Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 89 Bayonet
Led by the flagship, the fleet approached the south bank in disarray. Thanks to extensive drill training, Vig's two thousand men were the fastest to assemble. To cover the friendly forces caught in the chaos, he ordered a defense to be set up three hundred meters south of the riverbank.

Riding his gray horse to a hillside, the sight before him made him gasp.

A kilometer away in a wheat field, more than three thousand Frankish infantrymen unfolded from their marching column into a line suitable for attack, with a blue flag with gold irises fluttering in the center of the column.

Besides the scattered conscripted peasants, seven hundred cavalrymen had also gathered on the southeastern hillside. They wore various styles of cloaks over their chainmail, mainly in blue, yellow, and red, and from a distance, they looked like clusters of blooming wildflowers.

Time was of the essence, so Vig sent a shield guard back to the riverbank to relay the order: "Tell His Majesty that about four thousand Franks are about to launch an attack, including seven hundred cavalry!"

Amidst the soldiers' anxious gazes, he drew his Dragon Breath Sword and, following the formation they had practiced, directed his troops to set up two bayonet formations on the grass.

Sensing the Vikings' movements, the Frankish cavalry, unwilling to waste time, abandoned the sluggish conscripted peasants and hastily launched an attack.

On the hillside, the horses moved with small steps, constantly adjusting their formation according to the cavalry's instructions, gradually forming three loose horizontal lines.

Then, the horizontal line began to accelerate, and the ground trembled like rolling thunder. Under the sunlight, the cavalry's weapons reflected countless points of cold light, and the crossbowmen at the front of the formation were pale-faced, trembling as they awaited the order to fire.

Five hundred meters.

Three hundred meters.

One hundred meters.

Once within firing range, on the officer's orders, the crossbowmen at the front of the bayonet formation hastily pulled their triggers and then retreated back into the formation through the gap.

Inside the formation, Vig sat upright on the gray horse's saddle. From his perspective, hundreds of arrows flew like locusts towards a hundred meters away. Some arrows missed their mark, while others struck the cavalrymen's shields and armor without causing any damage. Only a very few hit the horses.

The next moment, the Frankish cavalrymen squeezed their horses' bellies with their legs, increasing their speed to the maximum, and charged forward wielding longswords and chain hammers.

“Vive la Charlemagne!”

Thirty-four years had passed since Charlemagne's death, yet they still charged in the name of this great monarch. Seeing the knights on their tall horses charging towards them, the spearmen at the front began to waver.

Having reached this point, Vig couldn't think of any other way, so he could only loudly encourage his men, "Follow the training instructions, crouch down, insert the end of the spear into the ground, and point the spearhead upwards at the enemy's horses."

In a flash, the hundred-meter distance was covered, and the dozen or so cavalrymen at the forefront crashed into the bayonet formation, dying instantly along with their horses.

Witnessing the tragic fate of their kind, the other horses slowed their pace, unwilling to collide with those cold, deadly spikes no matter how much their owners urged them on.

Gradually, the warhorses slowed down, and driven by their survival instincts, they eventually chose to bypass the front of the formation.

Amidst the angry shouts of the cavalry, their mounts circled back and forth around the bayonet phalanx. At the same time, the crossbowmen inside the phalanx recovered and began firing bolts at the mounted cavalry, while the spearmen in the first five ranks drew their iron axes and hurled them haphazardly forward.

The farce lasted for a few minutes, and the Vikings on the riverbank gradually came to reinforce them. Realizing that they were in danger of being surrounded, the Frankish cavalry retreated one after another.

Even now, the militia a kilometer away had not yet formed ranks. Faced with the numerically superior Vikings, this Frankish army of about four thousand men began to retreat. "Where is Gunnar? Quickly send our cavalry to catch up!" Bjorn shouted, earning a glare from Ivar.

"Horses are born to hate bumpy environments. After drifting at sea for several days, they are listless and will probably need to rest for a while before they can fight again."

Bjorn: "Really? That's a pity. Letting this army withdraw will cause us a lot of trouble later."

As he muttered these words, the Viking army was assembled, with 5,000 men assigned as guards and the remaining 4,000 preparing to besiege the fortress.

Faced with a barrage of close-range fire from a thousand crossbowmen, the defenders behind the battlements were pinned down and unable to raise their heads. The Vikings charged forward with long ladders, and the armored infantry climbed the walls using the ladders. After several hours of fighting, they captured the wooden fortress before nightfall.

The garrison at Mubao was not large; more than two hundred men were killed in battle, and the remaining two hundred were taken prisoner.

With the help of a translator, Ragnar interrogated the defending commander, asking, "How did 'Bald' Charlie know that our army was about to attack?"

The commander was in low spirits, saying that since last autumn, Anglo-Saxons had been going to Paris to warn the king. At first, the king did not pay attention, but the number of messengers was too large, about forty or more.

Ultimately, Charles the Bald spent a fortune to build an iron chain across the river, on the advice of craftsmen, to prevent being caught off guard by the Vikings.

"Wait a minute, he said the number of informants exceeds forty?"

Ragnar had the translator repeat the question, then froze in his seat. It wasn't unusual for an insider to report, given that it was newly conquered territory, but were there too many traitors?

So many traitors meant that, in addition to the three great nobles of Ethelwaugh, Theowough, and Edmund, a large number of lesser nobles and gentry were also dissatisfied and were willing to risk their lives to send messengers across borders to deliver messages.

In a daze, Ragnar shivered. His kingdom, though seemingly vast, was in reality just a drafty thatched hut that could collapse at any moment with a single kick—no, without anyone else even lifting a finger.

Realizing his new boss was beginning to doubt him, Theowough immediately defended himself:

“Your Majesty, I swear to all known gods that I have never sent anyone to Frankish to inform on you.”

“Duke, put your mind at ease, I have never doubted your loyalty.” Ragnar, exhausted, interrupted the other’s explanation.

Theowough, Duke of Mercia, had a terrible reputation and very little control over his territory. He brought a little over a thousand men from his hometown of Nottingham and only controlled the Oxford region. The local lords under his jurisdiction were nominally loyal to him and barely paid some taxes, but they would definitely rebel at the slightest change in the situation.

"After returning home, I will focus my energy on domestic affairs." Having made up his mind, Ragnar continued the interrogation.

According to the prisoners' confessions, West Frankish internal strife was raging, and Pepin II, the lord of Aquitaine in the south, had declared himself king and insisted on being on equal footing with his uncle, Charles the Bald.

Therefore, the majority of the royal army remains deployed in the southern region.

In the end, the commander was completely desperate. "His Majesty originally thought you only had four or five thousand men, so he didn't send too many troops. I never expected you to send tens of thousands."

(End of this chapter)