State of Play: Never Mind the Billhooks (the Italian Wars in glorious 28mm)

 

 

I haven’t been writing about our Wednesday night forays lately, and this has been noticed by some of our readers. There are are a couple of reasons for this seeming oversight. Firstly, our host, B, led us the through a game of Here I Stand: Wars of the Reformation, 1517-1555 (GMT Games, 2006). We played HIS over five turns, pone week per turn. This was quite the experience; we’ve played longer, more convoluted boardgames – like New Angeles (Fantasy Flight Games, 2016) over two weeks before, but never he same game for five weeks straight. I mentioned this in a previous post, and I was going to write something about the game, but I’ve been struggling with how to approach it. It’s such a mammoth exercise; I played the French, and I was so wrapped up in the goings-on within and immediately without my borders, I was oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the Continent between the Hapsburgs and the Ottoman Empire beyond the broadest of brushstrokes. I was barely cognisant of the wrestling between the Papacy and the Protestants, right on my doorstep.

I will try to put some thoughts together about HIS for a future post, but not today. Since completing that sumptuous feast of gaming, B has brought us a “palette cleanser” (his words), in Zombicide (CMON Global Ltd, 2021), which has been gracing the table these past several weeks. While I’ve enjoyed Zombicide much more than I'd anticipated, it’s not a wargame; the way we play it, it’s barely a co-op.

This week saw a return to the old ways; B broke out his wargame miniatures for us. Table resplendent, we were treated to our first run at a new (for the Wednesday group) miniatures wargame.

Never Mind the Billhooks (Wargames Illustrated, 2020) is– to my mind – a medium-scale skirmish miniatures wargame rules set. When I think if skirmish rules, my thoughts run to much smaller-scale combat rules like SAGA (Gripping Beast, 2018), Muskets and Tomahawks (Studio Tomahawk, 2012), or Force on Force (Osprey Publishing, 2009), where each figure represents a single combatant. Never Mind the Billhooks was originally designed to recreate the kinds of battles that took place in England and Scotland around the time around the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, between armies numbering seven  or eight hundred to a thousand strong. The rules are simple and robust enough that resources are available to enact a number of theatres of war using the same basic ruleset. Our game was a consideration of a representative battle during the Italian Wars (late fifteenth to mid-sixteenth century).

Activation is conducted by card draw, which is essentially a chit activation mechanic, but with cards. The draw deck consists of leaders (formation commander), who get two orders each activation, a special card that triggers a roll-off for the two sides to gain a tactical advantage card (from a deck of a half-dozen or so), that the holder can use in that turn, or relinquish. The kicker is the last card of each round doesn’t get drawn; one unit doesn’t get an activation that round. That alone can be devastating to a side, but it helps to capture the ramshackle nature of medieval combat in a simple, if inelegant way.

Combat is straightforward, a fist full of dice based on what kind of unit is deployed and how many troops are left, with the defended being able to roll for saves against any hit (except hits from cannon, which also get one extra automatic hit on tight formations such as Scottish schiltrons, Swiss gevierthaufen* or Spanish tercios).

The battle was to be fought with an unidentified Italian state (fielded by D and myself) defending its sovereignty against French interlopers (H, with B mostly in an advisory role). The French forces were arguably superior, with a squadron of mounted knights (French nobility – the crème de la crème, if you will), two units of crossbowmen, a battery of cannon, and as its centrepiece, a formation of Swiss pikemen with attendant skirmishers. This is what the Italians feared the most. Nothing can stop a Swiss pike square, except its total destruction, and that wasn’t going to happen with our meagre force.

The Italians set a defensive line and tried to hold firm. We had our own spear square (a mere shadow of the much larger and more powerful Swiss gewalthaufen*), flanked by arquebusiers and sword-&-buckler skirmishers to their left (under D), with another formation of arquebusiers to the square’s right, facing the grain-field (under my direction). The Italian battery placed at the extreme right of the Italian lines. It was trained on the top of the road, the obvious path for the Swiss mercenaries. Inside of them were a squadron of heavy cavalry, a force to be reckoned with but not in the same league as the French nobles. A band of mounted squires (unarmoured) were held in reserve, to the rear of the Italian left. In spite of our numerical superiority in formations – the armies were probably roughly equal in represented numbers), there was apprehension among the defenders at having to face both the French knights – a devastating force against infantry – and the implacable Swiss warriors.

