HOME ALONE

THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR, by MARK HERMAN

from Victory Games

One 22" x 34" map, one 24-page rulebook, one 30-page Historical Commentary, 200 die-cut counters, two Strategy Matrix charts, Victory Point pad, various play-aids, two six-sided dice, tray; boxed. $35.

Reviewed by Rick Swan

Like an old family dog who barely has the strength to drag his cancer-riddled carcass to his water dish, wargaming is dying a slow, agonizing death, and nobody has the heart to put it out of its misery. It's embarrassing and painful to experience. The only reason I'm not getting out of this hobby is that I'm too lazy to find a new one.

It's hardly a secret that the audience for these anachronisms is steadily getting older. Hasn't it sunk in yet that if there aren't any new consumers coming aboard; that, eventually, there won't be anybody left to play when all us stubborn old fogeys drop dead? And there isn't even the tiniest smidgeon of hope that this is going to change any time soon. Thanks to Game Boy cartridges, Janet Jackson concerts, and Republican presidents, the brain cells of the younger generation have been systematically reduced to sawdust. I bet there isn't one out of fifty kids under 20 who can even pronounce "Peloponnesian," let alone identify the era. And there aren't even half that many with the reading skills necessary to make it through a wargaming rulebook that isn't narrated by Garfield.

Meanwhile, game publishers continue to cooperate with their own extinction by putting out numbing rehashes of rehashes, and refusing to mount anything remotely resembling an intelligently planned and aggressively executed campaign to recruit new players, a strategy roughly comparable to a dinosaur preparing for the coming Ice Age by installing air conditioners in the family cave.

Players aren't much better. Instead of demanding better products, we seem to content ourselves with whining about whether Corporal Boinske's movement rate ought to be one hex or two, and engaging in endless, tedious debates of realism vs. playability, when that question was settled for all practical purposes about two decades ago (namely, wargames aren't accurate historical simulations any more than the Star Wars movies are accurate space travel documentaries; they're only games, never were meant to be anything more than that, never could be, never will be . . . so enough already). (Ed. Note: Although there is some merit in this position, there are some games that come mighty close to that elusive target.)

And poor old us - "old" being the operative word. We have too much to do, too little time to do it in, and too little energy with which to do it. Those good old college days when like-minded intellectuals could afford to spend a leisurely weekend hunched over a Squad Leader board are gone forever. There is little likelihood that they will ever be back. But publishers still insist on cranking out these two-player games just like the 70's never ended, and we old geezers had all the time in the world to circle our wheelchairs around the dining room table and actually play them. What really happens, of course, is that - how sad - we're left to enjoy our toys by ourselves. And is there anything more pathetic than grown men playing both sides of a wargame? (Watching reruns of "Growing Pains' with only a bowl-full of pork rinds as company comes to mind . . . .)

The best hope for resuscitating this wheezing hobby - and it's a long shot at that - is solitaire games. Since we haven't quite yet reached the solitaire rehash stage, thanks to the low number of solo games published to date, the genre still has some life in it. More to the point, solitaire games directly address the needs of an aging, increasingly isolated audience. (Ed. Note: Actually, maybe what we need is a 900 number for these purported hermits . . . Dial 1-900-DEE-ELIM, ask for Melinda . . . and don't forget, get your parents' permission first!! $4.95 for first six dierolls.)

So God bless The Peloponnesian Wars. Whether it's any good or not is almost beside the point. It's solitaire, it's a Victory Game (I like to think I'm much too sophisticated to be influenced by brand names, but Victory hasn't unleashed too many outright dogs, so there's reasonable grounds to believe that this one's at least playable, sight unseen), it's by Mark Herman, so why not buy it? I would've flopped down my Visa as soon as I spotted it if the marketing wizards at Victory had emblazoned S-O-L-I-T-A-I-R-E in big red letters across the top. But they didn't. (Ed. Note: No, Rick, you waited until I sent you a freebie . . . . ) Instead, there's no indication anywhere on the front cover that the game is designed with the solitary man in mind; I guess "Peloponnesian Wars" has a much greater marquee value. Further indication of the immense marketing skills being siloed away in Baltimore.

PW is a nice-looking, smartly designed game based on the wars between Athens and Sparta, circa 431-404 B.C. Much of the 24-page rulebook is devoted to simulating the imaginary opponent, a rather convoluted (unavoidably so, given the scope of the project) set of mechanics, evidenced by the two pages necessary just to summarize the turn sequence. The level of abstraction is unusually high: for instance, the map uses the House Divided movement system of squares and triangles interlocked by "Lines of Communication", so there's not much in the way of movement rules . . . and there's no Combat Results Table. There's also a lot of die-generated randomization: roll a die to find the enemy's attack strategy, roll a die to see if a moving army is intercepted, ad infinitum - enough so that the game vaguely recalls the die-rolling festival of Avalon Hill's B-17. And even though the game seems to play well, I can't guarantee I've been doing it right. I admit that sometimes I forget to add 1 to the Spartan leader's Strategy Ration whenever Alcibiades is on the Spartan or Persian Side, and - stupid me - it always slips my mind to ignore the Athenian Emergency Fund restriction when 10 or more Delian League spaces are in rebellion. But that's one of the joys of solitaire - nobody cares if you cheat.

