Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 405: Cavalry Group

This reinforcement force included the First Division and two Garrison Regiments. After merging, they tallied their battle results:

One thousand nine hundred Light Cavalry killed. Friendly casualties were eighty dead and two hundred wounded.

After a three-hour march, they arrived at Nitra by dusk.

This town was built into the mountainside. Over the course of a half-month Siege, the Nomads had breached the outer Palisade, forcing the remaining two hundred Garrison soldiers to retreat to the inner keep on the slope.

Lacking Iron Armor and relevant engineering Technology, the Nomads possessed abysmal siege capabilities. Their manpower-driven trebuchets lacked both the power and Accuracy needed to shatter the stone-built inner keep. Because of this, the Garrison miraculously held out until reinforcements arrived.

Comparing them to past enemies, Håvarun felt the frontal combat prowess of the Nomads fell short of the Franks and the Greeks. They merely relied on their high mobility to form numerical superiority on localized battlefields, using their overwhelming numbers to bully and besiege settled peoples.

Despite achieving their first victory, Fridleif did not advance rashly. He ordered the construction crews to build a fortress midway between Pressburg and Nitra.

Furthermore, construction began on additional fortresses located approximately twenty miles to the north and east of Pressburg. The Magyars' widespread Plunder had caused an influx of Refugees into Pressburg, which significantly lowered construction costs.

Fridleif planned to recruit four thousand Refugees, expanding the workforce to twelve thousand men. They would build extensive Defensive Works across the plains, squeezing the operational space of the Nomads.

Simultaneously, he dispatched field troops for Reconnaissance. Maintaining a standard configuration of one Infantry Regiment, one artillery company, and two Ranger Companies, they scoured the area for enemy nomadic camps.Over ten days later, the Nomads attempted another siege on an Infantry Regiment. They failed to breach the defenses yet again, and instead drew the attention of a large force of Viking Rangers, losing many of their tribesmen in the process.

Left with no other choice, numerous nomadic camps temporarily relocated. Evading the increasingly dangerous western plains, they crossed the Visegrád Mountains and hid in the boundless eastern plains.

Borsho gathered with two other tribal Chieftains and the Elders to discuss their next move:

"Now that we have withdrawn from Viking territory, they shouldn't pursue us. Alas, I never expected the Vikings to be such fierce fighters. We chose the wrong target. We should focus our Plunder on the Balkan Peninsula to the south, or the Slavic tribes north of the mountains."

With the retreat of the Magyars, everything returned to a peaceful state.

Tens of thousands of Vikings busied themselves chopping wood and quarrying Stones, seemingly pouring all their energy into constructing fortresses. Meanwhile, the Magyars shifted their focus to plundering the Balkan region, reaping bountiful harvests.

In early September, Borsho announced the establishment of the Gyula Khanate, crowning himself Khan. Out of respect for his leadership during their migration, the people tacitly accepted his new title.

Five days later, before the new Khan could celebrate for long, he received alarming news: the Great Viking Army had crossed the Visegrád Mountains!

"What is the meaning of this? Are they leaving me no way out?"

Borsho believed that since he had made concessions, the Vikings should have quit while they were ahead. He never expected them to cling to him so relentlessly.

'Fight? Flee? Negotiate?'

He pondered through the entire night, completely unable to make a decision.

After leaving the Visegrád Mountains, the Great Viking Army divided into five routes. The Crown Prince led the Main Force of fifteen thousand men, which included one thousand Heavy Cavalry and three thousand Rangers. The other four detachments were deployed near the Main Force, spaced ten to fifteen miles apart, searching for Nomadic Tribes scattered across the steppe.

The size of the detachments had been increased. Each comprised two Infantry Regiments, one Ranger Battalion, and sixteen field guns, totaling two thousand six hundred men.

In early September, the sun remained scorching. The wild grass bore a pale yellow hue, and an occasional breeze would stir up rolling, endless waves across the plains.

Håvarun, as usual, served as the commander of one detachment. Riding a light chestnut Steppe Horse, he gazed out at the distant horizon. Accompanied by the melodious and cheerful tunes of the Military Band, the soldiers marched at a steady pace, inching slowly through the boundless sea of grass.

Mid-afternoon, a squad of scouts sought out Håvarun, reporting that they had found an abandoned nomadic camp.

After marching for two hours, the sight before them slightly invigorated the weary soldiers.

Ahead lay a massive, circular clearing, littered with the dark gray remains of Bonfires. Tiny specks of ash from the embers danced in the wind. The air was thick with a mixed stench: burnt cow dung, extinguished firewood, and the lingering foul odor of massive herds of Livestock.

Judging by the number of Bonfires and other traces, the scouts estimated this Tribe had a population of around four thousand, and the camp had been abandoned for less than a day.

The Tribe's migration route was easy to identify. A wide road trampled by Nomadic Herders, Livestock, and wagon wheels stretched out from the camp like an ugly scar, pointing clearly toward the southeastern horizon.

Håvarun wrote a letter using a cipher, "Reporting to Your Highness, our unit has discovered traces of a nomadic camp."

