Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 105: Welcome to the future

While Ragnar and his Grand Trunk Line were paving the way through the Midlands, King Aethelred of Wessex was surrounded by his own poor decisions.

At the moment, the King and his starving army were sandwiched between the freezing waters of the River Thames and the relentless, mechanical advance of the Directorate’s infrastructure project.

Worse yet, right before he was trapped within the confines of his riverside camp, he was informed that his mercenaries had defected en masse.

They hadn’t just left; they had walked across the lines to the Viking encampment because Ragnar offered something Aethelred could not: Dental Insurance and hot coffee.

As such, King Aethelred was currently surrounded by his remaining Ealdormen who had traveled with him to the border defense, where they were engaged in a heated discussion about how to move forward.

They were not in a good position; Ragnar’s army, though composed largely of shovel-wielding interns, was well-fed, highly motivated, and backed by a machine that screamed like a banshee.

As the Noblemen spoke about their situation, the delicious smell of frying bacon drifted across the river from the Viking lines, adding a great degree of intimidation to the bellies of the noblemen who had followed their liege seemingly into the gates of hunger itself.

One such nobleman, the Ealdorman of Hampshire, was addressing the gathering of Lords as he voiced his opinions about their dwindling options.

"It has become increasingly clear that there are only two options! We hold the riverbank and continue to pray that God strikes down the Iron Horse! Or... we negotiate. If we surrender now, perhaps the Director will allow us to keep our estates as ’Regional Franchises’. The mercenaries say the Vikings are paying in silver, not clipped copper!"

After saying this, the gathering erupted into chaos.

Two factions were formed: those who supported staying at the Thames and fighting for the glory of Wessex, and those who wanted to cross the bridge and see if the rumors about the "Nutrient Bricks" were true.

Of course, those who wanted to fight had no way of knowing that by the time they charged, Ragnar would have deployed the "Steam Vent" crowd-control protocols.

King Aethelred was entirely unwilling to give up on the border; he knew in his heart that if they allowed the railway to cross the Thames, the war was lost.

They might be able to survive for a few years in a desperate struggle against the Directorate’s monopoly, but in the end, they would be bought out.

Their families would pay the price for their defiance—likely by being forced to work in the textile mills.

Eventually, the King raised his hand to silence his Lords, and only after their arguments about the smell of bacon had completely ceased did he voice his decision.

"I will not concede to a merchant! I will not retire to Winchester and wait for him to pave my garden! We will hold the Thames, or we will die trying! If we abandon this river, only bankruptcy and industrialization await our households. Tell the men at the bridge to defend it with their lives. As for the coffee... ignore the smell! We must not fail!"

When Aethelred announced his decision, a variety of expressions appeared on the faces of the Vassals loyal to him; some of them were beginning to regret their decision to back his efforts to resist the future.

Many of them wondered how the Earls of the Midlands were faring; if they were eating hot meals right now, then there was no point to continue this starvation any further.

Ultimately, every Lord who was present agreed to hold the line.

They would remain trapped on the riverbank until a point where the enemy forces made a mistake, or until the "Iron Horse" exploded. It was a risky option, but Aethelred was convinced that a machine made of fire and water was an affront to nature and would surely fail.

As such, the Standoff at the Thames continued. With the arrival of Ragnar’s vanguard, the Saxon defenders became terrified, and their collapsing morale had plummeted further.

If they could just hold out a little longer, surely the machine would run out of coal. For now, it was a battle of wills to see whose stomach would rumble first.

On the northern bank of the Thames, Ragnar stood atop the cab of Locomotive No. 1, the "Screaming Kettle." He wore his matte-grey armor, but he had swapped his helmet for a conductor’s cap he had commissioned from the textile department.

He gazed from the boiler walkway down onto the terrified Saxon army across the river with a corporate smile on his face.

Soon enough, this acquisition would come to an end, and at the moment, the leverage was heavily in his favor.

Just now, he noticed the increase in the activity on the Saxon side—archers were lining up, aiming their primitive longbows at his beautiful machine.

Ragnar shook his head as he voiced his thoughts aloud to Leif the Elder, who was shoveling coal into the firebox.

