Has Hollywood Ruined Wargame Charges?

Today I tackle a question that has been bugging me every time I slide my painted regiments across the wargames table: have movie directors subtly corrupted the way designers write charge mechanics? We have all spent years absorbing cinematic epics where thousands of digital warriors break rank, sprint across wide fields, and crash together like runaway freight trains. It looks fantastic on the big screen, but when those exact visual tropes bleed into our rulebooks, it completely distorts our understanding of historical battlefield doctrine.

The fundamental issue for me is that Hollywood treats a charge as an unstoppable physical battering ram powered by kinetic speed and unbridled aggression. Cinema routinely depicts foot soldiers shedding their tight formations to dive into chaotic, one-on-one sword fighting mosh pits, while cavalry gallops recklessly into wall after wall of bristling bayonets or direct artillery fire. In reality, breaking formation was a death sentence for ancient or black-powder infantry, whose survival depended entirely on mutual protection and rigid discipline. Furthermore, horses are intelligent prey animals that actively refuse to impale themselves on solid walls of steel or leap into cannon smoke. Historical shock tactics were often psychological; a charge succeeded when it destroyed the defender’s nerve, causing them to break and run before physical contact ever occurred.

When we look at how game designers translate this to the tabletop, we see a fascinating tension between cinematic fun and historical fidelity. Many casual systems handle charges as offensive power-ups, granting extra movement, attack bonuses, and guaranteed contact regardless of defender readiness. But from a strict historical standpoint, granting massive movement boosts or automatic combat dice rewards player aggression over proper positioning and fire support. An advancing unit accelerated only over the final twenty to thirty yards to minimize exposure, not to sprint half a mile. Real historical charges were tests of moral courage, where pre-contact discipline checks, defensive closing fire, and unit cohesion determined the outcome long before weapons clashed. If defenders held firm behind bayonets or pikes, the momentum of a charge could evaporated instantly upon arrival.

Balancing cinematic excitement with true historical friction is one of the toughest challenges in tabletop game design today. While cinematic rules can lead to explosive tabletop moments, leaning too heavily into movie tropes risks rewarding reckless play over genuine historical command decisions. 

Return to the Ice: A 1812 "Big Battle" Sharp Practice Report

There is nothing quite like the atmosphere when the Posties Rejects gather in the shed-o-war. Yesterday, the dice were rolling, the banter was flowing, and the freezing Russian winter of 1812 was laid out across the tabletop for our latest grand wargame. This outing marked the fourth "Big Battle" variant of Sharp Practice we have run for the group. The last time we set up this specific collection was for our Demo Game at Broadside, where the hard work paid off massively and we bagged Best in Show. Having thoroughly covered the crossing of the Berezina in our previous games, Ray and I decided to shift gears this time around. We moved away from strict historical reproduction and built a custom, fictional scenario set a few days earlier along the bloody retreat from Moscow.

The Ambush at the Village

The tactical situation for the French was grim from the outset. A shallow, fordable stream cut across the field, and a small, dilapidated village bisected the only major road leading to safety. Looking through the frozen fog toward the village, the French commander could see enemy forces deployed, though they were a far cry from the Tsar’s elite regulars. The Russian defense was mostly a cobbled-together mix of Opolchenie militia, dismounted and mounted Cossacks, and local armed civilians. The only regular infantry unit on the field was a single detachment of Line Jäger stationed in the center to bolster the fragile militia line.

Most of these weak defensive units were taking cover behind little more than wooden livestock fences. Only the Russian artillery in the centre held a position behind a more substantial barracade. The Russian Cossacks were split across the flanks: on one side, foot Cossacks supported an aging 3lb gun mounted on a sled; on the other flank, three units of mounted Cossacks waited in the snow to harass the French advance.

On paper, the French held every advantage. Their force was a predictable mix of desperate retreaters, but at their core sat several elite infantry units. These veterans were guarding a seemingly innocuous wagon, which on closer inspection revealed itself to be Napoleon Bonaparte himself, wrapped in furs inside a horse-drawn sled. Behind the Emperor stretched a long line of supply wagons containing his personal baggage. The French objective was simple but high-stakes: break through the village, clear the road, and escort Bonaparte off the opposite board edge. Sitting right in the middle of that road, however, nestled tightly between two ruined buildings and sheltered behind a massive, hastily constructed barricade, was a small Russian gun manned by Opolchenie militia.

The Slaughter at the Barricade

That single, unassuming barricade would prove to be the absolute undoing of the entire French effort. Knowing time was against them, the French launched immediate, aggressive assaults to clear the central bottleneck. They made multiple attempts to melee the militia gun crew, but the terrain rules proved brutal. Fighting across such a substantial obstacle cost the attacking French a quarter of their melee dice. Furthermore, because the defensive barricade was so wide, the Russian defenders received extra dice to represent their fortified advantage.

What followed was a series of surprisingly even, bloody melees. The lowly Opolchenie gun crew held their ground with unbelievable tenacity. They fought off two separate, full-blooded charges from French scouting cavalry. Time after time, the French horsemen failed to dislodge the stubborn militia, losing momentum and taking casualties in the process. It was only on the third desperate attempt that the French finally managed to overrun the position, but the damage to their battle plan had already been done.

