Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 162: Scottish Army

While Ragnar and his investors were settling into the newly acquired London Branch Office, General Bjorn was busy acting as the Regional Manager of the northern border forces stationed near Carlisle.

He had been overseeing the defense of the Northumbrian frontier since the hostile takeover of York.

Unlike the southern front, which had devolved into a muddy stalemate where the West Saxons refused to advance without a union contract, the Scots were a different breed.

The Thane of Galloway, a man who seemingly didn’t understand the concept of a sunken cost fallacy, constantly threw Highlanders at the walls of the Station Fortress.

However, no matter what they attempted to do playing... it ultimately met in failure.

At the moment, Bjorn was inside one of the prefabricated concrete bunkers that acted as a Forward Operating Base for the contractors who manned its garrison.

Currently, Bjorn was conversing with the shift supervisors under his command about the constant depreciation of their assets.

A well-armored supervisor, dressed in a blackened breastplate with the Iron Gear logo stamped on the pauldron, was the first to speak up about the current situation.

"General, if they keep attacking at such a pace, we will eventually run out of bolts. The next shipment from City Titan is still three days out.

Someone needs to inform the Director that we are running low on inventory and to expedite the logistics!"

By now, hundreds of bodies lay riddled with bolts and shrapnel outside the fort, rotting in the area strictly labeled by the Directorate as the "Loss Prevention Zone."

Anything that entered the area would be battered by repeating crossbows and "Spicy Mix" mortars. It was indeed a nightmare to audit.

Bjorn nodded his head in agreement as he took a sip from his mug, which was filled with lukewarm coffee.

If there was one thing Ragnar had made sure while he was recovering from his leg injury and attending to matters of the state, it was that his troops were well supplied with caffeine.

It was only after the grizzled veteran had quenched his parched throat with the bitter taste of the Titan Blend that he began to speak his piece.

"We will send a telegraph to York to ensure that the shipment of our bolts and other consumables will be prioritized. As for the situation at the perimeter itself, how are the new sensors holding up?"

Another supervisor, who was roughly the same age as Bjorn and had been a raider for many years before discovering the joy of a steady paycheck, quickly began his account of the ongoing efforts to defend the border.

"A patrol recently caught a unit of Highlanders trying to bypass the rail line and sabotage the tracks. They were most likely tasked with disrupting the supply chain. However, they were effectively neutralized by the Sharpshooter Squad before they could loosen a single rivet.

As for the walls themselves, the concrete is holding. The enemy cannot harm our infrastructure, at least not with claymores!"

Bjorn nodded in silence. Aside from running low on bolts, there was not much to worry about when it came to the defense of the Northern border.

However, for whatever reason, Bjorn felt a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that the Scots were going to try something... innovative.

Thus he gave his supervisors an order before concluding the meeting.

"Double the nightly shift and the perimeter patrols; I do not want any Scots slipping past our liability waivers!"

The supervisors all saluted Bjorn by pounding their chest plates with their fists before answering in the affirmative.

"Efficiency is Victory!"

With that, Bjorn turned his back on them and gave one final order for the night.

"Get back to work."

Hearing their orders, the men finally departed from the bunker and were set upon their tasks.

As for Bjorn, he stared at the map in front of him and pondered about the actions that the Scots might take.

The number of men they threw at his wall was unbelievable; despite setback after setback, they still attacked at regular intervals. They were doing this in an attempt to fatigue his workforce, but he did not know what for.

Ultimately Bjorn sighed before he decided to give up on predicting the enemy’s R&D department; he would never be able to guess what desperate plot the Scots were up to.

He would do best to adapt when such a scheme reared its ugly head.

As such, he left the bunker and entered his quarters, where he climbed into his cot and slept efficiently for the night.

...

Hours had passed, and it was roughly midnight; the overcast sky provided excellent cover for the Scots’ latest plot to break through the mighty Station Fortress.