"It appears that King Aethelred has realized he is running out of time. But he fails to realize he has already run out of leverage."

As such, Ragnar grabbed the pull-cord of the steam whistle and yanked it.

WHOOOOO-WEEEEEEE!

The sound tore through the morning mist, louder than a thousand war horns.

Across the river, horses reared and threw their riders. Saxon spearmen dropped their weapons and covered their ears.

Ragnar unsheathed his saber. He shouted to the "Interns" of the Track-Laying Division with a heroic speech of productivity.

"Employees! You have all worked hard this past week to ensure the timeline of your Director is met! Over the course of the next hour, Aethelred will throw insults and arrows at us, but we cannot allow this Schedule to slip! For if the timeline slips, the quarterly bonus will be in vain! Lay the track! Lay the track as if your pension depended upon it!"

With these words spoken, the workers rallied behind the CEO of their future. They screamed "Efficiency is Victory!" into the air, allowing all of the anxiety and caffeine they had consumed to escape from their lungs.

With this speech, a new sense of corporate zealotry was formed among the construction crew.

Ragnar turned to General Bjorn, who was eating a sausage on the tender car.

"General, deploy the Bridge-Layer."

"The portable truss, Director?"

"Yes," Ragnar nodded. "And bring up the Mobile Catering Unit. I want the smell of fresh bread to be wafting directly into the King’s face."

As the Vikings began to push a massive, pre-fabricated iron truss bridge across the river, the Saxon archers loosed a volley.

The arrows struck the boiler of the locomotive and bounced off harmlessly. The iron skin of the beast was impervious to yew and feathers.

"They are shooting at the train, Director," Leif noted, checking the pressure gauge. "Should I vent the steam?"

"Not yet," Ragnar smiled. "Let them waste their inventory."

On the south bank, King Aethelred watched in horror as the iron bridge slowly extended across the water, pushed by the locomotive.

"Fire!" Aethelred screamed. "Burn it!"

His archers lit fire arrows. They arced through the sky and landed on the wet iron bridge. They sizzled and went out.

"It... it does not burn!" a Bishop wailed. "It is made of the bones of the earth!"

Then, the bridge touched the southern bank with a heavy, metallic CLANG!

The Vikings didn’t charge across with axes. Instead, a wagon rolled across the rails. It stopped in the middle of the bridge. The side panels folded down.

A Viking chef, wearing a white apron over his chainmail, began to ladle hot stew into bowls. He placed a fan behind the pot, blowing the steam directly at the starving Saxons.

"LUNCH BREAK!" Ragnar’s voice boomed over the river, amplified by a brass speaking trumpet. "Complimentary meal for all new applicants! Surrender your weapons and receive a hot bowl of beef stew and a signing bonus!"

The effect was instantaneous. The Saxon line wavered.

"Beef?" a peasant whispered, his stomach cramping. "Real beef?"

"Hold the line!" Aethelred shouted, striking a man with the flat of his sword. "It is a trick! The stew is poisoned!"

One by one, the Saxon levies dropped their spears. Then in groups. Then in droves. They rushed the bridge.

"Form an orderly line!" The Viking Chef shouted. "Have your ID ready! No cutting!"

King Aethelred stood alone with his housecarls and the terrified Bishop. He watched his army dissolve into a breadline.

He realized, with a sinking heart, that he had lost. He hadn’t been defeated by strategy or strength. He had been defeated by logistics.

Ragnar stepped off the train and walked onto the bridge, his boots ringing on the iron. He stopped halfway, holding a document.

"King Aethelred!" Ragnar called out. "I have a letter from your wife!"

Aethelred blinked, confusion replacing his rage. "Judith?"

"She has negotiated a settlement," Ragnar said, waving the parchment. "She prefers a living husband to a dead martyr. Sign the trade agreement, accept the railway, and you can go home to Winchester. Refuse... and I will offer your housecarls double pay to carry you there in a cage."

Aethelred looked at his housecarls. They were looking at the stew.

The King of Wessex lowered his sword. The Siege of the Thames was over. The Corporate Takeover of England was effectively complete.

"I will sign," Aethelred whispered, defeated by the aroma of progress.

Ragnar smiled.

"Excellent choice, Your Majesty. Welcome to the future."