Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 241: The Great Tang Dynasty

The Syrian Province, Abbasid Caliphate

Provincial Governor Malik slammed his clenched fists onto his desk,

"It is gone! Every single drop of water! Every single grain of wheat! The entire province is being sucked dry!"

When the Abbasid Caliph granted the Tang expeditionary force safe passage through his territory, he was unleashing a biological locus swarm of epic proportions, one hundred thousand heavily armored, highly disciplined professional soldiers, accompanied by tens of thousands of warhorses, draft animals, and supply wagons.

A single soldier requires at least a gallon of water a day to survive in the arid Middle Eastern climate, and a warhorse requires five times that amount. Furthermore, they need thousands of pounds of grain, millet, and salted meats every single day just to keep moving.

Malik’s chief vizier, a frail old man named Tariq, frantically attempted to gather the documents,

"Your Excellency, I beg of you to remain calm!" Tariq pleaded,

"The Caliph in Baghdad has strictly forbidden any interference with the Tang supply lines. If we deny them access to the royal granaries, the eastern generals have sworn to burn Damascus to the ground! We must simply endure their passage!"

"Endure?!" Malik bellowed, "Our ancient, deep-water wells are literally scraping mud from the bedrock. The local villagers are resorting to drinking stagnant ditch water. The fragile social contract that holds this province together is actively disintegrating. I am receiving dozens of frantic missives from the border towns every single hour. My own people are whispering of rebellion, Tariq! They say the Caliph has sold us to the eastern dogs to save his own palace in Baghdad!" 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Releasing the vizier with a disgusted shove, Malik turned away.

The Caliphate was supposed to be the undisputed master of the known world, yet here they were, reduced to helpless innkeepers desperately serving an invading superpower while their own children wept from the gnawing pain of empty bellies.

While the upper echelons of the Abbasid administration suffered complete psychological meltdowns in their lavish palaces, a far more dangerous and visceral desperation was taking root in the shadowy dunes of the desert.

A local Arab farmer named Hassan clutched a rusted iron sickle. Beside him lay two dozen of his fellow villagers, their faces gaunt.

Looking down into the shallow valley below, Hassan felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs as he observed the sprawling, terrifyingly organized encampment of the Tang supply train.

Unlike the disorganized baggage trains of the Western armies, the Tang supply lines were a marvel of standardized, modular efficiency. They utilized massive, double-axle wooden wagons reinforced with iron bands, each capable of carrying tons of densely packed, dehydrated military rations.

Furthermore, the camp was laid out in a perfect geometric grid, heavily patrolled by elite, lamellar-armored sentries carrying repeating crossbows. It was a mobile fortress of absolute perfection, designed specifically to project imperial power across thousands of miles of hostile territory!

"Look at them..." hissed a young villager named Faruq, "They feed their monstrous horses with the very barley that was stolen from our silos this morning! They gorge themselves on our water while my infant daughter perishes from thirst!"

"Thus, we take it back, or we ensure they choke on it," Hassan growled in a low whisper, his knuckles turning entirely white as his grip tightened around the rusted sickle.

"The Caliph may have surrendered his pride, but we have nothing left to lose. Move silently. If the guards spot you, do not run; attack the wagons. Burn the grain, poison the barrels! If we cannot eat, then neither shall them!"

The desperate mob of starving villagers slipped past the outer perimeter of the Tang encampment, utilizing their intimate knowledge of the desert terrain to evade the patrol routes of the eastern sentries. Creeping through the shadows of the massive supply wagons, Hassan could smell the scent of stored millet and fresh water, a sensory overload that nearly drove his starving mind completely insane.

Approaching a towering grain wagon, Hassan reached out with a trembling hand. Twisting the blade, he ripped a massive gash in the material, watching with satisfaction as hundreds of pounds of precious, life-sustaining grain poured out onto the unforgiving desert sand, instantly contaminated by the dirt.

Further down the line, Faruq and three other men were frantically dumping sacks of highly toxic oleander leaves into the uncovered wooden water barrels, deliberately sabotaging the very hydration network that kept the massive eastern army functioning.

However, before Hassan could move to the next wagon, the deafening, sharp crack of a Tang repeating crossbow shattered the silence of the desert night.

A heavy, armor-piercing iron bolt slammed through Faruq’s chest with such immense kinetic force that the young villager was literally lifted off his feet, violently thrown backward into the sand as his blood sprayed across the contaminated water barrels.

"Intruders in the supply sector!" roared a Tang commanding officer as dozens of torches suddenly flared to life, illuminating the sabotaged wagons and the terrified faces of the trapped villagers.

Instantly abandoning their stealth, the villagers shrieked in terror, scrambling to escape the tightening net of heavily armored Tang infantrymen. Yet, the eastern soldiers moved with a terrifying precision, forming an impenetrable wall of interlocking shields and leveled spears that trapped the starving Arabs against their own ruined grain carts.

Hassan fell to his knees in the contaminated grain, sobbing uncontrollably as a ring of sharp steel spears was leveled directly at his throat.

As the sun rose over the bloodstained sands of the encampment the following morning, the geopolitical tension of the entire continent officially reached its absolute boiling point.

Zhao Feng, narrowed his eyes. Stopping before the ruined grain wagon, he reached down with a hand, scooping up a handful of the dirt-mixed millet and letting it slowly sift through his fingers while the captured, badly beaten villagers knelt before him.

The local Abbasid military liaison, Captain Khalid, sweated profusely under his chainmail, his hand resting hesitantly upon the pommel of his curved sword.

"General Zhao..." Khalid stammered, "These are... these are merely desperate peasants. They do not act on the orders of the Caliph. The drought... the requisition of their crops... it has driven them mad!"

"Do you believe the Son of Heaven cares about the hunger pangs of desert barbarians, Captain?" Zhao Feng asked,

"Your Caliph signed a sacred treaty guaranteeing the unhindered passage and complete provisioning of the Celestial Army. Thus, the actions of these starving peasants have officially constituted an act of war against the Great Tang Dynasty."

Khalid stepped forward, "Please! We will compensate you for the lost grain! We will execute the saboteurs ourselves according to our laws! But you must not retaliate against the province, or the entire region will rise up in rebellion!"

"The region is already in rebellion, Captain," Zhao Feng corrected smoothly, "And the Tang Dynasty does not accept compensation."

Without a single moment of hesitation, Zhao Feng stepped forward and swung his blade effortlessly decapitating Hassan in front of the horrified Abbasid liaison.

The villager’s head hit the sand, his blood pooling rapidly into the ruined, spilled grain.

"Listen closely, Captain Khalid," Zhao Feng whispered, "You will ride to your Provincial Governor immediately. You will inform him that for every sack of grain destroyed by his people, I will burn one of his villages to the ground. For every water barrel poisoned, I will execute one hundred of his citizens. If your Caliph cannot control his own empire, the Tang expeditionary force will gladly cleanse it for him as we march."

Khalid could only bow his head, the horrific realization crashing over him.