Altruistic Suicide in War and Wargaming: Durkheim’s Theory on the Battlefield

Introduction

Émile Durkheim’s concept of altruistic suicide describes the voluntary sacrifice of one’s life for the perceived benefit of others or the group. In sociology, it’s exemplified by acts where an individual is so strongly integrated into a social group that self-sacrifice is seen as a moral duty. War has long provided grim illustrations of this phenomenon – from soldiers falling on grenades to save comrades, to kamikaze pilots and banzai charges undertaken in the name of country and honor. This article explores how such wartime altruistic suicide is depicted in grognard-level wargames (detailed war simulations), balancing historical accuracy with gameplay abstraction. We will examine real historical instances where military forces employed “suicidal” tactics consistent with Durkheim’s idea of altruistic suicide, and how a range of wargames portray (or omit) these events. Advanced Squad Leader (ASL) will serve as a central case study, alongside both vintage classics and modern games (including asymmetric warfare and COIN – Counterinsurgency – titles).

Author’s Note

This article is not a moral or ideological critique, nor an attempt to impose “woke” standards on wargame publishers or designers. It is a cross-cultural historical analysis rooted in Émile Durkheim’s sociological theory of altruistic suicide, examining how such self-sacrificial behavior has manifested in real conflicts and how it is modeled (or abstracted) across grognard-level wargames. The focus is strictly on historical accuracy, doctrinal fidelity, and simulation integrity—nothing more, nothing less.

Durkheim’s Theory of Altruistic Suicide in War Context

In Suicide: A Study in Sociology (1897), Durkheim identified altruistic suicide as arising from over-integration of individuals into a group or societyen.wikipedia.org. The individual’s identity is so subsumed by the collective that giving one’s life is seen as a fulfillment of duty rather than a tragedy. “Altruistic suicide thus reflects that crude morality which disregards the individual,” Durkheim wrote, noting that such suicides are often accompanied by a “serene conviction that one is performing one’s duty”

Durkheim even singled out the military as a “special environment” prone to this type of suicide. In his analysis, “Military suicide…represents an evolutionary survival of the morality of primitive peoples”, persisting in modern armies. Soldiers strongly bound by esprit de corps and ideals of honor might willingly choose death over dishonor or defeat. He observed how “influenced by this predisposition, the soldier kills himself at the least disappointment, for the most futile reasons…a question of honor…” – highlighting how group ethos can make even self-destruction seem honorable. In short, Durkheim’s altruistic suicide encompasses what we often call heroic sacrifice or duty-bound death in battle. It stands in contrast to egoistic suicide (driven by individual isolation) and anomic suicide (due to societal breakdown). In war, altruistic suicide can manifest as acts of extreme valor where survival is knowingly forsaken for a greater cause.

Not every deadly military tactic qualifies as altruistic suicide. The key is intentional self-sacrifice for the group’s benefit. A desperate last stand ordered by a commander might trap soldiers in a fatal situation, but it becomes “altruistic” in Durkheim’s sense if the soldiers embrace it as their duty (rather than purely coercion). Many historical episodes blur these lines – were individuals willing martyrs or victims of fatal orders? We explore these nuances through examples and see how they’re modeled in wargames. Before turning to games, we review salient historical instances of such suicidal tactics, dividing them into two broad categories: conventional military sacrifices and ideologically-driven suicide attacks.

Historical Instances of Suicidal Tactics in Warfare

Conventional Military Sacrifices: From Forlorn Hopes to Banzai Charges

Throughout military history, there are instances of conventional forces deliberately employing tactics with near-certain fatality for the troops involved – essentially institutionalizing altruistic suicide for battlefield gains. Early examples include the “forlorn hope” storming parties of musket-era warfare, where volunteers would lead assaults on fortified positions; these men accepted that their odds of survival were very low, yet they sought to advance the cause (and perhaps win honor or promotion posthumously). Such sacrifices were seen as duty in highly cohesive military cultures.

