![]() |
| A detached look at running a solo campaign |
This follows from an email that Martin S
sent me - he is one of a few regular correspondents I have who comment by email
since they refuse on principle to have Google accounts in any shape or form – I
respect this, but choose not to have a view on it (of course). His email was, as always, friendly and amusing, but his main message was
a large question mark in response to my ECW campaign – what the hell is this?
I do the blog and the campaign for my own
amusement, of course, but it has been fairly apparent that reaction to the
campaign thus far has been less than rapturous, shall we say, and I wondered if
there were others who felt, like Martin, that it seems to be, in his words, “a vague sort
of fairy tale with toy soldiers”.
This is not intended as a justificatory
piece, but it might at least help me to get my own head straight about what I’m
doing – and if no-one reads it, it doesn’t matter anyway!
I very much enjoyed the Peninsular War-type
solo campaign I did a year or two ago (or whenever it was), but a few things
cropped up which could have been better (as in “easier”, or “more fun”). First,
the scale of the campaign was very ambitious for a solo effort – the
book-keeping and the application of the very detailed intelligence and supply
rules drove it, pretty much, and that took a lot of hard work. The bits I
enjoyed most were when I was getting stuck, or bogged down, and I took some
kind of sideways political swipe to change the game and keep it moving – thus
the occasional sacking of generals, and having Napoleon overturn the French
strategy from his armchair in Paris, produced some of the best moments. This is, after all, the greatest single advantage
of a solo game. In essence, my Peninsular narrative was driven by the rules,
but the most enjoyable bits were when the narrative took over for a while.
Also, my attempts to isolate a bit of Spain so that I could ignore the off-map
goings-on (to keep the scope finite) did not work too well. At best, some
distortions arose; at worst, the game became a little silly at times – some of
the events just would not have happened in the real history.
OK – that was Lesson One – let’s spend less
time on the hospital returns, reduce the scale, put more emphasis on the
narrative as the driver and – for the context of the ECW campaign – try to get
away from the constraints imposed by real places and real people – they always
push you towards real events. [I remember reading some of the paperwork that
some friends were producing for yet another postal Peninsular campaign years
ago, and I was struck by the fact that they used an overall map which (I think)
came from one of Michael Glover’s books – which showed the principal towns that
featured in the real war, the roads which featured in the real campaign, and
even the battlefields. I made a jocular suggestion that one of the generals was
going to have to get a move on, because otherwise he would be late for the
Battle of Albuera (which was, of course, marked on their map), and the total
humour failure which greeted this comment revealed that I might have hit a
nerve. These chaps had not intended to do a botched-up re-enactment campaign,
but they had accidentally forced themselves into something very similar.]
So my ECW campaign is narrative driven. The
fake geography is the easy bit. It is also peopled by fake individuals – this
is my first ever look at an imagi-nation style storyline, and I spent some time
reading Tony Bath and others on how you define (and use) the personalities of made-up
people. I also had a look at a booklet which I downloaded from the world of
fantasy gaming – a field I thought might lend itself ideally to what I had in
mind – but I confess that I got scared very quickly, so abandoned it, for fear
that I might end up living in some kind of parallel universe, with people I had
invented (and didn’t like).
I also backed off quite a way from the thorough
treatment Tony Bath describes; thus I have stuffed my OOB lists with
individuals whose rough, high level character is known to me, and the decision
points in the narrative (the theory goes) are to be driven as required by
roughly assessing some probabilities, and rolling the odd die. As an example,
given Lord Porteous’ lack of confidence, the most likely scenario in Week 4 was
that his army would sit tight until the reinforcement from Northumberland
arrived to hold his hand – in the event, the dice threw up a bit of a shock, in
that his self-obsession and his taste for intrigue (let us say) produced an
unlikely decision to take the offensive, without waiting for them. The surprise
adds to the fun, I find.
Porteous’ performance at Midlawton was also
something of a long-shot. Having found himself on the battlefield, the most
likely strategy was that he would dither around until he was forced to react to
the enemy’s taking the initiative. In fact the dice said otherwise – improbable though it seemed, he would attack immediately. Since I felt that such an attack
would ruin his army, and thus possibly wreck the campaign at an early stage, I
considered giving the dice another chance(!), but decided to stick with the
surprise strategy to see what happened.
Which brings us up to date. The Sir Henry Figge-Newton
character (Parliamentarian C-in-C) is a political appointment, and my reading
of the machinations of the Parliament leadership suggested it might be fun to
make him a mystery figure – we don’t really know why he is there, we don’t
really know what he is like. I thought it was amusing that he appeared on the
battlefield at Midlawton in his carriage – where he stayed throughout. It is
said that he was there with his military secretary, but we don’t really know if
he was there at all. He appears happy to let Aspinall do all the work, and –
potentially – take any blame that is going. He also seems content to live as
well as possible, Puritan values or not, so he maybe feels he has a lot to lose
– these appointments do not come along very often…
That’s really more than I wanted to say
about this (but you would expect that). I might add that, from a wargame point
of view, my return to the C&C-based tabletop rules for the big battle was a joy and a
delight – like getting back into a warm bed on a cold morning. I was
particularly pleased with the variants to cope with using the 10-foot table, and the “brigade move”
tweak – the brigade structure of each army is denoted by attaching coloured
counters; the units in a brigade, and their brigade commander, each have a
distinctive colour attached. On “section” type Command Cards (those which refer
to a flank, or the centre), this tweak allows an order to be given to a Leader
who is attached to a unit in his own brigade, and he may issue additional orders
to a concatenated group of units from the same brigade – no gaps – a
daisy-chain system. It worked really well – for a big battle on a big table, it
does away with the need to have bonus moves or double card-plays to keep things
moving. Very pleased with that. The brigades stayed together, the brigadiers
were proactive – and, as a result, they took a few wounds.
I’m also very pleased with a comment received
from Michael, who has entered into the spirit of the thing sufficiently to suggest
that Lord Sefton, the excitable cavalry commander on the Royalist side, could
be played by Trevor Howard. Excellent – apart from the fact that this is great
casting, I am heartened to consider that I might not be the only bloke around who is
daft enough to think of this stuff. As a background project, I am now taking
suggestions for who should play the various characters in the eventual movie of
this campaign. Let us not worry that the movie might turn out to be very short
– nor that such an idea is even more far-fetched than my fairy story. Let us
not concern ourselves, either, with taking all our players from the same time –
thus far I have Stephen Fry pencilled in as Lord Porteous, and I have Russell
Crowe and Michael Redgrave on my short list for other roles.
It might be a weird way to run a campaign,
but I’m really enjoying myself!
Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived a king...






