Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry

Chapter 393: Before You Do

The second explosion swallowed the night air, echoing over the rooftops of the Burgundian capital.

Lord Odo didn’t wait to figure out what the noise was... the Frankish commander was utterly broken.

He pulled the reins of his warhorse, his eyes wide with panic as he stared at the trenches the cannonballs had just carved through his elite vanguard.

"Retreat!" Odo screamed, "Run! Fall back before they fire again!"

The surviving Frankish knights abandoned their lances and dropped their shields into the mud.

They kicked their spurs into their horses, fleeing back into the mist. The great Frankish charge was running away with their tails tucked firmly between their legs.

King Rudolf ignored the retreating Franks. He spun around on the battlements, he looked back over the rooftops of his city, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Where the fucking hell did that sound come from?!" Rudolf yelled, grabbing his son Conrad by the shoulders.

Hakon dropped his smoking match cord.

A thick column of gray smoke was rising into the sky.

"The river..." Hakon muttered, "That sound definitely came from the port."

After hearing such words, a wave of dread washed over King Rudolf’s chest.

The port.

That was where all the crates were resting.

That was where the steel plows, the warm textiles, and the priceless medicine were sitting unguarded.

"My tools!" Rudolf gasped, his hands trembling.

"My fucking ships!" Hakon roared.

Rudolf turned to the captain of his guard, who was staring blankly at the fleeing Frankish army.

"Bernard!" Rudolf barked, "Forget the Franks! They are running away! I need you to gather the vanguard knights right now! Get down to the river port and secure the docks!"

"Y-yes, my King!" Bernard stammered.

Hakon pointed his finger down toward the city streets. "When we unloaded the heavy artillery, my men left a few crates of muskets sitting right on the decks of the ships." Hakon ordered. "You take your vanguard knights, you sprint down to those ships, and you grab those fire-tubes! Do not fight them with iron! Just point the barrels and pull the fucking triggers!"

"Understood, Lord Hakon!" Bernard nodded frantically as the Viking dropped him back onto the floor.

Bernard drew his sword, waving to his best elite knights. "Vanguard! With me! We are running to the port!"

But King Rudolf changed his mind; he was not going to sit safely on the wall while his newly acquired industrial revolution burned to ashes.

"I am coming with you!" Rudolf declared.

"Father, no!" Prince Conrad grabbed his father’s ruined sleep-tunic.

Rudolf smiled fiercely, patting his son’s cheek. "Stay here with Hakon... make sure the Franks don’t change their minds and come back."

Without waiting for an answer, King Rudolf sprinted down the stairs of the battlements, following Bernard and his elite vanguard knights into the streets of the lower city.

The local peasants were screaming, locking their doors and hiding in their cellars.

The sound of distant gunfire was echoing off the stone buildings... someone was definitely attacking the docks, and they had modern firepower!

They finally burst out of the narrow city alleys and slid into the mud of the riverbank.

Several of the merchant piers were blown to splinters.

Hakon’s forty iron-plated fast-clippers were still floating, but their Viking crews were screaming orders, trying to return fire with the smaller swivel-guns mounted on their wooden rails.

"The ships!" Bernard yelled, pointing toward the middle of the fleet. "Get to the crates! Grab the muskets!"

The fifty heavily armored Burgundian vanguard knights sprinted up the gangplanks of the closest iron ships.

They furiously kicked open the crates that Hakon’s men had left behind.

Bernard grabbed one of the stocks, looking down at the iron firing mechanism with confusion. "How the hell do we use these things?"

"Just point the metal tube at the enemy and pull the tiny iron lever under the wood." one of the bleeding Viking sailors screamed back from the deck, quickly loading a cannon. "And hold onto it tightly so it doesn’t break your nose!"

King Rudolf ran right up to the edge of the broken pier, gripping his sword tight as he squinted through the choking smoke covering the river.

"Who is doing this?!" Rudolf roared into the wind, trying to see the enemy vessels.

Suddenly, a gust of autumn wind blew a large section of the sulfur smoke away from the center of the rushing river.

Floating right in the middle of the wide river were nearly a dozen sleek, fast wooden warships.

They were exchanging aggressive musket fire with Hakon’s iron fleet... but they weren’t Frankish galleys, and they weren’t Viking longboats.

Hanging from the tall masts of the attacking ships were bright white sails. And painted right in the center of those sails was the distinct, recognizable black ermine crest.

"By the heavens..." Bernard whispered, "My King... those are Breton flags."

Rudolf’s mind stopped working for five seconds. "Brittany?" Rudolf muttered, bewildered.

It made no sense... none.

Just a few hours ago, on the church roof, Prince Conrad had sobbed about the intelligence reports.

The spies had confirmed that King Salomon de Bretagne had just signed a blood-alliance with King Ragnar Ulfsson.

Salomon was receiving muskets from the Iron Kingdom to hold the western front against the Franks.

So why was the Breton Navy sailing up the Burgundian river, shooting at Hakon’s Viking ships?

"Are they insane?!" Rudolf yelled, waving his sword at the enemy ships. "We are on the same side! We just allied with the Iron Kingdom ten minutes ago! Why are they attacking Ragnar’s fleet?!"

"Maybe they don’t know that, your Grace!" Bernard yelled back, ducking as a heavy lead musket ball shattered a barrel right behind him. "Maybe they think we surrendered to the Franks!"

"Then tell them to fucking stop shooting!" Rudolf roared.

Before Bernard could grab a white surrender flag to wave at the Breton ships, the loud splashing of oars echoed over the gunfire.

A small rowboat was pushing its way through the river, heading straight for the Burgundian pier.

Sitting right at the front of the little boat was a decorated Breton naval commander, waving his arms in the air.

"Hold your fire!" the Breton commander screamed at the top of his lungs, "Hold the fire! We want to talk to the King of Burgundy!"

Rudolf gripped the hilt of his sword, stepping right up to the edge of the pier as the small rowboat crashed against the pilings.

The Breton commander jumped up onto the docks.

"King Rudolf?" the Breton commander stammered, raising his hands.

"You have ten seconds to explain to me why you are shooting at my new trading partners," Rudolf hissed darkly, "Before I tell my knights to blow a hole straight through your chest."

The Breton commander wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked nervously at the iron ships, and then back at the angry King.

"We didn’t come here to start a war, King Rudolf." the commander pleaded. "We tracked these forty Iron Kingdom ships sailing from Calais... and King Salomon strictly ordered us to catch them!"

"Catch them?" Rudolf asked, raising a confused eyebrow. "Why? To attack them?"

"No, your Grace." the commander gasped,"King Salomon begged us to find them... he wants to buy every single musket on those ships before you do."

Rudolf slowly turned his head. "Huh? What do you mean... buy them before I do?"