He ordered the Rangers to deliver the secret missive to the Crown Prince. Then, changing direction, he led his forces in pursuit toward the southeast.

The next day, Håvarun maintained a normal marching speed. Unless the Nomads abandoned their slow-moving Livestock herds, they would be caught sooner or later.

At ten in the morning, a faint cloud of dust rose on the horizon. Hundreds of Nomadic Horsemen swept in, attacking the small number of Rangers standing guard on the perimeter.

"Sound the horn, order them to fall back!" The Rangers had more important tasks, and Håvarun was unwilling to let them waste their strength on the Nomadic Horsemen.

As the Rangers retreated, the enemy began to harass the infantry. They never closed in, instead hovering at a middling distance. Light arrows delivered via High-Angle Fire arced over a long distance, striking feebly against a soldier's Brigandine armor or plunging diagonally into the adjacent grass, causing no significant damage.

Håvarun dispatched two Mountain infantry companies. The Welsh longbowmen, under the cover of their allies, engaged in a shootout with the Nomadic Horsemen.

After losing more than ten of their comrades, the Nomads let out a series of shrill, incomprehensible whistles. Like a flock of startled birds, they abruptly withdrew, tailing the Marching Column from afar and waiting for the next opportunity to pounce and bite.

On the third day, the lingering scent of the Livestock grew stronger. The Nomads' harassment became more frequent, though it yielded little result.

At noon, a gentle, low earthen slope appeared ahead. Håvarun spurred his horse to the top of the Knoll, and his field of vision suddenly opened up.

On the yellowing steppe, a long convoy of nearly a thousand broad-wheeled wagons snaked forward, extending all the way to the horizon at the edge of his sight.

Flanking the convoy and further out, flocks of sheep blanketed the entire plain. They flowed slowly across the ground like a grayish-white tide, numbering in the tens of thousands—innumerable. The Nomads rode their Steppe Horses, dashing back and forth along the edges of the herds to ensure this massive, bloated procession didn't completely scatter.

"Entire army, prepare for battle!"

Hearing the deputy division commander's orders, the Military Band ceased playing their marching tunes. Instead, rapid drumbeats echoed as the various units quickly deployed into their Formations.

With their target exposed and defenseless right before their eyes, the soldiers were thrilled. A sudden thirst for slaughter surged within them as they gripped their weapons tightly, waiting for the Military Officers to blow the charge whistles.

The next moment, a middle-aged Nomadic Herder approached the Knoll. He introduced himself as the Tribe's Chieftain, named Luntu, and then respectfully prostrated himself on the grass.

The Tribe only had a thousand adult males. It was impossible to defeat two thousand Heavy Infantry, three hundred cavalry, and those terrifying new weapons. If they abandoned their baggage and Livestock to flee, the Tribe wouldn't survive the winter. Fighting and fleeing were both unviable options; their only path to survival was surrender.

The imminent military merits had vanished. The lower-ranking officers and soldiers cursed and grumbled until Håvarun ordered them to shut up. Then, he turned to face the tribal Chieftain with a smile.

"On behalf of the Emperor, I accept your surrender."

Before the operation began, the high command had prepared contingency plans for this very scenario. Håvarun organized the Documents clerks from each company to tally the population and Livestock.

"Four thousand people, fifty-three thousand sheep, two thousand six hundred cattle... It seems you've been living quite well. Plundered from the Balkan Peninsula, I presume?"

Håvarun remarked, sighing slightly. He dispatched messengers to notify the Main Force, requesting them to hurry and escort this Tribe to the rear.

On September 10th, one thousand Rangers came howling in, delivering the Crown Prince's orders:

The Chieftain and four hundred Able-Bodied Youths were to proceed to the central army and await deployment. The remaining Nomads were to return to the western side of the Visegrád Mountains and select a wooden camp to reside in temporarily.

"Understood."

Submitting to the strong was the law of survival on the steppe. Luntu accepted the command, selecting four hundred Able-Bodied Youths to follow the messenger and merge with the central army. Along the way, they brought five thousand sheep as a welcoming gift for their new masters.

Escorted by Viking cavalry, the rest of the Nomads turned around, driving their Livestock back toward the northwest. After days of migration, they arrived at a campsite currently under construction.

The camp was a standard square. Many laborers were busy digging trenches approximately two meters deep. The fertile soil was churned up and piled on the inner side, forming an earthen rampart.

Behind the earthen slope stood an unfinished Wooden Palisade, roughly five meters tall. Its core was made of rammed earth flanked by Wooden Stakes on both the inner and outer sides, creating a sturdy platform for Archers to fire from above.

Inside the camp, wells were being dug, and a large number of soldiers were constructing warehouses and barracks, building everything to the specifications of permanent fortifications.

After the war concluded, the abandoned military camp could house civilian residents, eventually developing into a town.

The Tribe's Shaman asked in a whisper, "Is this the camp we'll be living in?" If their surrender bought them a settlement like this, it wasn't a bad trade.

