It wasn't an easy thing to forget, that first unmitigated defeat after years Of many victories and few draws. The battle had opened routinely enough. The opponent was a familiar one whom I had repeatedly beaten, and had but a few recent draws. My Game at the time had worked itself down to a fairly simply technique of keeping my forces reasonably well in hand, pushing forward, and waiting for the enemy to blunder. I had come to assume that it was in the nature of things for enemies to blunder sooner or later.

Slowly, as the battle wofe on, it came to me that every push had been blocked. Of course even the best of us have a bad run of dice now and then, I thought as some of my battalions fell back in disorder. But this time the enemy was well in hand, and whenever a battalion fell back in disorder there came a hard and losing struggle as the enemy pushed on to exploit the advantage.

"Dice be with me" I muttered-always before I had assumed that the dice would be bad and relied on overwhelming numbers, but, reduced to desperation, I was now hurling battalions and squadrons into 1 to I or worse counterattacks in a vain effort to shore up my left flank. The relentless dice, perhaps aware of the contemptuous scorn in which I had held them over the years, refused to come to my aid. As time wore on it became obvious that the battle was lost, inescapably and irrevocably lost.

As a result of that and later defeats, various things were brought home to me.

For one thing, the enemy cannot be counted on to repeat mistakes--especially if he has been playing you every week or so for a year. You must have something right to do-even if the enemy refuses to co-operate.

Moreover the dice cannot simply be ignored since at odd times the cubed gods of war will throw a break your way (rarely, as it happens) and you must be prepared to exploit such a situation just as though it were an enemy mistake, i.e., as an opportunity.

There is also the psychological angle. By this I am not referring to a troop morale rule, but to the live, breathing, conniving fellow across the board or table from you. Sometimes he is off his game. Sometimes he is half beaten in his own mind (so am I) by a reversal in a minor skirmish at the outset. At times a seemingly foolhardy charge will disorder the enemy's battle plan far more than it does his army.

It was also interesting to note--and this happens to other pairs of regular opponents if the rules are good, that staid textbook tactics begin to appear in cycles analagous to those of real life. For example, when one player is inexperienced or subject to serious tactical errors, it makes good sense to play a bit loose, do things to confuse him in minor tactical situations. You may throw a vanguard into heavy action knowing that the main body is out of su port range because you know that the enemy often exposes an inferior force For no good reason.

As time wears on, however, two players, one or both of whom have been playing mobile games of exploitation are likely to find themselves locked in long firing lines that bang away to the great loss of both armies until both sides are exhausted or the dice award a marginal victory. This, I think, is what has happened to tactics in history.

By adjustment and countermeasure innovations of brilliance become absorbed into set piece methods. The linear tactics of the 18th century, for example, had taken into account many previous techniques. Neither side had much to gain by attacking before his fines were formed, since he would be as confused as his enemy. By forming up and meeting the enemy head on, one should be able to get one's battalions into action on at least an even footing.

Innovations, as they came, were often at a sacrifice of efficiency--de Saxe's columns or Frederick's oblique order, which gained in concentrations of men but opened the way for enemy action at an advantage. Columns locked in a firefight, or an echeloned attack countered by envelopment on the off side, if of course, the enemy was able to maneuver against an unfamiliar situation with a speed not common to linear warfare.

Another interesting fact was that my nemesis usually won his games with other players, but these "outside" victories were gained at greater cost than mine. When we compared notes it developed that he played a close game even with those who were not familiar with his old tricks, and gave the enemy a greater opportunity to counter him.

A curious point came up in connection with the use of reserves, and it may serve to demonstrate my previous remarks on the cycles of innovation and convention in tactics.

At first my opponent employed a strong reserve which came into play only after the first lines had been routed-after the fashion of Hannibal at Zama, who lost three consecutive battles with successive divisions of his army.

"I get it," my future nemesis told me one day, "no reserves, you just get in there and hit with everything you've got."

As we got ever sneakier, however, it became very difficult to gain a prolonged superiority with everyone on the line. Grenadier battalions, which tend to draw fire, were usually sheltered, and it was not uncommon for a fight to develop in which local reserves would be used to replace badly battered units before the latter reached the break and run limit of casualties (50 percent in our game.) By now it is common to put aside or develop a strong reserve to continue an attack or react to a hostile move.

Most certain and painful of the lessons learned from defeat, however, is that you can't win them all!