While the French were banging their heads against the central barricade, the rest of their army was slowly being whittled away across the field. Units were systematically broken, worn down by Russian fire, or destroyed in attrition battles. Under the Sharp Practice engine, every single unit loss triggers another roll on the unforgiving "Bad Things Happen" morale table. As unit after unit faltered, French force morale began to plummet into dangerous territory. Sensing the collapse, the French commanders redoubled their efforts, racing fresh troops forward to apply maximum pressure on the fragile Russian lines. But it was far too late. The cumulative shock and casualties overwhelmed the French command structure, their morale collapsed entirely, and the game ended in a dramatic Russian victory.

The result was a total shock to everyone around the table. At the start of the battle, the Russian defenders totaled just 42 points of troops facing down a massive French force of over 90 points. On paper, it should have been a steamroller; on the table, it became a heroic Russian stand.

Personal Miniatures and System Reflections

Beyond the dramatic narrative on the table, this game was a brilliant opportunity for Ray and me to get some specific models onto the field that we simply couldn't fit into our Broadside Demo Game. I was eager to finally field my Opolchenie militia (though I fully expected their time on the board to be brief and tragic) and Ray was keen to deploy Napoleon Bonaparte alongside some of his newly painted ad-hoc French units.

The game also gave us a chance to test our house rules for running large-scale games with this rule set. A few weeks ago, following the Broadside show, I posted a video talking about the challenges of upscaling Sharp Practice for big, multi-player battles. Ray and I have managed to make the rules work for these large scenarios, but if I'm being completely honest, the system isn't ideal for battles of this size. Sharp Practice is a fantastic rule set, but its mechanics are designed around tight, detailed skirmishes featuring four or five units per side. When you attempt to push the engine to accommodate nearly 20 units per side, the sheer level of detail creates friction. Certain rules simply don't translate smoothly to a grand tactical scale, and the turn flow can slow to a crawl.

Because of this, I’m fairly confident this will be the last time we use Sharp Practice for our Retreat from Moscow games. Ray and I are already in discussions about where to go from here. We are looking at either writing a streamlined, bespoke set of rules specifically tailored for our big shed battles, or searching for an established set of grand-skirmish rules that can handle high unit counts without losing the narrative friction we love.

One thing is absolute: this will not be the last time you see this 1812 collection on the table—no sir! We have far too many painted troops and incredible terrain pieces to leave them packed away in boxes. But as far as Sharp Practice goes, this epic Russian upset feels like a fitting, dramatic swan song for the system in our shed-o-war.

Does Cooperative Play Ruin Tension?

In my latest video discussion, I explore a simple question: can co-operative and umpire-led games generate authentic command tension? While traditional head-to-head matches rely on direct human opposition to fuel tactical stress, shifting to a co-operative format fundamentally changes where that tension originates.

Standard competitive wargames excel at creating intense psychological pressure through an intelligent adversary who bluffs, adapts, and punishes every mistake. However, real historical commanders were rarely engaged in balanced, symmetrical chess matches on flat terrain. They spent as much time fighting appalling weather, treacherous ground, miscommunicated orders, and logistical failures as they did fighting enemy formations. Co-operative wargaming embraces these asymmetrical, messy realities by shifting the focus away from point-calculating tournament play toward shared narrative experiences. It lowers the barrier of entry for newcomers and enables massive multiplayer battles where players take on distinct roles within a larger army.

Critics often argue that automated rule mechanics and AI movement tables inevitably become predictable once players learn their patterns. Without strict pressure or hidden mechanics, co-op games can occasionally collapse into dry committee meetings where players pause the action to collectively optimize every move like a puzzle. While a poorly designed scenario can certainly cause command tension to plummet, a well-constructed co-op game proves that battlefield stress does not require a human opponent across the table.

True command tension has always stemmed from uncertainty, scarce resources, time pressure, and incomplete information. By incorporating hidden enemy deployments, random events, and restricted communication, co-operative games aggressively mirror the real fog of war. They also introduce internal command friction, as players controlling different parts of an army argue over conflicting priorities, resource allocations, and defensive decisions under mounting pressure. Having a dedicated umpire elevates this dynamic even further, acting as a living simulation engine that introduces dynamic visibility, courier delays, and moral dilemmas that static rulesets cannot replicate. 

Ultimately, co-operative wargaming is neither better nor worse than traditional player-versus-player play. If your primary goal is a pure test of tactical wit against another mind, competitive matches remain unmatched. But if you want to experience the chaotic operational headaches faced by real-world officers leading troops into the unknown, struggling against the battlefield itself offers a deeply authentic tabletop experience.

Beat Hobby Burnout

If you are anything like me, your days are dominated by tight schedules and packed diaries. And this means that fellow creators and hobbyists often discover that their cherished pursuits have transformed into overwhelming commitments. The traditional concept of work-life balance fails to capture this struggle because it treats everything outside of employment as passive relaxation. In reality, everyday life carries its own heavy workload of domestic chores, family obligations, administrative tasks, and social duties. 

This is a topic I have discussed before, but recent comments on the channel made me realise I needed to dust off the conversation and tackle it again. I belive that pastimes like watching television or scrolling social media allow us to mentally disengage after a demanding day, but genuine hobbies require active participation, skill development, and creative effort. Hobbies ask more of our time and energy, so maintaining them alongside routine responsibilities sometimes requires intentional effort rather than passive expectation. In short, our hobby can become another stress inducing chore if we don't curate our time carefully. 

Todays video on the channel argues that a key element of protecting the balance needed for wellbeing, is developing the discipline to sometimes say no to new projects. Accepting every opportunity degrades the quality of output and turns a rewarding outlet into just another source of anxiety.