Consider the rulebooks of some games I have learned to play:
the current Civil War Brigade Series
rulebook is 32 pages long, and each game has a game-exclusive rulebook, too; Here I Stand is 48 pages long, excluding
the separate playbook/scenario book; and Advanced
Squad Leader...well, to play an Infantry Only scenario, and setting aside Nationality and Terrain rules, you still need to learn about 40 pages if you're self-teaching. All small type, tightly set. And moreover,
I’ve learned dozens of games with rulebooks in that region or longer.
What’s wrong with me? And what’s wrong with wargamers in
general? We learn and play games with much longer rulebooks – Lace Wars or A World at War come to mind. I’m tempted to suggest we do so
because, the saying goes, “they’re there”. Surely the desire to accomplish a
vast task is part of the motivation of the average wargamer playing a monster
or a heavy game. Yet I think there is more.
This was the key question that entered my mind when I sought
to reflect on Battles of the Age of
Reason IX: Mollwitz 1741 and Chotusitz 1742, a game covering Frederick the
Great’s first battlefield commands. Why do I play games like this? It has 48
pages of series rules, 28 pages of module-specific rules, a 12-page booklet of
tables and roster sheets, and another two double-sided charts – for a total of
92 sides of paper. Not all of this has to be learned to play a scenario – as
this contains 7 scenarios over 2 different battles, you only need to learn
battle-specific and scenario-specific rules for whatever you are playing. You
can ignore the few pages of historical notes. Beyond that, though, most of the
rules are non-negotiable.
BAR, like its
forebear La Bataille, is a dense,
procedural simulation of the horse and musket era. Where La Batt simulates the Napoleonic era, BAR simulates (so far) the period 1741-1783, with games covering
the War of the Austrian Succession, the Seven Years’ War, and the American
Revolution. Why did I buy Mollwitz 1741
and Chotusitz 1742, then? Well, I like the period; I have heard many good
things about the system; and the specific game was billed as a good starting
place, with two single-map battles (most of the other games set in Europe are
multi-mappers).
And, if I’m honest, I was curious about the weight, the
density. “It was there.” It was a mountain I wanted to climb. But why? People
climb mountains, but don’t leap into lava streams just because they are there.
Something valuable inheres in the target – and the hardship of the journey
makes the attainment of the target all the greater. What is this in complex
wargames?
I should begin my answer by saying that it does not include
the actively confused layout of the sheets and charts of this game (key charts
are hidden in the game-specific chart booklet, next to rosters; but the other
key charts are loose and cardstock; I’ve still not yet learned to instinctively
look in the right place when wanting to check the Terrain Effects Chart, or the
Fire Multiplier Chart!), or even the surprisingly disjointed rulebook, where
information is repeated across sections in a way that sometimes tricks me – is
the whole summary of Wing and Command Leader Initiative in the Sequence of Play
section? No, wait, there’s a much fuller description spread across the Initiative
Determination section and the Command and Control section, though none of this
is particularly well cross-referenced.
I wouldn’t want to extend this criticism too wide, but it is
certainly jarring to read an obviously refined rulebook – a system with nine
iterations, building on the whole tradition of La Bataille beforehand – that still has concrete usability issues.
I suppose one might enjoy conquering usability issues – I enjoy solving a
complex, frustrating problem with a model train – but I don’t think that is why
wargamers flock to heavy games. We’re nerds, but most of us aren’t masochists
(direct letters disagreeing to the editor).
No, I think the reason I pick games like this up regularly
is that the density of procedure, the array of interlocking systems, the
neurotic attention to historic detail, all serve two purposes of core
importance to most dedicated wargamers: the seeking of mastery, and the desire
for historical transportation.
What do I mean? In a classic “beginner’s” wargame – Napoleon at Waterloo is the obvious
touchstone – units move under fairly simple rules, using a simple set of
movement modifiers on a table. They attack in a fairly simple way, too.
Typically, either a “to hit” roll is made (more usual in miniatures) or a
simple odds ratio is calculated between the attacking units and the defending
units. A roll is made on a table displaying the various odds, and that gives a
result – in the simplest cases usually out of a range of “No Effect”, “Retreat”,
and “Damaged/Killed”. Everything about these results can usually be explained
in a sentence or two (though, then again, we’ve all read an otherwise simple rulebook
with a multi-page Retreat system!).
Mollwitz 1741 and
Chotusitz 1742 is a close follower of the second model – but significantly
more complicated. How do we work out the odds ratio, that staple of the
hex-and-counter wargame? Well, to take the example of fire combat: (1)
determine how many Strength Points can fire out of each hex firing upon a
target, and then, applying modifiers where necessary, multiply each firing unit’s
SP by the range modifier of its troop type, with e.g. a 12lb Artillery unit
multiplying its SPs by 4 at a range of 4 hexes – the cumulate result is the
Fire Strength; (2) divide that Fire Strength by the Fire Defense Value of the
targeted hex – with e.g. a Clear Hex having a FDV of 10 whilst a Village has an
FDV of 20; (3) roll d100 and apply any final modifiers, and then
cross-reference the result on the Fire Combat Table. There are actually only a
relatively few types of results of a “hit”, and none particularly complex, but
if you roll 00-09, you have rolled a Fire Combat Special Result, for the effects
of which you must consult the relevant Fire Special Results table (there are
three separate tables, for three types of Fire).
