Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 338: Brest

"Set sail, the gods are watching us!"

Upon receiving the King's order, fifty ships weighed anchor and set out to sea. The fleet formed a broad wedge formation, like a massive arrowhead, cutting through the waves slowly but firmly toward the south.

In the early hours of the third day, the coast of Breizh appeared ahead. The military officers of the Black Seabass brought out their maps, estimating their approximate position based on their latitude and the landmarks along the nearby shore.

Following that, the fleet sailed slowly westward. At seven in the morning, they bypassed the westernmost tip of the Brittany Peninsula, less than ten miles from their target.

Fleet Admiral Joren sought out the King and received an expected order, "Prepare to disembark!"

Through multiple reconnaissance missions, the intelligence department had familiarized itself with Brest's defenses:

There was a garrison of five hundred men. The side facing the sea featured two defensive walls: an outer stone city wall roughly twenty feet high, and an inner, original wooden palisade. They also possessed eight large trebuchets.

Back when the navy launched a surprise attack on Hamburg along the Elbe River, the garrison's trebuchets only needed a single stone projectile to instantly shatter the hull of a brigantine, sending it swiftly to the river bottom.

Learning from that lesson, Wigg did not rely on numerical superiority to forcefully assault the port. Instead, he opted for a more secure approach, having his soldiers land on a nearby beach and advance on Brest by land.

Soon, the fifty ships lowered their small boats. Twelve hundred soldiers crammed into the swaying vessels, rowing with all their might. The wooden oars cleaved the sea surface, churning up white spray. The soldiers wore solemn expressions, their eyes locked on the approaching golden beach ahead.Behind the beachhead, a stretch of jagged brown rock rose abruptly, forming a natural highland barrier. Just as the cluster of small boats neared the shallows, scattered silhouettes suddenly appeared at the top of the ridge.

The unforgiving sunlight poured down, clearly illuminating a Fleur-de-Lis Flag and the men's crude leather armor.

At the sound of a sharp command in French, over a hundred soldiers drew their bows and nocked their arrows.

"Loose!"

The arrows flew in response, raining down like summer hail, mercilessly battering the Viking soldiers' small boats. A sharp arrow struck the edge of a small boat with a heavy thwack, its fletching vibrating violently. Several other arrows landed inside the boats, throwing the previously rhythmic rowing into a bit of disarray. The soldiers instinctively ducked down, significantly reducing the speed of the vessels.

Wigg glared at the small cluster of archers on the high ground. "Disperse them with the ballistae."

Receiving the flag signals, the fleet's heavy ballistae aimed at the ridge and unleashed a volley. A hundred stone projectiles violently smashed into the archers' formation. Instantly, stone fragments flew, and clouds of dust erupted. The Frankish Army commander shouted through the choking dirt, attempting to steady his ranks. Less than half a minute later, the next barrage of stone projectiles arrived.

The surviving Frankish soldiers broke. Dropping their longbows, they turned and fled toward the sparse woods behind the ridge like a herd of startled deer, leaving behind a mess of scattered quivers and several discarded iron helmets that reflected the blinding sunlight among the gravel.

After coming ashore, the Viking soldiers secured the entire beachhead, and Wigg landed with the second wave of troops. Following a half-hour rest, the soldiers formed a marching column and advanced in silence toward Brest to the southeast. Each man carried five days' worth of hardtack, while some soldiers teamed up to carry logs intended for constructing long ladders for the siege.

The previous year, the intelligence network had drafted a detailed map of Brest's surroundings, additionally marking landmarks like mills, vineyards, and churches. This facilitated quick orientation and prevented them from getting lost.

At ten in the morning, the force arrived outside Brest. Because they had moved so quickly, the barons and knights in the surrounding areas had no time to react and gather their manor militias to reinforce the city. The garrison inside consisted only of the original five hundred men.

"What kind of unit is this?"

The local Earl observed the soldiers assembling the long ladders, noting their practiced, orderly movements, while the remaining Vikings sat quietly in place without making any noise.

