The Mighty Men - Beta Team: The Revival Team Series, #2

By Deakon Reeves

What is more devastating than an EMP blast?
More destructive than a Super Volcano?
Or more debilitating than an all-out Cyber Attack ... and even Biological Warfare?

No apocalyptic event killed America. It was more Malignant - and all around us before we cared to notice.

This is Book Two in the Revival Team Series where we meet Beta Team: The Mighty Men.
Having been appointed (though off the books) by the first President of the New Republic of Texas, a retired Texas Ranger has just successfully protected this upstart group of missionaries who are working in Old America. The task wasn't easy, and with these self-appointed Revival Team members barreling headlong into whatever piece of depravity they feel their God is calling them to fight against- it's only going to get worse.

But this is not this Ranger's first rodeo. Prior to his service to - first The 'State' and then The 'Nation' - of his native Texas, he was an elite soldier with the U.S. Army Rangers. Of course, that was before The Great Decline, that time in recent history when America fell apart to become a divided wasteland on either side of the central part of the country.

So if he's going to continue to keep this team of radical revivalists safe from the vigilantes, and bandits, and general mayhem of their chosen mission field in Old America, he's going to need some help. Fortunately, he knows just where to find it... men like himself... old comrades in arms. But the trip will be fraught with danger. So it's a good thing that he's equipped for task. And besides- 'the cause it is just' ...
-"So into the Fire."

 

Series Description:

 

Decades of Moral Decay. 'Unchecked.' 'Unfettered.' An erosion of common decency. Until finally ... it was too late.

Feigning freedoms. No more protections. No more justice. Just a split nation with a corrupt shell of a government that has it's own sinister agenda.

So is all lost?
No- not yet.

There are those who would turn things back. Soldiers and Scholars. Modern day Psalmists and Priests. Men and Women- They are: 'REVIVAL TEAMS.'

• Self appointed fighters for the cause,
• Reviving that which has been lost.

Why bother? Why not just submit?

They do it for God... They do it for country... They do it for all that is Right and Holy.

 

The Revival Team Series by Deakon Reeves is Serious Christian Adventure, fraught with Spiritual Mission, Conviction, and Purpose. Begin your journey today!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elkleaf Publishing
• Release date: Nov 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223142720

Deakon Reeves

The name’s Deakon- … ‘Deakon Reeves.’ I write Post-Apocalyptic, Dystopian Fiction, and I do it clean. Not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved ~ (tipping my hat to (John 3:17). So never mind that I am a persona. I’d dare say that some of your favorite people are ‘less-than-real.’ Characters in a story … Author pen names … your dream man or dream woman … and even your secret self. So come on along. The air is clean here, the lighting is good, and you’re going to like what you find. And Don't miss out on getting your FREE copy of the Prequel to my Revival Team Series (See how it all began). Get it Now at: https://elkleafpublishing.com But Why The Persona? As a Christian Author, I became aware - early on - that I had a 'propensity towards pride' (try saying that three times fast). :) So in order to remain true to my commitment to the Lord, and His will, I decided that it might be better if I didn't plaster my image, or my name, all across social media (and honestly, I don't take good pictures, anyway). There are images of us everywhere in our world today and I simply wanted to portray less of 'me' and more of 'Him.' So now you know. I'm not 'hiding' ... I'm just 'abiding.' And I hope you'll see that commitment reflected in my work.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was easy to let your guard down out here. Especially on these long stretches, where the lay of the land went on forever. That aspect was an asset. One could see trouble—or potential trouble—for miles away before actually reaching it. Still, this raw beauty was mesmerizing, even comforting. But Derrick knew better. Even the Badlands had its villains. Especially this far from Texas.

After kissing his wife goodbye, for the second time this month, Hardrow had made his way to the government supply depot in Dallas, which was now a day behind him.

Those Texas tech-boys had outfitted his Jeep Rubicon with an extra fuel tank, likely a necessity for the direction that he was heading. There’d be fuel to be found in the Badlands, but The Redoubt—the Haven States—were reputed to be fairly primitive. No one knew for certain but by some accounts they were riding horses out there... and hunting with bows and arrows.

Derrick wasn’t bothered by that notion. In fact, he was kind of intrigued by it. If those accounts were anything other than wild speculation or even folklore designed to keep the outsiders away, then he was certain that the man he was going there to find was a top-dog.

Which reminded him of something. ‘Dog.’ But he didn’t want to go there yet—just in case. So he let the smile fade from his face while rummaging around for another memory. Something pleasant, to help while away the time.

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Mamacita’s ... Carmelitta ... State of Oklahoma ... Republic of Texas.

