Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 223: Ambush on All Sides

In all fairness, Ragnar treated Gorm quite well. He appointed him Earl of Suffolk, a coastal region northeast of Londinium, and even made him Prime Minister of the Cabinet.

To repay his generous old sovereign, Gorm had always been diligent and responsible—at least by his own standards. Unfortunately, the reckless misconduct of Aslaug and Paffis had caused the kingdom's situation to collapse entirely.

As he fled, memories of recent events continuously flashed through his mind. Having escaped Londinium, he gazed out at the pitch-black wilderness and finally made his decision.

'I have held on until now. I have done right by Ragnar,' he thought. 'From here on out, I need to think about myself.'

When news of the riots in Londinium reached the front lines, the morale of the Frankish army plummeted. Fearing a mutiny, Gunnar led his troops on a southward retreat that very day.

The news soon spread to the Viking camp. Some suggested giving chase, but Wigg maintained a calm expression. "There is no rush. Maintain a distance of twenty miles and trail far behind them."

After confirming that the enemy had abandoned their camp on the south bank of the River Humber, Wigg slowly advanced south.

Along the way, he continuously received updates regarding Londinium. Rumor had it that the locals had caused a massive uprising, storming the Royal Palace in a single push and even breaching the Frankish army's granaries and military equipment arsenals.

"What a brilliant move. Gunnar will have to withdraw his troops no matter what," Wigg remarked.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Wigg realized it was about time for a break. He ordered the entire army to rest and eat lunch before continuing their march.Before long, Thorkel sought him out. "Your Majesty, we have not received any reports from the eastern scouts for two consecutive hours. Do you think..."

Wigg unrolled a map, pondering for a moment before replying, "Send out all your scouts. I will have the entire army stand on high alert, ready to turn back north at a moment's notice."

Wigg's concerns were soon validated. Gunnar's cavalry had somehow maneuvered around to his rear. Meanwhile, the main force of the Frankish infantry in the south had also turned back, positioning themselves about fifteen miles away.

"Unwilling to retreat, so he is hoping for one last desperate gamble?" Wigg mused.

Caught in a pincer attack from the front and rear, Wigg ordered his forces into formation. He deployed three infantry regiments to the north and two infantry regiments to the south, sandwiching over four thousand men in the center.

After clearly communicating his intentions to the commanders, the entire army marched northwest along their original route. Their destination was Nottingham, a day and a half's journey away.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, swarms of Frankish scouts appeared in the north. Relying on their cavalry advantage, they drew closer and closer.

At this point, the light infantry surrounding the column sprang into action. Organized into individual duck-and-drake formation squads, they spread out two hundred meters beyond the marching column. The longbowmen occasionally drew their bows, firing feathered arrows at the distant scout riders.

Should the scouts charge in for close combat, the duck-and-drake formation squads would shift into a compact phalanx. Two shield-bearers and six soldiers equipped with polearms would stand on the perimeter, while the squad leader, four longbowmen, and the supply troops remained protected in the center.

After losing over a dozen reckless comrades, the Frankish scouts gradually reined themselves in, opting to monitor the Viking army from a safe distance.

At half-past two, the Viking outriders scouting the north fled back in a panic, reporting that the main force of the Frankish cavalry was just ahead.

Upon receiving the news, the well-prepared Viking army shifted formations. The five infantry regiments successively formed into dense pike phalanxes, while the duck-and-drake formation squads scattered on the perimeter withdrew into the main ranks. By the time everything was ready, an endless tide of mounted figures suddenly crested the hills ahead, howling as they surged toward Wigg's marching column.

As the enemy breached the two-hundred-meter mark, the longbowmen launched their first volley of feathered arrows into the air in a high-angle fire. Though the arrows could not pierce the cavalry's chainmail, they could inflict lethal damage upon their horses.

In the next moment, the Frankish cavalry bypassed the First Infantry Regiment at the northernmost edge, splitting into two groups to flank the left and right wings of the Viking army, only to be met with concentrated fire from the crossbowmen and archers. A short while later, the Frankish cavalry converged south of the Viking forces.

Listening to his subordinates' reports, Gunnar wore a gloomy expression. Even after circling the entire army, he had failed to find a single flaw in their defenses.

The formidable pike phalanxes at the front and rear went without saying. Even if the Frankish cavalry charged the Vikings' flanks, the more than four thousand men in the center could hold out long enough to await reinforcement from the pike phalanxes on either end.

"Sound the horn. Have them retreat for now," Gunnar ordered.

With that, Gunnar's initial probing ended. He did not rush to attack, instead waiting patiently nearby for an opportune moment.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.

A gentle slope appeared on the right side of the road ahead, where over a thousand Frankish infantrymen had formed up at the crest. Wigg recognized these men as Gunnar's mounted infantry, troops who rode packhorses for rapid mobility to fight alongside the cavalry.

Surveying the surroundings, he formulated a battle plan. "First Regiment, attack. Crossbowmen and archers will provide support. Second and Third Regiments, cover the flanks. Cavalry, stand by. No one is to charge out without orders!"

Quickly, a thousand ranged troops approached the gentle slope. Crossbowmen took the front two rows, with the longbowmen positioned behind them, raining arrows upon the Frankish forces at the top of the hill.

After several exchanges of fire, the Frankish archers suffered heavy casualties and were forced to shrink back behind the front lines. The remaining eight hundred infantrymen, equipped with iron armor, swords, and shields, locked into formation and endured the suffocating deluge of arrows.

During this time, the Frankish cavalry attempted multiple charges against the brazen archers, only to be forced back by the relentless volley. Staring at the intimidating pike phalanx backing the ranged troops, they were utterly powerless, forced to watch as their allies' shield wall was blanketed by wave after wave of arrows.

More than ten minutes passed. The longbowmen, having emptied the two quivers of feathered arrows they carried, massaged their aching arms. The crossbowmen were equally exhausted, panting heavily as they retreated back into the formation under their commanding officers' orders.

"First Infantry Regiment, advance at a steady pace!"

Keeping time with the rhythm of the drums and bugles, the Viking infantry leveled their spears and marched methodically toward the Franks.

From afar, the grassy crest of the slope was densely studded with arrows, resembling a vast field of blooming white dandelions. In the center of this "sea of dandelions," the Frankish infantry had suffered horrific casualties. The sheer volume of Viking arrows was overwhelming, far exceeding the protective capabilities of their shields and iron armor.

Listening to the upbeat melody of the "Grenadiers' March," the First Infantry Regiment closed the distance to a mere thirty paces. They halted their advance, taking a brief moment to adjust their formation.

The next instant, a sharp, piercing whistle tore through the air. Almost on pure instinct, the Viking soldiers launched their charge. As the dense wall of pikes closed in, the surviving Frankish soldiers broke. They scrambled down the hillside, fighting each other for the packhorses as they fled in complete disarray.

On the eastern side of the battlefield, among the clustered Frankish cavalry.

Witnessing the rout of their allies, Charles de Bottini cursed aloud, "These infantrymen are truly unreliable! Last time, they managed to hold out for a few minutes. This time, they collapsed before the clash even began! Their commander must be hanged!"

Gunnar did not echo his subordinate's outrage. Instead, he dispatched men to rally the scattered mounted infantry and then continued to tail the enemy's advance.

The battlefield presented a bizarre scene: Wigg, who had originally intended to give chase, was now retreating north, while Gunnar, who had been retreating, was now pursuing him in reverse.

For the next hour or so, no further combat broke out between the two sides.