World War II provides stark examples. Japanese tactics in the Pacific War famously embraced suicidal ethos under the Bushidō code and emperor worship. Kamikaze pilots – aviators who dove their planes into enemy ships – are a textbook case of Durkheim’s altruistic suicide cited in sociology texts. These pilots were often motivated by a mix of intense patriotic fervor and social pressure, believing their self-destruction would protect their country. Similarly, Japanese infantry conducted banzai charges: mass infantry charges against enemy lines, often with bayonets and cries of “Tenno Heika Banzai!” (“Long live the Emperor”), in situations where conventional victory was impossible. Surrender was scorned as worse than death – “the government taught troops that it was a greater humiliation to surrender to the enemy than to die”. In July 1944 on Saipan, for example, over 4,000 Japanese troops (and even coerced civilians) launched a final banzai attack rather than capitulate, in an assault that left virtually all of them dead. The unthinkability of surrender and expectation of honorable death show classic over-integration: individual life was wholly secondary to duty and honor for the group. Commanders like General Saitō ordered these attacks as a final act of devotion to the Imperial cause. While tactically such charges were usually massacred by defending fire, they are tragically iconic of altruistic battle-suicide – dying by choice of action, if not by one’s own hand, then by knowingly charging into death for one’s side.

Other WWII forces also saw sacrificial acts. In the Soviet Red Army, individuals sometimes performed one-way missions, such as soldiers clutching explosive charges and throwing themselves under enemy tanks to destroy them. These acts were encouraged as “Hero of the Soviet Union” moments – altruistic sacrifice for the Motherland (though often motivated by propaganda and sometimes coercion). The German Wehrmacht, late in the war, formed Sonderkommando Elbe, a unit of volunteer pilots tasked with ramming Allied bombers with their aircraft – effectively a kamikaze tactic born of desperation in 1945. Dozens of these German pilots died attempting mid-air ramming attacks, demonstrating that the psychology of self-sacrifice in extremis was not unique to Japan.

Even on the Allied side, where preserving soldier’s lives was a stated priority, there were instances of voluntary sacrifice. Numerous Medal of Honor citations in U.S. and British forces tell of soldiers who covered grenades with their bodies or charged enemy positions certain to kill them, in order to save their comrades. These individual actions, while not part of doctrine, underscore that strong unit cohesion can drive altruistic self-sacrifice on any side. Research by J. A. Blake in 1978 examined such “heroic altruistic suicide” in combat and found it was more common in highly cohesive units and among enlisted ranks than officers. In other words, the band-of-brothers effect – intense loyalty to one’s squad/platoon – can lead frontline soldiers to give their lives readily to protect the group. Wargames typically don’t model a specific soldier falling on a grenade, but this dynamic is often abstracted through mechanisms like “hero” units or morale rules that can push units to fight to the bitter end.

Ideologically Driven Suicide Attacks: Martyrdom and Terror

Parallel to conventional forces using sacrificial tactics, history (especially post-WWII) has many cases of ideologically driven suicide attacks. These are often outside the regular military framework: insurgents, terrorists, or other non-state actors who deliberately kill themselves as part of an attack strategy (e.g. suicide bombings). Durkheim’s concept still applies – the individuals are deeply integrated into a belief system or organization that glorifies martyrdom. However, these acts differ in purpose. A kamikaze’s goal was military (sink a warship) and somewhat tactical; modern suicide terrorists aim for broader strategic and psychological impact, often targeting civilians to instill terror or make political statements.

Examples include the suicide bombers of various extremist organizations: from Hezbollah’s bombings in the 1980s, Tamil Tigers’ use of suicide vests in Sri Lanka, to the waves of Islamist jihadist bombers (Al-Qaeda, ISIS, etc.) in the 2000s. The martyrdom concept – dying for a transcendent cause or afterlife reward – strongly drives these actors. In Durkheimian terms, this is altruistic suicide with a potent mix of fatalism (strict ideology) and often cult-like integration. The individual’s life is willingly traded for what they see as the good of their religion, nation, or group. For instance, sociologists note that today’s suicide terrorism can be viewed as a form of “fatalistic altruistic” suicide – a hybrid where strong ideological control convinces individuals to sacrifice themselves.

In conventional war, suicidal tactics are usually last resorts or tied to specific cultures (e.g. Japanese in WWII). By contrast, in asymmetric warfare and insurgencies, suicide attacks can be a chosen tactic from the outset, precisely because the weaker side lacks conventional power. They are used to even the playing field by trading one life for potentially many enemies or a high-profile target. Historically, this became prominent from the mid-20th century onward. For example, during the Iraq War (2003–2011), insurgents frequently deployed suicide car bombs and vest bombs as a core strategy; similarly, in Afghanistan, the Taliban and others have used suicide attacks against both military and civilian targets.