Battle was joined with the Italian cannon trying to thin the Swiss ranks, with some success but not enough to make a real difference. After some poor initial placement, the French crossbowmen were able to ablate diagonally over a couple of rounds) into a position to approach the Italian cannon battery unhindered. The crossbowmen’s deflection allowed the French cavalry to move up into a covering position. I’d positioned the Italian armoured cavalry to cross the line of cannon fire between barrages. This they did and were able to threaten the crossbow formations while staying out of their range for the moment. Meanwhile the Swiss gewalthaufen moved inexorably forward. D brought his sword-and-shield men forward to try to engage with the Swiss skirmishers.

The Italian artillery was taking a toll on the Swiss block, but the unit’s cohesion remained unchallenged. Another round and they would be close enough for the arquebusiers for engage with them.

Meanwhile, on the Italian right, the Italian cavalry had approached the French lines, when the French Cavalry order was drawn. The trap (such as it was) was sprung. The French drove up to meet their Italian counterparts in a devastating confrontation that would see them vanquished from the field. Or that was the plan.

A bold attack.

In some rulesets, striking at an oblique angle would lend the attackers in this situation an advantage, allowing them to strike essentially a portion of the opposing formation and denying them the ability to defend with their full force. In Billhooks, a defending unit can pivot (within 45°) to meet an attacker. Also, the crossbows, being missile weapons, could not fire at the Italian cavalry because they were now engaged in melee with a friendly unit.

Still, this should have been easy work for the French knights, to see off their upstart Italian opposition. This was the biggest upset of the battle. Attack and defence is rolled simultaneously. Each side had 16 dice to roll, and each had the opportunity to roll saves on any hits made. The difference was that while the Italians hit on rolls of five or six, the French needed fours or higher to strike a blow.

Reversal of fortunes.

The French attack was blunted in the cast of the die; three hits from a possible sixteen, of which the Italians were able to roll saves for two. One palpable hit. Where did all those other anticipated hits go, you may wonder? Let me elucidate. The Italians scored no less than ten hits, of which, only three were denied by French saving throws. The remailing French cavalry withdrew, the Italians at their heels.

Yet to activate that round, the Italians pressed their advantage. The compagnie broke, and the Italians looked around for who to attack next. In their activation. The French battery, which had hereto had some success against the arquebusiers on their left (Italian right), saw the destruction of their cavalry and chose the better part of valour (failed their morale roll).

Reversal of squires.

The Swiss skirmishers took pot-shots at the swordsmen, while the gewalthaufen closed to engage with the Italian spearmen. When the Swordsmen tried to engage with the firearm-wielding skirmishers, they melted like a late snow into the main body of the pike formation.

Around this time, the crossbowmen, who had advanced forward enough to engage their static adversaries, broke their advance, their left unit firing at the Italian battery while their right swung around to pour a rain of shafts down on the arquebusiers on the Italian right. With the Swiss engaging imminently with the main force of the Italian defence – the spearmen – there was nothing more for the arquebusiers to do but defend themselves as best they could. They pivoted to face their assailants and returned fire, each side gaining a hit.

It was time for the Italian battery to look to its own defence, and it did so, pivoting to face the French threat and firing. While it may have given pause to the French, making them question the wisdom of attacking cannon, it gained no hits.

With a new round the Swiss met its (rather puny) Italian counterpart and smashed it, then advanced and smashed it once more. The spearmen could do nothing to stop the onslaught; they broke and fled. The gewalthaufen marched forward, no doubt more interested in the Italian baggage train than their paymasters’ cause.

The Swiss: bloodied but unstoppable.

Meanwhile, the Italian cavalry had reversed, redressed their lines, and saw an opportunity in the French crossbow unit attacking their supporting arquebusiers. With a single charge they were put to flight, ending the match with the third broken French unit.