Judging by the attackers' equipment and discipline, the Earl determined that they were by no means ordinary soldiers. It was highly likely they were the Royal Guard of Britain.

'The Snake of the North's last attack was to seize the Hebrides. This time, he mobilized a massive fleet and three thousand soldiers. Is his goal to capture Brest, and then the entirety of Breizh?'

The Earl quickly penned two letters requesting reinforcements, dispatching a rider to rush to Rennes, and then to Paris to seek an audience with Charles the Bald.

Suddenly, a thousand Vikings outside the city circled to the eastern side, seemingly planning to attack from both the east and north simultaneously. "Hold the walls, reinforcements will arrive soon!" the Earl shouted, boosting the garrison's morale and ordering them to prepare to fire.

The Vikings at the very front raised their shields, covering the archers and crossbowmen behind them. Further back were soldiers carrying twenty long ladders.

They advanced at a measured pace, halting about a hundred yards from the city wall. The front row's shield wall handled the defense, while the Viking bowmen waited for opportunities to shoot at the Franks behind the battlements. The Vikings' shooting accuracy was far superior to that of ordinary troops, further exacerbating the Earl's anxiety.

The two sides exchanged fire until noon, when the Vikings retreated out of the Frankish crossbowmen's range, sitting on the ground to nibble on pieces of hardtack.

"Have the city send up some food, hurry!" the Earl urged, gazing anxiously outside. He was worried that the Vikings might launch their next assault at any moment once they finished eating.

Ten minutes later, baskets of freshly baked wheat bread were brought up from the city. Not long after, four commoners pushed a small cart toward a section of the wall, carrying four wooden buckets of fresh fish soup. The military officer stationed there asked where the soup came from, and one of the commoners timidly replied that a certain lord had ordered them to boil it and deliver it to the wall at noon, with another delivery scheduled for the evening.

'The steward of the Earl's estate?'

The military officer pondered for a moment, but the soldiers could not wait. They clamored around the cart, using clay bowls to scoop the fish soup from the wooden buckets.

"Hey, save some for me."

"Why is it all herring?"

"The bottom of the bucket is full of shells, I can't believe they used this stuff to make up the volume!"

Acting on instinct, the military officer did not restrain the hungry and irritable soldiers. He took a clay bowl handed to him by someone and casually instructed, "There's too much salt in this. Use less this afternoon."

"Understood, my lord." The four commoners pushed their cart and walked away.

After an unknown amount of time, the enemies outside the city launched another attack, and the Frankish garrison returned fire with their crossbows. After exchanging over a dozen volleys, one of the defenders suddenly clutched his stomach. Immediately following, more than fifty nearby defenders also grabbed their stomachs and cried out in agony.

"There's something wrong with the fish soup!"

The military officer leaned against the battlements, beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead. Suddenly, twenty commoners charged out of a courtyard within the city; the four men leading them were none other than the spies who had delivered the fish soup earlier.

"Quick, report the situation here to the Earl." The military officer sent the fastest runner to fetch help, then forced himself to stand tall to block this group of Viking spies.

After exchanging a few blows, the military officer slashed one of the spies on the shoulder. The man's coarse linen tunic tore open, revealing a chainmail vest underneath.

Not only that, but the remaining Vikings were equally clad in chainmail. Taking advantage of the Franks' debilitated state, they easily slaughtered and scattered the garrison, then pulled out a black flag and waved it vigorously toward the outside of the city.

Seeing their signal, Wigg let out a long sigh of relief and ordered his troops to assault that section of the wall.

Enduring the arrows raining down from both sides of the wall, the Viking soldiers crossed the moat and climbed desperately upward using ropes. As more and more Vikings breached the wall, the Earl led his troops to stop them, only to be beaten back step by step by the highly trained soldiers.

"Retreat!"

The Earl led a small group of soldiers back to his own manor, holding out until two in the afternoon. Seeing that the situation was hopeless, he reluctantly walked out to surrender.