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It still felt strange to think of it that way. Oklahoma was no longer a part of the United States of America. It was now the second state in the Republic of Texas. And that felt pretty good.

Derrick had driven to Mamacita's straight out of Dallas. He’d promised Carmelitta that he’d stop by if his plans were well received and thankfully, they had been. The Texas President himself had given him the go-ahead—had shook his hand on the deal which made it real. In keeping his promise, he’d made a stop at the outpost to see Carmelitta.

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Hermano! she’d said, greeting him, never one to disappoint, with eyes bright and lovely.

It was like she hadn’t seen him in over a year when actually it had only been a couple of weeks. She was good that way. Always welcoming, always vibrant.

So you can’t stay away from Carmelitta. I knew that. But your new wife, won’t she be jealous?

She’d smiled at him when she’d said that part in that saucy way that she had when teasing with someone she was fond of. Then she’d grabbed his arms just beneath his shoulders, and drew herself into him, where she’d kissed him smack dab on his lips.

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Derrick stopped reminiscing when he noticed movement on the road ahead. He’d left Mamacita's on the Oklahoma/Arkansas border some ten hours earlier. And though he was still in the tall grasslands, he could occasionally make out the line of the Rockies; so he must be getting close to Denver—there was always the potential for trouble in Denver.

But I’m still at least a half hour out. So who might these two hombres be?

Derrick started slowing down. He considered reaching for his pistol, but then thought better of it. Coming closer, he could see that the men there were armed but that they were also in uniform. Just a couple of grunts who were idling casually at a makeshift roadblock.

Good afternoon, he said, pulling up alongside them, coming to a stop. Derrick smiled at the young man outside his window, but didn’t offer up anything further in the way of conversation.

Good afternoon, sir. Are you heading into the city?

I am, he replied. Is there a problem?

No problem, sir. But would you mind telling me what business you have in the City of Denver?

Derrick continued to smile but his left eye squinted a bit. No, I don’t mind. But I have to say that I don’t remember ever being stopped like this here before. It seems a bit peculiar.

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As a ‘fringe city’ Denver was still loyal to America. But its proximity to the Badlands and the Haven States caused it to occasionally be influenced by them as well. So the presence of these National Guardsmen led Derrick to believe that the tender balance may have been upset recently. Or maybe this was just something new.

––––––––

Apologies, sir, for the inconvenience. But with all the things happening in Texas and Oklahoma, we’re just checking all travelers coming from that direction. I’m sure you understand.

Derrick wanted to say that he ‘didn’t understand.’ But Denver was not his destination and he would need to fill his tanks there. So he decided not to press the issue.

I see that you’re National Guard. So is this from the Colorado Governor or is this a federal matter.

It’s federal, said the young guardsman, while shuffling his stance. He looked a bit indignant.

Okay, said Derrick. I was just curious, is all. But the thing is, I’m just passing through here. I wouldn’t even need to go into the city, at all, if I knew where to find a fueling station.

Are you heading north or west?

North, said Derrick. Then he noticed movement from the other one.

I hear that Fort Collins has public fuel, he shouted from the side of the road. He seemed less interested.

Yeah, I heard that too, said the first one. At least they did yesterday. So just how far north are you going anyway?

Derrick reinforced his smile, not wanting to take the chance of being detained for any reason. Then he became more animated. Jackson, Wyoming! I’m on my way up there in search of an old friend of mine! Whom I haven’t seen in seven years! I just hope he’s still up there.

Derrick hoped that by playing the ‘happy-traveler,’ he might repair the damage he’d done by seeming a bit contrary. He regretted that now but hadn’t expected to see any roadblocks. Apparently, the U.S. government was more shaken up by the Texas annexation of Oklahoma than they’d let on.

Fact of the matter is, I left something up there with that friend of mine! But told him I’d be back for it someday. And that’s where I’m headed.

The soldier relaxed a little, but not much. The other one just looked away, disinterested.

Seven years, huh? That’s a long time to not see a friend. Must be someone you’ve known for a long while. Someone you were pretty close to.

He was stalling. Prying for more information—wasn’t being genuine, at all. Derrick could see that in his eyes so he narrowed his own and left the tomfoolery behind.

Yeah, you might say we were close friends. And I’m sure we still are. But it’s more than that, really. We were comrades. We served together in the Army Rangers, and that’s a connection that lasts forever. I saved his life on occasion and he did the same for me. So sure, I guess you could say that we’re pretty good friends.

The soldier who was further away, on the shoulder of the highway, sat down on the bumper of their vehicle. He leaned his gun next to him against the grill. The one at the window still had his weapon in both hands across the front of him.

