II. The Watchful Eye

II

The Watchful Eye
The Junior

 

  “Honorable Committee Member? The War is about to break out. We have it running live on your satellite wall.”

 

      The tall and imposing figure cloaked in olive green simply nodded to the attendant and concluded the call he had been making. Jaym Marshle, Junior Committee Member of the Interstate Committee to End War, made a mental note to reward the young attendant for omitting the “Junior” moniker he had come to loathe over his past three terms on the Committee.

 

      Despite the fact that being a Committee Member was one of the highest honors on the continent, he always felt silently insulted when his full titled was read. He certainly didn’t miss the particular relish which with the other Committee Members spat his full title during the Convenings.

 

      Some of the eleven members preferred to watch the Wars in twos or threes, but Jaym always watched them in solitude. He preferred to witness his plan, this one two and a half years in the making, unfold in perfect predictability and enjoy his victory silently. He was a calculating man of statistics and probabilities whose interests extended far beyond merely the kill count projections for tonight’s event. He wanted to know who would live, who would die, what tools were to be used and how long the War would last. He wanted to know what each Soldier would do before they themselves did. He needed to control it all.

 

      Above all, beyond the bloodshed and bullion, tonight was about advancement. The Committee Members held the distinction of being considered the absolute experts on each and every War. It was with this understanding that they were selected to regulate them. To standardize the process, every sitting Committee Member worked to earn points based on how accurately they predicted the Wars themselves. It was predictability above all that the ICEW craved and sought after. Their scores were proof that they were proficient.

 

      Slowly, months upon months and years upon years, Jaym had narrowed the gap between himself and the next Committee Member. He was the highest Junior, making his potential advancement one that would shed his humiliating title of inferiority. He knew, from many sources, that he had very different views on what would come about tonight. Not that he had bet on the Confederation of the Rockies; no Committee Member was fool enough for that. But in a system that measured average length of life, amount of ammunition expended and hours of sleep, every discrepancy counted.

 

      His rival believed the War would be much closer tonight than Jaym thought possible. His official report had predicted a preposterous Pacific Kingdom victory of only four Soldiers. Now was the fruition of all of his efforts. This War. Tonight. All of his preparation would lead to him finally overcoming that point ceiling he had chased for so long.

 

      He settled down into his tall and imposing armchair, a seat positioned for perfect viewing of the massive display wall before him. This is also where he transmitted in for Convenings, but tonight, it would serve a less official purpose. To his right sat a glass of synthetic liquor, a shadow of a relic, but still as exact as his considerable resources would allow, down to the two perfect ice cubes. To his left on a flat screen attached to the arm of his chair, floating numbers scrolled by in quick succession. They provided details on the Soldiers participating in the night’s War as well as up to the minute projects and odds out of Vegas Nuevo. He knew they’d be paying even more attention tonight than usual; they were a charter member of the Pacific Kingdom.

 

      Ever since the legalization of gambling on the Wars thirteen years ago, these events had taken on a decidedly less ceremonious air. Jaym still remembered Wars that had begun with prayers and Soldiers saluting the other Army, but that time had long since passed. One of his earliest memories was that of attending an extravagant parade to lead the Soldiers into the Hendecagon moments before the War broke out. Now, they were shot unceremoniously in through tubes, tumbled together for the audience’s entertainment. He had to admit, though, the Offsetting was always particularly interesting.

 

He felt a certain nostalgia for the old days and its ideas of duty and honor, but he would be a hypocrite to speak against the new wave of change to the Hendecagon as he had attained his wealth and position upon its crest. He was a proficient gambler who had, on more than one occasion, influenced outcomes one way or another in order to reach his current position of power. Though he no longer worried about money, he still put down a Baron’s annual income on Wars for the old familiar thrill.

 

      If he were truly honest with himself, he would acknowledge that the more satisfying thrill was the research and the preparation. The actual event, if prepared for properly, should be an almost boring affair, one predicted and planned for months in advance. Tonight was the culmination of years of planning and manipulation for both him and a handful of carefully-selected allies across the States.

 

      One of the primary advantages of being a member of the ICEW was his advanced knowledge of the weapons that would be utilized in tonight’s War. He took a sip of his drink, savoring the warmth as it burned down his throat. The arsenal of each Army was a tightly-held secret from the public so as not to influence gambling, but being a Member of the Committee, he was privy to every transaction that occurred before the War. It was undoubtedly illegal for him to wager with privileged information and there were plenty of procedures in place to prevent it, but he had found that his wealth, status and third party operatives made anything possible.