It’s important to distinguish the mindset behind these categories. A Japanese pilot or an American GI in WWII sacrificing himself saw it as part of military duty and often with a direct, immediate military goal (sink a ship, save buddies). An ideologically driven suicide attacker (e.g. a modern terrorist) is usually not a uniformed soldier on a battlefield, but a clandestine actor using suicide as a weapon to achieve political or religious aims (e.g. assassinating a leader, causing terror to influence policy). Both are “altruistic” in that the person believes they die for a greater good beyond themselves, but the context and representation in wargames can differ greatly.

Next, we turn to how wargames – especially detailed (grognard) simulations – handle these grim tactics. Do they allow players to employ suicidal charges or bombings? Do they model the morale and cohesion factors behind such acts? Or do they simplify/omit these in favor of more conventional portrayal? We’ll use case studies from well-known games to answer these questions, comparing historical accuracy to gameplay abstraction.

Wargame Representations of Altruistic Suicide Tactics

Wargame designers strive to balance realism (“history”) with playability (“game”). Altruistic suicide tactics pose a challenge: they are extreme events, often rare or situational, and involving human psychology that’s hard to quantify. Different games handle them in various ways. Some high-detail games include explicit rules to simulate these actions, capturing the flavor of units that fight to the death or charge heedless of casualties. Other games abstract such behavior into combat values or morale ratings. Some designs avoid the topic or handle it via scenario-specific conditions (since routine use of suicidal tactics in a game could be ahistorical or unbalancing unless carefully limited).

Below, we examine several notable games and systems, from tactical squad-level to strategic, and from WWII to modern insurgencies, to see how each depicts (or doesn’t depict) altruistic suicide in war. We’ll see that Advanced Squad Leader (ASL) provides a detailed case of modeling these tactics on the WWII battlefield, while modern COIN games depict ideological suicide attacks in more abstract terms. We also compare vintage classics to newer designs in how they incorporate (or omit) rules for such desperate measures.

Case Study: Advanced Squad Leader – Fanatic Charges and Final Fires

Advanced Squad Leader (ASL) is a hallmark grognard board wargame, famed for its meticulous detail in simulating WWII tactical combat. ASL’s rules include nation-specific characteristics to reflect the differing doctrines and mentalities of armies in WWII – and this extends to modeling altruistic or fanatical tactics, especially for the Japanese. In ASL’s depiction of the Pacific War, Japanese infantry are given special abilities that effectively let them fight with suicidal determination. For example, Japanese units do not easily surrender; scenarios involving Japanese often invoke a No Quarter rule automatically, meaning nobody expects or accepts surrender – Japanese squads will fight until destroyed. This rule echoes the historical reality that Japanese soldiers were extremely reluctant to be taken prisoner, often preferring death, which ASL bakes into its mechanics.

ASL also models “human wave” attacks and banzai charges. Under certain conditions, Japanese (and some other forces, like Chinese in human wave attacks) can declare a Banzai charge – a special movement that forces a group of infantry to rush toward the enemy with enhanced speed at the cost of making themselves vulnerable. In game terms, a banzai/human-wave causes all participating units to charge a designated enemy position, ignoring many of the normal movement restrictions and suppression effects. The result is often high casualties, but if some troops survive to reach the enemy, a vicious close combat ensues. These rules attempt to capture the psychological momentum of a real banzai charge: once it begins, nothing stops the charging troops except death. Indeed, ASL’s human wave rules are written such that the charging units cannot voluntarily halt or take cover – they must keep moving toward the target regardless of losses (mirroring historical accounts of banzai charges that continued even as attackers were mown down).

The grognard community often discusses how “gamey” or accurate these rules are. In practice, an ASL player using a Japanese force can choose to initiate a banzai charge when it suits the tactical situation (within scenario rule allowances). Historically, of course, individual squads didn’t independently decide to banzai on a whim; these were usually ordered as last-ditch efforts. ASL abstracts command decisions to the player, so one might see more frequent banzai charges in play than actually occurred. However, the effect is quite authentic: charging units move fast but are exposed to defensive fire, often leading to a massacre – “an old and bloody form of warfare”, as one ASL commentary describes it. When successful, though, these charges can overwhelm a defensive position through sheer sudden ferocity, exactly as some historical banzai attacks briefly did.

