Chapter 436: Tactics of Future Past
Thus, the Iron Kingdom army stood in silence, staring at the beast rolling through the dirt.
King Erik’s jaw was still hanging slightly open. He looked up at the Iron King standing proudly on the back of the machine.
"Hmm, the Steam Chariot?" Ragnar repeated, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "I like that name, Erik. It has a nice ring to it."
The King just nodded dumbly, mesmerized by the rotating circular platform carrying the three steel cannons.
"Don’t just stare at it like a bunch of frightened sheep." Ragnar suddenly roared. He looked down at his engineers who were feeding coal into the firebox. "Aim for that thick cluster of pines on the eastern ridge."
"Yes, King Ragnar!" the lead engineer shouted back.
The turret slowly rotated to the right, aiming the three cannons toward the distant tree line.
"Prime the fuses! Brace your ears!" Ragnar warned, grabbing onto an iron railing.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The three cannons fired in rapid succession... the sheer force rattled the teeth of every soldier standing within a hundred paces!
Massive clouds of black smoke erupted from the barrels.
The steel balls slammed into the pine trees with horrifying momentum. Thick trunks shattered into thousands of jagged splinters. The shockwave ripped the surrounding branches to shreds, leaving a smoking crater where a dense thicket had stood just seconds prior.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes that this wasn’t just a simple volley... the blast packed the devastating power of nearly five standard cannons firing at the exact same spot!
"By the gods..." Wulfhere muttered.
A standard bronze cannon would have dug itself a foot deep into the mud from that recoil, requiring dozens of men and horses to reset it.
But the Steam Chariot just shook heavily on its reinforced carriage, the internal steam pressure keeping the beast grounded.
It could fire, rotate to look anywhere else on the battlefield, and keep rolling forward under its own power!
"Aye," Domnall the Scot agreed, grinning now as he realized the sheer slaughter they were about to inflict. "If they bunch up, a single pass from that chariot could easily kill nearly one thousand men in one bloody block."
"Then you are going to love this, Domnall." Ragnar called out, hopping down from the carriage into the mud.
He pointed a back toward the dense infantry lines. "Pull the other tarps!"
The quartermasters instantly sprang into action.
Behind the straight lines of the infantry, five more massive black canvas tarps were pulled away, falling into the dirt.
Five more iron-plated Steam Chariots roared to life.
King Erik let out a laugh.
Though the sheer morale of the troops had instantly skyrocketed to the heavens, Ragnar wasn’t a man who relied on flashy weapons.
He knew that even the greatest machines needed perfect, infantry support to actually win a battle.
Ragnar stepped into the center of the command group, his eyes sweeping over Erik, Richard, and the three marshals.
"We are not just charging blindly like stupid raiders. Erik, I want the army reformed right now." Ragnar ordered.
"Reformed?" Erik blinked, confused. "We are already standing in standard lines, Ragnar. We have fifteen thousand men."
"Standard lines are useless for what I am about to do," Ragnar stated firmly, pulling a parchment from his belt. He unrolled it against the side of the warm chariot.
"We have fifteen thousand men in total," Ragnar began, tapping the parchment.
8,000 Riflemen: "They are wearing the newly forged iron armor. It is durable but much lighter than standard mail, allowing them to sprint and reload without exhausting their arms."
6,000 Pikemen and Shieldmen: "These men are the wall. They carry the steel pikes to stop any Frankish cavalry charges from flanking our guns."
1,000 Artillerymen: "These are the engineers, the loaders, and the aids handling the heavy push-cannons and the Steam Chariots."
"A thousand men just to sit back and load the guns?" Eadberht frowned, scratching his chin. "That is a massive number of swords removed from the frontline, King Ragnar."
"It is a necessary number, damn it," Ragnar snapped. "Reloading steel cannons and packing coal into a steam engine takes time. If we don’t have dedicated aids feeding the powder, the rate of fire drops, and the Franks will overrun us while we are holding empty barrels."
Richard leaned closer to the parchment. "What exactly is this formation?"
Ragnar smiled. He was adapting a concept from a man who wouldn’t be born for nearly a thousand years.
He had spent late nights sketching the revolutionary tactics of Napoleon Bonaparte, determined to try it with his modern army.
"It is called the block formation." Ragnar explained, pointing his finger at the squares drawn on the paper.
"Instead of spreading our fifteen thousand men into one fragile line that Lothair can easily pierce, we are going to break the army into concentrated blocks," Ragnar detailed. "Each block will act independently. Pikemen on the outer edges to repel cavalry, riflemen packed tight in the center, and the push-cannons rolling between the gaps."
"And the six Steam Chariots will roam free between the blocks. They will act as mobile heavy cavalry, blasting massive holes in Lothair’s lines while the infantry blocks slowly march forward to crush whatever is left."
It was a tactic completely alien to the 9th century... armies of this era fought in simple shield walls or loose chaotic skirmishes.
A disciplined, segmented corps system supported by mobile steam artillery was a concept that would shatter the minds of the southern lords.
"Break the lines!" Ragnar suddenly roared, stepping away from the chariot. "Marshals, form the blocks! I want a thousand men to a square! Move!"
Wulfhere, Eadberht, and Domnall spurred their horses, screaming orders and blowing sharp whistles.
The long, traditional lines of the northern army slowly began to fracture, shifting and merging until fifteen tightly packed squares of armored men stood on the field.
"Are we ready, King Ragnar?" Erik asked, his hands gripping a steel battleaxe.
Ragnar pulled himself back up onto the lead Steam Chariot.
"March!" Ragnar roared, pointing his blade at the distant tree line.
As Richard walked beside the chariot, his mind couldn’t help but wonder about the enemy lurking nearby.
Lord Luther was a renowned general... but how could he possibly survive against this army?