Chapter 440: The Leviathans Arrive
Through the lens of his spyglass, Ragnar stared at the impossible sight unfolding on the horizon.
His jaw tightened, and silence fell over him, ignoring the roar of the Steam Chariots blasting the Frankish trenches to his right.
"King Ragnar?" Richard inquired, his voice strained with anxiety as he stood beside the iron boiler of the chariot.
The southern scholar could clearly see the sheer tension radiating from his sovereign’s broad shoulders.
"What is it? Are the wooden ships not in position to fire?"
Ragnar slowly lowered the spyglass.
"The wooden ships are in position," Ragnar muttered. "However, it appears my reserve captains have decided to take matters into their own hands. The ironclads have arrived."
Richard’s eyes went wide, and he immediately snapped his gaze toward the distant waters of the bay.
From this vantage point, even without the spyglass, the unnatural plumes of black coal smoke rising into the gray winter sky were unmistakable...
To a man from the 9th century, the sight of those behemoths was nothing short of divine intervention. But to Ragnar, the supreme architect of this industrial revolution, it was a glaring breach of his absolute authority.
He had explicitly ordered the destroyers to remain at the port to preserve the element of surprise.
Yet, here they were, churning the ocean into a white foam as they closed the trap on the Frankish vanguard.
Currently, as Ragnar watched his steel warships approach, his thoughts drifted to the sheer, monumental effort it took to construct even a single one of those vessels.
Producing an ironclad was not a simple feat that could be accomplished by a few skilled blacksmiths. It was a nightmare that required an astronomical amount of resources, infrastructure, and capital.
If one were to truly understand the magnitude of Ragnar’s naval fleet, they would have to look at the staggering economic foundation he had built in England over the past year.
The steel plating alone for a single ironclad would easily bankrupt any standard European kingdom.
It required hundreds of tonnes of perfectly cast, high-quality steel, forged to withstand the punishing kinetic force of enemy artillery.
But the hull was merely the beginning... the true cost of the ironclad lied deep within its bowels — the high-pressure steam engine.
Constructing these mechanical hearts required precision engineering that was entirely alien to this era.
It necessitated brass fittings, perfectly sealed iron boilers, and highly complex gear systems that could efficiently transfer thermal energy into raw thrust.
To accomplish this, Ragnar had transformed the socio-economic landscape of his territories. It took several months of continuous, grueling labor to construct just one of these steel leviathans.
A single naval factory dedicated to assembling the hull and fitting the steam engine required a staggering workforce of nearly 9,000 men.
These were not mere peasants swinging hammers; they were highly organized laborers, engineers, and metallurgists working in perfect synchronization under Ragnar’s strict industrial guidelines.
Ragnar had spent the entirety of the past year focusing his vast intellect and resources almost exclusively on two distinct goals: mass-producing repeating muskets for his infantry and constructing this invincible naval fleet.
He wanted to ensure that the technological gap between his forces and the rest of the world was so completely insurmountable that any ambitious foreign king, whether it be Emperor Louis or the monarchs of Spain, would think twice before ever daring to sail toward England’s shores.
To sustain this military-industrial complex, Ragnar had initiated a societal shift that would forever alter the course of human history.
Nearly 20,000 citizens worked daily in his sprawling factories across England.
Men who had once broken their backs plowing muddy fields for a meager harvest were now earning consistent, highly lucrative wages assembling rifle barrels, casting steel plates, and fitting steam pipes.
On top of that, thousands upon thousands of laborers toiled endlessly in the dark iron mines and the sweltering, smoke-filled forges just to feed the insatiable beast of Ragnar’s industry.
Whole mountains were being hollowed out for their iron ore, and vast forests were being systematically harvested for charcoal and timber.
It was a mobilization of human capital on a scale that had not been seen since the height of the Roman Empire, and it was directed by the singular, visionary mind of the Iron King.
All of that blood, sweat, and silver had culminated in a formidable, unrivaled navy.
Currently, Ragnar boasted a fleet of 14 fully operational ironclads, which patrolled and defended England’s borders.
They were floating fortresses that ensured absolute naval supremacy, capable of sinking any wooden armada that dared to cross the English Channel.
Due to the immense strategic value and high operational cost of these vessels, Ragnar had only detached 3 of these priceless ironclads to accompany his vanguard to Norway.
Their primary purpose was to secure the initial landing and provide heavy bombardment capabilities if Kufstein or the other northern territories fell under a siege.
And yet, those exact three ironclads were now sailing straight toward Lothair’s exposed flank, unbidden by the Sovereign himself.
"My King..." Richard whispered, finally finding his voice as he watched the silhouettes cut through the coastal waters. "If you did not issue the order for the ironclads to engage... who did?"
Ragnar remained silent. While a part of him was furious at the blatant insubordination, the ruthless commander within him recognized the devastating tactical advantage currently unfolding.
Whoever had ordered the fleet to move had timed their arrival to coincide with the Steam Chariots shattering the Frankish trenches.
"It does not matter right now, Richard." Ragnar stated, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his visage.
Meanwhile, down on the beach, the situation for the Frankish vanguard was deteriorating into a nightmare.
Lord Lothair stood behind his main barricade, his armor spattered with the mud and blood of his fallen men.
He had played his cards brilliantly, spreading his musketeers into loose skirmish lines to mitigate the damage of Ragnar’s repeating rifles.
He had even sent his heavy cavalry into the forest for a devastating flanking maneuver.
However, Lothair had vastly underestimated the technological terror of his enemy...
He was unprepared for the Steam Chariots — rolling fortresses of iron that ignored his trenches and swept his lines with devastating cannon fire from the sides.
"Hold the lines!" Lothair screamed, his voice hoarse as he tried to rally his panicked troops.
"Turn the bronze cannons to the flanks!"
"Do not let those mechanical beasts break our perimeter!"
But as the Frankish engineers attempted to drag their heavy bronze cannons through the deep mud to face the flanking Steam Chariots, a new, entirely unfamiliar sound began to echo across the battlefield.
It started as a low thumping that seemed to vibrate through the very earth beneath their boots.
Then, it grew louder... a deep roar accompanied by the aggressive hiss of pressurized steam.
Lothair froze. He slowly turned his gaze away from the slaughter in the trenches and looked out toward the freezing waters of the bay.
The Frankish soldiers, the Danish mercenaries who had just unloaded onto the beach, and the proud knights of Emperor Louis all stopped in their tracks.
The sheer, overwhelming noise drowned out the sounds of the dying men and the cracking of muskets.
Breaching the morning mist, dwarfing the traditional wooden transport ships surrounding them, were the three ironclads.
Their steel hulls crushed the waves, and their towering smoke stacks spewed black ash into the sky like waking dragons.
The three behemoths were making an ungodly amount of noise, their steam engines churning with absolute power as the Frankish army finally heard them.
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A/N:
Rule #3: If a single weapon system takes 9,000 workers, half your GDP, and an entire hollowed-out mountain to build... someone is definitely going to disobey orders just to flex it in battle.