Called to Gobi

by D. I. Telbat

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  About the Author

  D.I. Telbat desires to honor the Lord with his life and his writing, and to bring awareness to the Christian Persecuted Church. He is best known for his Suspenseful Fiction with a Faith Focus, and The COIL Series. On his Telbat's Tablet website/blog at ditelbat.com, he offers FREE Christian adventure and suspense short stories, novel news, book reviews, Author Reflections, and challenges for today's Christian. Subscribe to receive his stories and posts weekly, as well as exclusive subscriber gifts. Visit ditelbat.com/all-d-i-telbat-novels/ for a complete list of his Audio, eBook, and Paperback novels, and read his complete bio at ditelbat.com/about/.

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  Contact

  https://ditelbat.com/contact/

  Follow us on Twitter! @DITelbat

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  ~ BONUS CHAPTER ~

  God's Colonel, an End Times Novel

  *~ NEXT PAGE ~*

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  ~ BONUS Chapter ~

  God's Colonel

  by D.I. Telbat

  Chapter 1

  ". . . And if you're just joining us this evening, we've been praying over the air for the victims of Chicago's recent rash of violence. The bombing has escalated throughout the Midwest to the point that phone lines have been greatly interrupted. We need to keep our eyes on the Cross of Christ, no matter our—"

  Emit Dross turned off his pocket-sized digital receiver and shoved it into his back pocket. He wanted to break the little radio. Every time he turned it on, the only station he seemed to get was U.C.B., the Underground Christian Broadcasters. It seemed there were actually no other stations broadcasting any longer. The economic fallout from the collapsed housing market, inflation, and gas prices had left the country in ruins, or ashes, depending on which city one inhabited.

  Throwing his leg over his mountain bike, Emit started peddling down the rural New Jersey highway. Everything he owned was in his backpack, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't own anything at all; he'd stolen everything. He'd definitely contributed to the downfall of the United States.

  Gangs, looters, and arsonists had raped the country's fields and torched the cities, and Emit had been there for all of it, leading much of it, at least the incidents on the East Coast. At twenty-nine-years-old, he wasn't about to sit still and starve while the rest of society was hoarding what little they had in bunkers or mountain cabins.

  It was survival of the fittest. Emit was certain he was the fittest, and he was disciplined enough to prove it in the face of every challenge. He liked to think of himself as an upgrade technician. Everywhere he went, he tried to upgrade his circumstances and status.

  Hearing an engine, Emit looked over his shoulder. A military Humvee was bearing down on him. He steered his bike to the side of the highway, avoiding a burned-out van, then came to a stop. The Humvee slowed as it approached.

  Everyone was questioned nowadays. It was part of the new government policy to crack down on crime. Anyone found without an identification card was instantly arrested. For the worst offenders who'd left a trail of both bodies and havoc in their wake, like Emit, they were destined for the execution facilities. The prisons of death had been going up all over the inhabited country. The new government, with advisors from New Roma, had a zero tolerance policy toward criminals.

  The Humvee stopped next to Emit. Three soldiers browsed the nearby farmland for a potential ambush. One of them aimed an M-14 at Emit's chest. The man in the passenger seat narrowed his eyes at Emit.

  "You have papers?"

  Emit's automatic pistol was hidden in his waistband under his sweatshirt, but he'd be crazy to draw down on these men when he had a stolen identity to exploit. He'd killed for the identity; he may as well use it.

  "Sure." Smiling, Emit reached into his backpack for the stolen calfskin wallet. "The name's Ben O'Regan. Captain O'Regan to the likes of you boys."

  The passenger inspected the papers, including the partially altered photograph. Emit knew his features were being studied—his six-three, muscled frame, his graying hair that made him look ten years older than his actual age, and his steady, daring eyes.

  The soldier handed the papers back to Emit and nodded at his man with the assault rifle.

  "Stand down. He's one of us." Back at Emit, he saluted weakly. "Can we give you a ride, sir? We're headed to Glasgow. You're an awful long way from Atlanta . . ."

  Emit sighed at his good fortune. He was getting another upgrade. It would certainly be easier to find his way onto the new base in Glasgow if he was riding in with troops already stationed there.

  "Beats setting up a tent in the field. Give me a hand."

  The soldier from the back seat jumped out and helped Emit tether the bike onto the roof of the Humvee. Thirty seconds later, Emit was riding in the front passenger seat. He sat rigidly, wondering if he could truly pull off the status of an Army captain. Perhaps he should've hijacked a sergeant's identity instead.

  "How were things in Atlanta, sir?" the next ranking soldier asked.

  "I left there a month ago. Drove my truck as far as Delaware until I met a renegade blockade, but I wasn't turning back. Atlanta burned six months ago. Between the bombings and riots, the city's a ghost town."

  "Sounds like every other city." The driver scoffed. "Our enemies don't need to destroy America. We'll destroy it ourselves—from the inside out!"

  "Who would've thought so many US citizens knew how to build homemade bombs, huh?" another said. "You'll find a home here with us, Captain O'Regan. The G.S.F. is setting up camp to help bring us back from the brink. We'd be lost without the Global Security Forces."

  "If it's not too late already," Emit said softly, though not intentionally aloud. He'd been traveling alone too much—talking to and caring for only himself. "With discipline, we'll make it."

