Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 308 Channel Islands
In September, Vigé and the Crown Prince returned to Britain by ship.

As the northeasterly wind blew, the Blackback Perch entered the Thames estuary, and Vig stood on the bow deck, gazing at the farmland and pastures on both banks.

Suddenly, a faint, unpleasant odor drifted on the wind, like something quietly rotting in a corner. At first, Vig didn't pay much attention, but as time passed, the smell grew stronger, prompting repeated complaints from the crew.

A simple dock was built on the north bank, and small fishing boats laden with their catch crowded around the pier. The boats swayed gently with the waves, and the workers, shirtless, unloaded their nets. The vast majority of the catch was herring, which piled up into small hills on the shore, reflecting a dazzling luster in the sunlight and attracting flocks of seagulls that cackled and circled overhead.

Beside a huge wooden chopping board, a group of middle-aged women grabbed slippery fish, scaled them, removed their heads, gutted them, and threw them into a nearby wooden bucket to mix with sea salt and a few herbs.

The herring entrails were then poured bucket by bucket into giant, half-buried earthenware jars, where workers used long-handled wooden ladles to compact the mixture and expel as much air as possible. The jars were usually only filled to about seven-tenths full to allow room for subsequent stirring.

The jar opening is covered with a fine fishing net to prevent debris from falling in, but it is not sealed, allowing the mixture to be exposed to sunlight and ferment in the air.

Occasionally, the workers would lift the fishing nets and stir the mixture with long-handled wooden ladles, allowing the bottom layer to come into contact with air and promoting more even fermentation. As they continued to stir, a pungent odor, a mixture of rottenness and saltiness, spread and lingered on the nearby river, causing passing merchant sailors to curse loudly.

"By Odin, could you please move this piece of junk away?"

"My sense of smell is failing me. I really don't know how those workers endure it?"

On the bow deck of the Blackback Perch, Vig ignored the numerous complaints. Ancient Roman texts record instances where citizens would collectively complain, prompting the governor to temporarily close fish sauce workshops. Once the storm had passed, these workshops would reopen, because the people couldn't live without this condiment.

At noon, the Blackback Perch docked at the pier in Rendynewum. The shore was crowded with the families of the soldiers. Vig walked down the pier and saw Helgeve holding two children's hands, with her sister Britta and her daughter-in-law and grandson standing beside her.

Six months later, Britta's hair had turned increasingly gray. She anxiously approached Vig: "Where is Leif?"

"The fleet is attacking the Channel Islands, and Leif's Marine battalion has been ordered to participate in the battle and is expected to return within two weeks."

Meanwhile, Guernsey is only thirty miles from the Normandy coast.

Fifteen two-masted sailing ships lined up in a column, heading south towards the port on the east side of the island, with a white flag with a black bear flying over the perimeter wall.

After observing for a long time, the lookout on the mast observed that there were only two catapults behind the wall. Led by the flagship Red Falcon, the fleet went to the sea 200 meters from the port and launched a salvo at the catapults, successfully destroying them.

Next, the fleet sailed into the range of the crossbows, and stones, arrows, and crossbow bolts rained down on the eastern wall of the port until the defenders' resistance was completely extinguished.

As Kirk's fleet approached the dock, Marines entered the village in small, orderly formations, capturing the fishing port with only a hundred households.

With no time to rest, Leif handed over the defenses to friendly forces, and the Marine battalion returned to the ship's cabins to follow the fleet to Jersey Island in the southeast.

Jersey is the largest island in the entire archipelago (115 square kilometers). When the fleet circled around to the south side of the island, they could see from a distance that the port had five counterweight trebuchets.

"Wutai, this is troublesome."

On board the Red Falcon, the fleet commander looked grave. Unwilling to suffer the loss of any warship, he ordered a reserve officer to signal with flags, “Notify the Marine Battalion to land on the nearby beach and forcibly seize the port.”

The Kirk transport ship in the background.

Upon receiving the news, Leif, Invalon, and others launched into a tirade of profanities.

"A bunch of shameless bastards!"

"You're unwilling to take risks yourself, yet you push the Marine Corps battalion to their deaths. Are the lives of the Marine Corps battalion cheaper than yours?"

After venting his emotions, Leif was forced to obey orders, and he directed the transport ship to the fine white sand beach on the west side of the harbor. Upon reaching the shallow waters, the transport ship lowered a longboat with ropes, and Leif and the soldiers climbed down the ropes into the swaying longboat.

Under the scorching sun, twenty longboats glided towards the beach ahead, the soldiers letting out deep, rhythmic roars as their oars pounded the sea, stirring up bursts of white spray.

However, fate seemed to be on the defenders' side. It was low tide, and the seawater was rapidly receding from the beach. The longboats had to row against the current, their speed greatly reduced, each stroke becoming incredibly difficult, the hull feeling as if it were being dragged along by invisible ropes, inching forward with difficulty. This slowdown gave the Franks precious time.

"Idiot, complete idiot! How dare you let me force a beaching during low tide! I'll have to complain to the Navy after the war!"

Leif cursed loudly, urging the soldiers to row faster. In his desperate eyes, more than two hundred Frankish militiamen appeared on the beach, a third of them carrying crude bows and arrows.

Seeing that the Viking ships were slowing down due to the receding tide and becoming easy targets, the militia commander immediately ordered his men to fire arrows.

In an instant, arrows rained down on the Viking longships with a sharp whistling sound. The space on board was cramped, and the soldiers were crammed together with almost nowhere to hide. They could only rely on their armor to withstand the arrows, and one after another, they fell to the ground, hit by arrows.

"Paddle hard, rush ashore and kill them all!"

Despite the heavy losses, the Vikings' inherent ferocity and survival instinct sustained them. Braving the rain of arrows, they rowed even more frantically, the oars even scraping against the sand and rocks on the seabed. Finally, with the ear-piercing sound of the hulls scraping against the sand, twenty battered longships ran aground in the shallows.

Di~
The officers sounded the charge whistle, and the Viking warriors roared wildly as they eagerly leaped from the ship. They waded through knee-deep water and charged recklessly toward the militia positions on the beach.

Although the Frankish militia had the upper hand, they were not a well-trained standing army.

Faced with the desperate charge of these soaking wet, seemingly crazed Viking warriors, the militiamen panicked. Fear spread like a plague, and many spontaneously turned and fled.

"Whew, whew, you ran pretty fast."

Leif collapsed onto the beach, panting heavily. This victory had been extremely hard-won. From rowing desperately through the receding tide in the shallow waters under a hail of arrows to wading ashore for a fierce battle, the Vikings were completely exhausted. Their arms ached and trembled from overexertion, and they barely had the strength to continue the pursuit.

(End of this chapter)