Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 243: Global Stage
Ragnar crossed his arms, his eyes tracking the terrifying descent of a five-ton rifled cannon. Suspended in mid-air by braided steel cables, while directly beneath it, hundreds of shackled Tang laborers threw their entire, emaciated body weight against the stabilizing guide ropes.
Lifting this apocalyptic beast required the deployment of Ragnar’s newly invented, high-pressure steam cranes. If a single iron gear slips, five tons of raw industrial death will crush those captive eastern laborers into a fine, bloody paste. And after all, what is the point of forging invincible weapons if you cannot load them onto your ships?
Biting his cracked lower lip until the sharp taste of his own blood filled his mouth, the captive Chinese logistics administrator, Master Lin, waved his directional signal flags with frantic, highly erratic motions, his knees physically knocking together in terror.
He understood perfectly well that if a single cannon plunged into the freezing waters of the harbor, his head would be violently separated from his shoulders before the splash even settled!
"Steady the aft winch!" Master Lin shrieked. "Hold the lines! For the love of your ancestors, hold the lines!"
Groaning under the immense, mind-boggling strain, the massive steam crane successfully pivoted, slowly lowering the devastating weapon into the cavernous, iron-plated belly of the waiting warship.
Thus, with a deafening clank that violently echoed across the entire harbor and sent flocks of seagulls scattering into the gray sky, the artillery piece finally settled perfectly into its reinforced steel cradle.
Watching this horrifying display of mechanical supremacy from the elevated safety of the royal pavilion, the hastily dispatched Abbasid envoy, a frail, deeply terrified merchant named Tariq, ground his teeth together so violently that a sharp pain shot directly up into his jaw.
Tariq dug his meticulously manicured fingernails deeply into his own palms, utterly paralyzed by the sheer logistical might of this northern empire.
He had come to beg for assistance against the Byzantine Cataphracts, but seeing these metal leviathans swallowing cannons the size of ancient obelisks made him realize he was inviting a far more dangerous predator into the Mediterranean!
Vanguard Commander Bjorn let out a laugh. Clad in his full, blackened plate armor and radiating a terrifying aura of absolute confidence, Bjorn slammed his fist against his breastplate in a crisp salute, his eyes burning with the insatiable aggressive bloodlust of a true Viking conqueror.
"The final battery of rifled twelve-pounders has been successfully secured within the holds of the ironclads, my King!" Bjorn roared, turning to cast a deeply affectionate, highly respectful glance toward his newly wedded bride, Queen Aisling, who stood quietly in the shadows of the pavilion,
"The boilers are currently being stoked with our highest-grade anthracite coal, and the five hundred Grenadiers you personally selected are already confined to their quarters, polishing their repeating muskets! We are ready to sail!"
Stepping forward, Ragnar allowed a wicked smile to slowly stretch across his scarred visage, resting his hand upon his brother’s armored shoulder.
"The Byzantine Emperor, Basil, believes he can simply overwhelm the Abbasid Caliphate with his heavily armored cavalry while the world is distracted. It is your distinct, highly violent privilege to teach him that the era of the horse and the lance is permanently, irrevocably over..."
What exactly is the Iron Father attempting to accomplish by sending his brother thousands of miles away? Is he just acting as a mercenary for the Caliph?
In the medieval era, an army marched across the land, foraged for local food, fought their battles, and then inevitably went home when the harvest season arrived. It was a temporary projection of power. But Ragnar is utilizing his ironclad steamships to establish a permanent, technologically self-sufficient military colony directly in the heart of the Middle East.
He is forcing the Abbasid Caliph to grant him sovereign territory, complete with deep-water ports and supply lines, just for the privilege of Viking protection...
It is a strategic checkmate!
"I will shatter their Cataphracts so thoroughly that their Emperor will hear the explosions from his palace in Constantinople!"
"We will save the Caliph’s miserable borders, and we will take our payment in raw silver and absolute compliance!"
Throwing his head back, Bjorn laughed again,
"We sail as saviors, but we shall remain as kings! It will be done exactly as you have commanded, Iron Father!"
Embracing his brother in a brief hug, Bjorn quickly turned on his heel, wrapping his arm around Queen Aisling’s waist and leading her down the wooden ramp toward the waiting ironclad flagship.
Suddenly, the deafening blast of the flagship’s steam whistle violently pierced the freezing air, signaling the commencement of the greatest naval expedition the world had ever witnessed.
Deep within the dark and incredibly claustrophobic bellies of the ironclad leviathans, the true, agonizing cost of this industrial miracle was being paid in human sweat and suffering. Stripped to the waist and completely covered in a thick, greasy layer of black soot, hundreds of shackled Tang laborers frantically shoveled raw coal into the roaring, super-heated maws of the massive steam boilers.
"Keep the pressure valves localized in the green zone!" screamed a Saxon engineer, furiously tapping a glass-faced pressure gauge with a heavy iron wrench,
"If the pressure drops, we lose the propellers! Shovel, you eastern dogs! Shovel until your spines break!"
Why exactly did Ragnar choose to send captive Tang laborers into the boiler rooms instead of his own English peasants?
Because feeding a primitive, high-pressure steam boiler is arguably the most dangerous, physically agonizing labor in the entire industrial chain.
One wrong move, one blocked pressure valve, and the entire boiler erupts in a catastrophic explosion of super-heated steam that literally cooks a man alive in a fraction of a second.
The Tang soldiers, broken by starvation and heavily disciplined by Master Lin’s bureaucratic oversight, possessed the exact endurance required to keep those fires burning twenty-four hours a day. They were human fuel pumps, entirely expendable, yet absolutely critical to the empire’s expansion!
As the massive iron propellers began to violently churn the freezing waters of the harbor, throwing up huge, foaming waves of white surf, the Ironclad fleet slowly, inevitably detached from the docks.
The primitive steamships surged forward, leaving choking trails of pitch-black coal smoke smeared across the gray horizon.
Bjorn gripped the iron railing, ignoring the freezing sea spray that aggressively lashed against his scarred face. Looking out toward the endless expanse of the Atlantic, he felt the immense power of the steam engine vibrating straight up through the soles of his armored boots, filling his veins with a sense of invincibility.
Thus, carrying a lethal cargo of rifled artillery, specialized fragmentation grenades, and the most elite, heavily disciplined Viking mercenaries the world had ever seen, the Iron Empire officially launched itself onto the global stage.
