Battle Cry

From: Hasbro / Avalon Hill List Price: $45 Players: 2 Playing Time: 60 minutes  Type of game: Family Strategy Skill level: 5 Complexity: 6  Reviewed by: Peter Sarrett, Issue 24, September 2000

I'm not a wargamer. Nothing about the genre appeals to me. I have no interest in the minutae of the Napoleonic era, and to me "European theater" means the Globe or the Royal Albert Hall. The only miniatures I care about are Hershey's, I prefer my flanks cooked medium rare, and I don't love the smell of napalm in the morning. "War games" conjures images of vast hex maps, innumerable tiny counters crammed with numbers, rule books written by some mad love child of Dr. Seuss and Stephen Hawking, and game sessions that are longer and more tedious than the Lewinsky scandal.

So when I tell you that I like Richard Borg's Battle Cry, a Civil War battle game, you have an inkling that we're looking at something different here. In fact, you'll notice that I called it a battle game and not a war game. That's because Battle Cry carries so little of the baggage commonly associated with war games that it seems unjust to give it the same label. Amazingly, this is full-on family fare with light-weight mechanics sure to delight casual gamers and disappoint hardcore yanks and confederates.

A game of Battle Cry recreates a battle from the American Civil War. Over a dozen scenarios are provided and true enthusiasts will find it easy to make their own. Scenarios differ in terrain, army composition, resources, and sometimes even goals, yet within a common framework that makes it simple to transition from one to the next. There's plenty of value inside this box, with enough variety to keep each game fresh.

The value extends to the components, which include hundreds of blue and grey plastic figures representing Union and Confederate infantry, cavalry, and artillery, as well as large cardboard hex tiles depicting woods, hills, fences and other terrain. Some of these tiles are positioned on a blank hex board at the start of the game, creating the battlefield on which the two sides will clash. Troops are then positioned as dictated by the scenario, with each unit consisting of 2-4 figures grouped together in a single hex.

Each player holds a hand of cards used to issue orders to his troops, one card per turn. Typically, a card allows orders to be issued to one to three units in one area of the battlefield— the left flank, right flank, or center. Some special cards allow more unorthodox activities such as building a defensive fieldwork, trying to pick off an enemy general with a sharpshooter, or making an all-out attack with all units in a player’s army. The cards are the central mechanism of the game. They determine what a player can or can’t do, defining the player’s strategy and tactics. They’re why the game appeals to non-wargamers, and why the game frustrates everyone eventually. A master strategy is impossible to execute when you can’t be guaranteed the cards you’ll need to see it through. It’s not uncommon to hold no cards for the left flank but desperately need to issue orders to units there. Tactical acumen is therefore severely handicapped by the luck of the draw— a perfect recipe for a family gamer.

Typically, ordering a unit means moving it and then attacking an enemy unit within range and line of sight. Cavalry can move farther than infantry and artillery, but can only attack adjacent enemies. Artillery have the longest range, but can’t move and attack in the same turn. Infantry can suck up more damage than the other units before getting killed and removed from the board. Generals can join a unit and increase their fighting capacity.

Combat is blissfully simple. An attack consists of rolling specially-marked dice. The effects of attacking at range are handled by rolling fewer dice the farther away the attacker is from the target. Every die showing a picture of the type of unit being attacked counts as a hit, killing one figure from the target unit.

If the target unit survives, it may have to retreat. For each retreat symbol on the dice, the unit must move one hex backwards (toward its owner). If it can’t retreat because it’s blocked by another unit it loses a figure per space; if it must retreat off the edge of the board, it’s lost. Retreat can be as deadly as a bullet.

When a unit is eliminated, either from retreat or casualties, the other player gets a victory point. Six points wins the game. Only the active player’s activated units can attack— targeted units don’t get to return fire. That why managing your hand of cards is so important. It does little good to move your units in for an assault only to run out of cards to command them, leaving them exposed to enemy troops. Worse still is holding cards which you can never use (cavalry-specific cards, for example, when you have no cavalry on the board). Officially, you’re screwed. Unofficially, consider a house rule allowing a player to forfeit his turn and exchange any or all cards in his hand.

Terrain affects movement and combat in straightforward ways. Artillery can shoot a little farther from a hilltop, attackers roll one die less when shooting into the woods (which block line of sight), rivers slow units down, and so forth. Though not as significant as a good card draw, these terrain modifiers certainly shape a battle’s choreography. Troops gravitate toward the defensive position offered by woods and other obstacles. Artillery lumbers uphill where it can mow down approaching enemies. The dividing lines between the flanks and the center are also popular places for troops to lurk, since units occupying such straddling hexes can be commanded by cards for either flank.

Skirmishes in Battle Cry seem to develop in a piecemeal, almost haphazard manner as units creep forward in fits and starts as the cards allow. I’m no military historian, but I’d wager that this bears little resemblance to what really happened in the 1860s. And if that bothers you, let me direct your attention towards the grizzled chaps huddled over stacks of cardboard counters in the rear of the store. Personally, I’m content to leave simulation to Beatlemania. All I care about is whether or not the game is fun to play, and to my great surprise I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every game of Battle Cry I’ve played. As units weaken, players need to weigh their urge to press the attack against the need to protect those units from annihilation. And it’s a powerful urge— a unit with one living figure rolls just as many dice as one with four. Games are usually close enough that both players feel like they’ve got a shot. A good stretch of luck— the right cards at the right time, some favorable rolls of the dice— can turn the tide of battle. And those moments of turnaround are exhilarating.

This didn’t have to look like a war game. Oh, the theme fits like a glove, don’t get me wrong, but many of the key mechanics would be just as comfortable in other family games. That’s why the game’s appeal extends beyond the hexheads. It’s amazingly easy to learn, and the secret to success doesn’t lie buried beneath complex tables or arcane rules. Each player is severely limited by the cards he holds, so a master tactician has little advantage over a novice. Yet the game is more than an exercise in randomness. Or maybe is just feels that way. But one of the secrets I learned from designing computer games is that perception is far more important than reality. Maybe there’s more luck than I think, maybe there’s more skill. I’m not really sure. But the mix feels just right.

Each battle can be finished in an hour or less. Scenarios aren’t necessarily balanced— one side often has an advantage over the other— but players can switch roles and replay the scenario from opposite sides, comparing results to determine the winner. It won’t surprise me at all to see this game system reappear in another setting. Napoleonic? Ancient empires, perhaps? There’s plenty of room here for interesting variations, and I have little doubt we’ll see some in the months ahead. Battle Cry is a light yet meaty game for two which is well worth your attention.