  Emit looked out the window at the forgotten farmland. He'd heard about the military compound recently erected in Glasgow, but not that the Global Security Forces from Europe had already landed. The GSF was the new breed of UN peacekeeper force, designed specifically for the United States' economic implosion. With the US fractured, the rest of the world had stepped up, with Europe taking point, to bring the world together.

  "Heads up!" the driver warned. "We've got trouble!"

  Sitting forward, Emit winced at the sight ahead. A blockade had been built across the highway, a makeshift tollgate set up by locals who could manage no other way. Survival had forced many citizens to become roadside bandits. Emit could've easily passed through such a blockade, but he was a captain in the Army, now.

  "What do you want to do, Captain?" a backseat soldier asked.

  The driver slowed to a stop two hundred yards from the obstruction.

  "Looks like there's about ten of them," Emit said. "They've only got shotguns and hunting rifles. We don't barter with highway robbers in the south. What's the protocol here?"

  "Bartering with the enemy is treason," the driver stated. "We lost four last week to a blockade in Franklinville."

  "I say we ram 'em," the backseat fellow said. "They've only got two cars pushed across the road."

  "That's what it looks like," Emit agreed, "but what we can't see is probably a pallet of combine teeth across the road, or maybe a five-foot ditch. If we made it past the cars, we'd be limping home on our rims, or without rims at all." Emit opened his door and stepped out. He licked his lips and nodded at his troops. He was earning his title, now. "Cover me. I've dealt with their kind before."

  "Are you crazy?" the fellow in back asked.

  Walking away from the Humvee, Emit squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes as he took in the scene. The farmers and city people who manned the barrier stared down their barrels at him. The Humvee crept along several yards behind him. Two of the soldiers leaned out of their windows with their rifles to cover their newfound captain.

  Emit knew his assumptions about the participants of the blockade were true. The people were starving. Not enough of the post-modern soc
iety had learned to survive without their microwaves, fast food, and electric can openers. They were also in rags. Emit had been among them in the south; he knew their kind.

  "My name is Captain O'Regan," Emit shouted. "I know you're hungry and desperate, but we have no supplies to share with you. We need to pass this way to reach our base at Glasgow. If we don't arrive within the hour, a battalion of GSF soldiers will be out here to find us. But we don't want that. You don't either. We have you out-gunned, and our orders are to take no prisoners. So, what's it going to be?"

  "You don't got no food?" A civilian yelled from the middle of the blockade. "Some of those Hummers tow a little trailer of gear."

  "Not this one. This is just a patrol. The only thing we have to spare is bullets."

  Emit didn't flinch as the civilians whispered amongst themselves.

  "What's to say you don't return here with that battalion if we let you pass?" a farmer asked.

  "Maybe we should just erase all memory of you right here!" another hollered. "I can think of a dozen uses for a vehicle like that around here."

  "You couldn't afford the fuel," Emit said. "Besides, you can't use what we have when you're dead in the ditch."

  Placing his hands on his hips, Emit showed his impatience. He'd bluffed. Now it was their turn to fold or call. If they called, he'd be the first one to die since he was out in the open. His ambition to show his leadership suddenly seemed like a very dumb idea.

  "We'll let you pass, Captain," the farmer consented. "You remember we didn't hold you back if you ever come back this way. And remember there're families out here starving to death, you hear?"

  "We won't forget you," Emit said, "and we won't retaliate for your stand today. More people like you need to come together across the country. It's the only way we're going to survive—by coming together, not cutting each other's throats for a can of stew."

  Guiltily, Emit bit the inside of his cheek. He'd just described himself for the past three years, but the words flowed naturally. Maybe his conservative upbringing was paying off. Maybe he could indeed play the part of an Army officer.

  Emit turned his back to the civilians as they pushed one of their cars to the roadside. He returned to the passenger seat and sighed with relief.

  "You want us to wipe 'em out as we pass?" the driver asked. "They might think twice about doing this again if we take a couple out."

  "No," Emit stated firmly. "We'll let them slide this time. Just drive slowly. I was serious about what I said. We need to stand together more, and that goes both ways. Let them see your faces. They need to know we recognize their plight."

  The Humvee crept forward. The soldiers kept their rifles ready, but they obeyed their captain, and nodded respectively at the starving people.

  "You're some diplomat, Captain," a backseat soldier said. "General Norvasso is gonna love you. You know what his motto is? 'Be at peace with the people, because we are the people.'"

  "Sounds like my kind of man, this General Norvasso."

  The driver increased their speed once the Humvee was clear of the blockade. Emit had no real heart for peace, but he'd pretend, if it kept him alive. Looting and stealing had worn him down some. He decided he was right in taking the captain's identity. This was the good life.

  Shifting his leg, Emit felt the bulge of his digital receiver in his pocket. It reminded him briefly of where he'd been. The little radio was the only thing he had to remember his father. And he'd stolen it from him the night he'd run away.

  Emit lifted his head and pushed his guilt deeper. That was his past. He was living his future, now. No matter the cost, he would survive.

  The End of God's Colonel, Chapter 1

  Visit https://ditelbat.com/book/Gods-Colonel/