War No. 81-Q

In Short

This story depicts a vision of the 22nd century where global conflict is sanitized and commodified. The United American Nations and the Mongolian Alliance settle their disputes through "War Permits," utilizing unmanned aero-ships over the remote territory of Kerguelen while spectators watch from afar. It is a cynical, prophetic exploration of how technology and bureaucracy might eventually divorce the consequences of warfare from the decision-makers, turning the ultimate human tragedy into a high-stakes, televised athletic event. Its enduring relevance lies in its chillingly early prediction of remote-controlled, detached combat.

The Story

The year is 2127, and the world is governed by the Universal War Board. When Tibet and America clash over the "Radiant Heat Monopoly," they do not march armies into the field; they apply for a War Permit. The conditions are precise: ten 22,000-ton aero-ships, non-explosive ammunition, and a strictly defined two-hour window over the rented territory of Kerguelen. Most importantly, no humans are permitted on the battlefield; the ships are operated by remote-control pilots stationed thousands of miles away in Lhasa and the City of Franklin.

As the conflict begins, the sky above Kerguelen fills with the American fleet—the Prospero, Ariel, Oberon, Caliban, and Titania—and the Mongolian-rented ships—the Han, Yuen, Tsing, Tsin, and Sung. A dense smoke screen obscures the action, frustrating the throngs of spectators who have gathered with their Q-ray telescopes to witness the sport. The Prospero is the first to fall, intentionally destroyed by its pilot after suffering mechanical failure. The battle quickly degrades into a brutal game of attrition, with ships crippled, disabled, or rammed until they plummet into the sea.

The tide of the engagement shifts when the American government, despite public outcry, entrusts three ships to a young, unproven pilot named Jack Bearden. The pressure is immense, as he faces legendary Mongolian aces like Baartek, Soong, and the mercenary master-pilot T’ang. When Bearden takes his place before the control console, his inexperience shows; he inadvertently causes the destruction of his own Oberon and Titania after stumbling against the controls.

Alone in his ship, the Ariel, Bearden is stalked by T’ang’s Yuen. The two pilots engage in a tense aerial dance, maneuvering through smoke and over the churning ocean. T’ang is a formidable opponent, systematically dismantling the Ariel until the ship is held together by little more than hope. In a final, desperate move, Bearden maneuvers to recover, but the strain snaps his ship's left wing. As the wreckage falls, it strikes the Yuen. Both ships plummet toward the rocky islands below.

The Yuen detonates, leaving the Ariel’s remains to claim the field. By the letter of international law, Bearden has secured victory for America. The "Radiant Heat" revenue and the honors of war belong to his nation, and the world hails him as a hero of the new age. The war concludes exactly as it began—not with the mourning of the dead, but with the cheering of a global audience and the bureaucratic finality of a settled contract.

How It Unfolds

The administrative war The narrative establishes a world where national disputes are settled through legalistic, state-sanctioned combat. The Universal War Board mandates the terms, ensuring that war remains an orderly, industrial enterprise rather than a chaotic human disaster.

The remote theater The action shifts to the Kerguelen territory, where unmanned aero-ships engage in a tense, mechanical skirmish. The use of smoke screens and remote radio-controls creates a deliberate distance between the lethal machinery and the pilots safely tucked away in their home cities.

The rising stakes The arrival of Jack Bearden introduces a human element of fragility into the controlled environment. His sudden, accidental destruction of his own fleet underscores the incompetence that can exist behind the levers of high-tech warfare.

The final duel The battle narrows to a climactic showdown between Bearden and the veteran T’ang. The focus remains on the technical mastery of the controls and the physical breaking point of the aging, battle-worn machines.

The bureaucratic victory The story ends with the destruction of both remaining ships and the subsequent declaration of a winner based on international law. The human cost is ignored in favor of celebrating a new national hero and the transfer of economic power.

The People

Jack Bearden is the central figure, a young and untested pilot whose ambition far exceeds his actual capabilities. He represents the unpredictability of human error in a system designed to be perfectly mechanical. His panicked movements at the control console lead to both his greatest mistakes and his accidental success, highlighting the absurdity of placing human fate in the hands of someone who is fundamentally overwhelmed.

T’ang serves as the direct foil to Bearden. A renowned Chinese mercenary and master-pilot, T’ang operates with a cold, calculated efficiency that contrasts sharply with Bearden’s frantic, instinctive reactions. He is the embodiment of the professional soldier in this new, sanitized era—someone who views the war as a technical challenge to be mastered. While Bearden is a product of national pride and risky promotions, T’ang is a veteran of the game who nearly secures victory through sheer skill.

The spectators and the Government exist as the supporting collective, acting as a chorus of public opinion. They are the ones who demand the entertainment of war, protesting the inclusion of inexperienced pilots like Bearden while simultaneously cheering the destruction of the ships. They represent the detached public, who perceive the conflict not as a life-and-death struggle, but as a spectacle to be consumed through a telescope, effectively stripping the war of its horror and replacing it with the thrill of competition.

In Its Own Voice

The Universal War Board granted it, stating, of course, the conditions.

The story opens by framing war as a bureaucratic process requiring official, state-sanctioned permission.

No human beings should be on the battlefield.

This line establishes the cold, detached premise of a conflict where machines do the fighting while the operators remain in distant comfort.

He climbed up on the high stool and reached for the speed control levers, which were directly behind him.

This moment highlights the physical vulnerability and clumsy reality of the protagonist, Bearden, as he attempts to command a massive war machine.

What It's Really About

The story examines the complete dehumanization of warfare through the lens of bureaucracy and technological distance. It asks whether a war can truly be considered "won" if the human experience of conflict—the suffering, the moral weight, and the physical sacrifice—is entirely removed. By treating international conflict as a commercial monopoly dispute settled by remote-controlled toys, the text critiques a society that prioritizes efficiency and economic gain over the gravity of killing. It suggests that when war becomes a "Permit," it becomes a dangerous, addictive spectacle, ultimately arguing that the removal of human risk makes it far easier, and perhaps inevitable, for nations to wage war more frequently.

Why Read It Today

Readers drawn to speculative fiction that anticipates the ethical dilemmas of the future will find this piece remarkable. Written in the late 1920s, it functions as a haunting prototype for contemporary concerns regarding drone warfare and the "gamification" of violence. It feels clinical and detached, mirroring the very coldness of the characters it describes.

The prose is straightforward and journalistic, moving quickly from one mechanical engagement to the next. It lacks the deep, internal psychological exploration found in later novels, as it is a short, punchy work that prioritizes its central argument over character development. The writing reflects its era, particularly in its dated views on international relations and the specific, early-20th-century preoccupation with radio technology as the ultimate frontier.

The ending—where a massive, lethal explosion is greeted by the cheering of crowds and the awarding of a revenue contract—is the element that stays with you. It is a cynical, sharp-edged story that refuses to provide a comfortable moral resolution. Because it is brief, it acts as a quick, intense meditation on the nature of state-sanctioned destruction. It is best read as a historical curiosity that, despite its age, feels unsettlingly relevant to the way modern, remote conflicts are presented to the public.