 

      Ever since the States’ Agreement to Disarm, firearms had been officially banned, with the exception of Wars and the training for them that occurred in the months prior. There was no doubt some illegal firearms were still present outside the Hendecagon, some even in his own possession, but the States’ accord had labeled possession of a firearm a capital offense and ensured that any guns that did exist were kept carefully hidden.

 

       Jaym remembered learning about the initial conflict that arose out of the passage of the Agreement. In a country that had known war and guerilla tactics for so long, asking them to surrender their arms was like asking them to give up one of their children. It was only through the guidance of the original Committee, of which he was a progeny, that the States had agreed to form Disarmament Squads that collected guns, voluntarily or otherwise.

 

Even then, uprisings in the State of Texas and all along the Confederation of the Rockies had spilled blood for years. Eventually, the combined might of the other States simply overwhelmed the opposition. Some had called for reunification, though Jaym and every other State citizen was thankful that the Committee had had the wisdom to see that the structure was inherently flawed. Instead, they went about the painstakingly detailed process of designing and implementing the Hendecagon model. The rest, as they say, was history.

 

The notable exception to the gun ban was the ICEW’s Armory, a commodity he had unfettered access to. With a quick gesture of his left hand, a full listing of each weapon and which Soldier had what leaped up before him. Though he had looked at the list so many times in the last few months that he had practically memorized it, he still studied its figures from force of habit.

 

Tonight would be a slaughter. He had all but ensured it. The Pacific Kingdom already had an economic advantage with the option of purchasing the more modern weaponry for the War through the ICEW Armory. Each individual weapon’s cost was astronomical, so each State had to allocate what they could to equip their Armies. After years of dedicated research and funding, weapons from various ages had been replicated for use in the Hendecagon, even back to the First Civil War with single-shot rifles and rapiers.

 

Jaym snickered as he thought of the recent trend of some of the poorer states training their Soldiers in advanced hand-to-hand combat as a cost-saving measure. Camouflage training, martial arts, combat knives, thrown weapons, they’d all become essential to any impoverished nation’s Army simply out of financial necessity. The numbers didn’t lie, however, at least not the ones that mattered. It was predicted that this training only raised the survivability rate of a Soldier by 3.8% in the Hendecagon compared to an unarmed and untrained participant. I guess they get credit for creativity, he thought, and took another drink as he turned his focus to his wall screen.

 

The War had already broken out. He silently cursed his immersion in his own thoughts and figures. He quickly pulled up an overview screen to review and realized that he had already missed The Offsetting. He found himself surprised at the results: the Soldier from the Confederation of the Rockies had managed to kill his counterpart from the Pacific Kingdom and was already heading back towards the rest of his team.

 

Jaym was troubled by the news. The Soldier from the Confederation had only had a 32% chance of surviving the first contact between the two Armies, 26% if you went by Vegas Nuevo’s numbers, and yet he had managed to both disarm and kill the far better equipped solider from the Pacific Kingdom with nothing but an early twentieth century combat knife. With a frown of annoyance, he made sure that he’d be kept updated on his progress throughout the War. After checking the kill sheet, he became even more perturbed. General Gabriel Henley.

 

Of course, all of the Soldiers were given the honorary title of General upon their death in the War, but Henley was indeed a vital part of the Pacific Kingdom’s overall strategy. Jaym remembered reading report after report detailing how his strategic mind and expert survivalist skills was one of their Army’s biggest advantages. There was no telling how this would adversely affect his calculations. He quickly punched in commands using programs he had fashion himself in order to reevaluate a long list of odds and percentages now that the variables had changed.

 

Breathing a small sight of relief, Jaym concluded that the War was still well in hand, though the unexpected outcome had still shaken him. War wasn’t supposed to be unpredictable. It was the entire reason for the existence of the Hendecagon and Committee. They allowed War to occur, because it must, but under their terms. He attempted to collect himself as an apprehensive female attendant refilled his glass with a glistened forehead and a hurried bow. The girl’s nervousness pleased him. He was, after all, a man to be feared.

 

With a dismissive wave to the attendant, he turned back to his screens and vowed to not miss another detail. He had too much riding on the outcome. His deal with the Duke, his stock in the nuclear chains located in the arm of Idaho, the satisfaction of wiping the smirk from that condescending Committee Member’s face: all were at stake. And he would send every member of the Pacific Kingdom Royalty straight to the Hendecagon if that’s what it took.

And to the dark he whispered, “I will no longer be a Junior if it kills me.”