STRATEGO
a Milton Bradley game

Congratulations!  You've just purchased "Stratego", one of the most popular board games ever!  Stratego has captivated generations of young players with its intense military strategy and all-out fun, and now YOU can be a part of it!  Protect your flag, and lead your armies to victory!

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(1) squinted to see across the lake.  The Red army had not yet been set itself up, and he was offered a rare view of the entire battlefield.  Of course, his conquests over the years had led him to every corner of the battle theater dozens of times; he wasn't looking at anything he hadn't seen before.  But then, he never felt the need to.

It was a clear, room-temperature morning.  The fluorescence beat down on the worn cardboard.  (1) reached down for a palmful of dust, then opened his hand and let the breeze carry it away.

"Sir?"

(1) braced himself momentarily, startled.

"It's blowing west.  That means the de-humidifier's on, doesn't it? ...Oh, uh, sorry.  I didn't mean to give you a jump, sir."

A significant majority of the dust had found its way onto (1)'s blue woolen jacket.  "Uh, yes...yeah."  He brushed himself off, recollected himself, looked up at (7), and smiled.  "Gave me a bit of a jump there, kid!"

"Sorry."

"You said that already -- kid.  Kid!  You're backwards."

"Huh?"

"Backwards.  You want the whole of the Earth to know you're a seven?"

"Oh.  Oh jeez!  Oh jeez!"  (7) hastily turned himself around to face his own side of the board.

"Trying to scare away some Miners or Scouts, are you?"  (1) offered a chuckle.

"Oh, heh, yeah."  (7)'s chuckle was considerably less relaxed.  He craned his neck to check the Eastern front, then the Western front.  "The General's gonna kill me," he said, forgetting himself for a moment.

(1)'s smile left his face.  "Sergeant?"  He put his hand on (7)'s shoulder.  "Don't stay worried about the General."

"But you know how he is about this kind of crap."

His amicable, fatherly demeanor intact, (1) let on a slight, yet unmistakable, firmness.  "The General is not in command of this army.  I am.  Tell me what's better?  A 1 or a 2?"

(7), naturally, failed to pick up anything but this slight, yet unmistakable, firmness.  He froze.

"Eh?  Come on, kid!"  (1)'s grin returned.

"Heh.  A 1, no question about it."

"Good man.  Run about now, I want you on flagside for this battle."

"Yes, sir."

Left to himself, (1) put his hands in his coat pockets, let out a deep breath, and surveyed the battlefield.  Enemy units were beginning to place themselves opposite him.  He watched as a Captain and a Lieutenant joked with each other.  A Scout was skipping rocks across the lake. 

He sighed, then fished out the battle map from his pocket and began to study.

*        *        *

Classic Stratego rules:

The Objective of the game is to capture the opponent's flag.
One player takes the Red and the other the Blue playing pieces. Red starts first. Each player gets an army of 40 pieces, in order of rank from high to low, consisting of:

1 Marshal
1 General
2 Colonels
3 Majors
4 Captains
4 Lieutenants
4 Sergeants
5 Miners
8 Scouts
1 Spy

These are all movable pieces.

6 Bombs
1 Flag

which are not moveable.

The game of Stratego, in concept, is simple.  But in practice, when given enough contemplation on both sides, no game is simple, but rather so deeply sophisticated that we choose not to expand it to its more sophisticated possibilities.  Even a game of paper-rock-scissors, while only offering nine possibilities in contrast to games like Chess which boasts a list of possibilities reaching into the hundreds of millions, is startingly complex, because at a certain and early point it ceases to be a game of wits, and instead becomes a study of the opponent's thought process.  The primary difference between games like paper-rock-scissors and games like Stratego is that the latter allows significantly more room for creativity.  It isn't necessarily more difficult to win at Stratego than paper-rock-scissors.  Both are subject to the same threshold separating legitimate evidence of thought from inconsequential semantics.  If anything, Stratego is a simpler game, because it displays more of the thought process than a simple hand gesture, and after all, it's easier to reason why a person would place certain soldiers near the front of the ranks than it is to crawl into your opponent's head and attempt to deduce why in the hell a given hand gesture would be arbitrarily chosen.

(1) understood this better than most, which is why he preferred to completely disregard the psychoanalytical nature of the game.  He opted to view the anonymous soldiers on the other end of the battlefield as men placed at complete random, without particular purpose.  It helped him refrain from acquiring "tunnel vision" or subscribe to paradigms of the game which were ringing less and less true as the years passed. 

The orders he issued from game to game always differed, of course, but he seldom deviated from a predetermined, self-imposed set of guidelines: 

Cover your eyes and lay your finger on a square in the rear two ranks.  This is where the flag will be placed.

