STEADFAST Book One: America's Last Days (The Steadfast Series 1)

by D. I. Telbat

  Distant Harm, Book Three in The COIL Legacy; soon to be eBook

  God’s Colonel, an End Times Novel; eBook

  Jaguar Dusk, a Christian Special Forces Novel; eBook

  Primary Objective: A Christian Rescue Mission, Novelette; eBook

  Soldier of Hope, A POW Survival Story in Afghanistan; eBook

  The Legend of Okeanos: A Tale of Restoration, Survival, and a Great White Shark; eBook

  The Steadfast Series: America’s Last Days; End Times Novellas

  Visit Novel Update News for current and upcoming novel news

  Coming Soon:

  COIL Recruits for Christ: A Short Story Collection

  Fury in the Storm: Where Christians Dare, Bk1; a Covert Christian Mission Suspense

  Tears in the Wind: Where Christians Dare, Bk2

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  About the Author

  D.I. Telbat desires to honor the Lord with his life and writing. He is recognized as an author of clean, Suspenseful Fiction with a Faith Focus. Because of his love for the Persecuted Church, many of his stories are about persecuted Christians—their sacrifices, sufferings, and rescues. Weekly on his Telbat's Tablet website/blog at ditelbat.com, David Telbat offers FREE Christian adventure and suspense short stories, or related posts, which include his novel news, book reviews, Author Reflections, and challenges for today's Christian. Subscribe to receive exclusive gifts and discounts. See David's complete bio at ditelbat.com/about/.

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  Contact

  https://ditelbat.com/contact/

  Follow us on Twitter! @DITelbat

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  Steadfast Book One

  BONUS CHAPTER

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  BONUS CHAPTER

  Who are the Wyoming invaders? What do they want? Follow each Steadfast Book and the bonus chapters to discover behind-the-scenes intel on the bad guys!

  STEADFAST Book One

  Bonus Chapter

  Commander Kelly Morris of the Liberation Organization gazed across the bridge that linked Iowa to Nebraska. Council Bluffs, Iowa, had fallen after a hard fight that morning. His message to them had been the same as to dozens of other cities: conform or die. They'd responded with silence, so they had died. But he suspected Omaha would be even more resilient.

  "Sir!" A captain of one of his forward units saluted. He was a short man, an owner of a chain of laundromats in Atlanta, if Morris remembered right. Anyone with such leadership experience had been given some sort of command under him. "The wounded are too many for our medics. We don't have enough medical supplies to care for them. We're overwhelmed!"

  "Treat our own wounded first, Captain, and the enemy's injured second, or not at all."

  "But the enemy surrendered, sir. The wounded are among those who surrendered to us."

  "Yes, but they waited until the end of battle to surrender, so we'll let them surrender now—to death." Morris saluted his man. "Nothing must slow our advance, Captain. You're dismissed."

  Morris inhaled deeply, his feet set firmly on the pavement of Interstate 80. Behind him, Council Bluffs burned, but the smoke didn't erase the more favorable lingering scent of spent artillery. America needed to be cleansed, toughened, and set free. The days of its weak conservatism were over. Within a year, he expected to reach Seattle. Radio reports from the West confirmed that cities along the coasts of Oregon and California were already pledging allegiance and support to his martial efforts. America was being reborn!

  "Except for these blasted fools!" He spat.

  His aide stepped forward.

  "What's that, sir?"

  "This is a war of renewal, Sergeant. These Midwesterners are fools for fighting against us."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Before the virus, most of these people were still devoted to the idea that some God watched over them—that He created them. They've rejected the call to arms to protect our planet from man's destruction. Instead, they've taken up arms to fight against change. It's the twenty-first century! What's wrong with America, with people like this, holding to their expired traditions and beliefs?"

  "Yes, sir, they're not living in reality."

  "That's what religion does to weak minds, Sergeant. We need to be firmer in our discouragement of it. America is finished with the assault on science and conformity. How many cities are holding out against our liberation?"

