Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 112 Wooden Bridge
February 849 AD.

As the weather grew hotter, the soldiers became increasingly agitated and repeatedly requested a direct assault on Stirling, but Vig rejected their requests.

Looking at the commanders who were taking turns volunteering for the mission, he posed a question: "What is the most important quality of a commander?"

"Strategy!"

"Appeal!"

Faced with numerous responses, Vig frowned. "Restraint. As the brain of an army, the commander needs to eliminate all distractions and restrain the urge to kill and impetuousness."

He spoke for a full half hour, sensing the audience's distractedness, and felt a strange sense of frustration. Just then, a scout rider came to report something.
"My lord, the Gaelic army on the west coast is gathering, and its numbers are unknown."

"Explore again."

The riders departed, and Vig stared at the map. Now, three thousand eight hundred Viking warriors had gathered in the Stirling region. Most of the Gaels would not dare to come and fight them head-on, and would more likely go to Edinburgh to relieve the siege.

"When they left, the Shrike had eight hundred men. Recently, a new wave of raiders arrived, expanding the siege force to fifteen hundred."

As a native Welshman, he was only skilled in small-scale mountain warfare. Although he had previously defeated Hafdan, this achievement was largely unreliable. Facing a pincer attack from both inside and outside the enemy, and having to divide his forces to guard a thousand prisoners, there was a high probability that he would suffer losses.

After much deliberation, Vig left two thousand soldiers to continue the siege, while he led eighteen hundred men south to deal with the Gaelic reinforcements.

He speculated that this was the only mobile force left in the entire Northern Alliance, and if they won this battle, the enemy would completely lose the ability to launch field battles.

Before departing, Vig instructed Joren, "Be cautious in all things, and continue to besiege Stirling with fortifications. If my response is wrong and the Gaelic army's target is Stirling, then you don't need to fight them; just escape in longships."

"Yes!"

After traveling south for half a day, Vig arrived at Falkirk. It was getting late, and he arranged for his soldiers to set up camp on the spot. He spent the night in unease.

The next morning, the caravan set off for Edinburgh, heading southeast. Not long after, a scout rider rushed to Vig and delivered news that brought both joy and sorrow.

He was right; the Gaels' destination was Edinburgh. But they were moving quickly, only about twenty kilometers away from Edinburgh, and expected to arrive by evening.

The situation was urgent, so Vig sent a rider to inform the Shrike to send a small force to block the wooden bridge eight kilometers west of Edinburgh, and to set the bridge on fire if necessary.

"As ordered!"

The rider received the order and sped off to Edinburgh.

After riding for more than an hour along country lanes, riders cross wooden bridges and follow paths trodden by shepherds to the top of hills, where the outline of the wooden fortress appears on the eastern horizon.

"Phew, delivering mail is really not easy."

The rider scratched his light blond hair. As the second son of an Anglo-Saxon, Connor was not entitled to inherit the manor and had to participate in the lord's conquests in order to obtain a piece of land sufficient to make a living.

Connor removed the water pouch, filled it halfway with cold water, and then fed the rest of the water to his mount.

The Scottish Lowlands in summer were filled with the pungent smell of grass, and the humid sea breeze made him feel an indescribable stuffiness. After traveling a long distance, the horse's belly was covered with sweat, its wet mane was matted together, and many annoying mosquitoes swarmed around it, causing the mount to flick its tail from time to time.

He fed the horses oats and salt, rested for about ten minutes, and then continued on his way. When he arrived at the siege camp, 1,500 friendly troops were having lunch. Soon, he found a shrike gnawing on a lamb chop. "My lord," he said, "this is a letter from the lord."

How many Gaels are there?

Connor: "More than two thousand men, the vast majority of whom were light infantry without armor."

Upon hearing this, the shrike was both pleased and worried. The lack of armor meant the enemy was weaker in combat, but their mobility was relatively faster. Seeing this, he dispatched a team of the fastest hunters to rush to the wooden bridge.

Having completed his mission, Connor had no time to rest. He filled his water pouch with water, asked for two pieces of black bread and a small bag of oats, and rode his mount away from the camp, intending to head west as quickly as possible to report back to the lord.

Enduring the scorching sun, the horses ran a distance along the road they had come from, but their speed gradually decreased until they finally stopped and refused to move, no matter how much their owner urged them to.

"Hey buddy, hang in there a little longer!"

Connor took out some oatmeal to feed the horse, which reluctantly ate a few bites before lying down to sleep, its tail occasionally swishing to shoo away the mosquitoes buzzing around it.

At this point, Connor was completely at a loss. He cursed his father's stinginess in a low voice, for giving him a lazy and dull inferior horse, not caring at all whether he would lose his life because of it.

Half an hour later, more than a hundred Welsh people passed by him. They made fun of the unfortunate rider's plight in their dialect and then left noisily.

After the horse finished its afternoon nap, Connor rode it westward until he reached the wooden bridge, where he found the Welshmen fighting the enemy.

With their superior archery skills, the Welshmen routed dozens of Gaelic light infantrymen on the west side of the wooden bridge. Seeing the dark mass of people surging in from afar, they abandoned their plan to hold the bridge and instead attempted to set it on fire.

Ta, tap.

The Welsh chief repeatedly struck the flint and steel, sweat dripping from his chin onto its surface, preventing him from igniting the tinder.

Seeing that the enemy's main force was about to arrive, the remaining comrades took out short axes and knives from their waists and frantically chiseled at the wooden bridge, destroying most of the planks.

Finally, the main force of the Gaelic army reached the west bank. They hurled arrows, iron axes, and short spears, killing one-fifth of the Welsh and stopping the hunters from continuing their attempt to destroy the bridge.

After driving out the enemy, the Gaels searched far and wide for bridge-building materials, eventually demolishing a nearby farmhouse and using the planks and nails they found to rebuild the bridge. Meanwhile, the Welsh fired longbows from 200 meters east of the river, but without much success.

Meanwhile, the reinforcements led by Vig were still making their way. According to reports from scout riders, 2,500 Gaelic soldiers had arrived on the west bank of the river and were working hard to repair the wooden bridge.

"So fast?"

Estimating the time, reinforcements would still need another half hour to reach the wooden bridge, and Vig was filled with anxiety. Sensing their commander's anxiety, Tolga and the other knights volunteered to fight.

"Sir, let us go ahead."

"Two hundred cavalrymen against two thousand five hundred enemies, isn't that too risky?" After a moment's hesitation, Vig agreed to the knights' request and granted command to Torga.

“Gunnar is the most talented cavalry commander I have ever seen. I hope you learn from his strengths, discard his weaknesses, and use your brain more in battle.”

Upon hearing this, Torga did not refute it. He bowed to Vig, then climbed onto his saddle and led two hundred cavalrymen away in a roar.

(End of this chapter)