Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 87: Takeover

Ragnar was currently sitting on a crate of rivets outside the city walls within the confines of his siege perimeter.

He was conducting a "quality assurance check" on breakfast, which consisted of hardtack soaked in bacon grease and a tin cup of weak ale.

He ate the same "fuel" as his employees and refused to have executive catering while in the field. As such, he was sitting next to General Bjorn, a Sergeant from the Engineering Corps, and a fresh-faced recruit from East Anglia.

The rhythmic thud-whoosh of the "Chemical Lobbers" (modified mangonels) echoed across the field as they continuously bombarded the city walls with ceramic pots of the "Spicy Mix"; one might think a dragon had taken up residence in the Midlands if they were not accustomed to such industrial thermal application.

Though the skies above were grey and drizzling, and the damp English wind was filled with the scent of wet wool, it was by no means a natural storm.

The cool breeze whipped across Ragnar’s face, which was the only portion of his skin that made direct contact with the air; he was covered from head to toe in the matte-grey "Mark IV" munitions plate, lined with wool to prevent chafing.

Actually, the Imperial Corps’ attire was far less barbaric than the traditional Viking furs; with standardized waterproof cloaks and rubber-soled boots, they looked far different than the raiders of old.

Though they did not look as terrifying in a "savage" sense, they were kept dry by their linseed-oil treated cloaks, and in the end, operational efficiency was far more important than intimidation when it came to an army’s gear.

As such, the men ate their hardtack under the falling rain while the chemical fire continued to weaken the mortar of Nottingham’s thick stone walls.

It had already been three days since the "audit" had begun, and Ragnar was confident that the structural integrity would soon be compromised after all the sections they had been heating were already showing signs of thermal stress.

Just when Ragnar was about to speak to his soldiers about the importance of hydration, he overheard the sound of stone cracking like a gunshot and the disciplined roar of his men.

Seeing that the curtain wall had collapsed under the thermal expansion, Ragnar quickly snapped his visor shut and adjusted his utility belt before marching to the frontlines where his "Can-Openers" had quickly rallied.

Finally, they would be able to seize the assets; as for the Keep’s liquidation, that would still take a few days of negotiation via Torsion Spike.

With his Messer in hand, Ragnar cried out to his workforce as he rushed for the smoking breach in the wall.

"INITIATE MERGER!"

The overwhelming majority of the employees in his camp rushed to the broken wall with Lucerne Hammers raised and pikes leveled as they resisted the oncoming missile fire from the Saxon archers and slingers above.

Luckily for them, their vitals were covered in mass-produced, hardened steel plate armor, so as long as they were not shot through the eye-slit, they would endure the rain of primitive projectiles descending upon them.

Ragnar’s forces quickly arrived in front of the wall where they formed a "Phalanx of Industry" and thrust their pikes into the defenders who filled the gaps.

The mighty shield wall the garrison of the city had formed—comprised mostly of terrified levies with wooden boards—quickly collapsed under the tempered steel points which pierced their boiled leather armor as if it were wet paper, sending them into early retirement.

The defensive line collapsed with a single synchronized push and was quickly rushed upon by a sea of grey steel.

Those troops in the rear of Ragnar’s formation continued to fire their repeating crossbows upon the defenders upon the ramparts, rapidly cutting away at the archers’ numbers who desperately tried to combat the tide of the Iron Gear which forced its way through the gap within the city wall.

The wall was brought down under concentrated heat from Ragnar’s chemical battalion in three sections; each region was undergoing a similar sight.

Ragnar parried a clumsy spear thrust with the flat of his blade before driving his pommel directly into the nasal helm of the city defender, crumpling the iron and ending the man’s contract.

He was leading the charge at the center gap within the city’s defenses; slowly but surely, his troops were overwhelming the local market competition.

General Bjorn was leading one of the other locations where he used his massive Lucerne Hammer to hook a Thane’s shield, ripping it away before driving the top spike through the man’s mail coif.

Like Ragnar, he led the forces into battle as the city defenders slowly began retreating toward the inner keep.

Eventually, the defensive line was broken. Rather than pursue the fleeing garrison to the keep immediately, Ragnar’s forces lined up, cranked their crossbow levers, and fired upon the city’s defenders as their backs were turned, instantly liquidating them with no severance pay.

Ragnar, Bjorn, and the Colonel of the Third Battalion all yelled out similar commands to their forces.

"PROCESS THEM!"

As the soldiers of Ragnar’s army advanced through the muddy streets of Nottingham, they engaged anyone who was remotely garbed in armor or equipped with a weapon.

At the moment, Ragnar was leading his forces through the market district, where a Saxon archer fired out of a bakery window and into his breastplate.

The arrow struck the curved steel and shattered harmlessly, leaving only a scratch on the grey finish.

Enraged by the unauthorized damage to company property, Ragnar commanded a nearby Grenadier to lob his ceramic pot through the window; after lighting the sulfur fuse, the Grenadier did as instructed, and within seconds, the pot shattered.

The "Spicy Mix" ignited, consuming the room in sticky yellow fire.

Ragnar then led his forces into the building to clear it completely.

When Ragnar kicked through the burning door, he witnessed a grim scene; the archer inside the building was utterly consumed by the chemical fire, but so were what appeared to be the baker’s inventory of flour sacks and a cowering apprentice who had been trying to save the dough.

Evidently, the civilian was hiding in the room where the archer had taken his position.

Ragnar could not prevent himself from sighing at the scene the loss of potential grain assets was regrettable.. as he spoke his thoughts aloud while the rest of his soldiers cleared the building.

"Such is the cost of doing business..."

Similar scenes could be seen throughout the city, as the desperate Thanes took refuge in houses before firing upon the advancing enemy, which would result in a grenade or two being lobbed into the structure, liquidating every living thing inside.

Though Ragnar prohibited the deliberate targeting of non-combatants, he did not prevent his soldiers from clearing a room with the most effective thermal methods available, even if it meant collateral damage to the housing market.

As such, the City of Nottingham was rapidly acquired, and the city’s defenders either fled to the Castle Keep as the last defense or were processed in the streets.

Ragnar’s casualties were extremely low due to the high degree of protection the standardized munitions plate afforded to his soldiers.

The "Mobile Strike Wing" suffered even less than the infantry as they had dismounted and were using their repeating crossbows to suppress the rooftops from a safe distance.

Soon enough, the city was secured, and all that remained was to bring down the Keep and King Burgred, who was cowering behind his high walls like a hoarder refusing to sell.

As such, the "Range Department" was moved into the city square and lined up in a manner to direct their Torsion Spikes at the gatehouse of the Castle; within a few days, the Keep would completely fall to Ragnar, and he would show no mercy to the greedy King who had tried to steal from the hand that fed him.

All of this could have been avoided if the foolish King had just read the warranty on the armor he bought and had not bothered attacking Ragnar’s supply lines.

Ultimately someone had to pay the price for the breach of contract, and that bill was left to the King of Mercia.

As the rain turned the streets of Nottingham into a slurry of mud and ash, Ragnar wiped his blade on a tapestry. He looked up at the Keep.

"Bjorn," Ragnar said, his voice amplified by the metal of his helm. "Bring up the negotiation team."