Crucially, ASL ties these behaviors to morale mechanics. Japanese squads in ASL have high morale and a trait called “Fanatic” or “Bushido” in certain situations, meaning they are less likely to break under fire. In fact, Japanese units, instead of breaking (routed or panicked) as other nationalities do when they fail morale, often become half-strength but gain morale – representing a wounded yet fanatical remnant continuing the fight. In ASL terms, they “stripe” to a smaller unit with an increased morale number. This implies that as they take casualties, their resolve hardens – an explicit design to simulate that Japanese soldiers became more dangerous when cornered. ASL even allows creation of Heroes (exceptional individuals) through random battlefield events – and Japanese are more likely to generate heroes or berserk units that charge enemies automatically. All these chrome rules paint a picture of troops driven to self-sacrificial extremes.

It’s worth noting ASL extends similar concepts to other intense battles: for instance, scenarios set in Stalingrad or Berlin often invoke No Quarter as well (neither side expected mercy in those fights), and the Soviet Commissar rule makes Soviet units less likely to surrender (albeit by using fear – a different mechanism, more fatalistic than altruistic). So ASL’s toolkit covers both positive motivation (fanatic honor) and coercive motivation for suicidal bravery. The result for players is a remarkably thematic experience: “suddenly being charged by multiple stacks of fanatical troops who won’t stop… and grow more fanatical the more they take casualties.” Many an ASL veteran has a story of a lone berserk unit or banzai charge that, while effectively suicidal, turned the tide by seizing a crucial position at great cost.

Case Study: Lock ’n Load Tactical – Fanaticism at Squad Level

A more modern tactical system, Lock ’n Load Tactical (LnLT), provides a similar portrayal with some streamlined rules. LnLT’s Heroes of the Pacific module, covering WWII Pacific battles, explicitly gives Japanese units special abilities to reflect their fanatical tactics. Japanese squads in LnLT never become “shaken” (suppressed) like other forces; instead, when hit they lose steps (some men) but their morale actually increases as they take losses. This models the same “die but never surrender” attitude as ASL. LnLT also features a Banzai charge mechanic: a Japanese leader can lead all nearby units in a wild charge against an enemy, pulling even support teams into the assault. As described in a review, “Banzai attacks allow Japanese leaders to attack spotted enemy units within six movement points with all units in his hex and adjacent hexes… all units: even weapons teams will abandon their support weapons to participate… Units in a Banzai attack that take casualties don’t stop, but continue on toward the target.” Upon reaching melee, they even get a bonus in the close combat. In LnLT terms, it’s an “all-in” tactic: every available soldier rushing forward regardless of odds, exactly as a real banzai charge would throw everyone, even rear-echelon troops, into the fray. Defensive fire can mow down many, but those who make it engage in furious hand-to-hand combat with advantages representing their fanatic will.

The LnLT implementation confirms how game designers weave history into rules. One can almost hear the battle cries on the map as the normally cautious turn-by-turn firefight system is upended by a sudden banzai rush. As a grognard might say, the chrome is strong here – these touches of realism force the player to respect the historical tactics. You can’t play against Japanese in LnLT (or ASL) the same way as against Germans, because if you leave an opening, a Banzai charge may erupt and swarm you. It’s a great example of a rule that adds depth and historical narrative: “the combination of snipers, stealth, Banzai attacks and infantry that won’t become shaken makes the IJA play really differently.” In terms of Durkheim’s concept, LnLT (like ASL) encapsulates altruistic suicide at the squad level – your little cardboard soldiers will run heedless into enemy fire for the Emperor. The designers have effectively created systemic incentives mirroring cultural indoctrination: the player is incentivized to use these rules because they can be effective (in the right moment), just as Japanese commanders resorted to them when situations were dire.

Historically, were these games’ depictions accurate? By and large, yes – with some caveats. Both ASL and LnLT probably allow more frequent use of suicidal tactics than occurred in reality (since players can choose to do so whenever allowed). In real battles, a banzai charge was usually a final resort, not a standard tactic. To mitigate this, scenarios often have victory conditions or force ratios such that doing a banzai rashly will cost you the game; thus players tend to unleash them only when it makes sense (much like the historical circumstances of desperate last stands or attempted breakthrough at bayonet point). As a result, the historical accuracy vs. gameplay trade-off is well handled: the capacity for altruistic-suicidal tactics is modeled accurately, but the frequency and effectiveness depend on player judgment and scenario context.