Army Rangers, huh? My mother was a Ranger. Back when not many women were. So what do Rangers do?

Derrick found the question confusing for a moment. Then understanding the young man’s intention, he tossed his head back to laugh while appreciating the challenge. Rangers lead the way, son. And that’s what Rangers do. That’s our motto.

Yes, sir. That’s it, all right.

So is your mother still with us?

Yes, sir, she is. I’ve got her in a little cabin up in Idaho Springs. She was a medical sergeant and pretty much acts as the town doctor up there. Does a lot of natural healing, too.

Well good for her. I’m glad to hear that, soldier. So are we good here?

We’re good, sir. And in about fifteen miles you’re going to come to the loop that’ll take you around the city. If you follow that around to I-25, it’ll take you straight up to Fort Collins. There are gas stations off of several exits there. And another thing-

The Guardsman stopped at mid sentence and casually side-stepped around so that he wouldn’t have to turn his head so noticeably. Nonchalantly, he glanced over at his partner. He was still sitting on the bumper of their vehicle, but now he had his head tilted back with his eyes closed. Satisfied that it was safe to proceed, the young soldier leaned in closer to speak at a near whisper.

Once you get there, if there are signs up that say ‘no public services today,’ and the pumps seem to be not working, here’s what you do. Just punch in the numbers 5502 on the keypad; the current year backwards. Things should light up and you’ll hear one beep. Then you want to punch in today’s date. Two digits, two digits, four digits. Two more beeps then punch in 2055. That way you can fill your tank compliments of the U.S. Military. But please don’t share this with anyone.

Hardrow stared at the younger man not quite knowing what to say. I appreciate that friend. Is there anything I can do for you?

Not necessary, sir. Always happy to help out a fellow Ranger. Not that I’m one, but because of my mom, I mean.

Hardrow nodded, a little choked up, but making an effort not to show it.

But if you wouldn’t mind, sir. I would like to ask you a question.

Go ahead, said Hardrow. Anything at all.

Okay. Then would you mind telling me what your rank and specialty was in the Rangers? I’m just curious.

I’d be happy to, son. I was a captain and team leader. That friend that I’m on my way to find was my weapons sergeant. He and I were in some pretty tough scrapes together.

The young soldier beamed back as if he’d just met a genuine celebrity. Hardrow smiled, imagining that this kid’s mother must have been feeding him tales of Army Ranger exploits for most of his life... probably instead of bedtime stories. The lad snapped to attention, offering a salute.

I appreciate the honor son, but that’s not really necessary. My commission ended a long time ago. Hardrow didn’t bother to tell the young man that he’d had an entire other career since then, as another type of ranger, a Texas Ranger. It seemed best not to press his luck.

The kid remained at attention, holding his salute, so Hardrow returned it in order to be on his way.

Thank you, son. I appreciate that. But consider that salute to be for your mama. You hear me?

Yes, sir, Captain. I’ll let her know. Enjoy your time in Colorado. But you might want to be on the lookout for bandits. We’ve had some recent intel on sightings above Fort Collins.

Captain Hardrow waved in appreciation but reached with his other hand to pick up his Sig Sauer P320. He held it up to where the kid could see it then smiled and winked while easing his foot from the brake pedal. The young Guard laughed and nodded, indicating that he understood. Then he waved goodbye as he watched the Ranger driving away.

Chapter 2

After crushing the tip of his pencil, Texas President Rawlston Hayes abandoned his desk and the notes he’d been taking.

Pacing now, his frustration buoyed him about the room like a life preserver—thrown from the decks and bouncing him on the waves of his frustration.

I just don’t see your concern, General. Please enlighten me, if you can.

General Maxwell Claybourne, Commanding General of the Texas military, was on speakerphone for the benefit of the other two men in the room.

Vice President Jordan Landry looked over at Brandon Garcia, the Texas Deputy of Foreign Affairs, who was also a close advisor to the President. Landry shook his head slowly to which Garcia nodded, signifying that he understood and agreed.

But there was nothing that either of them could do in the moment—nothing that protocol would allow. So they just had to wait.

I don’t think that is too much to ask, General. Just tell me what the problem is!

Claybourne’s voice was less stressed. It was clear that this was not the first time he had to deal with an irate president. The General held his ground. "I understand your frustration, Mr. President. And I don’t mean any disrespect, sir. But let me put it to you this way. The only thing worse than meeting the enemy on the battlefield, is getting to that battlefield and not finding the enemy where you expected them to be.