"No, your temporary residence is on the western side of the mountains. The specifications are the same as this one," a lieutenant colonel of the Garrison Regiment replied, setting down his hoe and passing over a bottle of Sugarcane Rum.

He continued explaining, "However, once the war ends, you'll likely be sent back to the eastern side of the mountains. At that time, assuming you're willing to transition from a nomadic lifestyle to a settled one, you might be granted one of the camps on the eastern side."

After accepting Luntu's fealty, the Crown Prince rewarded him with massive amounts of Silver, Alcoholic Beverages, and Dyed Cloth. Having learned the movements of the surrounding tribes from Luntu's lips, he dispatched the various detachments in pursuit.

Over a week passed, and Luntu successfully dragged four of his neighboring tribes into the same boat. They were all small tribes with populations ranging from two to five thousand.

These tribes were not Magyars, but rather Pechenegs or Khazars. Being on the periphery of the Gyula Khanate's power, they felt no psychological burden about betraying it.

The Crown Prince interrogated the four Chieftains and gleaned even more intelligence. He arranged for the Garrison Regiments to build camps in the rear, while the field troops pushed forward, chasing after the migrating Nomadic Tribes.

When the news reached the Khanate's royal court, Borsho grew even more irritable, drunkenly whipping his Slaves.

Over the past six months, the Gyula Khanate had absorbed many small tribes and now boasted a nomadic population of one hundred and sixty thousand. The territories of the three Magyar tribes were situated on the eastern side of the basin, while the vassal tribes were settled on the west. If this dragged on any longer, these foreigners would inevitably defect to the Viking Empire!

With matters reaching this point, Borsho had to take action. Using his authority as Khan, he rallied the forces of the three major tribes and marched westward in a vast, mighty throng.

In late September, the sky turned gloomy, and the boundless waves of grass churned with a withered yellow. Over two thousand Viking soldiers marched on as usual. Håvarun sat in his saddle, stifling a yawn, seemingly waiting for something.

Suddenly, a squad of Rangers rushed back in a panic. They looked battered, and flecks of white foam bubbled at the corners of their mounts' mouths.

"Cavalry! A massive horde of steppe cavalry!" the Ranger sergeant cried, his voice hoarse as he desperately pointed in the direction they had come from.

"Southeast, five miles away! A massive horde of Magyar cavalry is approaching, at least tens of thousands of them!"

Håvarun's expression remained composed. He ordered two squads of Rangers to seek reinforcements from the Main Force, then commanded the remaining troops to shift their Formations.

In truth, the vast plains could hide no secrets; the Vikings had long since received intelligence regarding the assembly of the Khanate's Main Force. Three days prior, Fridleif had convened a war council, assigning one detachment to act as the vanguard. Their goal was to bait and stall the Magyar army, setting the stage for a true, decisive battle.

Having weathered a siege before, Håvarun possessed the relevant experience. Thus, his detachment had been chosen as the bait to execute this incredibly arduous mission.

It wasn't long before the Wagon Fort was established. Grain, tin water jugs, Military Equipment, and other Supplies were piled in the center of the grassy clearing. The horses were concentrated and tied to Wooden Stakes, neighing restlessly.

The earth began to tremble.

In the distance, a thin black line faintly emerged. Like a breached dam releasing a dark tide, it rapidly filled the entire horizon. Tens of thousands of steppe cavalry surged forward, kicking up clouds of dust that blocked out the sky.

A few hundred meters from the Wagon Fort, the Cavalry Group seemed to crash against an invisible breakwater, violently splitting off to both sides. In the blink of an eye, they completed their encirclement, trapping two thousand six hundred Vikings within the Wagon Fort.

At that moment, the plains fell silent again, leaving only the sound of cold wind whipping the banners and the heavy panting of horses.

Standing behind the planks of a wagon, Håvarun stared out at the boundless Cavalry Group. The heavy pressure was almost suffocating. Raising his voice, he bolstered the morale of his men.

"Do not worry, His Highness's reinforcements will arrive tomorrow! Once we win this battle, you'll be swimming in military merits and bounties!"

Following the previous battle, the reputation of the new weapons had spread across the steppe. Borsho dispatched two thousand spear-and-shield Slaves, ordering them to advance slowly toward the Wagon Fort.

Boom!

At a distance of a hundred meters, several deafening blasts erupted from the Wagon Fort. In an instant, the slaves' Shield Wall seemed to be struck by an invisible, monstrous force, tearing open multiple blood-soaked gaps.

Seizing the moment the Shield Wall faltered, the Viking Archers and Crossbowmen fired their arrows, gunning down hundreds more slave infantrymen and completely shattering their morale.

"Easy now, easy." Borsho soothed his startled mount, his expression turning unimaginably gloomy. If they were to shatter this Wagon Fort, Slaves and ordinary tribesmen would be useless. He would have to deploy his royal court's direct forces and the elites from the various tribes.

'Is it worth doing this?'

Borsho hesitated, unable to make a decision until a thousand-man commander came forward to report.

"Khan, we have discovered the movements of the Viking Main Force. They are expected to arrive here by noon tomorrow."