  "After Omaha, we're clear along Interstate 80 all the way to San Francisco. We'll now need to decide whether to turn north or south, if we want to continue to liberate cities."

  "We can fight in the south this winter. We'll go north while it's warm."

  "Then we need to move through Wyoming to reach Montana and Interstate 90," the sergeant said. "There are a lot of little towns between here and there who don't have radios—small towns with armed civilians, our bicycle scouts tell us."

  "If towns don't have radios, then they won't know we're coming. We can catch them sleeping, unguarded. By the time we sweep through their communities, half their buildings will be burning. I don't want to stop rolling if we don't have to. We don't have time to pacify the locals of these insignificant towns."

  "Rebellions could start by that method, sir. They could harass our supply lines."

  Morris observed several artillery batteries positioned for firing at Omaha. Every city he took by force or surrender was a win for America. He had no political ambitions, only a vision of an America without boundaries or limitations. That meant those who opposed him would need to go.

  "If they stand against us, they die, Sergeant. That's the law."

  "Yes, sir. I'll pass the word before we roll through Omaha tomorrow."

  His aide scampered off. The captain of the Liberation Organization's elite troops stepped up and saluted. The man's armband had a lightning bolt on it.

  "Ready to commence firing, sir."

  "Get on with it, Captain. Two cities in one day." Morris smiled and rubbed his balding head. "We're breaking our own records."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Morris watched his freedom fighters in their gray and black uniforms prepare for the ground assault upon Omaha. Taking the city by nightfall was unlikely, but they would pound them with ordnance, and hope for a surrender. The Liberation Organization was low on diesel, and Omaha was rumored to have stores of fuel. Omaha had to fall if Morris and his army were to continue west.

  Suddenly, an explosion blinded Morris and knocked him onto his back. Fifty of his elite troops had been surveilling the city from the interstate bridge before it exploded. Omaha had put dynamite on the bridge! His soldiers retreated through the dust to the line of artillery batteries behind Morris. They were carrying a dozen wounded and dead with them.

  Defiantly, Morris rose to his feet and dusted off his uniform. So, Omaha was committed to an actual battle. Blowing the bridge would indeed slow Morris down. His engineers were few. Now, he'd have to wait for barges downriver to arrive and carry his two-thousand-man force and their vehicles across the Missouri River.

  Leaving the front line in the capable hands of his captains, Morris returned to his command trailer and took off his uniform. Years earlier, he'd been a two-star general. After his inflammatory remarks and criticisms against his superiors, Morris had been forced into retirement mere months before the virus erupted. His wife had committed suicide, and the future had seemed bleak. But then he'd gone to Atlanta's military base to help organize quarantine units. It had been in disarray—ripe for his leadership. That had been the beginning of the Liberation Organization.

  Morris lathered his face to shave, then paused to stare at his image in the mirror. They'd called him weak before pushing him into retirement. But he'd never been weak. He simply hadn't agreed with the White House about the battles America needed to fight. If they could see him now, they'd see he wasn't weak at all! The masses needed firm regulation in every part of their lives—business, schooling, even family life. Individuals weren't able to decide for themselves how to cooperate with
the whole diverse country. The Christian infestation was just one example of ignorance, though certainly one of the strongest and most dangerous movements. They continually fought his vision: true liberty was enjoyed only by true uniformity. Dissention had to be cut out and burned down.

  After shaving, Morris walked outside to mingle with the men. Until they could cross the river, everything was on hold. Besides his two thousand soldiers, one thousand support personnel had been conscripted to keep his advance forces fueled and fed. Vehicles in the rear of the company were constantly arriving from and departing to liberated cities to the east, bringing in and dropping off arms, ammunition, and gear. Even years after the virus outbreak, America was still rich in resources, if one knew where to look and how to confiscate them.

  "We'll get 'em tomorrow, Commander!" a provisions officer said with a smile and a salute as he passed.

