"Set sail. The gods are watching us!"
Upon receiving the king's order, fifty ships raised anchor and put out to sea.
The fleet formed into a broad wedge formation, like a gigantic arrowhead steadily cutting southward through the waves.
At dawn on the third day, the coast of Brittany appeared ahead.
The officers aboard the Black Bass took out maps and, using latitude and nearby coastal landmarks, determined their approximate position.
The fleet then slowly turned westward.
By seven in the morning, they rounded the westernmost tip of the Breton Peninsula.
They were now less than ten miles from their target.
Fleet Admiral Joren approached the king and received an entirely expected order:
"Prepare for landing operations."
After repeated reconnaissance missions, the intelligence service had thoroughly mapped Brest's defenses:
Five hundred defenders
Two layers of seaward walls
An outer stone wall roughly six meters high
The original wooden palisade behind it
Eight large trebuchets
During the surprise attack on Hamburg along the Elbe, enemy trebuchets had landed only a single hit—
yet that lone stone shattered the hull of a two-masted ship, sending it rapidly to the bottom of the river.
Having learned from that lesson, Vig refused to directly assault the harbor through brute force.
Instead, he adopted a more cautious approach.
The troops would land on nearby beaches and attack Brest overland.
Soon, the fifty ships lowered their landing boats.
Twelve hundred soldiers crowded into the swaying craft, rowing desperately toward shore.
Wooden oars split the sea, sending white spray flying.
The soldiers wore grim expressions, eyes fixed on the strip of golden sand steadily approaching ahead.
Behind the beach rose a jagged ridge of brown rock, forming a natural elevated barrier.
The instant the boats entered shallow waters, figures suddenly appeared atop the ridge.
Sunlight poured down mercilessly, clearly revealing a fleur-de-lis banner and the defenders' crude leather armor.
A sharp French command rang out.
More than a hundred soldiers drew their bows.
"Loose!"
Arrows flew like summer hailstones, crashing down upon the Viking landing boats.
One arrow buried itself into the side of a boat with a dull thunk, the fletching vibrating violently.
Several more landed among the rowers, disrupting the previously synchronized rhythm.
The soldiers instinctively lowered themselves, and the boats slowed noticeably.
Vig stared at the archers on the ridge.
"Drive them off with the ballistae."
Receiving the signal flags, the fleet's heavy ballistae opened fire upon the ridge.
A hundred stone projectiles smashed into the archer formation, exploding rock fragments and dust into the air.
Within the swirling clouds, the Frankish commander shouted desperately to stabilize his men.
Less than thirty seconds later, a second volley arrived.
The surviving Frankish soldiers broke instantly.
Discarding their bows, they fled toward the sparse woodland behind the ridge like startled deer.
Only abandoned quivers and several fallen helmets remained scattered among the stones, gleaming harshly beneath the sun.
After securing the beachhead, the Vikings controlled the entire shoreline.
Vig landed with the second wave.
Following a half-hour rest, the troops formed marching columns and advanced silently southeast toward Brest.
Each man carried five days' worth of rations.
Some soldiers jointly carried heavy logs intended for constructing siege ladders.
The intelligence service had mapped the entire region surrounding Brest the previous year.
Landmarks such as mills, vineyards, and churches had been specially marked to help confirm locations quickly and prevent troops from losing their way.
At ten in the morning, the army reached Brest itself.
Because they had arrived so quickly, the surrounding barons and knights had no time to react or gather manor militias inside the city.
The defenders still numbered only the original five hundred men.
"What kind of troops are these?"
The local count observed the soldiers assembling ladders.
Their movements were practiced and orderly.
The remaining Vikings sat quietly in place without noise or disorder.
Judging from their equipment and discipline, the count concluded these were absolutely not ordinary soldiers.
Most likely, they were Britain's Royal Guard.
"The Serpent of the North attacked last time to seize the Channel Islands.
"This time he's brought a large fleet and three thousand men…
"Does he intend to capture Brest—and then all of Brittany?"
The count rapidly wrote two letters requesting aid.
Riders were dispatched toward Rennes, then onward to Paris to seek Charles the Bald himself.
Suddenly, a thousand Vikings maneuvered toward the eastern side of the city.
It appeared they intended to assault both the northern and eastern walls simultaneously.
"Hold the walls! Reinforcements will arrive soon!"
The count loudly encouraged his troops and ordered them to prepare for ranged combat.
The leading Vikings advanced beneath raised shields, protecting the archers and crossbowmen behind them.
Further back came soldiers carrying twenty siege ladders.
They marched slowly forward before halting one hundred meters from the walls.
The front shield wall provided cover while Viking archers fired at Frankish defenders behind the battlements.
The Vikings' shooting accuracy far surpassed that of ordinary troops, deepening the count's unease.
Both sides exchanged volleys back and forth.
The battle continued until noon.
Finally, the Vikings withdrew beyond crossbow range and sat down calmly to nibble hard bread.
"Send food to the walls immediately!"
The count nervously watched the enemy, fearing they would launch another assault the moment they finished eating.
Ten minutes later, baskets of freshly baked wheat bread arrived from within the city.
Soon afterward, four commoners pushed a handcart toward one section of the wall.
The cart carried four barrels of fresh fish soup.
An officer questioned them about its source.
One of the peasants timidly explained:
"A noble household ordered us to prepare fish soup for the walls at midday. We're to deliver another batch tonight."
The steward of the count's estate?
The officer considered the matter briefly, but the hungry and irritable soldiers had already crowded around the cart.
"Hey, leave some for me!"
"Why is it all herring?"
"There are shells at the bottom of the barrel—they padded it with shellfish!"
Instinctively, the officer did not restrain the men.
He accepted a clay bowl himself and casually remarked:
"Too much salt. Use less this afternoon."
"Yes, my lord."
The four peasants pushed the cart away.
Some time later, the enemy attacked again.
The Frankish defenders returned fire with crossbows.
After more than a dozen exchanges, one soldier suddenly clutched his stomach.
Then dozens more collapsed in agony.
"The soup was poisoned!"
Sweat poured from the officer's forehead as he braced himself against the battlements.
At that moment, twenty civilians burst from a nearby courtyard within the city.
The four soup-deliverers led them.
"Quick! Inform the count!"
The officer ordered the fastest runner to seek reinforcements while personally trying to stop the infiltrators.
After several exchanges, the officer slashed one infiltrator across the shoulder.
The man's coarse tunic split open—
revealing chainmail beneath.
Not only him.
Every one of the Viking infiltrators wore concealed chainmail shirts.
Taking advantage of the poisoned defenders' weakness, they quickly scattered the Frankish soldiers.
Then they produced a black banner and waved it violently toward the army outside the walls.
Seeing the signal, Vig let out a long breath and immediately ordered a full assault upon that section of the wall.
Ignoring arrows raining from both sides, Viking soldiers crossed the ditch and clawed upward using ropes.
As more and more Vikings gained the walls, the count personally led troops to stop them—
only to be driven steadily backward by the elite, disciplined soldiers.
"Retreat!"
The count fled back to his manor with a handful of men.
He held out until two in the afternoon.
Finally, realizing the situation was hopeless, he emerged and surrendered.
—------------------------------
Pat reon Advance Chapters: patreon.com/YonkoSlayer