The mud of the northern fields was practically boiling...

Iron balls rained down from the sky like the angry fists of the gods, smashing into the wet earth and throwing geysers of black mud, splintered wood, and broken bodies high into the air.

The roar of the Viking artillery was relentless... Count Boso yanked the reins of his warhorse, trying to keep the animal from bucking him off.

"Pull back!" Boso screamed at the top of his lungs,"Get the men back! Retreat out of their fucking range right now!"

Thus, the once-proud Frankish vanguard was forced into a humiliating scramble... the heavily armored spearmen and the peasant laborers abandoned their positions around the giant bronze bombard.

They dropped their shovels, threw down their shields, and ran for their lives through the sucking mud.

Behind them, the bronze weapon that had just cracked the impenetrable walls of Calais was swallowed by the explosive iron rain.

Another heavy shell slammed into the broken wooden cart beneath it, finally tipping the giant bronze barrel face-first into the deep mud.

"Leave it!" Marshal Hugh roared, galloping past Boso on his own black stallion. "The bronze whore has done her job! Move the men back to the tree line!"

It took nearly an hour of scrambling for the Frankish army to finally retreat far enough south to completely escape the range of the high-angled Viking cannons.

They collapsed exhausted in the rolling green fields just beyond the Dead Marshes, gasping for breath and covered in black dirt and blood.

Inside the quickly erected command tent, Count Boso threw his helmet onto a table. He rubbed his face, his ears still ringing from the sheer volume of the explosive blasts.

"They destroyed it," Boso muttered angrily, pouring himself a cup of cheap wine from a flask. "We spent a fortune hauling that giant beast all the way up here, and the northern heathens just buried it."

Marshal Hugh stood at the entrance of the tent, "It was just a massive piece of bronze, Boso, it was entirely experimental. The Emperor knew it might shatter on the very first shot. But look at what it actually accomplished."

After hearing such words, Boso frowned. "It made one hole."

"It made a massive fucking hole," Hugh corrected him, walking over to the table. "We shattered their main southern wall. And more importantly, we forced them to show their hand. We know what their steel cannons are capable of now."

Even so, Boso wasn’t convinced... the display of the Iron Kingdom’s unified artillery had shaken his veteran knights to their very core.

"They have hundreds of those steel cannons, Hugh," Boso stated firmly. "And they have thousands of those repeating rifles. The moment we try to march our infantry toward that broken hole in the wall, they will completely slaughter us in the open field. We cannot win a ranged battle when we only have archers and pikes."

Hugh let out a genuine laugh... he grabbed the wine flask from Boso and took a long drink from the neck.

"Who told you that we only have archers and pikes?" Hugh asked.

Boso blinked, "I inspected the vanguard myself before we marched. I didn’t see a single one of the new fire-tubes in the ranks."

"Weren’t you there when the Marshal High Command told us to hide them in the supply wagons?" Hugh smiled.

Hugh leaned over the table, "We have six thousand of them, Boso,"

"Six thousand?" Boso gaspedز

"Six thousand muskets," Hugh nodded. "They are perfect copies of the same weapons King Ragnar used against us a year ago. We have the black powder, and we have the lead balls. Six thousand men who can shoot right through a Viking shield from a hundred paces away.

Plus, we still have our standard longbow archers and over ten thousand heavy pikemen to protect the gunners while they reload."

"Six thousand muskets is an advantage." Boso muttered,"But it still isn’t enough to breach that wall. Their cannons will just rip our musket lines to shreds before we can even get close enough to fire."

"The foundries in Paris were late,"

"Casting stable bronze without it cracking under the immense pressure of the explosive powder is a difficult work. The blacksmiths fell three weeks behind schedule. I couldn’t wait for them anymore, so I marched the vanguard forward to secure the camp and test the bombard."

"The normal cannons are finally finished... the supply lines reported in just an hour ago. The oxen carts have been marching non-stop up the southern road for the past ten days."

Marshal Hugh stood straight, adjusting his belt.

"We are not talking about one giant, stupid experimental bombard anymore, we have hundreds of standard bronze cannons on the way. Hundreds. And they will arrive right here at our camp by dawn tomorrow."

The Marshal stepped past Boso and pushed the flaps of the canvas tent open, looking out at the exhausted Frankish soldiers resting in the grass.

"We must survive the night first," Hugh stated firmly, "If Lord Bjorn thinks we are broken because of that failed bombard, he might try to march his infantry out in the dark to slit our throats."

"He wouldn’t dare abandon his walls," Boso argued.

"Do not ever underestimate a Viking who smells blood in the water." Hugh warned. "I am not going to lose this war because a few dozen crazy northmen snuck into our camp with axes while we were sleeping."

Hugh turned his head back to the Count. "Go to the supply wagons, crack open the wooden crates. I want you to arm the men with the new muskets."

"Right away, Marshal Hugh."

Hugh continued, "Take your muskets and heavy pikes, and patrol in close succession around the perimeter of the camp. Also, double the number of guards and tell the men to shoot at any moving shadow. We just sit tight and wait for the sun."

As Count Boso emerged from his tent to arm his soldiers with their muskets, Marshal Hugh stood alone.

Clearly, they had enough men and rifles, and by dawn, they would match the Iron Kingdom in heavy artillery.

Yet, his mind kept racing with a single, haunting question.