Ch 44: Naval Battle

Staying overnight on the Isle of Man, the fleet sailed west for most of the daytime, finally arriving at a secluded coast in eastern Ireland.

Docking at the shore, ten turtle ships assembled their hulls and upper decks, then proceeded south along the coastline. When they reached the bay outside the Liffey River Mouth, the enemy had mustered a large fleet waiting there.

According to pre-battle deployment, Ivar commanded ten turtle ships responsible for mid-to-close-range engagement.

Vig commanded five siege engine warships and fifteen conventional warships. The siege engines bombarded enemy large warships from a long distance, while the fifteen conventional warships provided protection to prevent enemy small ships from flanking.

“Is this Sven’s fleet? Ivar’s information was wrong; there are definitely more than a thousand men opposite.”

Climbing the mast to a high place, Vig found that Sven had deployed thirty-two ordinary medium-to-small warships and three large ships over 30 meters in length and over 6 meters in width, capable of holding a hundred people, including rowers.

With current shipbuilding technology, these three warships are also not suitable for ocean navigation and can only be used for river and nearshore combat.

The salty, humid sea breeze brushed against Vig’s cheeks. He looked at the weather vane atop the mast; it was a west wind.

Accompanied by the rowers’ chorus of shouts, the fleet slowly sailed against the wind toward the Liffey River Mouth, entering range. He pulled out a red small flag from his waist and frantically waved it.

Receiving the order, five siege engine warships formed a line, aiming their weak flanks at the enemy ships on the west side. On the captain’s orders, the sailors pulled the ropes to raise the counterweights to a high point, then placed a heavy earthenware pot filled with oil into the pouch and lit the fuse at the mouth of the jar.

“Fire!”

The hammer fell, the counterweight plummeted, and ten earthenware pots whistled toward Sven’s black flagship. Nine missed, and the last one hit an ordinary Viking longship on the right side of the flagship. Before the sailors could react, the fire quickly spread to the entire cabin, turning the warship into a blazing torch in a matter of seconds.

Under the terrified gaze of their allies, more than forty sailors jumped into the icy seawater. The captain and three veteran warriors, wearing iron armor, struggled slightly before sinking to the bottom. The remaining sailors, bobbing with the waves, cried out for help.

“What kind of devilish weapon is this?”

Looking at the five ships with strange machines in the distance, and the black flag with a golden dragon hanging from the mast, Sven was shocked. Then, he heard a strange rumor from one of his shield-bearers.

“Your Majesty, it is said that last year, when Ragnar attacked the Northumbria Royal Palace, a wizard nicknamed ‘Chosen One’ built machines that could launch fireballs, apparently called ‘siege engines’.”

“Siege engines. Machines that throw stones over long distances, which can also throw oil jars.”

After pondering for a moment, Sven concluded that this method was not witchcraft. Having slightly recovered, he was about to explain to his subordinates when ten more black spots flew from afar.

This time, the closest earthenware pot was less than ten meters from the flagship, almost grazing the stern and falling into the sea behind it.

Listening to the exclamations rising one after another, Sven understood that his troops’ morale was at its lowest point, and it was not advisable to fight. However, the west wind was strong, and retreating to Dyfflin meant facing headwinds and currents. If the fleet clogged the river channel during the retreat, the situation would only get worse.

Continue fighting, or retreat?

Witnessing this new tactic for the first time, Sven was flustered, silently reciting the names of the gods, begging a deity for guidance.

Before he could come up with an answer, his subordinate pointed at the huge turtle ships and shouted frantically, “Your Majesty, the enemy’s strange ships are approaching.”

The leading turtle ship flew a gray wolf-head banner, less than fifty meters from the foremost Dyfflin warship. The crossbowmen frantically shot arrows, but most were blocked by the turtle ship’s wooden hull.

Conversely, the archers on the upper deck of the turtle ships had a height advantage. Protected by the wooden hull, they freely harvested enemy sailors within their sight, with a significantly favorable exchange ratio.

In less than five minutes of engagement, the eight leading longships suffered heavy casualties, with only a few survivors huddled in the corners, completely losing their ability to fight back.

The situation was lost, and Sven was forced to order a retreat. To save their lives, the rowers rowed against the current towards the river mouth, inevitably crowding together.

“A bunch of waste!”

Seeing the turtle ships getting closer and closer, Sven was forced to order a beaching. At this point, his only thought was to escape back to Dyfflin and use the walls to block Ivar’s offensive.

Led by the king, the remaining ships charged towards the nearest riverbank, and the entire fleet was almost completely lost.

“Get down there and move these broken ships!”

At the Liffey River Mouth, Ivar wanted to take Dyfflin in one go while the enemy army was in disastrous defeat, but more than twenty longships were crammed on the river surface, completely blocking the fleet’s possibility of going upstream against the current.

When Vig’s second echelon arrived, he ordered the ordinary warships to use grappling hooks to pull the disabled empty ships, one by one, away from the center of the river channel.

After everything was done, Ivar ordered the fleet to advance, finally seeing the target of this expedition—Dyfflin.

This town is located on the south bank of the Liffey River, with a black lake on the east side, which is probably the origin of Dyfflin—the black pond.

Dyfflin has a wooden wall about five meters high. Many panicked archers stood behind the battlements. Sven, wearing a black great cloak, walked around the wall, arranging his retainers to guard key positions. Using these precious two hours, he hastily organized his defenses, causing Ivar’s blitzkrieg plan to fail.

With a gloomy face, Ivar had his troops set up camp on the northern coast, considering how to attack this town with at least two thousand residents.

“Throw oil jars and turn Sven into a roasted pig.” Halfdan proposed enthusiastically, only to receive a white-eye from his older brother.

“I painstakingly went to war just to harvest a burned-down ruin?”

At this time, Vig walked over surrounded by shield-bearers, “Bad news, all the oil jars are used up.”

Before the expedition, Derwent and Tyne painstakingly collected pitch, resin, and pig oil, eventually making 115 oil jars, which only lasted less than twelve volleys. If Sven had delayed for a while longer, the siege engines would only be able to throw small stones weighing ten kilograms, causing almost no significant damage.

“Winning this naval battle is not a loss.” Ivar looked at the large birch forest in the northwest direction, “I will arrange for people to fell trees to prepare for building large siege engines. Sigh, I wonder how long it will take this time?”

Building large siege engines is extremely time-consuming, requiring at least more than a month. Adding the subsequent bombardment of the city walls, there is a high probability that it will take more than three months.

Worrying about his wife who stayed behind in Tyne, Vig looked across the thirty-meter-wide river, intending to find a quicker way to take Dyfflin.