You get the idea. And of course, there’s plenty more of
this: multiple complicated formations, the relative inability of infantry to
move obliquely without changing facing, and even a whole Special Cavalry
Movement sub-system. Even Terrain Effects on Movement often include three items
of information – Movement Cost, Stacking Limit by Troop Type and Formation, and
Disorder Check if applicable. The system isn’t revolutionary – it doesn’t even
go so far as to use a “Differential Odds” combat system, let alone something as
quirky as that of the Civil War Brigade
Series, mentioned above – but it is dense and layered.
At first, this can be exasperating. How many cases apply to
a Fire check? Have I missed something? (Yes.) Oh, wait, that line of cavalry
couldn’t have moved that far because they had to change facing – and anyway, I
miscalculated the command ranges (as there are so many different effects on
measurement) so I should have rolled Command Initiative.
Eventually, for the hardened wargamer, something clicks – oh.
It was when I realized I had a second Opportunity Fire shot on a Skirmishing
Hussar unit which was leaving a hex, and actually fairly quickly processed the
maths involved. Suddenly I felt like I saw beneath the surface of the systems,
to some kind of mathematical realm beyond – which sounds like an exaggeration,
but is not. When a system clicks, I experience a sense of sublimity – and that
means that the more complex and deep a system is, the more sublime.
This connects to the other great benefit I find in complex
systems – that sense of being transported across history. Some of us wargamers
are noisy in saying that we don’t believe we are playing simulations; one
particularly strange (and unnecessary) defence of ASL is that it depicts Movie
World War Two, not the real deal. Yet the very nature of typical wargame rules –
the basic “language” we use – is simulatory. Representation is the point, not
elegance or fine engineering. If you wanted elegance in your rules, virtually
no traditional wargame’s combat system would make the grade. But the combat
systems – whether CRTs or To Hits or whatever else – are meant to make us think
of the clash of arms. Thus when Mollwitz
1741 and Chotusitz 1742 forces me to muck about – in a scenario with Snow,
indeed, so movement is already really slow! – with facing changes so I can
actually align my cavalry for their charge, because I can’t just move them in a
straight line of hexes but have to alternate...that’s the sweet spot for the
nerd.
The snow is heavy on the ground. The Prussian infantry have
to slog through it to get to the Austrian centre, where they can probably
caramelize the shaky Habsburg foot. There are strong wings of enemy cavalry on
either flank. To quick march they have to suck up Fatigue – or you can accept
the tradeoff of losing time so they can arrive in better shape. The Austrian
Hussars are providing an extra obstacle, and are so much harder to hit because
of their Skirmish formation. And the winter sun is falling fast.
Dense mechanics – big rulebooks – fields of chrome, endless
exceptions – these seem like a nightmare, but our Cardboard Time Machines need
lots of knobs and dials if we are to get in close. This is because the
transportation through time most of us are seeking is not the exact metrics of
shots fired vs wounds caused, but the story which explains the battle and the
personages involved. Games, in this sense, are claims about reality – they tell
the story. And the heavy games tell those stories in a way no elegant,
insightful design can – not through neat tricks but through the very weight of
the rules. When you must memorize dozens and dozens of rules and sub-systems,
the claim about the battle or war is impressed upon you in a very distinctive
way.
Mollwitz 1741 and
Chotusitz 1742 is a very fine example of this species of game. Its rules rarely
seem arbitrary or stupid and never really break the suspension of disbelief. This
is partly through using Strength Points and Roster Sheets rather than Steps –
damage is steady and cumulative, so Rubber-Banding or Bloodbath CRTs can’t ruin
the illusion. The battle-specific rules are not overly onerous. The range of
scenarios is fairly varied – there are two fairly different battles to begin
with, and they each have different situations, including cavalry battles and
full deployment scenarios (which remind me of the Main Scenarios in the Prussia’s Glory series). All told, I
think this was a very good introduction to BAR
(I have two other games in the series on the shelf already!).
What is required, to be sure, is persistence – this is a
system that has to click to work its magic. I can teach a complete newbie a Battles of the American Revolution game by Mark Miklos with fairly
little difficulty. I might need to handhold, but the basic dynamic is clear,
and the basic mathematical problems are fairly open (though, inevitably,
Retreats are the nightmare piece of the puzzle). But with Battle of the Age of Reason, both the engineering puzzle and the
historical vision only come out once the rules have been rehearsed.
For many gamers out there, that is (naturally) a problem –
spending hours learning a game and then spending hours beginning to play it,
before even getting a hint of the joy involved, seems like more than delayed
gratification. It seems like insanity. But to the Initiate of the Wargaming
Mysteries, a game like Mollwitz 1741 and
Chotusitz 1742 is a path to higher enlightenment.
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