Looking back on it, I really like Never Mind the Billhooks (though I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the British miniature gamers' insistence on making titles out of unfortunate puns). It lends a suitable amount of chaos to the activities, while forcing the players to consider the potential ramifications of their actions. The Italian squires I mentioned at the beginning never got to do anything really, because they were too close to the other units to be able to turn. In Billhooks you can move forward, pivot from one corner to turn (up to 45°, or further but taking a disordered token for the trouble), or ablate forward, maintaining direction but moving to one side at less than 45°. Or you can about face, but you’ll have to spend your next order reforming onto battle coherency again. I’m sure we’ll get to play this again soon. B is on an Italian Wars jag, and has been painting up some lovely Swiss and Landsknecht miniatures for truly epic gaming. Before the season is over, we may even get a game or two of Arquebus: Men of Iron Volume IV – The Battles for Northern Italy 1495-1544 (GMT Games, 2017). Here’s hoping.

 

The vanquished.

* Gevierthaufen, an earlier term for the tight Swiss polearm square, literally “square crowd”, and was used as an early designation of this formation. The term gewalthaufen (“crowd of force”) was adopted later, being a better descriptor of the new, powerful configuration.

 

 

State of Play: Battle Line; or, Down the Rabbit-Hole

 

So, on Monday night I had this thing - I'm the treasurer for a university-based History group; we organise half-a-dozen lectures each year about some fairly random subjects, under the aegis of the History of Science, Ideas and Technology. Monday was also our Annual General Meeting, and as treasurer, I had to give a short report on the state of the group's bank balance We're in the black). The talk was interesting with lots of questions afterwards, so when I managed to extract myself from the throng, i was a little late getting to T's for our scheduled second Undaunted: Normandy excursion. To add to this, T's wife's (and my wife's) aunt and uncle are over visiting from the UK for a week; lots of hellos and hugs all round and pictures of their new granddaughter, and another twenty minutes is lost. When we manage to extract ourselves from that throng, it's getting late and I'm not sure I have a game left in me.

T to the rescue. For his job job, T has to travel overseas sometimes, usually a couple of times a year. When he's in the States, I'll arrange for a couple of games to be shipped to his hotel, and he's happy to mule home for me. T's done this for years, so last time I bought his own copy of Reiner Knizia's Battle Line (GMT Games, 2000). Monday night, T pulls out this little gem, and we squeeze in two matches before I drag myself home to do the bookkeeping from the aforementioned AGM.

Now, I like to think of myself as someone who is present during a game. I think about what I'll be doing next while the other guy is taking his turn, and I try to not run out the clock with deliberation. If I'm playing Commands and Colors Anything, I know what card I'm going to play next as soon as I've picked up my next one, and have a pretty good idea of what I'll likely play after that. I try to maintain that kind of focus and discipline in whatever I play (wargames, I mean; I'm probably a little more cavalier with multi-player family games, and I have been known to reach for my phone in RPG sessions when someone else is hoarding the spotlight or um-ing and ah-ing about what spell they are going to cast next). 

I do this mostly because I assume my opponent is bringing their best game, and I owe them the same measure of respect. And I can usually do it. In nearly every game I play with any kind of regularity. Then there's Battle Line.

Don't get me wrong. I love Battle Line. I love the structured theme of the game, the mathematical underpinnings, the press-your-luck mechanics. It is on-the-fly strategy distilled into a game that can be over in twenty-five minutes. Except...

Battle Line is maybe my White Whale. I feel like I have a pretty firm handle on it, but I lose more games than I win. Something about Battle Line gets under my skin and makes me question every decision before I've even settled on it. I always suspected I had a play-issue with it, but it wasn't until Monday past that I realised how big an issue it was. Let me set the scene: T had already taken the first token, second in from my Left, and was in a strong position (setting up a Phalanx - three of a kind) on the second in. He'd also played a purple suit 3,4,5 Wedge (straight flush) on the third from Right. I was feeling strong in my Centre with a Yellow 7,8,9 Wedge on Centre-Left and and a Phalanx of 9s in the Centre, with enough 10s either already played or in my hand that I was sure it couldn't be assailed. I had the Blue 4 and 6 in my hand and as far as I could tell, the Blue 5 hadn't come out yet. I'd kept the Centre-Right position completely open because I really wanted to play that blue Phalanx when the 5 showed. But I had a Red 4 in the third from Left position and the blue 4 I 'd been hanging on to: I was pretty sure - but not certain - that T wouldn't be able to make a formation that could beat 4s, as he had a green five opposite and nearly all the fives were already out, and I had the green 6 in my hand.