The game has at least one intriguing feature that sets it apart from the pack - namely, the player may be forced to abruptly switch sides if the war drags on too long. For instance, if you begin by playing Athens, letting the game system handle the actions of Sparta, you may suddenly find yourself playing the opposition if a die-roll during the Political Phase (which begins every turn but the first) is high enough. Since it's next to impossible to predict when and if such a switch will occur, the player is forced to do his best regardless of which side he's currently representing. The mechanic admittedly keeps the player at arm's length from the action - there's little incentive to become emotionally involved with one side or the other - and to some the switch may feel uncomfortably contrived. There's no convincing justification for it, although it cleverly compensates for the game's not-too-bright imaginary opponent. But it's a satisfying experience in an oddball sort of way, unlike any I've encountered and as engaging as it is jarring.

After choosing a scenario (the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War, the Declean War, and the Fall of Athens) and deploying the units (leaders, Hoplite and Cavalry Land units, and Naval units), the game begins with the Operations Phase, a series of maneuvers toggling back and forth between the player and his imaginary opponent. To stage an operation, the player designates an objective (usually a city) and places the Objective Marker on the appropriate space. He then assembles an army by moving a leader to spaces occupied by friendly forces and paying the appropriate amount of talents from his treasury to sign them up.

An army has an unlimited movement allowance to get to its objective, within certain restrictions imposed by the Lines of Communication: only Land units can move along Land LOC, and only Naval units can move along Naval LOC. As an army moves, it may ravage unoccupied enemy spaces, or it may be intercepted if it enters an enemy Zone of Influence. The player may also attempt a "Cause Rebellion" operation by paying 100 talents from his treasury and rolling a die; a roll of 6 ignites a rebellion in the objective space, after which the friendly army moves in.

When the player completes his operation, play shifts to the imaginary opponent; his ( her? its?) strategy is determined by consulting the appropriate Strategy Matrix, following the indicated flow chart (based on the current game conditions), rolling a die or two, and applying the results. Both sides continue to execute operations until they pass, run out of money or units, or are forced to stop by an unfavorable augury roll. (The gods are a feisty lot.)

Actually, much of the game is ruled by Flow-Chart mentality. Flow charts, rarely seen in normal games, are the glue of solitaire simulations. Flow Charts are excellent visual aids, but they're devilishly difficult and lengthy to explain. Part of the rules length can be ascribed to this, although Herman, with the aid of a crack development staff that includes SPI expatriate, Bob Ryer, and present-day experts, Kevin Boylen and Keith Schlesinger, appears to have done well in reining in this inherent problem.

Combat is simple but effective. It is basically a battle between modifiers, such as Leader Tactical Ratings, unit Strength Points, the type of space in which the battle occurs, etc. Modifiers are applied to a die-roll for each side, and the higher result wins. The winner stays put, the loser forfeits a number of Strength Points equal to the difference between the die-rolls and places the surviving units in the Going Home (Alone?) box. The musically sophisticated amongst you can hum stretches from the second movement of Dvorak's 7th symphony (or is it the 9th now?) at this point.

Following combat comes the Rebellion Expansion Phase and an Administration Phase involves the collection of revenue and rebuilding units. During the ensuing Armistice and Surrender Phase, the player determines if the once-per-game Armistice occurs, a condition resulting from low Bellicosity totals (measuring each side's determination to continue the war, a factor that wandered all over the place during the actual fracas). Alternately, one side may be required to surrender if its Home space is enemy-controlled or its Bellicosity total has been reduced to zero. If the game continues, the player rolls for a Random Event (such as the discovery of a silver mine to boost the treasury, or a lunar eclipse which upsets the gods and limits the number of operations the affected player may conduct), makes a modified die-roll to see if he switches sides, and determines the imaginary opponent's defensive strategy by consulting the Strategy Matrix. Then it's back to the Operations Phase where the cycle continues.

All of this is clearly explained, but play doesn't proceed as easy as it promises, thanks to the mountain of modifiers and bookkeeping. The player must also have a knack for the abstract, as the game requires him to navigate such quirky concepts as the Strategy Confidence Index (which monitors a force's overall conduct of the war) and the aforementioned Bellicosity rating. The detailed example of play - all of five pages long - in the Historical Commentary book helps a lot, as does the designer's lucid writing. But this remains a game for the experienced; novices should stick with B-17.

CAPSULE COMMENTS:

Physical Quality: Nothing to shout about, but better than average. Solid professional job.

Playability: Fun for the diligent. Because of dumb luck or (more likely) my insistence on streamlining the rules (i.e. ignoring the ones I didn't like or couldn't remember), the system didn't seem terribly hard to beat. The multi-player rules eliminate a lot of the clutter but lose some of the charm; stick with the solo version.

Historicity: Emphasizing economics and leadership rather than combat and maneuvering, it skims the fine points of ancient warfare but works well as a strategic overview.

Playing Time: Easily playable in an evening.

Comparisons: Not as flashy as GMT's Hornet Leader, more fun than Avalon Hill's Raid On St. Nazaire, not as impressive as West End's R.A.F., easier than Victory's Carrier, and certainly better than two of the recent classical-era strategy games, Trajan and Hannibal. The Command/Markowitz Alexandros game was almost as inventive, but not as satisfactory solitaire.

Overall: A strong design, an interesting approach, and a generally good time. In twenty years, when you drag it out of the attic and blow the dust off, you can display it proudly to your grandchildren. They'll laugh at you for squandering your youth, but just defy the little bastards to figure out how to play it. That ought to shut 'em up.