Olympian Dawn, Chapter Five

Introducing Mr. Connor Ford!

Chapter Five

Connor I

Connor could see the pinkish saliva erupt as the gloved fist made contact with the man’s cheek. A sickening crunch and a howl of pain followed, filling the frigid air with the sound of human pain. In spite of the attempts at forcing him into silence, the condemned man remained defiant as they dragged him to the platform, kicking and struggling.

His resistance did him no good. Evan and Theo were some of the largest and strongest men in the garrison. Even if the poor soul had been at his personal peak of physical fitness he could not have held them off for long. With grim, stony faces, the two men tied the prisoner to the pillar rising from the center of the platform. Through the cold and clear air, Connor saw only hatred and defiance in the man’s face. Fire raged in the man’s eyes as he opened his bloody mouth and began to speak to the assembled garrison and workers below.

“You’re next, I swear! They lay claim to the path of righteousness but they’ll lead you straight to damnation, you fools! You think salvation is at hand, but you all will suffer, just like all those who follow false idols and preachers like these beasts! The Lord first struck down the heathen president, vile and corrupt, then He brought forth the plague to purge the filthy and indifferent, now he’ll come for you all, too!” Evan’s fist connected with the condemned man’s cheek again, and he fell silent.

A quiet but firm voice cracked like a whip in the silence. “Prepare the heretic for execution.” Alexander Issakoff loomed a few feet from Connor, positioned mere inches from the condemned man on the platform. His mouth barely moved, partly obscured by the tight goatee he maintained aggressively. The man’s hooked nose looked down at the gathered group of workers and prisoners below. An honor guard of eight soldiers arrayed themselves behind the Brotherhood’s outpost commander, sleek and immaculate in their dark brown uniforms. Unusually for them, their helmets were nowhere to be seen. Connor looked into the eyes of the men and women standing motionless atop the platform -- their faces may as well have been made from stone.

Issakoff began to speak again. “My brothers and sisters, I have brought you here today to bear witness to the justice of our great leader, Leon.” He pointed to the poor soul tied to the stone pillar. “This man, Adam Norcross, has been found guilty of spreading dissent and sedition against the Brotherhood, the lone bastion of security and civilization in these trying times. He has been offered the chance to repent and seek forgiveness in exchange for a reduced sentence only to refuse. Thus, he has been condemned to execution by firing squad. Do you have any final words before the sentence is carried out?” Issakoff asked Norcross. Connor could hear boredom in the man’s voice. How could a man so apathetic and inhumane be given this much power?

Norcross spat. “Only this, you bastard. Now I go to the Lord. Enjoy the lake of fire.” With that, he fell silent. Connor felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, followed by a flash of admiration. The poor man had been a priest and could have withheld his criticism of the Brotherhood, and yet remained defiant and devout. Then Connor’s senses returned to him, and he recognized the man for what he was: a fool.

Idiot. Beg forgiveness, do your time in the work camp and get on with your life. The honor guard drew their pistols and marched to the front of the platform. Wordlessly, they pivoted in sync. Issakoff made eye contact with their captain, a stout man with bushy eyebrows, and nodded. The captain raised his pistol, pointing it at the prisoner. “Vanguard, take aim.” The seven subordinates raised their weapons at the command.

“Fire.”

The sound of bullets filled the air, but the crowd remained silent. Connor stood, transfixed at the sight of the slumped body now chained to the pillar above him. It wasn’t the first execution he had witnessed. Won’t be the last, either.

“Brothers and sisters,” Issakoff’s high and reedy voice began again, “Be vigilant. Heretics and subversives threaten our stability and our way of life. Only together can we ensure a prosperous future in these dark times. For this, we sacrifice.”

“For this we sacrifice,” the crowd intoned, Connor joining in. They were desensitized to it at this point, in truth. Connor had witnessed three other executions in the past month. One had been a rapist who chose death over castration. Another was a thief who had tried to escape after being caught. His failed flight had condemned him. The last had been an accused infiltrator, a spy for some outside secular militia. That one had scared Connor most of all. All his pleading had not saved him in the end, either.

But this was the first time a religious leader had been condemned. Some had mumbled and whispered among themselves how it had been wrong, how treating a holy man in such a way would bring God’s wrath down upon them, but they all remained silent in the end. “Serve, obey, and survive,” Connor whispered to himself. That was the way.

The crowd dispersed, returning to their assorted assignments and shifts. “Ford?” Issakoff was approaching Connor.

“Yes, sir?”

“Walk with me, son.”

Connor followed the commander, confused. Issakoff rarely acknowledged his presence even though Connor had been his subordinate for months. He wondered what he had done to warrant such a direct conversation. As he continued to ponder, ice slowly trickled through his veins. The goatee-wearing commander had an intimidating nature in spite of his slight frame. And yet there was something in those pale eyes, almost as though a barely contained storm lay just beneath the surface. Connor did not know much about Issakoff beyond the professional interactions they had, but he knew the man was incredibly dangerous, and that was enough for him.

Connor followed in calm silence for several minutes, afraid to disturb the peace. Instead, he patiently waited for Issakoff to begin again. When he didn’t, his unease grew. Had he done something wrong? Had he done something right? He could feel the angst building, and deep within him Connor heard a primal scream begging for the silence to end.

“Ford, you have been with us for about a year, correct?” Issakoff asked quietly. Connor nodded, not daring to speak. “So what brought you to Bismarck?”

“Sir?”

Issakoff smiled, a row of white teeth creeping out from behind his thin lips. “There aren’t many, shall we say… friends of Israel in North Dakota. So again, what brought you here?”

