Chapter 420: THE Truth -1
"By the gods, Lothair... they had an entire battery waiting for us."
Lothair didn’t answer right away. He stood tall at the edge of the ship, his sharp eyes locked on the shrinking coastline.
He pulled his cloak tight against the wind, his mind spinning incredibly fast.
"King Erik knew we were coming," Lothair muttered, his jaw clenched tight.
"He hauled City Titan steel all the way up here... Ragnar is playing a much deeper game than we thought."
"So what do we do now?" Gauzlin asked nervously, wiping the salty sea spray from his beard.
"Do we turn the fleet entirely around?
Do we sail back to Denmark and tell the Emperor that the north is impregnable?"
Lothair slowly turned his head.
The look he gave the Marshal was so cold it made the freezing ocean wind feel warm.
"If you ever suggest running away like a beaten dog again, Gauzlin, I will throw you over this railing,"
"We are not sailing back. We still have thirty thousand men."
"But we cannot land at the port!" Gauzlin argued, throwing his hands up. "It is a suicide mission!"
"Then we don’t land at the port," Lothair stated plainly.
Thecommander turned to the terrified Danish ship captain standing near the steering oar.
"Listen to me carefully," Lothair ordered. "Norway is massive. The coastline is practically endless. King Erik cannot put a steel cannon on every single beach and cliff. Find me a quiet fjord. Find me a strip of mud far away from that main harbor where we can drop the ramps."
"Y-Yes, Lord Lothair." the captain nodded rapidly, eager to please the man. "There are dozens of unprotected coves just a few miles down the eastern coast. The land is rugged, but the water is deep enough for the transports."
"Then take us there," Lothair commanded.
However, the journey was tense.
For the next two hours, the massive fleet sailed slowly down the jagged, rocky coastline of southern Norway.
Every single Frankish soldier kept their eyes entirely glued to the dark pine forests lining the cliffs, terrified that another hidden battery of cannons would suddenly erupt from the trees.
But Lothair’s tactical assumption was right...
The geography of Norway was simply too vast and broken to defend perfectly.
King Erik had concentrated his entire heavy defense on the strategic port, leaving the smaller, natural beaches entirely wide open.
Eventually, the Danish captain guided the lead ship into a quiet, deeply secluded bay.
The water here was completely calm, shielded from the harsh sea winds by tall, snow-capped mountains on either side.
A wide, empty stretch of dark gravel and mud waited patiently for them.
"Drop the anchors!" Lothair shouted. "Lower the ramps!"
The heavy wooden planks splashed loudly into the freezing shallow water.
The Frankish army swarmed off the cramped ships like drowning rats, splashing through the knee-deep water and scrambling onto the solid ground.
Marshal Gauzlin was one of the very first men to hit the beach.
Exactly as he had promised, the proud southern noble dropped to his hands and knees, pressing his wet face directly into the freezing Norwegian mud.
"Thank the heavens..." Gauzlin breathed heavily, kissing the dirt.
"I will never step foot on another fucking boat as long as I live."
"Get up, Gauzlin." Lothair ordered, walking past the kneeling Marshal.
"We are exposed here. Get the sergeants moving. I want a defensive perimeter set up around this beachhead immediately.
Have the men start chopping those pine trees to build palisades."
The landing was a massive, incredibly complex logistical nightmare, but the Franks were highly disciplined.
It took several exhausting hours to completely unload thirty thousand tired, hungry soldiers.
They set up a sprawling camp right on the edge of the dark forest, lighting hundreds of small fires to dry their wet clothes and fight off the biting northern chill.
Inside the quickly erected command tent, Lothair stood over a crude map of the Norwegian coast, ignoring the cold.
"We are currently here," Lothair said, tapping a finger on the map.
"King Erik and his ten thousand rifles are holding the main port, right about here.
It is roughly a full day’s march through these thick woods to reach his position from the landward side."
"Marching through the snow and the trees is going to be absolute hell, my Lord," Gauzlin muttered, drinking from a flask of wine to settle his stomach.
"Our heavy cavalry will be entirely useless in that thick timber. And Erik’s men will just pick us off from behind the rocks with their repeating rifles."
"They will certainly try," Lothair agreed smoothly. "But Erik is going to have a massive problem of his own. He positioned his steel cannons to completely face the sea. They are stationary defensive weapons. He cannot simply turn them around to fire into the dense forest behind the city."
Gauzlin paused, slowly lowering his wine flask. "You want to attack the port from the rear."