Since they could not pierce through its defenses during the day, they had been wasting men’s lives over the past few weeks at regular intervals to lower the guard of their opponent.

Now the time had come for them to unleash the plot that they had long since planned for.

Under the cover of darkness, Scottish soldiers slowly moved the Oxen into position, keeping the creatures calm to the best of their ability with whispers and handfuls of grain.

The carts the oxen dragged behind them carried large, wooden contraptions, which resembled primitive catapults.

However, unlike the standard trebuchets, these massive engines were designed to fling something far more dangerous than stones.

Slowly but surely, the devices known as "Fire-Throwers" made their way into firing position where they were set up, entirely shrouded by the lack of illumination which this particular night provided.

During the loading process, one of the clay pots filled with pitch and sulfur fell from the loader’s hands and crashed on the ground, creating a loud crack.

One of the Highlanders instantly scolded the man who had screwed up the loading procedure in a hushed, angry whisper.

"You numpty! You’ll wake the metal-men!"

However, after several seconds, it became apparent that the sentries on the walls nearby did not notice the commotion.

As such, the men sighed before restarting the loading procedure. In total, there were three of these monumental devices.

It was all that the Thane could afford; he had mortgaged his castle to the French for the sulfur. Yet here at the borders of the Directorate, against a small Station Fortress, the Scots were forced to unleash their mightiest weapon.

Eventually, the fuses were lit, and after several seconds a loud twang echoed in the air before the massive flaming pots found their way over the fortress walls.

The Scottish army began to cheer outside the walls as they believed such a bombardment was fully capable of burning the wooden barracks inside.

However, when the pots smashed against the roofs, all that such a thing managed to accomplish was alert the Directorate defenders, who rapidly climbed to their positions where they began to load their Steam Cannons.

When the Scottish commander gazed at the roofs only to realize that they were... not burning... his jaw dropped. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

The man had no way of knowing that Ragnar had instituted a strict building code: all roofs within the fortress were tiled with slate and the timber was treated with a fire-retardant alum solution.

Since these buildings were designed to survive industrial accidents, they were far more resilient than anything the Scots had encountered.

Bjorn quickly rushed out of bed and entered the scene, where he saw his men rapidly loading the cannons mounted on the walls.

When he arrived, they quickly stopped what they were doing and saluted the man before waiting for the Regional Manager to speak.

Bjorn quickly assessed the "damage" before a wicked grin formed on his face.

"They brought fire to a steam fight?" Bjorn laughed.

"Show these luddites what real thermal energy looks like!"

The Directorate defenders quickly responded with a salute and the battle cry they were so well known for.

"Full Steam Ahead!"

Afterward, the steam cannons that were mounted in the direction of the catapults were fired.

A dozen high-explosive shells landed upon the Fire-Throwers, destroying the devices and shredding the fools who had marched right into the Loss Prevention Zone.

However, the battle did not end there, as the cannons were rapidly reloaded and fired once more, this time aimed at the siege camp the Scots had foolishly erected within firing range of the mighty artillery that Ragnar’s forces possessed.

Until now, they had been fighting a war of attrition, but Bjorn was fully aware of Ragnar’s ongoing hostile takeover plans and had decided to liquidate the army who approached the Northern border on this night.

He was thoroughly outraged that the fools would bring fire against him... fire was the Director’s domain!

Thus the Directorate defenders retaliated and began to bombard the enemy encampment throughout the entirety of the night. Blood-curdling screams filled the air, alongside the sounds of explosions detonating upon the enemy position.

As the Scottish commander gazed upon the destruction of his encampment, he quickly saw a projectile heading straight for him and cursed under his breath.

"Bloody Viking accountants..."

With that, the shell landed on top of him, and the explosive blast engulfed his figure, rendering him into nothing more than a write-off.

The thunderous echoes of a dozen steam cannons would continue to fire off throughout the night, long after the Scottish Army had been utterly restructured into fertilizer.