Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 213: Formation Papers of the Lord Commander

"By all the saints and the relics of Patrick himself!" Áed roared. "Have you all lost your minds? You stand before your High King and dare suggest we offer alliance to this Ragnar who has swallowed half of England in two short years? Since when did Ireland fear a blacksmith’s nightmare more than a warrior’s blade?!"

Connor mac Nessa, powerful lord of Ulster, stepped forward with careful respect, though his weathered face showed the strain of delivering such unwelcome tidings.

"Your Majesty, with the greatest respect, this is no ordinary Viking raider from Dublin. Since the fall of The Fang, every ship that crosses the narrow sea brings the same story. Evidently his vassals in England already prosper under his rule. After some time the whispers have reached even our most loyal chieftains. They say alliance may be the wiser path than waiting for his fleet to appear upon our shores."

Áed laughed bitterly, pressing both palms to his throbbing temples as the headache intensified like a hammer strike from the gods. "And there it was... the cowardice I have long suspected lurking in your hearts! We have faced the Vikings for generations. We have driven them back from our coasts time and again. Unlike this new monster who dresses like a merchant and slaughters men with machines, the Norse of Dublin bleed when we strike them with honest steel. Evidently you would rather kneel before foreign toys than fight like true sons of Ireland!"

Fergus of Meath, older and wiser, bowed low before speaking with measured gravity. "Your Majesty, we do not speak from fear alone. Apparently the survivors from Norway all tell the same tale: Ragnar spared them deliberately so terror would spread. By now many coastal lords have begun to whisper that offering alliance first may spare us the fate of the Gore-King. After all, this Iron Father offers more than conquest. He brings knowledge that could transform our lands... better tools, stronger ships, wealth beyond anything we have known."

The headache that had been building suddenly exploded behind Áed’s eyes like a mortar shell of its own. He staggered slightly, gripping the arms of the throne as cold sweat beaded upon his brow.

"Enough!" he snarled, though his voice cracked with pain. "You speak of alliance as though this man is merely another king to bargain with! Realizing that my own vassals would rather kneel to a foreign conqueror than stand with their High King fills me with a rage I can scarcely contain!"

One of his most loyal commanders, Mael Ruanaid of Connacht, stepped forward with genuine concern etched upon his face. "My King, perhaps we should consider the practical truth. Since the fall of The Fang, even the Norse in Dublin grow uneasy. Evidently Ragnar’s power grows faster than any army we can raise. If there was one thing the survivors all agree upon, it is that no wall can stand against his thunder..."

Áed rose unsteadily from the Stone of Destiny. "By now you sound like merchants haggling over cloth rather than warriors of Ireland! This man has conquered half of England in two years. Two years! Meanwhile we have spent centuries fighting among ourselves and against the Norse. And you believe he will stop at alliance? He will swallow us whole, just as he swallowed the mountain of the Gore-King!"

"Since the day I took this crown I have led you to victory after victory against the Northmen. And now you would throw it all away because one man brought bigger weapons across the sea? The devil himself has come to our shores wearing the mask of progress!"

Finally Áed collapsed back onto the throne, both hands clutching his head as the pain reached its peak.

"Leave me," he commanded at last, his voice suddenly weary and hollow. "All of you. I must think upon this madness you have brought before me."

As the lords and chieftains filed silently out of the sacred hall, Áed Findliath remained alone upon the Stone of Destiny. The headache showed no sign of fading. In fact it grew stronger with every passing moment.

...

Three months had passed since the speech of King Áed Findliath. Since then, the shadow of Ragnar’s empire had lengthened across the western seas like the first light of a new and unforgiving dawn. Personally, no one in City Titan felt that weight more keenly than the men now training upon the vast parade fields outside the capital.

And there it was... the Lion Banner of the Iron Empire, a great crimson standard embroidered with a roaring golden beast, snapping proudly in the autumn wind above the training fields. Beneath that banner stood Bjorn, Lord Commander of the Grenadiers and right hand of the Iron Father, his massive frame clad in blackened plate as he studied the meticulously drawn formation papers spread across a folding camp table.

Every time he glanced up from the parchment, his eyes swept across the disciplined host arrayed before him: five thousand pikemen standing in loose yet perfectly coordinated blocks of five hundred men each, their long ash pikes tipped with gleaming steel and adorned with fluttering strips of bright red cloth.

In the rear of each block waited one hundred Grenadiers, their repeating crossbows and powder-pots at the ready, the entire army of six thousand men moving with the mechanical precision that only the Iron Empire could demand.

Up until this day, no army in the known world had ever drilled such a formation. More than a thousand years of warfare had relied upon the shield wall and the wild charge; now Bjorn was teaching something far deadlier.

Suddenly the Lion Banner dipped once in signal, and the entire host began its drill once more.

Bjorn rolled the formation papers, then strode forward to address his senior officers who had gathered around the table. "I have waited my entire life for a formation like this," he declared,

"Look upon them, my brothers. Five thousand pikes in ten perfect blocks, each block anchored by one hundred Grenadiers. Every time the enemy charges, the pikes will receive them on a wall of steel that no berserker or knight can break. Meanwhile the Grenadiers stand protected behind that living wall and loose their grenades over the heads of their comrades."

Ragnar himself, who had been watching silently from horseback a short distance away with Gyda and his mother Sigrid at his side, urged his mount forward until he stood directly before the Lion Banner.

Ragnar dismounted smoothly, planting his cane upon the grass as he walked among the nearest block of pikemen.

Leofric stepped forward. "The old ways of shield walls and wild charges are dying here today. After all, why trade lives when you can trade powder and steel?"

Bjorn laughed again, "With that said, Director, shall we show you the full evolution? The Grenadiers can now loose three coordinated volleys of grenades while the pike blocks advance."

Ragnar placed a hand upon Bjorn’s massive shoulder. "Continue the drill. Let every man in City Titan see what we have built." 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

As the Lion Banner snapped once more in the wind and the six thousand men resumed their deadly drill.