedom means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. To Zora Matthews, freedom meant ‘not currently incarcerated’. It was a low bar to set, but her life had always been full of low bars. She was in many respects the limbo queen of expectations. Some people would have been depressed by that, but failure had never depressed Zora either. Failure was to be expected. Success, now that was something worth worrying about.
Sitting on a saggy, lumpy, generally dilapidated mattress, Zora was about as happy as she’d been in a long time. She and Savage had their own apartment. It was clean and very tidy, but dingy. Scrubbing pads and cleaning products could only get surface dirt off. Much of it had sunk into the paint over the years in smears of grease and dirt that gave the place an ambiance of slow decay.
Zora itched her back where the scratchy green woolen blanket pulled drum tight across the mattress had touched her exposed skin. Savage made the bed that way every morning with the same precision. In much the same way the dishes were done after every single meal: washed, dried and put away in the cupboard missing half a door. Thanks to Savage, there was order in the ghetto.