Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 321 Militia Training
In order to recruit enough mercenaries, Niels not only paid high salaries, but also promised that once the war ended, the tribes that performed well would receive agricultural technology assistance from the empire.

Higher crop yields mean more people to support, which is an irresistible temptation for the Rus tribe. Some leaders even personally lead their troops into battle.

In the following month, Niels successfully recruited more than 6,000 Ross mercenaries and 3,000 nomadic riders.

Despite the old grudges between the Rus' people and the nomads, they temporarily put aside their hatred for the sake of common interests and took advantage of this once-in-a-century opportunity to make a fortune.

In early October, a large fleet arrived at Varna, a major coastal town in Bulgaria. Ignoring sporadic fire from the garrison, the fleet rushed straight into the port.

The bow of the foremost warship was adorned with a bronze dragon head, from which a copper pipe protruded. With the roar of mechanical devices, crimson flames gushed forth from the copper pipe.

In an instant, the port was transformed into a raging inferno. More than thirty Bulgarian ships were engulfed in flames. Desperate soldiers, their bodies ablaze, screamed as they jumped into the water, but the flames continued to devour them. The air was filled with mournful howls and the stench of burning grease.

The next moment, a muffled roar came from the sea, and the crossbows of the Eastern Roman fleet fired one after another. Dozens of heavy stone projectiles slammed into the eastern city wall of Varna. The battlements shattered and collapsed with a dull thud, and the rubble flew like a sudden rain.

Caught off guard by the fleet's surprise attack, the defenders of Varna urged their soldiers to operate the crossbows on the city walls to retaliate, but it was too late. The crossbows were the focus of the Eastern Roman fleet and were destroyed within five minutes.

"What fierce firepower."

At the rear of the fleet, on a galley, Nils stood at the bow, gazing at this sight he had never seen before, while the treasurer Titus beside him began to boast of the empire's power:
"No ship can match our fire of the sea (the Eastern Roman name for 'Greek fire'), and you need not worry about naval supremacy in the Black Sea during the war."

Niels did not refute it. After observing for a while, he discovered the flaw of this secret weapon—its range was too short, and the range of the flame spray was no more than thirty paces, making it only suitable for close to medium-range combat.

"It seems that Greek fire has limitations and cannot solve all problems, otherwise the pirates in the Aegean Sea would have disappeared long ago."

About an hour later, the Eastern Roman fleet ceased firing, and a loud horn sounded from the flagship, urging the army to land and attack the city.

Accompanied by the shouts of the oarsmen, twenty galleys sailed toward the dock, and Varangian guards, clad in double iron armor, carried long ladders and surged toward the dilapidated city walls.

After suffering dozens of casualties, Niels captured the eastern wall and gate, allowing more soldiers to pour into Varna and successfully conquer the town.

Subsequently, the Eastern Roman fleet continuously supplied Rus' infantry and nomadic riders, while Nils commanded tens of thousands of mercenaries to plunder the coastal areas.

During the war, Niels deliberately favored the Rus' tribes who were estranged from Rurik, distributing more spoils of war to them and teaching their leaders advanced tactics to stimulate their ambition and desire.

Rurik's core territory was in Novgorod, and he had difficulty controlling the tribes in the middle and lower reaches of the Dnieper River, making him merely a king in name only.

When the war ended, these Rus' leaders returned to their hometowns, and their power expanded rapidly, inevitably leading to conflicts with Rurik.

“Rurik, I helped you train your army and attack the Pechenegs, and all I got in return was suspicion. That’s what you owe me.” Niels didn’t expect to benefit from it; he only wanted to retaliate against the other party’s mistreatment.

Throughout October, Niels's troops did not venture deep inland; his mission, as planned, was to draw the enemy's main force. When the time was right, Basil would lead his field army from the south, striking deep into Bulgaria's heartland. "Alas, I wonder how long this war will last? If the enemy retreats into the mountains and holds out, we're in for a tough time."

At the same time, in Luton, Britain, Frode was observing militia training.

The sky was overcast, and six hundred farmers marched slowly across the withered grass in the usual four columns. Their clothes were disheveled, and they held a wooden stick about three and a half meters long in their right hands. Their eyes were filled with confusion and a little unease, like a flock of sheep being driven to an unfamiliar pasture.

More than thirty men were positioned at the front and sides of the column; they were retired officers and soldiers from Luton, responsible for training the militia. Every so often, the officers had to stop to reorganize the formation, severely slowing down the advance.

Half an hour later, the officer blew a bugle, signaling the militia to change formation. After much hesitation, the group finally deployed into a wide horizontal line amidst the instructor's reprimands.

"Cavalry is approaching ahead; prepare to defend against their charge."

Upon hearing the command, the farmers in the front row knelt on one knee, raising their long poles diagonally upwards, while the soldiers in the second row held their long poles level.

Soon, more than a dozen black dots appeared behind the low hill. They were local gentry who had brought their own horses and quickly approached the militia's line of men.

The ground trembled, and the black spot expanded rapidly. Some of the cowardly militiamen could not withstand the pressure and threw away their sticks to flee, causing their comrades on both sides to run away as well.

"Ha ha, these fools are no better than ever." The gentry watched the militiamen's embarrassing state and laughed heartily on horseback.

Not far away, Frode stood expressionless. Twenty days had passed, and the town's militia remained as listless as ever. In another two weeks, the sheriff would send someone to assess them, and it was predicted that these militiamen would not meet the required standards.

"Your Highness, why don't you let us assist with the training?" a guard officer suggested. He reasoned that if his one hundred soldiers were involved, the number of instructors would increase, and the training effectiveness would improve accordingly.

“It’s pointless; I need to see the real training situation.” During training, Frode only provided food and never interfered with the instructors’ work.

He remained seated on horseback, observing the next exercise—bayonet charge.

Facing the wooden target two hundred paces away, the militiamen slowly advanced, gripping long sticks.

When the distance was reduced to a hundred paces, the instructor blew a bugle to signal them to quicken their pace. During the march, some militiamen began to leave the group.

Reduced to thirty paces, the instructors blew their whistles, and the militiamen shouted as they charged toward the wooden targets. Some ignored the instructors' instructions and ran as fast as they could, breaking formation. Others tripped and fell, tripping over their teammates, the injured ones clutching their ankles and screaming in pain.

Soon, two townspeople rushed over with a stretcher and carried the wounded man back to the hospital for treatment. The remaining militiamen regrouped and continued their previous training exercises.

As the sun set, smoke rose from the direction of Luton town, signifying that the militia had survived another day. They breathed a sigh of relief and marched back to their temporary camp outside Luton town.

(End of this chapter)