  Arriving at a Humvee dedicated to communications, Morris paused to listen to an argument between two radio operators. One claimed that threats wouldn't move the hearts of those in the western towns. The other insisted that fierce words followed by brutal action would send a warning all the way to Seattle that the Liberation Organization needed to be obeyed. Both operators looked to Morris for an assessment.

  "We're not enemies of the obedient," Morris stated proudly, a message he'd repeated often the past two years. "Violence is necessary to crush the defiant and secure the stability of this liberating force. A household, a town, a city, or a state mustn't be left to itself. If we are to unite America again, better than it was, force musts be used to break the backs of selfishness and privatization.

  "Sometimes, that force will be in words. Other times, that force will be by war. The sooner this country is unified, the sooner we can live in peace. This is emphasized by the confiscation of civilian firearms and the proclamation of the rights of all citizens. If anyone encroaches or condemns the rights of others, they will be swiftly prosecuted—by us until a new government is in place. These ideals are the building blocks for our new nation.

  "So, tell me, what wouldn't you do or say to reach this goal?"

  The operators glanced at one another. The one who'd sought a softer approach shrugged.

  "I guess I'll be tougher, sir."

  "Of course, you will," Morris said. "Soon, we'll be in the mountains of Wyoming and Montana. Now, those people are tough, but they must still be broken. That means we must be tougher. I want more reports from you two that towns are pacified before we ever reach them. Bring them to their knees by the radio, or I'll bring them to their knees by the gun. You have time. Omaha will take a few days. When necessary, tell people up the road about our time in Ohio. Burning dissidents at the stake always gets people's attention. We're a liberation force. Tell them. They'll conform, or they'll die."

  As the shelling of Omaha continued at the front, Morris weaved through the troops, their tents, and vehicles. This was a force used to moving, but now they had to sit idle for three weeks, or more. Even Morris secretly craved the next step of the battle for Omaha—the invasion. He yearned to walk onto the scene, his weapon in hand, to give the victory speech he'd given in dozens of cities and towns all the way back to Atlanta. That show of power touched his heart every time. Casualties in Omaha would be high since they were resisting, but he would leave a remnant alive to spread his message—conform or die.

  A young soldier ran through a division of riflemen to reach Morris. Breathlessly, the man saluted, exposing an ear that was missing flesh, still bloody from the battle that morning. Many of the men had wounds, but they kept fighting, sharing Morris' same vision for true liberty.

  The soldier's armband identified him as belonging to one of the gas depot units who was responsible for fuel.

  "Yes, what is it, Private?"

  "Back in Ohio, sir, you told us all to report any, um, overt Christianizing, right?"

  "Among other things, yes, I said to report Christian proselytizing. It means forcing your beliefs on someone else. Well?"

  "My sergeant has a Bible. I saw it. His name is Sergeant Landis. I took the liberty of having him arrested."

  "Take me to him." Morris joined the Sergeant. The whole interstate was crammed with vehicles, and now that news of the delay was spreading, people were getting comfortable, even poking around in the debris of Council Bluffs. "Where are you from, son?"

  "New York City, sir. I joined you in Charleston, West Virginia, after you burned down that church ten months ago."

  "Do you enjoy your station?"

  "I just want to liberate America from its cancer, sir."

  "Good man."

  They arrived at a tanker truck where a sergeant in uniform was on his knees against the front bumper, his hands handcuffed behind him. Two other depot soldiers held rifles on their captive. On the pavement in front of the sergeant was the man's open Bible, the wind blowing and fluttering its pages.

  A crowd began to gather, so Morris waited for people to draw close. Teachable moments such as this didn't happen often. He needed to take advantage of opportunities to instill in the new generation of Americans what true liberty really meant.

  "Are you Sergeant Landis?" Morris spoke loudly for his students. Often, his officers handled such internal situations when he wasn't available. "Speak up!"

  "Yes, I'm Landis." The man lifted his bowed head a little, and Morris saw he was about thirty, too young to understand the offense he'd committed, probably, but he would pay for it, nonetheless. The arresting officers had already bloodied his lip. "What have I done wrong, sir?"

  "Do you claim to be a Christian?"