Now I know that at face value it appears that we won something here, without firing a single shot. But I can tell you from experience, sir, that this kind of thing just makes the hackles stand straight up on an old war horse like myself.

President Hayes opened his mouth and was about to offer a rebuttal. Then he felt a tug on one of his jacket sleeves. Turning, he saw Jordan who was feverishly writing something on the notepad on his desk. When lifting it up for the President to see it, he made sure to tilt it in such a way that Brandon would see it too.

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YOU ARE SPEAKING TO

GENERAL CLAYBOURNE

30 PLUS YRS OF

MILITARY EXPERIENCE

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Rawlston took in a deep breath, exhaling it through his nose. He turned to Brandon Garcia in order to assess his opinion, to which Brandon nodded.

Thank you, General Claybourne. I do understand. Take as much time as you need and keep me advised.

President Hayes walked back to his desk and leaned over the front of it to press the button that would end the call. Turning around, he sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms in front of him. All right, which one of you wants to go first? Jordy, you outrank Brandon here. How about you let me have it and then he can take his turn.

Jordan Landry lowered his head and shook it a bit while letting out a meager laugh. There’s nothing to let you have, Rawl. You were just letting things get away from you. Not only the conversation but your reserve, as well.

The President shuffled his weight around and then sighed again, with his arms still crossed, as Jordy continued.

Claybourne is as good as they come. I would be hard pressed to think of another with more experience or better military instincts. If he says it doesn't feel right then you should probably listen.

Hayes unfolded his arms, turning his attention to Brandon. You feel the same way?

All he wants to do is delay full occupation... leave room for a retreat, should such become necessary. There’s no loss of ground in that. No loss of anything, for that matter.

The President held on to the rim of his desk to cross one ankle over the other one. And neither of you think that will make us look foolish? Or weak? Like we’re wavering?

Mr. President, said VP Landry. I think it makes us look cautious. And in caution there is dignity.

Hayes moved his eyes without moving his head to see that Brandon was nodding again. In total agreement.

Well it is a bit strange, I suppose, he said, while uncrossing his ankles, placing both feet on the floor. I mean, we knew from the satellite images that they were gathering on either end of us. But I thought that was just some sort of a pre-staging event—or a ruse maybe, to throw us off. I never expected them to just ‘stay there.’ So just like that, Texas is now in control of ten miles of Mexico... all along our border. Just how many acres do you suppose that is? Do we have numbers yet?

Over eight million acres, sir, said Brandon. That’s bigger than the State of Maryland."

Not only that, said Jordy, but we’ve just acquired some pretty significant metropolitan areas. Matamoros, Reynosa, Nuevo Laredo, Juárez... and that’s just the big ones. Juárez alone has probably a couple of million people.

Hayes crossed his arms again. Not in frustration this time, but more in contemplation. So why in the world would they just give all that up so easily? Without even a fight? And where is Valenzuela in all of this? Are her Gov channels condemning us yet?

Not a word, said Jordy. I’ve had people monitoring them since before our incursions began—strangely quiet."

Then maybe the General is right, said Brandon. Right to be skeptical.

The word is cautious, said the President. We are using the word ‘cautious.’ Skeptical implies that we have doubts or suspicions. And by the way, I want to thank you both for keeping me grounded there while I was talking to Claybourne. I probably owe that man an apology.

My pleasure, Mr. President, said Jordy. Then Brandon echoed the sentiment.

"But back to that word, ‘cautious.’ I want us all to be clear on this. The Republic of Texas did not just seize a ten mile strip of Mexico for any kind of nation building. We took this action in order to protect our citizens. To prevent the flow of drugs, and other criminal elements, from coming across our border. And that’s the reason we’ve taken this ‘precaution.’ To ensure the continued prosperity of the Great Nation of Texas.

Absolutely, Mr. President.

Yes, sir. One hundred percent.

All right, men. I’m sure you have other work to do. So let’s adjourn for now but agree to meet again just as soon as developments dictate.

As his friends and advisors left the room, Hayes considered his good fortune in having them.

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Yes-sir. That makes me one lucky president.

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Hayes huffed quietly, in spite of himself, then leaned back to tap for the intercom.

Yes, sir, Mr. President, came Sylvia’s voice, as prompt as always.

Sylvy, I want you to do a little research for me and find out what General Claybourne is particular to. Hobbies, food and drink preferences, whatever. Then come up with a gift for him based on what you find and send it to his office. Can you do that for me?

I certainly can. Do you want me to include a note? And do you want to sign it personally?

Hayes paused, still sitting on the edge of his desk and thinking for a moment. No, nothing personal. I’m pretty sure he’ll know what it’s about. Just one of those standard cards that say, ‘Compliments of the Texas President.’ And let me know what you come up with and when it’s on its way.

