Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 397: Collision of Two Empires

After a week of rest and reorganization, Wig led his army across the Po River to locate the main forces of the Eastern Roman Empire.

Wig did not worry about Basil choosing to avoid battle. With the enemy's forces concentrated on the Italian battlefield, their homeland was left vulnerable and highly susceptible to attacks from the Abbasid Empire. If this dragged on any longer, the situation facing the Eastern Romans would only grow more perilous.

Based on reconnaissance reports from the Rangers, Wig deduced that the enemy's main force was located in the southeast, and he slowly marched his troops toward that region.

Early morning, April 23, 873 AD.

Fog.

As far as the eye could see, the wilderness was shrouded in a thick mist, draping over the land like a pale gray veil. Dewdrops clung to the blades of grass, and the hoarse cawing of ravens occasionally echoed from the sky above.

Ten Rangers rode forward in a loose column, advancing slowly through the fog as they kept a vigilant watch on their surroundings.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced the air with a sharp whistle. Before the rider on the far right could even react, the arrowhead buried itself deep into his calf. With a muffled groan, he tumbled from his horse.

More than a dozen dark silhouettes charged out of the mist. Clad in light chainmail or scale armor, they wielded two-meter-long light cavalry lances. The spearheads gleamed with a cold, faint light in the fog, while composite bows and straight swords hung from their saddles.

"For Rome!"The leading military officer roared in Greek, crashing straight into the formation of Viking Rangers.

The battle devolved into a brutal melee from the very first second. The cavalry from both sides entangled in desperate close combat, slashing and delivering thrusting attacks at point-blank range.

The sounds of slaughter pierced the fog, rippling outward into the distance. The first to react was another squad of Viking Rangers. The platoon leader at the front tilted his head to listen, his expression changing drastically.

"Quickly, follow me!" he bellowed, leading more than twenty riders in a mad gallop toward the source of the commotion.

At almost the same moment, a hundred-strong company of Italian militia also heard the disturbance. They were escorting carts loaded with grain seized from nearby villages. The commander and his soldiers exchanged brief glances before abruptly drawing their longswords.

"Pauli, take twenty men and continue transporting the grain. The rest of you, come with me."

And so, in this fog-shrouded region, what began as a chance collision between two small reconnaissance squads acted like a magnet, rapidly drawing in scattered forces from the surrounding areas.

The scale of the battle expanded at blinding speed. The skirmish between light cavalrymen evolved into a fierce clash involving hundreds of men. A rough glance revealed shifting shadows everywhere and arrows flying in all directions. War horns sounded from various directions, echoing off one another and summoning even more distant troops to the fray.

When the news reached the Viking encampment, Utgard did not take it seriously at first. He simply dispatched the Ranger Battalion belonging to the Second Division and resumed eating his breakfast in the divisional command tent.

Burp!

He finished his bowl of oats, wrapped the remaining half of a lamb chop in parchment, and stuffed it into his pocket for lunch.

Afterward, Utgard stepped out of his tent to observe the assembly of the Second Division's soldiers. About half an hour later, a Ranger platoon leader returned entirely drenched in blood, pleading for reinforcements.

"How many men are we facing?"

The Ranger platoon leader replied, "The fog is too thick to get an exact count, but there are an estimated five hundred of them, including both infantry and cavalry."

Utgard cursed in Norse, ordering his most capable Infantry Regiment to reinforce them. "Remember, get in and get out quickly!"

With that, he walked briskly toward the central command tent to attend a tactical meeting, reporting the news directly to Wig.

Observing the crude map drawn by the Rangers, Wig guessed that there would be more Greeks near the engagement zone. He decided to push his army forward to crush this force first.

Upon receiving the Emperor's orders, more Rangers hurried toward the conflict zone, closely followed by Utgard's Second Division. The mist had thinned slightly by now, but visibility remained severely limited, obscuring anything beyond two hundred meters.

During the march, Utgard continuously encountered wounded soldiers retreating from the front. According to their accounts, the enemy also appeared to be steadily bringing in reinforcements.

To be safe, Utgard deployed his formations early, breaking up his two directly attached Mountain Infantry Battalions and sending them to run reconnaissance on the perimeter.

Over an hour passed before the deep, resonant blare of war horns echoed from the front.

It was the war horn of the Eastern Romans!

"Halt the advance, now!" Utgard ordered the military band to stop their marching tunes. Instead, short, urgent blasts were blown to notify the entire army to prepare for battle.

Gradually, as if a great curtain were being pulled back, the cold April winds began to stir the thick fog. Hazy silhouettes emerged in the distance. First came a few scattered shadows, and then a vast, endless military formation.

Duke Utgard felt a sudden chill run down his spine. "We are in deep trouble now."

The mist continued to dissipate, like stage curtains slowly drawn apart by an invisible hand.

The view in the distance slowly sharpened. Tens of thousands of soldiers were lined up in battle formations, stretching out to cover the entire horizon.

Under the sunlight, dozens of crimson banners of varying sizes flapped wildly in the biting wind. Behind them stood a dense forest of pikes, with tens of thousands of iron helmets reflecting a blinding glare.