Connor’s heart began to pound. How does he know? He never told anyone about his faith. The Brotherhood had decreed Christianity as the only acceptable faith in their territory. If Issakoff knew…

Issakoff saw the panic in his eyes. “Ford, relax. I’ve got no problems with Jews. Nobody should. You’re a smart, industrious people. We worship the same god, you and I. Admittedly your people stopped reading a bit too soon for my taste, but still. You’re no heathen. You’re not a subversive or a polytheist or some type of deviant. You’re a fine worker.”

Connor’s unease grew. He knew Issakoff was trying to calm him, but his words were having little success. Nonetheless, he knew he had to play along. “T-thank you, sir. I’m originally from Pittsburgh. And I’m only half Jewish, on my mother’s side. More cultural than a religious practice.”

“Ah, it passes through the mother’s line, does it not?” Connor watched and said nothing. He knew it was best to allow the man to continue without interruption. This was not a man to cross, he knew. The priest tied to the stone pillar was proof of that.

Issakoff continued, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll save the theological discussions for another time. I imagine you’re curious as to why we are having this conversation.” Connor didn’t consider it a conversation, more of a monologue with a captive audience, but he was curious as to the sudden attention.

The commander paused, sucking on his cheek. Connor wondered what Issakoff was about to say. Normally he considered himself a skilled reader of people, but Issakoff’s face was inscrutable. “Connor, the Brotherhood is building a new world on this continent. The weakness of the old methods are giving way to a new purpose, a new order. The divisions and futilities of the old United States are what brought us to this point a few years ago. We intend to change that. But for us to succeed, we need an army of men and women ready to take up the cause. Do you understand?”

Connor slowly nodded, confused and concerned. Where is he going with this?

“A glorious future awaits us, Connor. A chance for the true dreams of humanity to be realized. To cast off the chains of outdated ideologies and concepts. Diversity, equality, tolerance. They’re jokes, illusions of a less-developed mind. Our new world cannot tolerate these insidious and insipid concepts to survive. They’re weeds, Ford, weakening the foundation, polluting the glorious garden. We must prune them, and prune them quickly.”

Connor said nothing as Issakoff continued on. “Men and women like you are exactly what we need. Oh certainly, we need those skilled in warfare. We need doctors and teachers as well. But our new order will require an administrative state, much more than this ad-hoc structure barely sustaining us as is. In the coming months much will need to change, Ford. And we’ll need you and your skills to achieve our grand destiny.”

Somewhere deep inside a flash of courage swelled up in Connor. “The c-coming months, sir?” They were approaching the command pavilion, the white and gray standing in dark contrast to the beige tents and huts surrounding it.

“Ah, there I go again saying more than I should. Put your mind at ease for now. It’s been a long day and it’s not even noon. Here.” Issakoff pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket, scribbling something and then handing it to Connor. “Here’s a pass. Enjoy the day. Walk around, do some light reading, perhaps even pray. Tomorrow you begin your new job in the command pavilion working as an intelligence operative. You’ll be reporting to me first thing at 6 AM. Do not be late.” With that, Issakoff strode into the command pavilion, leaving a small cloud of dust in his wake.

The compound the Brotherhood had erected two years previously remained haphazard in spite of regular renewals and developments. The walls were hastily erected only to be dismantled and rebuilt as the compound grew. Barracks and tents intermingled with more modern medical facilities, and the nearby labor camp added to the instability. And yet in spite of the chaotic layout, it paled in comparison to the frenetic activity that filled the compound. Soldiers mingled with the religious scholars and the mechanics from the vehicle pool. Like clockwork, ATVs and Humvees and trucks would arrive, be loaded with supplies and materials, and depart roughly every hour. Connor was amazed that anyone in the compound ever found the peace and quiet to rest, particularly when the floodlights were turned on as the sun faded below the horizon line.

Still, the walk was pleasant. It always was. His quarters ran parallel to the southern wall and were stably-constructed, at least by the standards of the Brotherhood. It’s not like there’s an abundance of architects in the region. Befitting his position as an administrative and military aide, he was given his own personal quarters at the end of the narrow hallway connecting the two wings of the building. The faint sound of two people fornicating echoed through the hallway. As Connor opened the door he did his best to ignore the gasps and moans.

His room was sparse. A small closet was in the corner, his two uniforms and his casual white shirt and sweater hanging almost out of sight. The rickety old bed was damaged, but thankfully he’d lost weight in the past few weeks and no longer worried about it breaking. His chipped wooden desk had a handful of papers strewn about and a worn, frayed Bible on top. Connor walked to the windowsill, Sitwell purring and looking bored. He couldn’t read the cat’s face, but Connor suspected he was content. If only I were a cat.

He might not have the largest quarters in the compound, but Connor was grateful for the amazing view. Outside, a forest blanketed the terrain for miles. Somewhere in that direction lay Montana. Beyond that, Washington and Oregon. And just beyond that, the wild expanse of the Pacific Ocean. As a child, the family trip to Los Angeles had captivated him. The sea never seemed to end. His mother had always told Connor that he would never be able to truly comprehend the vastness of the world. There was always so much more to explore and to discover. That wanderlust had never truly been quenched in him. But now he was a man, and it was not the time for such childish reminiscing.

The white shirt hung awkwardly in the closet as he reached for it. Carefully, he hung it from the hook atop the window. Then, he flipped Sitwell’s red bowl and cracked the window slightly. The cool breeze felt refreshing to the skin, and the sunlight was heavenly.

Connor sighed, holding Sitwell as he lay on the bed, his feet almost going over the edge. He’d done his job to the best of his ability. The signal was clear, and the view to his window was unobstructed. He stared at the ceiling, wondering what would come next. He’d deposited the intel the previous night, but he doubted it had been extracted. Come on. See the signal. Pick up the drop before they suspect anything. And then come get me..

All he could do now was wait.