I’ll take care of it, sir.

Hayes lifted one leg, side-straddling the edge of his desk, while crossing his arms. As he considered his priorities, and what needed to be done next, his mood suddenly became bitter.

To date, he and the American President had still not formally communicated with one another. There was sort of a standoff between them, with their only interactions being more covert, through liaisons, or statements to the press, and other such political nonsense.

So Rawlston supposed that it was high time for him to break their stalemate. And the fact of the matter was, that her failure so far to express any kind of a view about Texas annexing a chunk of Mexico, was kind of making him crazy.

Sylvy, I’ve got another task for you. Get me President Valenzuela on the phone.

Sir?

You heard me right.

Yes, sir. Right away.

President Hayes stood up and walked toward the refrigerator for a cold drink. But before he could cross the room, Sylvia was back on the intercom.

Mr. President. I’m not sure what to make of this. But I was just told that President Valenzuela is not taking any calls.

Striding back to his desk, he leaned over to press the intercom button. What do you mean? Is she ill or something?

I don’t know, sir. I was put straight through to her personal assistant, whose exact words were, ‘President Valenzuela is not accepting any calls at this time.’

Rawlston straightened up, trying to make sense of that. But there was simply no making sense of it. Before he could reply, Sylvia was speaking again.

I even made sure that she knew I was calling on behalf of the President of Texas. She just repeated herself again but added, ‘she’s not taking calls from anyone.’

Hayes stood up, with his hands on his hips, feeling a bit dumbfounded with this new development.

And that’s exactly what it is... a new development.

All right, Sylvia, understood. So I want you to get me Jordan and Brandon on a conference call.

Sylvia didn’t answer him, which was pretty uncharacteristic of her, but he was certain that she was doing as he’d asked.

She’s probably just as bewildered by this as I am... maybe got her a little off kilter.

Rawlston tried again for the refrigerator, feeling now like he really needed something to drink. His mouth was feeling dry. He’d barely been able to snatch himself a cold beverage when Sylvie was already speaking again.

I have the VP and the DFA on the phone, sir. Line three.

Rawlston spun around, striving quickly for the telephone on his desk.

Hello boys, can you both hear me?

I can hear you, sir, said Brandon.

What’s the matter, Rawl? Is everything all right?

Well, I know you both just left here, but do you remember when I said that we should meet again just as soon as new developments should dictate such? Well that’s what we’ve got, all right. We’ve got ourselves a new development.

Chapter 3

The Oval Office was dimly lit. President Valenzuela had most of the lights turned low and she hadn’t allowed the cleaning staff in for over a week—nor anyone else for that matter.

The screen on the printer in the corner was blinking the message Out Of Paper and there was an empty champagne bottle sitting on top of it. The eerie red flash from the small screen was reflecting off of the bottle’s green glass in little glares that seemed accusatory... it was judging her.

The champagne was expensive. Genuine French. It was reserved for visits by foreign dignitaries who had important proclamations to make or extravagant gifts to impart. Impart upon her, the American President, leader of the free world.

Huh... laughable.

Nothing of that sort actually occurred anymore and Fernanda found herself wondering why she hadn’t noticed it sooner. Was she really so naive? So managed? So insulated? It was hard to fathom. The idea that she might merely be a figurehead... so easily posed and manipulated.

So in an act of desperate denial, she had drank the bottle herself—no sense in letting it go to waste—but she hadn’t stopped there. She’d emptied several bottles... bourbon, gin, tequila. All by herself... and all alone, in the gloom of the grand Oval Office.

She’d been this way since the Texas annexation of Oklahoma, when her staff had basically told her that there was not much that the United States could do about it. Their pomp and supposed power was just that—a lot of blustering and false propaganda. A bluff just waiting to be called, and Texas had finally called it.

But they weren't stopping there. Texas was gearing up to invade and take control of a large swath of Mexico. They might even have already done so. She didn’t know for certain. She hadn’t spoken lately to any of her Joint Chiefs because, why bother? Why make a spectacle and fool of herself? Why play into their hands by pretending that she—or they—held any power at all in stopping Texas?

Because of her depressed condition, President Valenzuela was not taking meetings or phone calls. In fact, she was barely eating. Still, her assistant tapped on her door three times a day and spoke loudly enough that her voice might penetrate into the room. She would inform the President that there was a cart, with food, just waiting for her on the other side.

Sometimes, Fernanda would open the door to pull the cart inside. But only when she was certain that her assistant had gone back to her desk. More