Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 285: Escort Strategy

Based on their daytime observations, two thousand pirates remained stationed outside the camp. Meanwhile, reports from the port indicated that another four hundred men were guarding the ships down at the beach.

Helgi tallied his own forces: thirty cavalrymen, sixteen hundred demoralized militiamen, and nine hundred equally dispirited, poorly equipped natives.

Although they held a slight numerical advantage, their equipment and morale paled in comparison to the enemy. Helgi's heart hammered with anxiety; he estimated their chances of victory at a mere fifty percent. If they lost, his only option would be a desperate retreat to the port to mount a final stand, forced to watch helplessly as the pirates ravaged their hard-won crops.

What still baffled him, however, was why this band of pirates had come all the way to the Canary Islands to stir up trouble in the first place.

Early the next morning.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, and a crisp, refreshing chill hung in the air. As Helgi stepped out of his room, he saw cooks and laborers setting up dozens of massive cauldrons in the clearing. Upon closer inspection, the pots bubbled with a thick oat porridge mixed with salted fish. Nearby wooden crates overflowed with hardtack, enough to ration out half a biscuit per man.

Soon, the savory aroma of breakfast drifted across the entire camp. The hired laborers yawned as they formed long queues. To bolster their flagging spirits, the managers and overseers bellowed out the new incentives and penalties:

"Listen up! Once this battle is over, any laborer who performs exceptionally well will be freed from the plantation and granted thirty acres of open land! Whether you use it for grazing, growing wheat, or cultivating cane sugar, the choice will be entirely yours!"

After breakfast, the laborers and free farmers systematically organized themselves into sixteen hundred-man companies, forming a single broad line outside the camp's southern gate.

Across the field, the pirates had arranged themselves in a similarly loose formation. Armed with curved blades and round shields, and flanked by a sparse scattering of archers on both wings, they advanced slowly toward the seemingly suicidal militia.As the distance closed to a hundred paces, the archers and crossbowmen from both sides unleashed their volleys. Pirates and militiamen alike slowed their advance, huddling tightly against their comrades and raising their shields as they crept forward.

"Where are they?" Helgi muttered, peering anxiously across the terrain.

According to their agreed strategy, the moment Chawatu spotted the blue flag hoisted above the camp, he was supposed to lead his men out from the hidden valley, circle through the jungle to the south of the pirate forces, and wait for the perfect moment to launch a surprise attack. Once in position, the Guanches were supposed to signal by imitating bird calls.

"Did anyone hear a bird call?" he asked the twenty cavalrymen beside him. He received no response.

Minutes ticked by. The gap between the two armies shrank to twenty paces. Glaring into the faces of their enemies, the men slowed their march to a crawl, finally grinding to a halt when they were a mere ten paces apart.

By now, the tension on both sides had reached a breaking point. A few men instinctively began to scream and roar, their faces flushed bright red as they desperately tried to intimidate their opponents.

Their cries triggered a chain reaction, and soon deafening roars rippled across the entire battlefield. With such a massive uproar, Helgi wouldn't have been able to hear the Guanches' bird call signals even if they were sounding them.

After a prolonged screaming match, throats grew hoarse and the roaring gradually died down. The two armies inched toward each other. Then, pierced by a sudden, shrill shriek of agony, the standoff broke, and the battle officially descended into brutal, hand-to-hand combat.

The moment the lines clashed, the militiamen were instantly overwhelmed. The pirates battered their formation, forcing them into a steady retreat. Unable to wait any longer, Helgi spurred his horse forward, leading his twenty cavalrymen on a sweeping flank toward the western edge of the battlefield.

Just as he prepared to order the charge, he suddenly spotted a small cluster of Guanches bursting out of the tree line.

Moments later, scattered groups of three to five Guanches came pouring out from the jungles on both the western and eastern flanks. As they sprinted, the agitated natives let out bizarre, incomprehensible war cries.

"What in the world is going on?"

Helgi yanked back on the reins, watching the disorganized, scattered figures with utter bewilderment.

According to the plan they had hammered out yesterday, Chawatu was supposed to maneuver his entire force to the southern edge of the battlefield—directly behind the pirates—and strike as a unified front. Why were they scattered all over the place?