Case Study: Strategic WWII Pacific Games – Kamikazes as a Resource

At higher scales of wargame (operational or strategic), individual acts of battlefield sacrifice blur into statistics and resources. Still, designers of Pacific War games have taken care to include the late-war kamikaze campaign of Japan, treating it as a factor that players can employ under certain conditions. For instance, the classic Avalon Hill game Victory in the Pacific (1977) – a strategic-level war-at-sea game – features a special rule for Japanese kamikaze attacks that is only available in the final turns of the war. The rules restrict when and how kamikazes can be used to mirror history: “Kamikaze attacks (turn 9 only)…” with specific procedures. In other words, only when the timeline reaches 1944–45 does the Japanese player get to launch kamikaze strikes, reflecting that prior to that, this tactic wasn’t used. These attacks in-game often give a one-time offensive boost to Japanese air strikes at the cost of not being able to reuse those air units (since they’re expended in suicide missions).

Another example: the GMT Games Empire of the Sun (2005), a card-driven Pacific War game, includes event cards like Divine Wind that allow for kamikaze attack bonuses when played, again roughly aligned with late-war context. Similarly, Pacific War (Victory Games, 1985, designed by Mark Herman) models kamikazes in its naval combat rules when the war reaches 1944-45, giving the Japanese a last-gasp weapon that can surprise the Allied fleets at Okinawa or Luzon. These games translate altruistic suicide into a resource or event. The kamikaze is essentially an abstract asset the Japanese commander can expend to potentially damage the enemy fleet.

From a Durkheim perspective, one might smirk: the society’s over-integration produced a literal game mechanic – you get a limited number of suicide attack factors to spend. Historically, Japan’s military increasingly saw its personnel as expendable ammunition by 1945, which is exactly how a strategic game treats kamikazes. The human aspect is abstracted out; what remains is effect. For example, in Victory in the Pacific, Kamikazes are simply a +X attack on Allied ships that turn, with X being fairly potent but you only get it once. This aligns with historical effectiveness: kamikazes did damage and sink some ships (especially at Okinawa), but they were a finite effort as Japan ran out of pilots and planes.

Historical accuracy vs. abstraction here is weighed differently than in squad-level games. There’s no emotional, individualized portrayal of the pilots’ sacrifice – just a rule. But the timing and impact constraints do reflect reality, so the strategy implications are historically accurate. A Japanese player husbanding their kamikaze option for a climactic naval defensive stands in for the high command historically holding back planes for the decisive battle. Notably, some games even account for the diminishing quality of pilots by reducing effectiveness as the campaign goes on. The grognard appeal in these strategic games is seeing that macro impact: one can examine if using kamikazes differently could have yielded more benefit, or how much they can delay the Allied advance, etc. In essence, altruistic suicide at this scale becomes part of war economy and planning rather than an on-map dramatic flourish.

Case Study: COIN and Modern Asymmetric Wargames – Modeling Suicide Terrorism

Modern insurgency-focused games confront the representation of suicide attacks from a different angle. The GMT COIN series (Counterinsurgency games) and related designs integrate political, social, and military factors and often include events or mechanics for terror tactics. These games are not as tactically granular as ASL; instead they operate at an operational or strategic level (province by province, over years of conflict). Thus, they tend to model suicide bombings or martyrdom in terms of their effects on population and control, rather than the act itself.

For example, Labyrinth: The War on Terror, 2001-? (GMT Games, 2010) – a 1-2 player strategy game of the post-9/11 conflict – directly features jihadist suicide attacks via its card-driven event system. The jihadist player can use the “Martyrdom Operation” event card, which perfectly encapsulates the concept of altruistic suicide employed as a tactic. When played, this card allows the jihadist to sacrifice one of their cells to immediately place two terror plot markers In game terms, a “cell” token is removed (the unit is expended, i.e. the terrorists kill themselves in an attack) but the payoff is two terror plots that can potentially wreak havoc if not intercepted. This is a direct analogy to a suicide bomber deploying and causing multiple incidents. The rules here capture both the cost (losing a cell) and the benefit (increased terror effect) of such operations. Notably, this play can be especially devastating if combined with other events – an experienced Labyrinth player might wait to play Martyrdom Operations until they can be used in a crucial spot (even on US soil for dramatic effect).

