At first glance, the entire harbor lay deserted.
The baron and his family hung from the town gate, their corpses left for ravens to peck at.
"Quick. Dig a deep pit and bury them."
Breken covered his nose as he surveyed the ruins. The lord's longhouse, temple, and storehouses were reduced to rubble. The well had been stuffed with the bodies of people and livestock.
"There's no point clearing this place. Better to build our own camp."
Having decided, Breken selected open ground on the southwest side and began constructing a fortified encampnt from scratch—built to permanent defensive standards.
Hard Labor
For the next week, Frode was consud with inventory work. When not counting supplies, he dug ditches and hauled logs, until his hands and feet were covered in blisters.
"By Odin… now I understand 'Marius's Mules.'"
In 107 BC, Gaius Marius reford the Roman army, professionalizing it. To reduce reliance on baggage trains, soldiers carried their own armor, tools, rations, and gear—30 to 40 kilograms in total. Like pack mules.
After days of relentless marching and labor, Frode finally grasped the soldier's burden. From dawn until dusk, one worked under constant scrutiny. A minor mistake ant rebuke; a serious one could an flogging—or worse.
Gradually, he grew used to being called "Bob." It began to feel like his true na—his sole purpose obedience and execution of orders.
A New Stronghold
In ti, a brand-new camp rose along Galway's southwestern coast:
A deep defensive ditch
A five-ter wooden palisade
Rows of tents, later replaced by wooden barracks
A simple dock for naval vessels
"By the gods… what have these Vikings done?"
Five rebel leaders stared in disbelief. They had never seen construction at such speed. So whispered that magic must be involved.
One elderly chieftain recited ancient Druidic incantations to banish evil.
Nothing happened.
The wind blew softly. The camp stood unchanged.
The rebels left, dejected.
Arrival of the Field Ballistae
Two days later, five two-masted square-rigged ships arrived—forming the newly organized Irish Fleet. They would patrol the western coast and transport supplies and reinforcents.
At the dock, a young naval lieutenant approached Breken with a manifest.
"Count. Everything you requested has arrived. Please confirm receipt."
Breken scanned the list. His eyes fixed on the final line:
Four field ballistae.
At last.
He walked toward the unloading ships, eager to see them. The naval officer cleared his throat.
"They're transported disassembled. If you'd like a demonstration, we can assemble one."
Six sailors set to work, fitting together tal components, torsion spring bundles, and the main fra.
They produced a thick projectile—closer to a short spear than an arrow. Its fletching consisted of shaped hardwood vanes rather than feathers.
Loaded.
They aid at an abandoned longship 160 paces away.
A hamr struck the trigger.
The machine shuddered.
The bolt scread forward—
—and buried itself in the mud a few ters short.
Curses erupted. A second shot followed.
Missed again.
The naval officer removed his tricorne and wiped his brow.
On the third attempt, the bolt struck the longship's hull—embedding itself in the planks but failing to punch through.
"That's it?" Breken frowned, disappointed.
The naval officer asked cautiously, "What did you intend to use it for?"
"In Athlone I heard the arsenal had built mobile ballistae for field use. I planned to smash rebel palisades and gates. At best, this might pierce a wooden house."
The officer shrugged helplessly.
"We didn't build them. You'll have to complain to the Londinium Arsenal—or the Ministers of War and Industry."
Training and Limitations
After unloading, Breken selected forty n from various companies to train as a ballista unit.
The process was cumberso:
Each ballista weighed over 200 kilograms.
On flat ground, they required wagons.
In rough terrain, they had to be dismantled and carried by mule—or n.
The torsion springs required regular maintenance and tendon replacent to avoid loss of power.
Breken watched for so ti, then sighed.
"Complicated. Expensive. And you must choose between power and mobility."
Still, they had them.
"Fine. We'll make do."
Into the Mountains
With the camp established and supplies secured, Breken moved to pacify the surrounding countryside.
Every settlent was ordered to provide ten hostages—or face punishnt.
The plains complied.
The northwestern mountain tribes did not.
Breken divided his two thousand n into three forces:
Two columns to conduct sweeps
One to remain in camp, overseeing labor for barracks, warehouses, and even a lighthouse
With a local guide, Breken led eight hundred n into the mountains.
The terrain grew harsh—strong Atlantic winds, sparse vegetation, low shrubs, patches of heather. The landscape resembled parts of Glasgow's rugged coast.
Settlents were small and scattered. The locals fard, herded, fished, and hunted seabirds. There was little wealth to extract.
Breken ignored compliant villages. Hostages were enough.
On the second day, they encountered a tribe that refused submission. Their settlent sat halfway up a hillside, defiant.
"Attack."
Breken deployed two hundred archers and crossbown to suppress defenders along the path. Militia ford a shield wall and advanced uphill.
The rebels' arrows were mostly bone-tipped—poor penetration. The militia reached mid-slope with minimal loss.
"Bring up the ballista. Let's see if it's worth the trouble."
Under orders, the ballista crew unloaded components from the mules and assembled the machine one hundred paces from the wooden palisade.
For the first ti, it would be tested in war.
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