Regardless of the botched execution, their reinforcements had finally arrived. Even though it was only a handful of scattered native archers firing into the pirate ranks, the surprise assault triggered immense panic. The pirates glanced hesitantly toward the surrounding forests, and upon seeing natives continuously pouring from the treeline, their morale shattered.

"The time is now! Charge with me!" Helgi bellowed. Clamping his legs against his mount's flanks, he led his cavalry in a blistering charge against the pirates' exposed left wing, effortlessly trampling through dozens of enemy archers.

Struck from multiple sides and gripped by sudden terror, the pirate formation triggered a devastating chain rout. Though they had suffered less than a ten percent casualty rate, the entire army lost all will to fight, instantly reduced to nothing more than fleeing prey waiting to be slaughtered.

With the battle decisively won, the Guanches' spirits soared as they spontaneously gave chase, eager to seize captives. The militiamen, who had been teetering on the edge of collapse just moments prior, finally snapped back to reality and eagerly joined the hunt for prisoners.

"Take them alive! Don't kill them!"

Helgi barked out a few more orders before finally spotting Chawatu and Adrien in the chaos. "Why did your troops charge out in such a disorganized mess?"

"Ah, that was purely an accident," Chawatu said, an awkward expression crossing his face before gesturing for Adrien to translate and explain:

"When the blue flag went up over the camp, the boys were scattered around a nearby stream getting a drink. Things were chaotic, and the chieftain didn't have the time to organize a proper formation. He just ordered everyone to rush to the battlefield as fast as they could, and well... they all got separated along the way."

Hearing his ally's explanation, a cold shiver of delayed terror ran down Helgi's spine. Had the natives arrived even a few minutes later, the outcome of this battle would have been disastrously different.

The chaotic mop-up operation lasted well into the afternoon. Together, the Guanches and militiamen managed to capture eight hundred pirates. The remaining thousand-plus invaders scrambled onto their ships and fled Sun Island, hastily burning the vessels they had to leave behind to prevent any Viking pursuit.

As the sprawling fleet of sails vanished over the horizon, a heavy weight settled in Helgi's chest. Repelling this land assault was only the beginning. If the pirates decided to linger in the coastal waters and sporadically raid passing merchant ships, how in the world was he supposed to deal with them?

Mid-April, Londinium.

Three sailing vessels loaded with cane sugar and sugarcane rum limped into the port. Reports of the ships being attacked at sea were quickly funneled up the chain of command, eventually landing on Wigg's desk.

"A pirate attack?"

The ninth century marked the golden age for North African piracy. Their primary targets had always been the Italian peninsula and the Eastern Roman Empire, where they ruthlessly plundered monasteries and coastal towns, selling any captured citizens off as slaves.

The situation was particularly dire in southern Italy. Countless towns had been entirely razed, forcing the surviving inhabitants to migrate inland and establish heavily fortified settlements atop easily defensible mountains.

"North African pirates trying to rob Viking raiders... How fascinating," Wigg mused.

Wigg clutched the report, pacing back and forth across his office. At this point, he was entirely oblivious to the massive invasion that had struck Sun Island. Assuming this was merely a string of sporadic pirate raids, he decided to implement a centralized escort system.

Moving forward, no single merchant ship would be permitted to sail to the Canary Islands alone. All vessels were required to travel in convoys. They would assemble in Londinium prior to departure, where they would be assigned an escort of naval warships to guard them all the way to the Canaries.

While this strategy would drastically improve security, it would inevitably sacrifice efficiency. He planned to run this system as a trial for a set period, after which he would adjust the protocols based on the escort fleets' success.

By May, the vessels bound for the Canaries had gradually assembled. The convoy consisted of five merchant ships loaded with new immigrants, iron tools, and livestock. To ensure their safety, the navy dispatched three warships to escort them for the duration of the voyage—a force more than capable of obliterating any small-scale pirate crews they might encounter.

Halfway through their journey, the fleet made their customary stop at Gijón Port in northern Iberia to rest and resupply. Having docked there so frequently, the locals had grown completely accustomed to the presence of these Vikings, eagerly taking advantage of the opportunity to trade for valuable supplies.

In mid-June, catching the gentle northeast winds coming off the sea, the convoy slowly set sail toward Sun Island.