Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 91 The Banks of the Seine (Part 1)

At 10 a.m., the weather was clear and the breeze was gentle. Nearly 20,000 people lined up along the Seine River, stretching for more than a kilometer from north to south. The scene was grand and attracted many Paris residents to the bridgehead on the south bank to watch the battle.

At that moment, the Vikings on the western hill built a six-meter-high platform. Vig climbed the long ladder shakily to the top, and in an instant, the entire battlefield came into view.

Commanding an army of nearly ten thousand men is no easy task, and the only suitable candidates are Vig, Ivar, and Gunnar. Ivar prefers to lead his thousand heavy infantry, while Gunnar needs to lead the cavalry. With both of them tied up, the responsibility of overall battlefield command naturally falls to Vig.

As far as the eye could see, there were hordes of people and flags fluttering in the wind. Vig took several deep breaths, his chest heaving, but he was still unable to calm his excitement.

"I never thought this day would come for me."

He stared at the Frankish army opposite him, where a thousand cavalrymen were being moved to the southernmost part of the battlefield, where the terrain was open and conducive to launching a mass charge.

To deal with this most threatening force, Vig grabbed two small red flags from the wooden basket and waved them continuously toward the southern end of the battlefield.

Seeing this, the two bayonet phalanxes at the south end began to move, like two slowly moving forests, one in front and one behind, slowly approaching the position of the Frankish cavalry.

Having witnessed the power of the bayonet phalanx, the Frankish cavalry ignored these slow-moving tortoises and retreated steadily to the southeast.

To free the cavalry from their pursuit, "Bald" Charles ordered his guards to ride to the southern edge of the battlefield and command the Frankish infantry there to advance.

The Frankish infantry moved out, and Vig shouted to the messenger horsemen below the platform: "Send Ulf and Bjørn's troops up there and take care of the conscripted militia on the other side."

The reason for sending riders to relay messages was simple: apart from the two thousand bayonet phalanx directly under his command, and the two quick-thinking commanders, Ivar and Gunnar, the rest of the people could not learn flag signals in a short time and could only use primitive cavalry to relay orders.

Soon, following the banners of the river fish (Ulf) and the seagull (Bjørn), 1,500 Viking soldiers formed a shield wall to meet the enemy infantry.

The battle officially began.

Due to a long-standing tradition, the West Franks invested most of their resources in cavalry, relegating infantry to cheap expendable resources. Upon engaging in battle, the Frankish infantry were pushed back in disarray, leaving Ulf and Björn somewhat bewildered, believing it to be a trap deliberately set by the enemy.

After a few minutes of hesitation, the river fish flag and the seagull flag continued to advance, gradually closing in on the Frankish lines.

At the southeastern edge of the battlefield, witnessing their own defeat, the Frankish cavalry, who had been fleeing, began to stir.

For a long time, their tactics were simple and brutal, adept at forming dense formations to charge the enemy, and ill-suited to this kind of flanking maneuver. Led by a few reckless knights, some cavalrymen stopped fleeing and turned their horses back to the battlefield.

As time passed, more and more cavalrymen spontaneously deserted, and by the time the commander realized what was happening, he only had a little over fifty men left.

"I'm doomed, I'm going to be killed by these idiots."

Undeterred by the exhaustion of their warhorses, the Frankish cavalry bypassed the bayonet phalanx, preparing to attack the Ulf and Bjorn tribes from the flanks. However, before they had even reached halfway there, an unexpected turn of events occurred.

“Vahalla!”

On the west side, nearly four hundred Viking cavalrymen gradually appeared from behind the hillside. They formed three loose horizontal lines and charged towards the Frankish cavalry several hundred meters away, following a white banner with a menacing brown bear.

The desolate wilderness covered with green grass, the muffled thuds of iron hooves striking the ground blended together, converging into a sound wave like rolling muffled thunder.

In haste, the Frankish cavalry hastily spurred their mounts to meet the enemy, brandishing their longswords and chain hammers as they charged straight at the enemy's lances.

As the distance drew closer, both sides increased their speed to the maximum. Gunnar, at the very front of the column, held his lance level, the tip of which trembled slightly with the swaying of his warhorse.

Fifty meters. Thirty meters.

ten meters.

The dark figure rapidly approached, and Gunnar aimed at the enemy's chest at the last moment. With unparalleled power, his lance pierced through the well-protected chainmail in an instant. He quickly released his grip, then drew his longsword from the saddle to parry the next attack from the enemy.

Swords clashed, two warhorses passed each other, Gunnar slashed at the enemy's back with a backhand strike, and the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground came from behind, but he did not turn around—the charging cavalry were like arrows released from a bow, and could only continue to charge forward into the endless black shadows ahead.

Parrying and slashing, one enemy after another charged at him. Gunnar's longsword was riddled with nicks and dents. He casually tossed it at an enemy not far away, then drew a second longsword. Suddenly, a warhorse charged from the side. He flung the reins to avoid the charge, and with a backhand, smashed the nose of the ambushing cavalryman with the hilt of his sword.

The smell of rust grew stronger, and the horse's hooves began to slip. After parrying countless attacks, his vision suddenly cleared, and there were no more Frankish cavalrymen in front of him.

Huh, huh.

A gentle breeze swept by, and Gunnar wiped the blood splattered on his face with the back of his hand, only to find the bayonet phalanx and the Ulf and Bjorn troops closing in at full speed.

"If we cripple the enemy's cavalry at the very beginning of the battle, we have a 60% chance of winning."

A number of Viking cavalrymen gradually gathered around him. Gunnar took a wine sachet from someone and drank half a sachet of mead. The clear and sweet wine made all his fatigue disappear.

"Cool!"

Gunnar let out a burp and looked at the high platform in the center of the army. Vig was waving two small flags, one red and one white. Gunnar understood his meaning: he intended to have the cavalry retreat to the rear to rest and regroup, and then launch a decisive attack when the time was right.

At this moment, the bayonet phalanx had spread out into a horizontal line, completely blocking the enemy's path. Crossbowmen fired in rapid succession at the slowed Frankish cavalry, while spearmen shouted slogans and slowly advanced, their cold, sharp iron spikes causing their warhorses to retreat repeatedly.

The main force of the Frankish cavalry was trapped.

Seeing this, the Frankish infantry, who had been retreating, turned back west in an attempt to rescue the knights who were trapped in the encirclement.

Once most of the survivors had regrouped, Gunnar suddenly had a bold idea: due to the large number of Frankish infantry rushing to the rescue, the enemy's left flank (south side) and center were clearly disconnected.

Bang bang, bang bang.

Faced with this invaluable opportunity, Gunnar's heart pounded. He glanced back at Vig on the high platform and decided to ignore the latter's flag signals.

"Waiting for the right time? Ha, is there a more precious opportunity than this?"

Gunnar looked at the cavalry on his left and right sides. "I'm going to charge through that gap. Is there anyone willing to back down?"

No one said anything.

Sensing the eager looks in his subordinates' eyes, Gunnar drew his longsword. "Follow me to the ends of the earth!"

The wind suddenly picked up and became fierce, blowing nearby grass clippings everywhere. More than two hundred riders drew their longswords at the same time, shouting, "Until the end of the world!"

Following the commander's retreating figure, they resolutely rushed towards the surging crowd not far away.

(End of this chapter)