Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 340: Total Mobilization

The city of Rennes had gathered militia from the surrounding areas, bringing the number of defenders to over two thousand. After five hours of brutal urban warfare, most of the garrison was either dead or had surrendered.

By dusk, a small pocket of soldiers still held out in a tower situated in the city's southwestern corner. The Vikings piled firewood at the base of the structure and set it ablaze, using the thick, acrid smoke to force the enemy into submission.

With that, the battle finally came to a complete end.

Reviewing the casualty report compiled by his staff officers, Wigg felt a profound pang of heartache. These were his most loyal and capable troops, yet he had lost a staggering six hundred men!

"To think the Franks possessed such morale," he muttered.

After capturing Rennes, Wigg did not continue his eastward advance. Instead, he dispatched large contingents to sweep through the knight's estates across the Brittany Region, gathering grain and warhorses to prepare for a war that could potentially drag on for more than two years.

The fighting force at a typical knight's estate consisted only of the knight himself, his retainers, and a handful of trusted militiamen. A baron's estate boasted slightly more combatants, numbering anywhere from twenty to fifty men.

Wigg picked up a heavy document pouch. Inside was a comprehensive report from his intelligence network, detailing the information and approximate locations of ninety-three noble estates.

"Excluding the seven estates that have already been breached, eighty-six remain. We have our work cut out for us."

Wigg summoned his military officers and assigned their tasks, dispatching them in battalion-sized forces to mop up the remaining enemies across the peninsula. These Frankish nobles were fiercely stubborn, making the chances of convincing them to surrender virtually nonexistent. It was better to wipe them out completely and distribute their lands as fiefs to his own officers.Over the next month or so, he would have ample time to stabilize the situation in Breizh and wait for the main army of forty thousand men to arrive from the homeland before engaging in a decisive battle against Charles the Bald.

Upon learning that the Vikings had temporarily halted their offensive, the nobles in Le Mans, Nantes, and other territories breathed a collective sigh of relief. They hastily dispatched messengers to the royal court, pleading with the King for reinforcements.

Early July, Paris.

At this moment, Charles the Bald was nowhere near ready for a decisive clash. His original plan had been to egg on his nephews—Carloman, Louis the Younger, and Charles the Fat—to launch an attack that would draw Wigg toward Denmark.

If Wigg's reinforcements proved to be overwhelmingly large, the Frankish forces would not force an engagement; rather, they would retreat within their borders and mount a stout defense.

Once Wigg eventually withdrew his troops, the three brothers led by Carloman would invade the vulnerable Denmark once more, forcing Wigg to rush back to its rescue.

By repeating this exhausting cycle, the Vikings would be run ragged, steadily weakened by the relentless and lengthy sea voyages. When the time was right, the Frankish kings would form an allied force to utterly defeat—or even kill—Wigg, erasing their greatest threat of the past few decades.

At first glance, this strategy seemed highly viable. However, Wigg had completely defied Frankish expectations. Instead of playing their game, he led his army straight into West Francia, assuming a posture of desperate resolve, ready to fight tooth and nail.

Not long ago, reports surfaced based on rumors acquired through smuggling channels: Britain had supposedly issued a realm-wide mobilization order, aiming to muster an army of over forty thousand men. Panic seized Charles the Bald, and he hurriedly summoned his cabinet members for an emergency council.

"How many soldiers can we mobilize on our end?" he demanded.

Prime Minister Lamberto replied, "Excluding the garrisons stationed at various fortresses, you can expect to mobilize between thirty to fifty thousand troops. However, this relies on the domestic nobility actually answering the call, and it will require a significant amount of time."

Having ruled for over two decades, Charles the Bald understood all too well the obstinacy of his powerful nobles. This faction had always chafed under royal authority, frequently making up all sorts of excuses to drag their feet.

"Keep writing letters," Charles ordered. "Urge every region to accelerate their preparations. Warn them that this war is unlike any we've fought before. If Wigg emerges victorious, the lands of the Frankish nobility will be stripped away and gifted to those bloodthirsty, savage Vikings."