Protect the flag with exactly three bombs.  Protect the bombs with units just strong enough to prevent Miners (8) from defusing the bombs.  (6)s or (7)s do nicely.

Construct a similar, if not identical, structure elsewhere on the battlefield with the remaining three bombs.

Place the skill units (1, 2, 3, 8, and Spy) near the front for quick recall.  Keep 9s nearby as well for scouting purposes.

Newcomers to Stratego needn't worry about his specific philosophy.  What is important to understand is that he has one.  In many ways Stratego isn't terribly simpler than life itself, and anyone who hopes to conquer something so complex needs some sort of religion.

As always, the units were set as per (1)'s directives. 

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The Spy is the most unique piece on the board.  He can only defeat a 1 (Marshal).  But beware!  You must attack the Marshal before he attacks you, otherwise your Spy will lose.  The Spy can be defeated by any other unit.

(1) was always sure to keep the Spy by his side before battle.

"Surely you must know the General's position on things right now," the Spy said.

"He's bloodthirsty and he doesn't stand for anything.  He cares only to kill, nothing else.  That's always been his position."

"Oh, so you're a pacifist, then?"  The Spy smiled wryly as he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his monocle.

"You know what I'm talking about.  I want to win a battle as much as he does, you know that.  But he's just riding these kids so hard, you know?  There's so much pressure on them.  Sometimes I wonder if that (7) kid could even beat an (8)."

"Well, your men love you and despise him, and he knows it.  He feels the pressure, and he wishes you were gone."

"Wishing doesn't get you far on the battlefield, old friend,"  (1) replied.  "I'm a 1, and he's a 2, and there's not a damned thing he can do about it."

"Just watch your back.  That's all I'm saying."  The Spy then slunk into reclusion, out of sight from the Marshal, who leaned forward slightly and glanced down the row to get a look at (2), just in time to catch the end of his disgusted glare. 

After a moment, they formed rank, and the battle was to begin.

*        *        *

Hints & Tips:

Don't send your high-ranking armies into battle blind!  Don't be afraid to sacrifice a few weaker armies in order to figure out what's there.  You don't want to risk running into a bomb or Spy!

What ensued that day was the most important battle the board had ever seen.  (1) had separated himself from (2), in part to spearhead an attack on two fronts, and in part because he didn't want much to do with the man.  The Blue army was making fast progress, and by the endgame they had cleaned up rather nicely.

(2) had brought (7) with him as he marched deeper into Red territory.  (1) met them soon after. 

"Sergeant, watch out," he called.  "We've identified those as bombs."

But (7) was too far away to hear him.  Again he shouted, to no avail.  He then called toward (2), who pretended not to hear.  "I think that one's a flag," he told (7).  "Check it out."

"But sir, shouldn't I wait for a Scout?  Or a Miner?"

"I don't want to wait for them.  Do it!  That's an order."

The Marshal's screams grew louder and louder, until they were met with a crescendo of exploding gunpowder. 

(7)'s funeral was held three days later, with full military honors.  (2) feigned nobility.  (1) found a secluded place and wept himself into a sorrowful slumber.

*        *        *

Hints & Tips:

Make sure all your soldiers are turned around so your opponent does not see the value of your pieces.  That's cheating!

There were whispers throughout the ranks that (1) was completely useless; that he wouldn't fight.  In the days before the next battle, he lay on the storage tray in the box, staring skyward.  He spoke to no one, and whoever needed to approach him did so with discretion.

"Sir?  Would you like me to command flagside this battle?"  (3) implored, almost apologetically.  He waited a moment.

(1) offered an apathetic arm-wave.  "Thank you, sir."  (3) turned to leave.

"Colonel, we're not going to fight today."

"...What?"

*        *        *

Remember, the lakes are off-limits.  You don't want your soldiers to drown!

(1) put himself at the front of his army.  He moved forward one space, then spoke.

"Why is it that we fight?"  He paused a moment, and was met with silence.

"Why do we fight?  Shouldn't someone be able to tell me?"

A red (5) spoke up.  "Because it's the rules."

"And why do we follow the rules?"

"Uh, because it --" The (5) stammered.

The red (1) pushed himself to the front of the ranks, annoyed by the display.  "Because this is what we were made for.  We do not exist for any other purpose but to fight.  We would not be ourselves if we did not fight."

The blue (1) appeared to concede his point, gesturing with his free hand and beginning to pace.  "So what would happen if we didn't fight?"

"Pointless question.  It cannot happen."

Offering a smile, the blue (1) turned to face the edge of the lake.  "And I suppose that if I wanted to go for a swim in this lake, I couldn't do it, because it's impossible?"

Before anyone could answer, (1), with an almost playful hop, leapt into one of the forbidden squares. 

"Oh goodness!" he gasped.  The cool, still water rose to his knees.  Both armies stood there, staring in petrified silence.