"..." Lothair nodded. "We made our way entirely around his iron shield. We will march on the city from the land. But we are not going to march with just swords and spears."
Lothair stepped out of the command tent, gesturing for the Marshal to follow him.
They walked through the camp, ignoring the shivering soldiers, and stopped at the very edge of the water where the deep-hulled transport ships were still anchored.
"Did you really think the Emperor would send me into the Iron Kingdom’s backyard empty-handed?" Lothair asked quietly.
Gauzlin’s eyes went wide as he watched the Danish sailors throwing ropes over the side of the transport ships.
They hadn’t just brought men and food... they had brought the Emperor’s grand equalizer!
"Haul them up!" a Frankish quartermaster screamed from the deck of the ship.
Slowly, groaning under the immense weight, heavy wooden cranes began to lift dark objects from the deep cargo holds.
The ropes strained violently as dozens of freshly cast, heavy bronze cannons were carefully lowered onto the freezing gravel beach.
"By the gods..." Gauzlin whispered, amazed. "I didn’t know we packed the heavy artillery on the supply ships."
"Emperor Louis is fully committed to this war," Lothair stated firmly. "We have fifty bronze cannons right here on this beach. King Erik might have the superior steel on his docks, but we brought enough bronze to level the back of his city."
The camp erupted into a new kind of organized labor... the Frankish engineers yelled loud orders, dragging heavy wooden cart frames across the mud.
They brought out the draft horses that had survived the miserable sea journey, hitching them securely to the thick leather harnesses.
Using thick timber ramps and pure, brute human strength, thousands of men worked together to haul the heavy bronze cannons onto the carts.
"Careful with the axles, damn it!" an engineer shouted, securing a bronze barrel with iron chains.
"If the cart snaps in the mud, we leave it behind!"
It was a grueling, entirely exhausting process, but the sheer sight of the cannons completely raised the morale of the freezing southern army.
They weren’t just sitting ducks anymore... they had the firepower to actually fight back on even terms.
Within a few hours, the fifty bronze cannons were fully mounted on their heavy carts.
Hundreds of horses were hitched and ready to pull.
The black powder kegs were perfectly secured in the supply wagons, completely covered with thick tarps to protect them from the damp sea air.
"We are ready, Lord Lothair," Gauzlin reported, looking confident again.
He rested his hand on his sword hilt, staring toward the tree line.
"The carts are fully loaded. The infantry is formed. We can begin the march toward the port immediately."
Lothair stood quietly near the front of the artillery train.
He didn’t issue the order to march... instead, he simply stared into the silent pine forest that surrounded their beachhead.
The wind had died down.
The woods were dark and perfectly still.
Not a single bird chirped. Not a single branch snapped.
"Gauzlin..." Lothair whispered.
"Yes, my Lord?"
Lothair slowly rested his hand on the hilt of his broadsword.
"If King Erik is smart enough to secretly move a battery of steel cannons to the main port..."
"Do you really think he is stupid enough to leave the back door unguarded?"
"..."
"I really don’t think so, Lord Lothair." Gauzlin chuckled, waving a hand toward the woods.
"This King Erik... he is just a northern brute in a fur coat. Maybe he learned a few cheap tricks from fighting those English farmers across the sea, or maybe Ragnar just handed him a pile of steel cannons and told him exactly where to point them.
But setting up a rear ambush? That requires actual civilized tactics."
Lothair didn’t laugh... he didn’t even smile.
"You are a fool, Gauzlin."
"You think they are just playing with stolen toys?" Lothair continued, finally turning his head to glare at the Marshal.
"The Emperor’s spies have ears in every port, I hear the reports. I read the letters. I know what everything these people have made with such a king ruling them means. They aren’t just unwashed savages anymore."
Lothair pointed a finger out toward the ocean they had just crossed.
"This King Erik you just called a brute?" Lothair growled. "A few months ago, he took a fleet of longships and sailed into the frozen unknown. He colonized a new land of ice and fire named Iceland. He built a thriving kingdom out of nothing but frozen rocks and sheer willpower."
Gauzlin swallowed hard, "Iceland?"
Lothair nodded grimly. "And even the spies say that they know of another huge land far to the west. A continent across the deep ocean. They just haven’t colonized it yet because they are focused on bleeding us dry right here. Do you understand what that actually means, Marshal?"
Gauzlin didn’t answer... he just stared blankly at the dark trees.
"It means they are explorers... they are conquerors. They possess the iron will to cross the edges of the world, and now King Ragnar has handed them repeating rifles and steel cannons."
Truthfully, Lothair felt a chill of genuine fear.
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