Labyrinth’s portrayal is quite faithful to the strategic logic of jihadist groups: leaders treat recruits as resources that can be expended for outsized impacts (much like kamikazes, but targeting morale and political will more than military assets). The card is literally called “Martyrdom”, underlining the ideological framing. And because Labyrinth is an adversarial game (Jihadist vs US), it forces the US player to react to the possibility of such attacks, much as real counterterrorism must anticipate and mitigate suicide plots. There are even multiple Martyrdom cards in the deck, reflecting that this tactic can recur. However, Labyrinth abstracts away the human element – the cell is just a pawn – focusing on the outcome: placing plot markers that could represent anything from a car bomb to a 9/11-scale attack.

Another COIN series title, A Distant Plain (GMT, 2013), which covers the Afghan conflict, includes a Taliban faction capability called “Suicide Bombers”. In that game’s rules, the Taliban can acquire a capability card that gives them a bonus in causing casualties or terror during attacks, presumably at the cost of the piece representing the bomber. The playbook notes to place a reminder when the Suicide Bombers card is in effect. This suggests that once the Taliban gain access to this tactic (perhaps through an event card play), their operations in cities become more lethal. Again, the design choice is to model the effect (increased damage/horror) rather than simulate each bomber. COIN games often have a “Terror” action that insurgents can do, representing bombings, intimidations, etc., which can be seen as encompassing suicide attacks among other methods.

What about games that explicitly focus on terrorism? There have been a few, like Freedom: The Underground Railroad (on abolitionists, not applicable here) or older titles like Vietnam 1965-1975 (VG) which abstract Viet Cong sapper attacks as a die-roll on tables. Those older games tend not to single out suicide tactics – they lump them into ambushes or guerrilla attacks. It’s really in the post-2000 designs (Labyrinth, COIN series, etc.) that designers felt the need to address suicide bombing explicitly, since it’s such a defining feature of modern asymmetric warfare.

One interesting edge: some war games address political suicide protest in scenarios – for instance, the self-immolation of Buddhist monk Thích Quảng Đức in 1963 (Vietnam) appears as an event card (“Buddhist Crisis”) in Fire in the Lake (COIN series Vietnam game). That’s not a combat tactic but an altruistic suicide as protest, affecting political tracks in the game. It shows the breadth of the concept’s relevance: even outside combat, individuals sacrificing themselves can alter the course of conflict (in this case, undermining the South Vietnamese government’s stability).

Omission or Simplification of Suicidal Tactics in Games

It’s worth mentioning that not all wargames delve into these dark tactics. Many classic hex-and-counter wargames (especially operational or strategic level) simply represent combat outcomes with strength points and odds ratios, implicitly covering any heroic or desperate acts within the combat results. A game like SPI’s World in Flames or Avalon Hill’s The Russian Campaign doesn’t have a rule for “suicide attack”; it assumes each side’s combat performance covers both cautious and reckless strategies. Only when a tactic was so doctrinally significant (like Japanese banzai or kamikaze) does it usually get explicit treatment.

Furthermore, some designers deliberately avoid granular depiction of suicide terrorism out of sensitivity. For example, you won’t find a named “suicide bomber unit” in most games; it’s usually an event or abstract effect, partly to avoid glorification or uncomfortable detail of terrorism. Labyrinth was somewhat groundbreaking in explicitly making jihadist suicide attacks a core mechanic, but it did so in a matter-of-fact, simulationist way (and the game has received praise for handling a sensitive topic thoughtfully).

In role-playing wargames (miniatures or video games), we sometimes see players adopt “suicide tactics” outside of rules – e.g., using a unit in a sacrificial way to delay an enemy. But those are emergent behaviors rather than dedicated design elements. A forum post on a miniatures game might humorously debate the merits of “suicide charges” and typically conclude such moves are situational and more for narrative than effective winning strategy. This echoes a real-world viewpoint: suicidal tactics are rarely optimal militarily unless under dire circumstances, but they can be dramatic.

Comparative Summary of Game Treatments

To crystallize the differences, the table below compares how various wargames (spanning different eras and scales) treat the concept of altruistic or suicidal tactics:

Wargame (Year)	Conflict & Scale	Representation of Suicidal Tactics	Historical Accuracy vs. Abstraction
Advanced Squad Leader (1985+)	WWII tactical (squad-level)	Explicit Banzai Charge and Human Wave rules for Japanese; No Surrender/No Quarter in many Pacific and Stalingrad scenarios; units can go Berserk (charge enemy). Morale increases when taking casualties (Japanese). Hero creation possible reflecting individual sacrifice.	Very detailed historical chrome. Accurately reflects Japanese WWII ethos (fanaticism) and other cases of no quarter. Slight abstraction in frequency of use (players control when to Banzai), but overall historically grounded in effect.
Lock ’n Load Tactical: Heroes of the Pacific (2015)	WWII tactical (squad-level)	Fanatic Japanese rules: squads don’t get suppressed, instead become smaller but with higher morale when hit. Banzai attacks allow all units to charge and continue despite losses. Essentially mirrors ASL’s portrayal in a simpler form.	Historical flavor high. Reproduces the same suicidal charge dynamics and refusal to retreat. As a newer design, it confirms the historiography of Japanese tactics; abstraction minimal – rules directly model behavior.
Squad Leader (1977) & other vintage tactical (e.g. Close Combat PC series)	WWII tactical	More limited than ASL; Squad Leader (pre-ASL) had morale rules but Japanese “banzai” was introduced in later modules. Many older tactical games simply gave Japanese high morale or special close-combat bonuses (implying fanaticism) instead of explicit charge rules.	Simplified abstraction. Acknowledges suicidal bravery via higher combat factors or morale, but not as explicitly as ASL. Historically adequate but less immersive.
Victory in the Pacific (1977)	WWII strategic (naval war)	Kamikaze attacks represented as a one-turn special ability for Japan (late war). Abstracted as a combat modifier against US Navy in 1945 turn. No individual unit for kamikaze, it’s an event in sequence.	Historical timing and effect captured, but very abstract. Treats kamikazes as a resource. Accuracy in that it’s only late-war and limited, but no detail of pilot loss, etc. Purely a numbers effect in gameplay.
Empire of the Sun (2005)	WWII strategic (Pacific)	Kamikaze represented by event cards (e.g., “Divine Wind”) that increase attack values in certain battles. Japanese units also have tactics like Tokyo Express (risky night missions) – not exactly suicide, but high risk.	Historically contextual. Cards ensure kamikazes only occur post-1944. Abstraction medium – effect on die-rolls or battle outcomes, narrative provided by card text.
Labyrinth: War on Terror (2010)	Global War on Terror (2001-?, strategic)	Martyrdom Operation cards allow sacrificing a cell to place multiple terror plots. Jihadist plays also include “Shoes Removed” and other events referencing suicide tactics. Cells are removed (simulating suicide bombers or terror cells cracked down) as part of normal play.	Abstract but direct. Captures the strategic logic of suicide attacks (trade unit for effect) very well. Doesn’t dwell on graphic detail – focuses on outcomes (plots). Historically accurate in representing the threat and use of martyrdom tactics; abstraction in that complex networks and motivations are simplified into a card play.
A Distant Plain (2013)	Afghanistan COIN (operational)	Suicide Bombers capability for Taliban (when in effect, Taliban may inflict extra casualties at cost of piece). “Terror” actions represent intimidation or bombings (could be suicide or not). Events in deck (e.g., one might simulate an high-profile bombing).	Operational abstraction. Reasonably accurate: suicide attacks in Afghanistan are reflected in game effects (lowered gov’t support, Coalition casualties). The specific human action is abstracted into a faction capability.
Fire in the Lake (2014)	Vietnam War COIN (strategic)	No specific suicide attack piece (they were not a feature of Vietnam conflict), but events like Buddhist self-immolation (not a combat tactic, but altruistic protest) are included for political effect. Viet Cong “sapper attacks” are folded into general Terror or Military operations without special suicide rules.	N/A (theme-specific). Since suicide tactics weren’t central in Vietnam, game doesn’t introduce mechanics for it, focusing on other asymmetric aspects. Shows that games include these rules only when historically germane.
Modern Tactical (e.g., Force on Force miniatures rules, 2011)	Post-2000 infantry combat (Iraq/Afghan)	Usually includes rules for IEDs and VBIEDs (car bombs) which might be suicide-driven. Players can deploy a Vehicle-Borne IED that explodes – effectively removing that unit. No explicit “suicide bomber” miniature; it’s scenario-driven (e.g., one insurgent unit can detonate itself to attack a convoy). Morale/training differences account for willingness: insurgents often have no morale check to do such attacks.	Scenario-based accuracy. These systems rely on scenario design to introduce suicidal attacks. Abstraction low when used (the explosion is fully resolved in combat terms), but the decision to allow such an attack often pre-scripted rather than a dynamic choice each turn.