"You're out of bounds!" (2) shrieked.  "Against the rules!  Against the rules!"

(1) gave the pool a splash with his legs.  "What, you afraid of some water?" 

"You're mad!  You're a damned madman!  It's not right!  Get out of there!"  (2) continued to pierce the silence like a guillotine. 

On the other side of the lake, a brave (4) slowly made his way into the out-of-bounds area.  He looked nervously behind him, then skyward as he did.

"People, listen to me," (1) began.  "What I have proven today is that we need not be held prisoner of the expectations of our Creator.  At your core, you are not necessarily soldiers.  You are creatures with independent thought."  He looked at the ground for a moment, then back up toward his audience.  "So it's time to ask yourselves: do you fight because you feel you must, or do you fight because you feel you should?"

There were minutes of hesitation on both sides.  Slowly, both red and blue men began to drop their swords and muskets. 

(1) smiled.  "We hate to fight.  We fight because it is what we know.  Sometimes we may enjoy it.  But at the end of the day, when we stare upwards at our cardboard ceiling in our box prison, we hate it, and we hate ourselves.  But do we necessarily hate each other?  Does red hate blue?  I don't think you do."

The red (1) approached the water timidly.  He knelt on the soft mud at the water's edge, cupped a handful, and drank it.

"It's delicious," he said.  "I was so thirsty...it'd been so long since..."

He rose to embrace the blue (1).

"Welcome home, brother."  They both wept between laughter. 

*        *        *

Warning!  Game is for ages 8 and up.  Pieces harmful if swallowed.  If ingested, call 911 or poison control immediately.

Three days later, the the battlefield held host to a picnic.  A red and blue (9) engaged in a footrace.  On the Western Front, the armies played a pickup game of checkers.  Wine was had by all, and the Miners were jokingly chastised for drinking. 

(1) had managed to gain somewhat of a celebrity of himself.  Men of both colors approached him.  He was seen as a visionary of sorts, and was asked throughout the day about the workings of things.  "Come on, now," he said with a laugh.  "I'm not any different from you.  I was just a man unhappy with my place in the world who couldn't stand it any longer."  It was the happiest day of his life. 

Skulking about the battlefield was (2).  He had spent the day retracing the steps he took during his famous campaigns.  Once in a while he'd feel the presence of the men whose lives he ended, and he closed his eyes and contemplated, arms outstretched. 

As the sun began to fall, the party went on.  (2) approached the crowd that had remained around (1) all day.  (1) spotted him among his audience.

"Come, friend!  Take a seat!"

A timid sneer on his face, (2) slowly came forward.

"Well, then!  I'm glad you're joining the party!  Caterer, bring this old fool some wine!"  (1) promptly rose from his seat and scooted it forward.  "I've been sitting here like an ass all day, I suppose I ought to give it up."

The music played, the wine flowed, and all was merry.  (1) was wearing the broadest smile of them all.

The General unsheathed his sword and stabbed him in the gut.

*        *        *

Return policy

The customer has thirty (30) days from the date of purchase to return the product for a full refund.  The product must be in new or resellable condition and the receipt must be present to receive a full refund.  With certain products, a restocking fee may apply. 

The man slammed the box on the counter.  "It's fucking broke."

"I'm sorry, sir.  What's wrong with it?"

"Give me my money back, it's broke."

"I understand.  What specifically is the problem?"

"Here."  The man opened the box and produced a small blue plastic game piece.  "My Marshal won't stand up right."  He set it up on the counter, only for it to fall on its side.  "The bottom's chipped or something.  Oh yeah, and this other piece is fucked too.  Give me my damn money back."

"Sure thing."  The store clerk handed the man his cash and got him out of the store as quickly as he could.  He looked to make sure that nobody was around, then picked up the Marshal and headed to the back.

He reached for the epoxy.  "Some glue ought to fix you right up, sir.  Might be sore for a few days."  Tenderly, he re-attached his tiny stand and placed him on the board. 

(1) awoke, leaning against a tree overlooking the lake, bandages around his abdomen.  One moment he was with his men and all was happy; now he stood alone in the field. 

A giant hand appeared from the sky and set a second soldier on the ground.

"Sir?"

"Son, you never fail to scare the crap out of me."

"What happened?"  (7) looked around frantically.  "I thought I was about to capture the flag, and then -- what happened?"  Suddenly a new kind of wonder came upon his face.  "Are we...in Heaven?"

"I can't imagine being happier.  So yes.  Maybe we are."

The Sergeant sat down next to the Marshal, and watched the sun rise.  Crickets chirped in the thickets, and the dew on the grass sparkled.

"I suppose we'll never fight again."

"I certainly hope we won't."

"So...you want to play Hungry Hungry Hippos or something?"

"I call pink hippo."