'Where did they all come from?'

Stifled gasps and quiet prayers rippled through the ranks of the Viking soldiers. They instinctively tightened their formations, and the longbowmen began planting their arrows into the ground before them for quicker access.

At that same moment, the Greeks were equally stunned by the sudden appearance of the Second Division, hastily scrambling to deploy their lines. Separated by roughly two kilometers, the final wisps of fog faded away, allowing the sunlight to pour onto the earth unhindered.

The cold wind howled. The black dragon banners of the Vikings and the red military flags of the Greeks confronted each other from afar. In this fleeting instant, the destinies of two empires were pushed to the edge of the precipice.

A decisive battle was inevitable.

Utgard ordered, "Quick, tell His Majesty that our unit has encountered a massive Greek army of at least thirty thousand strong! Request immediate reinforcements!"

At nine o'clock in the morning, the messenger located the advancing main force of the Vikings and reported the situation to the Emperor.

Wig did not rush to dispatch reinforcements. Instead, he meticulously inquired about the surrounding terrain. Utgard was positioned to the north, while the Greek military formation lay to the south. To the southwest was the site of the initial skirmish, where troops from both sides had already disengaged.

Meanwhile, scattered along Utgard's eastern flank were a series of rolling hills that offered a commanding view of the surrounding battlefield.

He pressed further, "Did the Second Division bring any cannons?"

The messenger answered, "We were in a hurry, so I think they only brought three... No, wait, it should be two cannons."

Wig waved a hand to dismiss the messenger, lost in thought as he pondered their next tactics.

For this engagement, he had sixty-three thousand troops at his disposal. His field forces numbered fifty-six thousand, including the Royal Division, four Field Divisions, and the Cavalry Division. In addition, there were seven Garrison Regiments comprising over seven thousand conscripts.

It was estimated that Basil commanded roughly seventy-five thousand men. The numbers were fairly even, giving them an estimated fifty percent chance of victory in this battle.

"Pass down my orders. The mounted infantry are to move out immediately. Their objective is the hills to the east of Utgard." As time passed, Wig continually received updates from the front lines:

The battlefield lacked the Labarum banner symbolizing the presence of the Eastern Roman Emperor. Basil had not yet arrived, and as a result, the Eastern Roman tactics were relatively conservative. They had not committed their entire force, instead sending out fifteen thousand men to launch a probing attack. Utgard could hold the line for now.

Additionally, three thousand mounted infantry had arrived at the hills in batches and were actively driving off a small number of Greek scouts.

Since the Second Division was not in immediate peril, Wig altered his plan on the fly, sending only five Garrison Regiments to reinforce them.

A bold idea took root in his mind: lead the field forces around the eastern flank of the battlefield, launch a sudden strike against the enemy's rear, and annihilate this army in one fell swoop while Basil was absent.

Finally, Wig issued another command, instructing each division to detach one Mountain Infantry Battalion to execute a forced march toward those same hills. They were to occupy every vantage point to prevent the enemy from observing the movements of the Viking main force from high ground.

Coincidentally, the Greek commander, Aurifas, shared Wig's line of thought. He had also recognized the strategic value of those hills, but unfortunately for him, the Vikings had arrived in greater numbers than expected and chased off the two hundred Greek light infantry stationed there.

"Send all our remaining light infantry up there."

Soon, three thousand light infantrymen advanced in loose marching columns. The centurions kept their voices low, issuing a steady stream of commands.

"Maintain your spacing! Watch your footing and your flanks!"

The men swept their cautious gazes over the slope, which was blanketed in low shrubs and oak woods. The formation spread out into a fan shape, trudging carefully upward.

Suddenly, a whistling arrow tore through the sky.

Almost simultaneously, thousands of figures materialized along the ridge of the hills. They were no ghosts, but ranks of fully prepared Welsh longbowmen.

"Enemy attack! Raise shields!"

The highly trained Greek light infantry reacted instinctively. They raised their left arms, hoisting their small round shields—barely two feet across—above their heads.

The first volley of arrows rained down like a violent tempest. The small shields provided insufficient coverage, allowing a portion of the arrows to find their marks in the bodies of the light infantrymen. They wore no iron armor, but rather a type of padded soft armor known as a kavadion, which offered pathetic protection. The soldiers in the vanguard fell in droves, like stalks of wheat before a scythe.

"Fall back! Converge toward the center!"

The surviving junior officers screamed until their voices cracked, their tones laden with an utter, disbelieving horror.

The primal instinct to survive obliterated all tactical discipline. Amidst the chaos, the survivors involuntarily squeezed and shoved their way inward, desperately trying to hide behind their comrades.

They tossed aside their unwieldy light javelins and locked their shields together. Just like that, their originally loose offensive formation morphed into five irregular, circular shield walls.

Atop the hill, Count Brecon looked on in sheer astonishment. "The Eastern Romans aren't short on coin. Why don't they equip these men with iron armor?"