  "Yes, I do. I've never hidden that fact."

  "And there's nothing wrong with claiming to be a Christian." Morris faced the circle of soldiers and paced in front of them. "You hear that? We celebrate our diversity, even in the things we believe about ourselves. We may identify ourselves with anything we choose. That's the joy of true liberty. No one should hinder anyone else from identifying with whatever they desire to be identified with. That's your right. That's everything we're fighting for out here. Do you agree, Sergeant Landis?"

  "I agree that . . . we all have a choice, sir."

  "I see." Morris crouched in front of the accused. "And you have chosen to be identified as a Christian. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You're free to do that, Sergeant. But let me ask you: according to you, am I wrong if I choose another religion, or no religion at all? Would that be wrong or right?"

  "I believe, sir, that what we trust in determines our eternal destiny."

  "You're not answering my question, Sergeant." Morris acknowledged the crowd pressing in to see and hear better. They would remember this moment for the rest of their lives. He hoped they repeated his questions and challenged anyone who claimed to belong to a mutually-exclusive religion. "Am I wrong or right to choose a god besides the God of your Bible—according to you?"

  "I believe there's only one God, sir."

  "Answer the question!" Morris felt his anger rise, but he checked it. This was a moment for gentleness. He obviously had the perfect subject before him, to make his point. If he were viewed as a bully, his attitude rather than justice would be remembered. "If I reject your God and identify with another god who allows me different desires, do you condemn me or embrace me?"

  "It's not my place to condemn you, sir." Sergeant Landis lifted his head higher. Morris looked into eyes that he expected to contain fear, but instead, they contained fire. This was the most dangerous kind of enemy—the one who truly believed what he said. For an instant, Morris envied the man's passion. Morris had zeal, but he'd never had whatever was showing through this man's eyes. "But the Bible says that without receiving by faith Jesus Christ's sacrifice for your sins, you'll stand condemned on Judgement Day."

  "That's what your Bible says. But what do you say for yourself?"

  "I have a tendency, sir, to believe the Bible."

  Morris rose to his feet and paced amongst the gath
ering. He felt like a courtroom prosecutor who was about to win a case, knowing that the jury would side with him.

  "I see. You admit that I would be condemned, even knowing where I stand against such bigotry?"

  "I'm no better that you, sir," Landis said.

  "Oh, we know that, Sergeant!" Morris laughed. "But do you know that?"

  "I know I'm not better than you or anyone else, sir. I've just chosen a different path. Don't I have the liberty to believe what I choose to believe? Isn't that really what we're fighting for?"

  "Not at the discrimination of another person's beliefs, Sergeant. That's what ruined America from what it was meant to be. By your own admission, your commanding officer, me, stands condemned by your God. How could you possibly remain a soldier under me? Impossible."

  "I'm just a truck driver, sir."

  "And I need every driver we have." Morris reflected on the sincerity in his voice. The men and women around him seemed mesmerized by his compassionate approach. In view of what was about to happen, he hoped they remembered him most of all as being tolerant. "That's why I ask you to say you withdraw your condemning beliefs against those of us who aren't Christians. What would your Jesus want you to do—accept us with love, or condemn us with hatred?"

  "With love, sir, I reject the idea that there is any other way to be saved from condemnation, except through Jesus Christ."

  "Then with your own words, before all these witnesses, on the eve of a great victory, you have condemned yourself." Morris rose to his full height. "Bring wood! Justice against bigotry and religious discrimination must be carried out!"

  The crowd chatted excitedly as they lingered. A few men darted away to fetch firewood.

  "Commander Morris." A messenger on a bicycle braked to a stop and saluted. "Word on the wire from Kansas City. The barges we need to transport the trucks across the river are blocked by debris in the river. It's a real mess, sir."

  "How long until they arrive? We can't rebuild the bridge."

  "It could take three weeks for them to reach us. Bridges up and down the Missouri have been burned or blown up. There's no other way west except by barge at this point. It seems people knew we were coming ahead of time. They've tried to stop us, sir!"