Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 35: Demotion of Heroes

Outside the Walls of York

The camp was no longer a riot of tents and confusion. It had been transformed into a grid. Ragnar stood on a hastily constructed platform made of scaffolding and empty crates. He looked exhausted. His tunic was stained with ink and grease, and he had dark circles under his eyes that rivaled the charcoal he used for sketching.

Behind him stood his "Cabinet":

Gyda, Mistress of the Ledger, checking a manifest of arrows.

Bjorn, Head of the Signal Corps, holding his flags like ceremonial weapons.

Leif, Director of the Foundry, nervously clutching a "Standard Bolt."

Erik the Lame, Captain of the Broken Men, leaning on his crutch with a predatory grin.

Below them, the entire Great Heathen Army was assembled.

Five thousand men. Half were traditional Vikings hulking Huscarls with braided beards and axes that had tasted Frankish blood. The other half were the Industrial Corps men in padded vests, holding Torsion Spikes and crossbows, looking like a weird mix of soldiers and construction workers.

Ivar the Boneless sat on his litter at the front, watching with amusement. King Horik stood nearby, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"Listen!" Ragnar’s voice was amplified by a crude cone of birch bark (his latest invention: the megaphone).

"For months, we have thrown ourselves at these walls!" Ragnar shouted. "We have died for glory! And what do we have to show for it? Mud! And dead friends!"

A murmur of agreement went through the ranks. Even the proudest Huscarl knew the siege was a disaster.

"Today, we change the rules," Ragnar continued. "Today, we do not fight for glory. We fight for Efficiency."

He pointed to the walls of York, where Saxon defenders were currently mooning them.

"The Saxons think they are safe because they have stone. But stone is just physics. And physics..." Ragnar paused for effect, "...physics is my bitch."

The Broken Men cheered wildly. The Huscarls looked confused.

"I introduce the York Reform Act!" Ragnar bellowed.

He pulled out a scroll of his new paper.

1. The Abolition of the Hero Charge.

"No warrior shall run at the wall screaming his name. It is stupid. It wastes energy. Any man caught charging without orders will be fined two weeks’ pay."

2. The Aegis.

"The Huscarls are no longer the spear. They are the Shield. From this moment, your job is not to kill. Your job is to protect the men who do the killing. You will stand in front of the Industrial Corps. You will take the arrows. You will be the wall."

A roar of outrage erupted from the Huscarls.

"I am a wolf of Odin!" one massive warrior shouted, stepping forward. "I do not hide behind a cripple!"

Ivar the Boneless cut through the noise with a single, high-pitched laugh.

"Wolf," Ivar called out. "Step forward."

The warrior hesitated, then walked toward Ivar.

"You want to be a wolf?" Ivar asked softly. "Wolves hunt in packs. Wolves protect the pups. These men..." Ivar pointed to the Broken Men, "...are the teeth. You are the fur. Without the fur, the wolf freezes. Without the teeth, the wolf starves."

Ivar leaned forward, his eyes burning blue.

"Do you want to starve, Wolf? Or do you want to eat York?"

The warrior swallowed. He looked at the walls. He looked at Ivar. He bowed his head.

"I will be the fur," he grunted.

"Good," Ivar smiled. "Now get in line."

Ragnar exhaled. Crisis averted.

3. The Standardization of Volleys.

"We do not fire when we feel like it," Ragnar continued reading. "We fire on the whistle. One hundred bolts at once. We do not aim at men. We aim at zones. We saturate the grid."

4. The Introduction of Kinetic Diplomacy.

"We do not negotiate. We demolish. The God Hammer will fire every hour, on the hour, until the gate is gone. The noise will be loud. Do not panic. It is just the sound of winning."

5. The Loot Distribution Algorithm.

"Loot will not be taken by the strongest. It will be pooled and divided by rank and contribution. A Broken Man who fires a killing bolt gets the same share as a Huscarl who blocks an arrow."

This was the most radical change. The "Broken Men" looked at each other with tears in their eyes. For the first time, they were equals.

"Are we agreed?" Ragnar shouted.

"WE ARE AGREED!" the Industrial Corps roared. The Huscarls grumbled, but they nodded.

"Then prepare for the shift!" Ragnar ordered. "Work starts in ten minutes!"

The army moved.

Under Bjorn’s flags, the Huscarls formed a long, solid line of interlocking shields about three hundred meters from the wall. They grunted as they locked their heavy oak shields together, creating a mobile fortress.

Behind them, the Industrial Corps set up their tripods. They loaded the Torsion Spikes. They cranked the winches.

"Elevation: 15 degrees!" Erik the Lame shouted, walking up and down the line on his crutch. "Windage: Two clicks left!"

On the walls, the Saxons stopped laughing. They saw the shield wall. They saw the strange machines behind it.

"What are they doing?" a Saxon captain yelled. "Why aren’t they running?"

"They are... waiting," a soldier whispered.

Suddenly, a whistle blew. Five hundred Torsion Spikes fired at once. The sound was like a giant intake of breath.

A dark cloud of iron bolts rose into the air. They didn’t fly like arrows. They flew flat and fast.

The bolts hit the battlements. They punched through wooden hoardings. They shattered shields. They cleared the ramparts in seconds.

"Reload!" Erik screamed. "Ten seconds!"

The Industrial Corps cranked the handles. The Saxon archers tried to return fire. Arrows rained down on the Vikings.

But instead of finding flesh, the arrows hit the Huscarls’ shield wall.

The Huscarls stood firm. For the first time, they weren’t taking casualties while trying to close the distance. They were safe.

"It works!" Bjorn laughed, holding his flag. "They can’t touch us!"

Ragnar stood by the God Hammer, watching the carnage.

"Gyda," he said. "It is time for the heavy lifting."

Gyda checked her ledger. "Payload is loaded. Grenado Pot, Type B. Sulfur and Niter mix."

Ragnar nodded. He turned to the team manning the massive trebuchet.

"Target: Main Gate," Ragnar ordered. "Light the fuse."

A warrior lit the fuse on a large clay pot sitting in the sling. It hissed violently.

"LOOSE!"

The God Hammer groaned. The counterweight dropped. The burning pot soared through the air, tracing a smoky arc over the battlefield.

It hit the wooden gates of York.

It wasn’t a nuclear explosion, but for 865 AD, it was the end of the world.

The clay pot shattered, spraying burning sulfur and "Greek Fire" everywhere. The old, dry timber of the gate caught fire instantly.

The Saxons screamed. They had never seen fire that exploded.

"Again!" Ragnar ordered. "Don’t let them put it out!"

By sunset, the gates of York were a pile of ash. The walls were cleared of defenders. The Vikings hadn’t lost a single man.

King Horik walked through the lines, staring at the unblooded axes of his Huscarls.

"It is... boring," Horik muttered. "But effective."

Ivar the Boneless was laughing. He dragged himself along the line of Broken Men, patting them on the back.

"You are my monsters now," Ivar told them. "My beautiful, ugly monsters."

Ragnar sat on a crate, wiping soot from his face. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was his father, Ulf.

"You changed the world today, boy," Ulf said quietly. "The age of the Axe is over."

"The Axe is still useful, Father," Ragnar said, looking at the Huscarls. "But now it has a handle."

He looked at the burning city. "Tomorrow we enter," Ragnar said. "And tomorrow, the real work begins. We have to rebuild the walls we just broke."

"Why?" Ulf asked.

"Because," Ragnar smiled, touching the steel ring on his finger. "York... York will be the Factory."