In his desperation, Charles also penned letters to his nephews in Middle Francia and East Francia, pleading with them to lend their uncle a helping hand for the sake of their shared bloodline.

For the foreseeable future, he intended to remain securely in Paris until the regional nobles had fully assembled their forces.

As for towns like Le Mans, Nantes, and Saint-Malo, Charles ordered the local garrisons to hold their ground and await reinforcements, thereby stalling the Vikings' advance. And so, throughout the entire month of July, both Wigg and Charles the Bald focused on waiting for their respective armies to gather, bringing a sudden, uneasy lull to the frontlines.

Britain.

Upon receiving the mobilization order from the cabinet, Duke Imon gathered his forces as instructed. They traveled by ship from Ireland to Liverpool, before marching overland toward Londinium.

For this campaign, he had mobilized eighteen hundred soldiers, including one hundred knights and an equal number of mounted retainers. The entire army formed a long, winding column that advanced along the right side of the road.

As one of the only two primary highways within the Kingdom, the road from Mancunium to Londinium was roughly 4.2 meters wide, easily capable of accommodating two heavily loaded carts traveling side by side.

Every twenty miles, official post stations dotted the roadside, providing food and clean water to the army and passing travelers alike. In addition to these, the main road also featured numerous private waystations operated by the local gentry.

Marching along the flat, open highway, even the nobles' conscripted militia could manage a steady pace of twenty miles a day.

Upon arriving at a post station, the staff would supply horse fodder and grain as requested, after which they required Imon to sign a manifest verifying that his forces had consumed the provisions.

On the tenth of July, Imon arrived in the northern outskirts of Londinium, an area now sprawling with thirty-eight massive military encampments.

The layout of each camp was largely identical. The outermost perimeters were fortified with moats and palisades, while the interiors housed barracks, stables, and storehouses. Every individual camp was large enough to accommodate an entire infantry regiment or a single cavalry battalion.

Suddenly, a small squad of cavalry intercepted Imon. After confirming his identity, the riders escorted the Duke and his retinue to the central-most encampment.

This served as the temporary headquarters for the War Department. A high-ranking civilian official requested Imon's muster roll. Once he verified the accuracy of the listed numbers, the official outlined the following deployment:

"According to our operational plans, Thorkel will serve as the heavy cavalry commander for this campaign. Your two hundred cavalrymen and their grooms will be integrated into Thorkel's cavalry division."

"The remaining fourteen hundred infantrymen will be organized into a garrison regiment. You, Duke Imon, may assume the role of regimental commander yourself, or you can relinquish command and allow the War Department to appoint an officer in your stead."

Imon replied in a flat, even tone, "I will command them personally."

Wasting no words, the official immediately summoned five quartermasters, five signalmen, and fifteen embedded shamans who doubled as field medics, integrating them all into Imon's 3rd Garrison Regiment. "Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?"

Imon shook his head, then casually asked, "Where have all the soldiers in the camp gone?"

The official sighed. "They are currently out in the eastern suburbs conducting a joint field exercise. I took a look just a moment ago. The scene is a complete disaster—an utter and absolute farce."

This maneuver had been a unanimous decision made by the Crown Prince, the Queen, and the cabinet. Deeply concerned about the volatile situation on the frontlines, they had abruptly ordered three field divisions to orchestrate a massive, large-scale drill.

If the exercise yielded positive results, their plan was to shorten the training schedule and deploy the troops across the sea ahead of time, ensuring the King would not be caught in a Frankish army siege.

Unfortunately, the performance of the three field divisions fell spectacularly short of expectations. Any hopes the cabinet had of sending early reinforcements were thoroughly dashed.

After a brief exchange, Imon returned to his men. He led them to the plot of land allocated by the War Department and began constructing their encampment according to military specifications.

They worked diligently until two o'clock in the afternoon, with all tasks proceeding in an orderly fashion. Confident that the groundwork was laid, he handed the remaining duties off to his subordinates and led a small detail of guards into the city to seek an audience with the Crown Prince.