Now It Can Be Told

You may recall I had little involvement back in 1998 with a computer game called Panzer General II. I was thinking about it again the other day, because for me, that was the apex of the turn-based strategy game. Playable with almost no learning curve on game mechanics, intuitive, and pretty good-looking, too:



So last Saturday night, with wife and kids safely a-bed, I found myself wondering what ever became of PG2. I'd heard the developer had gone bankrupt.

Browsing around a little I found dozens of fansites with active forums. People still play this game. They draw new maps, invent new scenarios ("Anzio", "The Guns of Navarone"). Someone (nickname: "007") even hacked the game, made it playable for modern machines, and put it up on the Net, another shadowy PG2 fanatic.

I couldn't believe it. I downloaded it and tried it out. Bim bam boom - my machine ran it without a hitch and it was 1998 again, and I was at Salerno, trying to bust out before a battery of German 88s blew us off the beaches. It was a near-run thing - I was rusty, and the Americans have crappy tanks, but good old American air power kept the Tigers at bay and I won the first battle.

This game doesn't let up. You get a congratulatory message, some prestige points to spend on new units, and now you're at St. Lo. St. Lo's a bitch, though not as bad as Caen. You're either on very predictable road routes - there's always a Panther or an 88 at the other end - or you're hacking through the bocage and giving up all hope of a rapid victory. As I set up my attack force I realized only one thing can win in this situation - gobs and gobs of artillery. I signed up for three batteries of 155 mm Long Toms and blasted my way across Normandy.

It was all coming back to me now. Doctor X's IPA Doctrine: Infiltrate, Penetrate, ANNIHILATE... The three D's of reducing a dug-in opponent: Deny air support, Denude them of artillery, Destroy their tanks...then they're just little men in holes. Grant knew the score: "The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving."

Progress was swift - by the time I'd found, struck, and moved my way through Arracourt and Metz, the Germans were high-tailing it to the Eastern Front where they had better chances of survival. Then I beat the Russians to the secret weapons depot at Dessau, and that bastard Truman relieved me before I could put it in overdrive and head for Moscow.

The war was over. I felt empty, wondering what I'd do with my life. Back to the States, I guess. Marry my sweetheart. Find a little cottage in Oxnard and settle down. Get into uncle Sol's insurance business...

Hmm, I thought I'd turned off that light - noooo, that would be the sun... I'd been up all night! I looked up and my wife was staring at me, enraged. She pointed out that my behavior guaranteed that I'd be a complete zombie for the little tea party she'd organized for some of her friends, due to start in four hours.

War is hell.