(Table: Comparison of how various wargames handle altruistic or suicidal tactics, balancing historical detail with abstraction.)

As the table suggests, grognard-level games tend to include these elements when they were a notable part of warfare, but the implementation ranges from highly detailed rules (ASL’s micro-level fanaticism) to coarse strategic effects (kamikazes as a one-off bonus). Modern insurgency games incorporate the concept mostly through events and capabilities that translate suicide attacks into game-state changes (e.g., reduced political support, sudden damage to opponent forces).

One pattern is clear: games strive to impose appropriate limitations on suicidal tactics to maintain realism. For instance, you cannot just banzai charge every turn in ASL; you need specific conditions and you risk a lot. In strategic games, you can’t use kamikazes in 1942 or infinitely – they come late and you get a finite shot. In COIN games, a suicide bomber might be powerful but won’t single-handedly win the war; it’s one tool among many and often requires setup (e.g., getting a cell into a target country in Labyrinth). These limitations reflect historical accuracy (such tactics were relatively rare or situation-dependent) and ensure the game remains balanced and fun rather than devolving into reckless trading of lives without consequence.

Conclusion

Durkheim’s notion of altruistic suicide finds sobering validation on the fields of war – and wargames, in their unique analytical lens, have found ways to represent these self-destructive acts of courage and fanaticism. Historically, whether in a banzai charge on a Pacific atoll or a suicide bombing in Kabul, we see individuals driven by duty, honor, ideology, or desperation to value a cause above their own life. Wargames simulate command decisions, so they inevitably grapple with how to depict commanders or factions using such extreme measures. As we’ve seen, games like ASL practically enable the player to role-play that mindset for a moment – you, as the Japanese commander, might remove the safety catch and send everyone forward in a wave, knowing you’ll lose most of your men but hoping to slow the enemy. In that sense, a grognard wargame can impart an experiential understanding of the costly trade-offs and mentality behind historical events: the “serene conviction” of doing one’s duty unto death that Durkheim described

From an academic standpoint, the inclusion of altruistic suicide in wargames underscores a desire for authenticity. These designs acknowledge that war is not always rational or attrition-based; cultural factors and morale can lead to extreme behavior. When games abstract these factors, they risk losing some truth of warfare – imagine a WWII Pacific game with no difference between US and Japanese infantry behavior. Thankfully, grognard games thrive on such distinctions. Players often study historical accounts to use tactics effectively in games, thus the game becomes a form of experimental history. Does charging en masse work better or worse on the tabletop than it did in reality? The answer can reinforce the historical verdict (usually worse, unless very specific circumstances, which matches why it was done rarely).

On the other hand, wargames also simplify reality: they remove the human horror. No game can truly simulate the psychological turmoil of a soldier steeling himself for a suicide mission or the ethical weight on a commander ordering one. The grognard tone tends to be matter-of-fact, treating units as factors. This detachment can be useful for analysis but can also sanitize what are deeply tragic acts. Some critics might say turning suicide bombers into a card game mechanic risks trivializing it. However, most players understand the intent – it’s to model capability, not to endorse. In fact, playing the “terrorist side” in a game like Labyrinth can be eye-opening as you start to think in those ruthless terms of sacrificing pawns for impact, which in a way is a learning experience about the cold strategies behind warm rhetoric of martyrdom.

In conclusion, Durkheim’s altruistic suicide lives on in the realm of war-themed games as a crucial piece of historical realism and scenario design. The representations range from the visceral (bonzai charges sweeping across a hex grid under withering fire) to the abstract (flipping a card to simulate a deadly explosion in a distant city). Each implementation teaches players about the context: why such tactics emerged, what they achieved or failed to achieve, and at what cost. In doing so, these games pay respect to history’s harsh lessons. They remind us that beyond the calculations of strategy are real individuals who felt so bonded to their group or cause that they embraced death. And in the sandbox of a wargame, we as players – part historians, part strategists – grapple with that reality, weighing when, if ever, to expend our pixelated soldiers’ lives in such a manner for the greater good. The grognard in us appreciates the added depth and challenge these rules provide, while the academic in us recognizes the nuanced intersection of sociology and military history being played out on our tables. In the end, the inclusion of altruistic suicide in wargames – albeit not yet explicitly mentioned in my own experience – is both a design choice and a quiet tribute to those historical moments of extreme sacrifice, ensuring they are analyzed and remembered, not lost in the abstraction of war.