I didn't realise until T asked if I'd done my turn, after he'd finished with a call from work, that I'd been stuck in a feedback loop, weighing up playing the whether to play the fours or hold out for the Blue 5 for a Phalanx play for NEARLY SEVEN MINUTES. I apologised, got on with the game, and proceeded to lose, of course. 

In my Wednesday group, we talk about analysis paralysis. I thought this was something somebody had come up with at the table, but it is actually drawn from psychology to refer to the overthinking of a problem that is driven by the fear of an unfavourable outcome. I don't think what I'm experiencing is fear-driven; it's a twenty-minute game, always between friends, and I'm simply not that invested in the outcome.

Driving home, I thought about my decision fugue (that's the name I've given it). As I thought about it, I started to recall other instances in adulthood where I'd got so deep into the circular reasoning of deciding my next play, that I'd lost my perception of time and opponent. Nearly every single time, it was during a game of Battle Line. I'm not saying it's endemic to my game - I'm sure I've played Battle Line through quite often without experiencing this, but I'm also sure it's the only game I've played often where it happens with a noticeable pattern of frequency. Seven minutes is a long time, probably the longest decision fugue I've experienced, but two to three minutes at a time would not be uncommon for me, and nearly every instance of this has been playing Battle Line (one time I can remember that wasn't was my introduction to New Angeles (Fantasy Flight Games, 2016), but I think that was driven more by the unfamiliarity of the situation and being a little bewildered by the options available on my first time out.

I think the decision fugue (in my case, at least) is driven more by the procedure of the decision-making than by apprehension over the outcomes the possible decisions. Decisions in Battle Line are initially based on very limited, explicit information - all you have to work with is what you can see in your hand. A couple of rounds in and presented with more explicit information - the cards that have already been played, as well as any new cards you've drawn for your hand - but the beginnings of a completely new tier of information, the information suggested by what cards your opponent has placed and where. Say they've put down a green 8; they could be holding another 8 or two, or they may also be holding a green 7, which would mean they're hunting for a green 6 or 9. They don't know that you're holding the green 9, but in two rounds they'll play the green 6 on a possible three of a kind with the red 6 that they placed as their opening move, so it's probably 8s they're hunting, which would explain why two of their last three pick-ups have been drawn from the Tactics deck; they're probably looking for the Companion Cavalry card which will give them the third 8 they need for a Phalanx, which in turn suggests they're already holding another 8, but they might be hoping to use that in another contest, maybe that lone yellow 7 sitting alone on your extreme right flank?

As more cards are revealed, the pools of explicit and implicit information grow steadily. But the chances of a specific card that hasn't yet appeared being held by your opponent. This is the only time a skill in card-counting could possibly be of some use in a game of Battle Line. Your opponent has just drawn another card from the Tactics deck; that's their fifth Tactics draw (incidentally giving them a reasonable chance of picking up that Companion Cavalry card), but they've only played two so far. That means four of the cards in their hand are troop cards. To keep things simple, let's say there are six cards left in the Troop deck. That means there is a 60% chance that orange 5 you're hoping for is still in the deck, with a 40% chance that it's in your opponent's hand already. Except you can't help but think if your opponent did hold it, they would have used it to make up that 2-3-4 orange Wedge on your Centre Left contest into a 3-4-5, just to be safe. Since that play, they've only picked up one troop card, so the odds are now (in all likelihood) closer to around 15%* of their holding that particular card. If you each pick up and play a Trop card the next round, those odds shift to about a 33% chance of the orange 5 being held by your opponent, if you haven't picked it up yourself in that round. 

It's a lot to think about. I don't think everyone goes into this much detail at the table with Battle Line or any other game that doesn't have money riding on it. I swear, it's only when playing Battle Line that my thinking turns so analytical over what I would still class as a pretty unserious game. 

That's it. I have a lot more to say about Battle Line, but I'm going to stop it there. I realise I've been talking about the game like everyone knows it well. I'll swing around again and look at how the game works and how it plays - a review, if you will - some time in the future, when I've cleared some of the backlog of games I've already flagged for review here. 

* Actually a little better than 14.2857%, if you want to get pernickety about it.