To enhance mobility, the Mountain Infantry and Rangers of the Viking Empire were outfitted in light brigandine armor. Although it was classified as light armor, crucial areas like the chest and abdomen were still reinforced with iron plates. The Emperor preferred to reduce the loadout of secondary weapons just to ensure that the vital sections of their light armor could withstand arrow fire from medium to long ranges.

As it turned out, his reasoning had been flawless.

Just then, Brecon heard a commotion from the rear. He turned to see four Mountain Infantry Battalions charging up the hill in a loose marching column.

With this influx of reinforcements, Brecon's troop strength swelled past five thousand men, greatly bolstering his confidence in holding the hills.

He stopped paying attention to the slowly retreating light infantry and walked over to the western edge of the hills to survey Utgard's situation.

In the distance, over seven thousand Viking soldiers were huddled in a square formation, fending off a siege from twice their number of Greek soldiers. Utgard had positioned his only two bronze cannons at the front line, where the pressure was most severe, relentlessly firing blasts of canister shot.

After paying a horrific price, the enemy learned their lesson. They avoided the cannons' hundred-meter kill zone, instead ordering their archers to loose arrows from a distance of one hundred and fifty meters, inflicting casualties on the artillerists and the infantry further back.

At the same time, hordes of Greek infantry swung around to the flanks, mounting heavy assaults on the eastern and western sides of the square formation.

The enemies wore three distinct styles of armor: chainmail, scale armor, and lamellar armor. The overall defensive capabilities were roughly equivalent to the standard-issue brigandine armor of the Viking infantry.

In terms of weaponry, the Greek infantry wielded one-handed long spears known as Kontarions, which ranged from two and a half to three meters in length. During the brutal thrusting phases between the opposing pikemen, the Vikings held a slight advantage, as their two-handed pikes were nearly three and a half meters long.

Scattered around the perimeter were swathes of Eastern Roman light cavalry. They hailed from a complicated mix of origins, including Pechenegs, Khazars, and Magyars, alongside native Greek light cavalrymen.

At first, these light cavalrymen charged in close, using high-angle fire to rain feathered arrows into the square. However, the Welsh longbowmen boasted a range surpassing two hundred meters, with power and accuracy far outstripping that of the enemy cavalry bows. After losing hundreds of their comrades, the light cavalry ceased their point-blank barrages, choosing instead to maintain a safe distance and silently wait for their infantry to tear open a gap.

More than ten minutes trickled by. Brecon noticed Utgard's formation beginning to buckle, and he agonized over whether he should deploy his men to help. Before he could decide, another wave of Greek infantry launched an assault on the hills, bogging his forces down.

Fortunately, another wave of reinforcements appeared from the north.

It was the five Garrison Regiments that Wig had dispatched. Their ranks were composed of mercenaries and conscripts drawn from noble territories. With the Viking Empire now overflowing with an abundance of armor, even auxiliary troops like these were fully outfitted in iron armor.

"Quickly, form a hollow square formation!"

As their temporary commander, Ricard severely lacked confidence in these soldiers. He brought them to a halt near the edge of the battlefield, shifting their marching columns into five hollow square formations, before slowly inching them toward Utgard's lines.

When they were still a kilometer away, the Eastern Roman light cavalry swarmed in. Ricard ordered the advance to halt, relying on bow and arrow volleys to drive off these riders who moved as swiftly as the wind.

From his perspective, Utgard could still hold out a while longer. There was no need for his conscripts to take unnecessary risks. Simply maintaining their presence on the field was enough to draw the enemy's attention and relieve some of the pressure on their allies.

Upon receiving word of Viking reinforcements, the Greek general rode out to reconnoiter the situation personally. Seeing that their speed of deployment and the quality of their formations were vastly inferior to the Second Division, he guessed that this was merely a ragtag auxiliary unit.

Deciding to crush the weak before tackling the strong, he siphoned off a massive amount of infantry to lay siege to them. He then stationed the newly arrived eight hundred cataphracts a short distance away, preparing to obliterate this motley crew in one fell swoop before turning his attention back to the Second Division's squares.

The cataphracts were the most devastatingly expensive military asset in the Eastern Roman arsenal.

Unlike the shock cavalry of Western Europe, the cataphracts were equipped with both lances and recurve bows, enabling them to suppress their enemies from afar. Additionally, their arsenal of secondary weapons included double-edged straight swords, maces, daggers, and small round shields.

The riders wore lamellar armor as their outermost layer, with chainmail beneath, and padded arming doublets against their skin. Their mighty steeds were fully barded in horse armor, featuring chanfrons, crinets, and thick body armor. Encased in steel from head to hoof, they looked like mobile fortresses thundering across the battlefield.

Realizing that he had suddenly become the primary target, the color completely drained from Ricard's face.

"Why the hell are they coming for me? Is this really necessary?!"

Surrounded on all sides by light cavalry, Ricard was completely cut off from sending any messengers. His only sliver of hope lay with Brecon up in the hills. He prayed the man would have the sense to send runners to request reinforcements from the Emperor. Otherwise, there was no way in hell five mere Garrison Regiments could withstand an onslaught of this magnitude!