For more than four years now I have been living with a partner who plays wargames. 'Play' is such an innocent, even kind word. Closer to the truth would be "a partner who lives wargames! "

When a friend gave him an old copy of Afrika Korps to look at, I didn't think it was anything serious. Lets face it, it was just an old box filled with paper and cardboard. He hadn't been offered a voucher to a Call-Girl service, or a million dollars to leave me. It was just a box containing another way he could amuse his interest in the Second World War for a few hours. How wrong I was! Those few hours have extended into years. Our dining room table turned into a battlefield; our holidays have become tours of battlefields. Our conversation became an endless explanation of why one tank can go two hexes and another can go (sorry, 'move') three...

Our whole vocabulary has changed. He's the General, I--because of my being a New Zealander--am an Ally, and as we now live in Germany, we divide those we know into Ally and Enemy camps. We refer to our home as Camp van Deventer-McKenzie and even our fourteen-year- old daughter gets called a Pacifist because she believes her father's hobby (obsession!) is "sick."

Our books have been stacked on top of each other to make room on the bookshelf for games. Gaming magazines litter our living room and make the offense of vacuuming near his side of the bed punishable by firing squad. Almost any discussion that is begun in our home can be aligned to some aspect of some battle so quickly that our visiting Allied friends don't know its happened until they find themselves failing asleep with boredom.

I do have to agree with Mr. Essig's comments in "OutBrief" (Operations #4) about wargames being historical. That for me is a redeeming feature. Without the history, I would have run out of patience a long time ago. Because they are 'real' there is always the chance to learn something and not just be amused.

I've learned that I think about a hundred and one things while a Movement Phase is being explained to me--and I still am able to make a reasonable comment. I've learned that I must be the best possible partner for my General-believe me, no other fool would put up with him! I've also learned that I should have listened to my Grandad's endless First and Second World War stories when I was a kid--at least it would be easier Terrain to pass through now!

As I grew up with these stories, Anzac Day Parades, and a mindful respect of war, I was only to happy, in the beginning, to encourage my partner's pursuit of wargaming perfection. As there are few others with which to share his interest, I listened, watched, learned, and even tried to play. Sadly, like so many real widows who watched their men go off to war, I soon found out that my General wouldn't be coming back. He was lost in the field of human conflict. He was totally engrossed in one or another of this century's greatest and/or saddest battles. His already superior intelligence rose to new heights due to the demands of each game to understand, plan, and control the use of each little piece of cardboard. His strategic wisdom and clever movements would earn the respect of the highest five-star General and lowest Private alike. He's a brilliant soldier and I have every right to be proud. I would even polish his medals, should he be awarded any. But alas, like so many other fine soldiers, he is shell shocked and I can't reach him on a realistic level any more.

So to all the other partners of wargamers, you have my admiration and sympathy. Just remember on the darkest, loneliest, and most boring of nights, you are not alone. There are others, out there, suffering too!

To all you wargamers, please try and raise your heads from the gaming table once in a while and give your partner a smile. Maybe even try to say something audible that contains more than two syllables, and don't ever forget who now "keeps the home fires burning" in your absences.

By the way, the friend who started all of this hasn't been forgiven and is still not re-instated on the Ally Christmas Card list. His partner got him safely back from the battle and he's only 'allowed' on maneuvers once or twice a year. Poetic justice, maybe?

Cheers, Chaps!

[Ed Note: The good doctor's article on Tank Repair in WW2 will make it next time. Gee, I wonder if I could get my wife to call me General? Naw, I don't think so...]